Read Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) for Free Online Page B

silence for some time as the camp settled behind her.
    “Are you going to study that all evening?”
    Averill’s eyes widened at Captain Tennison’s voice. She shook her head. She took out her cleaning rag and wiped off her brushes. And then she stood and repacked her saddle bags.
    “I almost sent Harvey to fetch you, but decided to come myself.”
    She waited for him to say more.
    “Come along now. Dinner is almost finished. We have a fair cook. You should be hungry. And you should be tired of painting by now.”
    “Since you’ve taken away my canvas, I must obey.” 
    She looked up at him and smiled, watching an answering smile appear on his face. She hadn’t noticed how sensual his mouth was. His lips were full and yet masculine at the same time. Nor had she noticed how well his features were put together. He had a square jaw and a straight, aquiline nose. His teeth were white against his dark skin, while a skiff of whiskers shadowed and narrowed his cheeks.
    She’d slighted him before, she realized .
    Captain Tennison was a very handsome man.
    She ducked her head before any more daring thoughts came , and followed him to his lean-to in the sand. She dared glance up at his back occasionally before returning to the ground. She was still pretending to ignore him when he moved across his pallet to prop her picture where his head would go. Her painting was incredible. The dunes and sky called out to the viewer, rendering a person as sad as she felt when she’d painted. She wondered how it was possible. She knelt before it.
    “What will you paint into it?”  He settled into a squat beside her .
    She shrugged.
    “That’s not an answer, Averill.”
    She glanced up and then couldn’t look away. His eyes were so warm. She would love to create such a shade of brown. It matched the growth of whiskers above his mouth, and her eyes moved there. She hadn’t been mistaken, earlier. He had shapely lips. His was definitely a mouth worth painting.   
    Averill tore her gaze away and welcomed the uncomfortable blush . This wouldn’t do at all. She had weeks to travel with him. She had to eat and sleep beside him. Finding him attractive was completely forbidden.
    Perhaps she should bed down with the camels.
    “Do you know what you’ll paint, or does it occur as you go along?”
    “I don’t know …exactly.”  She turned to look out at the purplish sky. It was safer. “I pick up the brush, and no matter what I intend, the pictures grow in my mind. I paint what I feel.”  She didn’t think she explained herself very well.
    “Where on earth did you come from?” 
    He turned from her to light the lamp . He kept asking that, but she was determined to keep it to herself. She’d never tell anyone of her days at the mission. Captain Tennison might go there and talk to Father Sanders, who might lie to the captain.
    Worse, he might tell him the truth.
    “We’re serving rice, black beans and flat bread tonight, sir.” 
    A man appeared in the opening and handed Captain Tennison a plate. Averill wondered why she didn’t get one, but she didn’t ask.
    “We share tonight.”  Captain Tennison set the dish between them. “That is how it’s served. It’s perfectly acceptable. Come. Fill your bread.”
    She watched him spoon a large portion of the filling into his flat cake and sit back to eat. The light blended with his cheekbones, making him look slightly sinister. And then he grinned at her. And her heart jumped.
    Averill looked down and fought the shivers. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. This was the captain who’d plucked her from the street. The English captain. He was off-limits to her. She wasn’t to feel anything for him. Ever.
    “You haven’t eaten all day, Averill . Come.”
    She reached for a piece of bread and connected with his fingers . She pulled back as if burned. Tingles flew up her arm. Across her shoulders. Warmed her breasts. It was frightening. And it was wonderful.
    “I believe