Married To The Mad Vampire Lord novel Chapter 120

Chapter 120: Taken right under the roof

Belle did not believe she could walk out of her chamber in the attire her husband had made her wear for him to paint her.

Yesterday, after their kiss in the art chamber, he’d caught sight of something just behind her that made his eyes narrow in displeasure, followed by a low, muttered curse. Belle had frowned and turned to see what he was looking at—and then she had sucked in a sharp breath, clasping a hand over her slackened mouth upon noticing what had caused him to stop mid-sentence with that look on his face.

The inappropriate, crude painting of her, the one that had shocked her into knocking it off the easel, now lay on the floor. Not just that, it was ruined. Her heart had sunk at the sight.

Belle hadn’t noticed it earlier because Kuhn had drawn her attention to the dark painting just a few seconds after it had fallen back—unaware that it had landed in a bowl of paint, splashing smug streaks across the canvas and ruining it.

Though Belle had been mortified by the painting when she first saw it, seeing it lying there, destroyed, had made her feel utterly awful.

He must have worked hard to make it, and no matter how inappropriate it looked, it was not in her intentions to ruin someone’s hard work. She had hurriedly apologized when he looked at her with accusing dark eyes.

"I didn’t ruin it on purpose, I swear. I was only looking at it when I knocked it back by mistake," she had quickly defended herself before he could believe she had done it intentionally—especially because of how he had painted her. And from the look he gave her, she was certain that’s exactly what he thought.

"It’s one of my favorite paintings of all, Isa," he murmured, his face unreadable as he stared down at the ruined canvas. "How clumsy of you... You’ve ruined something I put time in doing."

There was no anger in his voice, only a quiet, theatrical sort of disappointment that somehow stung more. His gaze remained fixed on the painting for a moment longer before he sighed, as though mourning a loss, and muttered, "What to do now?"

Then he looked up at her again.

Belle felt so bad she blurted, "You can paint another one—and I’ll stay for you to do it."

He raised a brow, as if weighing the sincerity of her words against the crime she had just unknowingly committed. Then he remarked blankly,

"As if that could fix what you’ve done. Do you think art is like furniture? That you break and then offer time like it’s glue?"

Belle opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off with a faint shake of his head, his gaze shifting once more to the ruined canvas.

"It took me days to paint that expression on your face... you looked so lovely that night, I wanted to capture it somewhere—and I did. Now, how can I get that expression back?" He looked back at her with a mischievous smile pulling the side of his lips up. "But since you’re offering to stay for me to paint, we’ll have to recreate everything again from the beginning. A fresh session, with a more passionate expression. What do you think?"

Belle had thought she would simply sit for him to paint—perhaps in her petticoat just like in the ruined painting, nothing more. But her husband had mentioned that he would make proper arrangements the next day for the painting.

Later that night, she had caught a glimpse of Rav and one of the male servants carrying a sofa in the direction of the art chamber. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, until just when she was about to retire to her chamber, Gwen appeared at her door with a folded red dress in her hands. She said it had been sent from Rohan, and Belle was to wear it for the painting.

It seemed he was taking the recreation to another level.

For some reason, the thought made her both anxious and quietly thrilled. There was something in the anticipation, in the unspoken intimacy of it all, that stirred a restless flutter in her chest.

Now that she had worn the dress, she felt exposed, practically naked. It was revealing and entirely unlike her style. The sleeves were nothing more than delicate strings, and the low V-neckline barely covered the swell of her breasts. It clung tightly to her waist and hips, molding to her figure, and from her thigh to the hem, a long slit ran down the fabric—so that with every step, her bare leg, with no stockings to cover it, would be exposed.

Even her lips seemed naturally plumper now. She had never paid attention to these changes before, mostly because she always avoided lingering on her reflection in the mirror. freewebnoveℓ.com

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