Page 62 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“Beatrice, what are you doing in there?” Kenneth asked, a touch of irritation in his voice.
Her eyes widened, panic surging through her veins. She glanced around the room, taking in the scattered art supplies and the half-finished painting on the easel. What was she going to do? There was no way to hide her secret now.
“Just a minute,” she called back, trying to buy herself some time.
Her mind raced, searching for a plausible excuse, but nothing came to mind.
“Beatrice, open the door,” he demanded, his voice firmer this time.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable. There was no way around it. She had to face him. With trembling hands, she unlocked the door and opened it, her heart pounding in her chest.
Kenneth stepped inside, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of her paint-stained dress and the chaotic state of the room.
He was about to ask why she had locked the door when his gaze fell on the easel. His expression shifted from irritation to curiosity.
“Is that what you’ve been doing in here?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he approached the painting.
Beatrice closed the door behind him and pressed her back against it. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anxiety, and a touch of defiance. She watched as he studied the painting, his eyes narrowing as he took in the details.
“Eric Westback. Eric Westback. Beatrice Wickes. Huh,” he muttered to himself.
The air was thick with tension, almost crackling with it. Beatrice’s heart raced as she watched him, waiting for his next words, unsure of what to expect.
Kenneth turned around, his eyes glinting with amusement and realization. “You know, ‘Eric Westback’ sounds like an anagram for Beatrice Wickes.”
Beatrice faked a laugh though it came out strained. “You’re being ridiculous, Kenneth. I was merely inspired by Westback’s style.”
He didn’t buy it. “Beatrice, since your brother cut you and your mother off, how did you survive in Wales? By the money you made from these paintings.” He paused, his gaze piercing as he put all the pieces together.
Beatrice gulped, expecting him to be furious. Instead, he calmly took a chair and placed it across from the easel. To her surprise, he began removing his coat, cravat, and shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“I want to see what ‘Eric’ does with this masterpiece,” he said, gesturing to his body with a teasing smile.
Beatrice bit her lip, her buzzing nerves and sheer excitement bubbling within her. “Fine. Only if you take off your breeches too.”
Kenneth grinned, taking off his breeches. He sat down, completely naked, his eyes never leaving hers. “You won’t sell this painting, will you?”
She chuckled, setting up her canvas. “Although I very much believe it’d make us good money, I’d rather keep this one to myself. Now stay still, please.”
He shifted slightly in his seat, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ll stop moving, but with that delicious look of concentration on your face while you paint, a certain part of me may start shifting soon.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “You are incorrigible.”
Kenneth’s grin widened. “And you love it.”
As she began to paint, the room filled with a charged silence, both of them acutely aware of each other. Beatrice’s brushstrokes were steady, but her heart raced with every glance at him. The intimacy of the moment was undeniable.
Kenneth stretched, his muscles rippling as he moved. “I need to get up and stretch,” he said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them.
Beatrice looked up from her easel, nodding. “Go ahead. I’ve got the rough sketch done.”
He rose gracefully, his muscles tensing and relaxing with each movement, and then walked towards her, his predatory strides sending a shiver down her spine. He stopped just in front of her, his eyes dark with intent.
Before she could say anything, his lips captured hers in a searing kiss. The heat between them flared instantly, a spark turning into a blazing inferno. His hands found her waist, pulling her close, and she responded with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his hair.
Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and demanding. Kenneth’s hands roamed over her back, pulling her even closer. Beatrice could feel the heat radiating off his body, his strong arms holding her tight. Her heart raced, each beat echoing the passion that consumed them both.
