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“Females cannot be artists,”
“Blue,” I say, “is the color of death.”
There is no blue found on the earth. You can’t take from the sea or the sky to concoct a color for painting.”
“Do you not believe in the proper order of things, Genevieve, that there are some in the world who must be rich and some who must be poor?”
“I don’t want an object, Genevieve.” His dark eyes burn into mine. “I seek a color.”
What a curious experience, to learn the truth of one’s own character.
As for the townhouses on the square, they glitter like new diamonds strung around an heiress’ creamy throat.
I shall have nothing more to do with men as suitors. I’ve no intention of becoming lost in Sir Gabriel’s dark eyes.
