Page 21 of His Duchess of Scandal
He scrunched up his face in annoyance at being reprimanded in front of his butler, who pointedly looked away when Charles glanced at him.
“Besides, how was I supposed to know you were a gently bred lady? Anton Bentley’s parties host a variety of people. Most are actors.”
“You are not an actor, it seems,” she sneered.
“I was invited as a painter, not a duke,” he told her quietly. “I was invited as—” He stopped himself from confessing he was Christian Dawson, a persona that allowed him to showcase his art without ruining his reputation. “As an anonymous guest. You were told to use a false name, no?”
“I was,” she replied tersely. “Not that we exchanged names, anyway.”
“Lady Phoebe!” a maid scolded.
Charles tore his gaze away from the beautiful stranger before him.
He whirled around to find Phoebe almost hanging over the staircase railing, watching their argument unfold. The maid hurried to her.
“Phoebe!” Charles shouted. “Back to bed,now.”
The lady followed his gaze, and he turned back to her in time to see her eyes widen.
She frowned and then looked at him, betrayal darkening her face. “You are marriedanda father?”
“Widowed,” Charles corrected her quietly.
She started, but her voice was tight when she asked, “And—and when we—that night…”
“In here,” he muttered, nodding towards his study.
There were too many maids peeking around corners, too many footmen finding something conveniently to do near them, too many gossips waiting to spread word of the mysterious beauty confronting their master.
Surprisingly, she followed him.
Hermia tried not to think about how the last time she had followed this man into a room, he had given her a night that haunted her dreams in the most sinful way…
But the sensuality and flirtatious gazes from that night were nowhere to be seen now, not as Ares shut the door behind them.
No, he wasn’t Ares anymore. This was the Duke of Branmere.
She waslivid, and she could not tell if he was being sincere about any of it. She did not know this man, did not know his tells or his personality.
All she knew was that he had the most intense gaze she had ever fallen into.
The Duke of Branmere didn’t go very far before he turned back to her, and again, she found herself staring into those eyes.
Her heart fluttered the same way it had that night.
“You think I am lying,” he guessed angrily.
“I do not know you to think otherwise,” she countered. “All I know is that you have done something incredibly selfish, and I have no reason to believe that you did not orchestrate it. I have been told of your charity auctions. Did you think a nude painting would sell for a great amount of money? The ton certainly would. They’re scandalized, but that only makes it more of a gold mine. Everyone wants what they believe theyshouldn’thave, so they’re willing to pay more for the notoriety that comes with it.”
“It was not a nude painting,” he snapped. “I would not paint you in such a way without your consent.”
“No, but you painted me anyway and showcased it! The scandal sheets dubbed menude.”
“You were not,” he insisted. “I—If you must know, I recalled your gown from that night. It reminded me of muses from Ancient Greece.”
“That was the point,” she muttered, sighing.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.
