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She lifted her skirts as she swung open the door and walked into the roo easel, painting with fervor

Isabella’s skirts slid froed husband striking her like a blow Mac wore a kilt, threadbare and paint-flecked, and he was naked froh it was cool in the studio, Mac’s torso glea the summer on the warypsy style, to keep paint out of his hair He’d always done that, she re It made his cheekbones more proh boots, much worn and paint-splotched, were familiar and dear

Mac laid paint on his canvas with energy, obviously not hearing Isabella open the door He held the palette in his left hand, arhtso he loved

Isabella used to sit in this very studio on an old sofa streith cushions, siht not say one word to her while he worked, but she had adored watching the play of muscles on his back, the way he’d smear paint on his cheek when he’d absently rub it After a particularly good session, he’d turn to her with a wide s that paint now smeared all over her skin

So absorbed in Mac was she that Isabella didn’t notice what he painted with such intensity until she forced herself to look away from him and across the room She barely stifled her dismay

A young woman lay on a raised platfors She was nude, which ca or very little But Isabella had never seen hi so blatantly erotic The s wide apart Her hand rested on her private place, and she was spreading herself open without sha and painted with rapid brushstrokes

Behind Isabella, Bella frorowled but didn’t look ’round

“Damn it, Bella”

“I’m sorry, sir I couldn’t stop her”

The rinned “Oh, hello, yer ladyship”

Mac glanced behind hiaze riveted to Isabella Paint dripped, unheeded, from his brush to the floor

Isabella strove to keep her voice froht, Bella, Mac I only came to ask you a question”

Damnation

What the hell was Bella her up here?

Isabella hadn’t set foot in the Mount Street house in three and a half years, not since the day she’d left hi but a short letter for explanation Now she stood in the doorway, in hat and gloves donned for calling Today of all days, while Mac painted Molly Bates in her spread glory This wasn’t part of his plan, the one that had made hi and follow Isabella down here frorievous miscalculation

Isabella’s dark blue jacket hugged her torso and cupped her full bosoray skirt of complicated ruffles spread over a small bustle Her hat was a concoction of flowers and ribbons, her gloves a dark gray that wouldn’t show London griers he wanted to kiss, hands he longed to have slide up his back as they lay together in bed

Isabella had always kno to dress, how to present herself in colors dear to his artist’s eye Mac had loved to help her dress in theskin He’d dish thosetime to descend for breakfast