Page 9 of His Duchess of Scandal
“Then be prepared to never have a clean child, for they will always roll in the mud, or push you in the mud, or just—anythingto do with mud. I do not see the fascination.”
Levi laughed at that. “Seriously, though, Charles, you do need to live for yourself. Phoebe needs her father, and the estate needsits master, and you have already restored your family’s name. But what ofyourneeds? They were rather sated at that show.”
“Stop speaking about that night,” Charles gritted out, quickly looking around them.
“You disappeared for at least an hour,” Levi continued.
“Levi,” Charles warned, gathering his patience. “I do not want it known that I ever attended something so improper. If it gets out…”
“I know, I know,” Levi muttered. “A toast to all repressed dukes of the ton.” He feigned raising a glass in the air.
Charles rolled his eyes. “Make yourself useful, Trewford, and fetch me champagne. It’s almost time to begin, and I will make arealtoast.”
Everything was set up and ready for him. From the side of the room, a footman nodded, indicating he was ready to begin.
A hush fell over the crowd as the music died down, and Charles strode to the front of the ballroom, where a small platform had been raised for him. He stood before the gathered guests.
Once, this sight had made him nervous. Now, he looked out at the blur of faces, none of them particularly discernible to him, and he only felt confident.
He knew his place; he had dragged his family’s reputation out of the dregs of London, and he had secured respect once more.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” he began.
Behind him, the starlight piece was veiled, and eyes flicked between him and the covered canvas.
“It is no secret that I am a man who enjoys supporting a good cause, and tonight’s charity auction is about funding an incredible organization. Last year, the women’s school, Hopefield House, suffered terrible water damage. The building is an old, Jacobean manor, and preserving it, as well as the service it provides to vulnerable women, is a cause that is incredibly important to me.
“We do not need sisters, or wives, or mothers to understand how necessary it is to support such an organization. Women have found shelter and protection there. I wish to do my part by doubling the funds it has already received, so it can be fully restored. With proper support, it can continue changing lives, just as it already has.”
Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd, and he noticed some older women nodding in understanding.
He continued, not wanting to lose their interest.
“All proceeds will go to Hopefield House, and I hope to present a large sum of money to them after the sale of my most recentlycurated starlight piece.” He nodded to the footman waiting to unveil the portrait. “It is a valuable original painting by a very well-known artist whose name you will recognize from my other auctions. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to youThe Slumber of a Watchful Star, painted by Christian Dawson.”
The veil dropped, and Charles smiled broadly, turning to admire the piece behind him. Only, hundreds of gasps filled the room.
Looking around at the faces, he realized that it was not awe that met his newest piece, buthorror. Shock paled faces and slackened jaws.
“Goodness,” somebody whispered, and a fan clattered to the floor.
An awkward laugh sounded near the front.
“Oh dear” Levi muttered and bit his lip when Charles spotted him in the crowd.
Jerking his head to face the painting, Charles’s stomach dropped.
He froze.
It was notThe Slumber of a Watchful Stardisplayed in that silver frame. It was not the sleep deity with her raven-colored tresses speckled by stars.
No, it was his other painting. A most private one that he had never let even Levi see.
His heart sped up as he looked upon it, feeling the blood drain from his face.
Wrapped artfully in silk, so like the gown she’d worn that night, the young, nameless woman he’d met at Anton Bentley’s party was tastefully posed. Seductively draped, she offered a demure smile from the canvas, her pale skin bared in elegant swaths against the dark sheets he’d once lowered her onto.
Heat rushed through him—anger and humiliation and desire all at once.
