Page 21 of Her Rogue to Ruin
“Have you ever been to Whitby?”
Portia sat stirring her jasmine tea with a delicate little porcelain spoon, and it took her a moment to realize Fiona was speaking to her.
“Pardon?” she said, feeling a bit like a fool.
“Whitby. I wondered if you’d ever visited.”
“No, but I’ve been to Lyme Regis. And to Brighton, of course. I’ll have no problem coming up with some seascapes for you.” The two of them were gathered in Fiona’s conservatory to take tea and decide upon the commission Fiona had mentioned the previous night.
Portia had been surprised to receive Fiona’s note asking to discuss the matter so soon, but Fiona had an unexpected opening in her busy social calendar. Portia was glad for the distraction.
Louisa had been taken on a shopping expedition and could not sit today, so Portia had feared she’d be left to ponder the upcoming evening. And the more she thought about what she’d agreed to—that this very night Phineas Pemberton would stand bare before her—she wondered if she’d made a dreadful mistake.
It was Berwick who’d settled the matter in her mind. The blasted man’s judgement had provoked every ounce of rebelliousness and determination in her nature. She was no longer under the thumb of Winston Hastings, and she didn’t require the approval of men like Berwick either.
She’d made a name for herself, built up her business on her own merit, and she was going to succeed. She had to. She was on her own, and she’d learned that she could be daring. Capable and independent, as Lord Pemberton had called her.
And then the viscount who couldn’t enter a room without her cataloging the shades of his hair had come out onto the balcony. Mercy, he’d looked tempting lit by the silver glow of moonlight. She’d wanted to be bold in that moment, and she refused to let fear hold her back.
And, yes, she could admit to herself now in the clear light of morning that she looked forward to painting him. Had imagined doing so from the moment she’d met him. And the fact that it was to be secret? A series of clandestine meetings with the most gorgeous nobleman in London? Yes, that enticed her too.
Even if all of it was for Mrs. Grove.
Regardless, the hours she spent with him would always be Portia’s.
“Goodness, you’re somewhere far away again,” Fiona said with a smile before taking a nibble of a dainty tea sandwich. “Do you wish to tell me where?”
Portia sipped her tea, savoring the sweet scent and flavor while her mind rushed through the dangers of confiding in Fiona. Discretion dictated that she say nothing. Yet, she sorely craved her friend’s advice.
“I’ve accepted a commission,” she said hesitantly. “And I’m wondering if I did so too impulsively.”
“Why impulsive? I think that’s wonderful, my dear. I mention you to everyone I meet. I can’t wait to see your work in every single drawing room in London.”
“This one won’t be in any drawing rooms.” Portia shot her friend a pointed look.
Fiona’s eyes widened and then she smiled as if she’d just stumbled on the juiciest secret in London. “Is it to be a scandalous piece of art?”
“Sensual in nature, yes. And it certainly could cause a scandal for me if others discovered that I completed the painting.”
Fiona reached out and laid a hand on Portia’s. “I will be the soul of discretion. Do not worry.”
“Not even Dash?”
“I swear it to you.” Fiona squeezed Portia’s hand to emphasize her promise. “He understands that there are things I won’t tell him.”
Portia knew how close Fiona was to her husband. Theirs was nothing like her relationship with Winston. They were true friends and each other’s confidantes. Though she also knew Fiona had heard many personal stories from the ladies in their widows’ club, and she’d vowed to reveal none of it, not even to the earl.
Portia and the others believed her. It was the only reason Portia felt safe revealing even the barest information about her commission from Lord Pemberton.
“I honestly think it’s rather clever of you,” Fiona confessed after settling back against the cushions of the bench she sat on. “Art of an erotic nature has its place too. And lady artists should feel as free to paint such subjects as men.”
Portia’s cheeks warmed at the thought of Lord Pemberton in any sort of erotic pose. She hadn’t given much thought to his pose at all. The prospect of seeing every inch of his muscled body was mind-boggling enough, but now her mind whirred through the possibilities, and it made her feel warm from her head to her toes.
“While we’re diverted from seascapes, may I ask you another question?”
“Of course. Please do,” Portia told her friend, relieved to be drawn away from the distracting allure of the man she was to meet in a handful of hours.
“What is there between you and Lord Pemberton?”
