Page 30 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish

But since Lysander had eyes for no one but Adam, any feelings Perry might still cherish in that direction were moot, weren’t they?

As were any feelings Jonny might cherish for Perry.

Hell.

At any rate, while Lysander commandeered Perry’s mornings, in the afternoons, he was all Jonny’s.

He really was the ideal model. Not only because his body was so pleasing to Jonny’s eye, but because there was a stillness to the man that was rare and surprising. Strange, that Lord Peregrine Cavendish, who had not struck Jonny at all as the thoughtful type when first they’d met, should prove to be capable of entering a state of meditative quietude while he was posing.

Which was just as well, given how many studies Jonny wanted to do of him. All that week, he drew and drew and drew. Hour after hour. Perry’s face, his hands, his feet. His whole body in pose after pose. And never once did Perry ask how much longer Jonny would be. He merely assumed whatever position Jonny asked him to take with perfect equanimity and fell into that stillness that Jonny loved.

Usually, they would converse a little at the beginning of each session, while Jonny found his direction and focus. Then, as Jonny became immersed in his work, the conversation would gradually peter out into silence. Perry seemed to understand exactly when Jonny liked to talk and when he preferred to be silent. Jonny had not experienced any of those moments of awkward irritation with Perry that happened with most of his other models, when they chatted on too long or interrupted his concentration with unsolicited remarks.

Each night in bed, Jonny would find himself replaying his conversations with Perry from earlier in the day. Despite the man’s constant self-deprecation about his intellectual skills, Jonny found Perry to be far from unintelligent. When he relaxed enough to speak his mind, it was obvious to Jonny that he had a knack for noticing little things that other people missed. A sort of emotional intuition. An aptitude for reading others’ feelings.

Perhaps that was why he always seemed to know whether Jonny felt like talking or not.

As for the work itself, Jonny couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such an avid hunger to capture a subject. He always spent quite some time on this phase, but even so, with Perry it felt different. More fervent. This last week, all he’d wanted to do was spend every moment drawing Perry, as though by drawing him he could learn his thoughts. Understand him.

Possess him.

By the end of the week, they had an established daily routine. Jonny went down to the Shepherd's Hut after a late breakfast and spent some time reviewing the previous day’s work. Perry would usually arrive an hour or two later with some luncheon, and, after eating, they would spend the afternoon together before returning to the main house for dinner with Lysander and Adam.

When Jonny awoke on Saturday morning, though, it was with a sense that something was different. He climbed out of bed and padded over to the window, opening the curtains to discover that for the first time since his arrival at Edgeley Park, it was raining. It was the steady, quiet sort of rain that made little noise and didn’t even look especially heavy, but that soaked you to the skin when you were out in it. The sky above was a sullen and uniform dark grey that promised little respite.

Jonny smiled, wide. It was a perfect day to finally break out his paints. Drawing Perry over the last week had consumed him so entirely, he’d not even considered using them, but these leaden skies were an inspiration. The colours in his paintbox always seemed to glow that much brighter in dull light. Suddenly, he was eager to wet his brushes.

He dressed hurriedly, had a quick cup of hot chocolate in the empty breakfast room, and headed for the Shepherd's Hut.

Once there, he pulled out various props: the wooden pointer, the dark green curtain that served as a cloak, and a short bolt of brown cotton he’d wrapped about Perry’s hips just the other day as makeshiftpteruges.The plain brown cloth lacked the vertical strips of the real thing, but Jonny had brought some shears with him today and planned to remedy that.

There were some things that Jonny could not approximate, of course. From the beginning, he’d envisaged the final painting showing Perry wearing shining metal armour on his shins, and there was no good proxy for that. Well, except Perry’s own legs, which were well-muscled perfection… He mourned, too, the absence of his Greek helmet, with its severe nose- and cheek-plates and bright scarlet crest. Even without those things, though, Jonny was excited at the thought of what he was about to embark upon.

He began sheafing through some of the sketches he’d already produced. Perry wouldn’t be here for a while, but he could turn one of these into a painted study in the meantime. He had scores of them now, from swiftly drawn sketch impressions to far more detailed drawings he’d spent hours on. He paused at one of Perry’s bare torso and right arm that focused on the heavy musculature of his chest and the lean planes of his belly, then on to one of his face that Jonny particularly loved. Perry had already been quiet and still for some time when Jonny began that drawing. He’d appeared to be thinking about something that made him feel sad, or perhaps regretful. There was something about his pensive expression that Jonny had been desperate to capture, and looking at the sketch now, he thought hehadcaptured it.

The sketches that Jonny lingered on longest, though, were the ones for the composition he’d conceived that first day, with Jonny kneeling at Perry’s feet. Every day, he came back to this idea. In his heart he knew it was the one he would likely ultimately paint. Perry as the glorious, perfect warrior, showing gracious attention to the worshipful sword-bearer kneeling before him.

Jonny’s mouth dried up as he spread out the sketches on the table.

“Good morning.”

The voice—Perry’s voice—was so unexpected that Jonny yelped and whirled around, his hand at his throat.

Perry, who had clearly just come in, seemed alarmed by his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to shock you. I assumed you heard the door.”

Jonny gave a breathy laugh and waved his apology away. “I was just daydreaming. I didn’t expect you for a while.”

“I’m a little early. Given the weather, Zander and I aren’t riding today. Besides, I gather he’s—” Perry flushed faintly and broke off.

Jonny chuckled. “Let me guess. Taking a late breakfast in his room?”

Perry cleared his throat. “No doubt,” he agreed, cheeks pinkening.

God, but he was appealing when he blushed.

Jonny tried to ignore the sudden bolt of longing that struck, low in his belly, and said brightly, “I thought we’d try some painting today. I’d like to experiment with some colours.”