Page 6 of The Wayward Duke
“That was years ago.” Julian waved a dismissive hand. “No one even remembers.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re brooding again. Time for a much-needed distraction.” Julian retrieved the abandoned wine and took a bracing drink from the bottle. “God knows I’ll need the courage for what comes next.”
Caroline shot him a puzzled look. “What now?”
“I intend to offer myself up as artistic sacrifice.” His lip lifted in a small smile. “You’ve spent months attempting portraits of Grace. It’s time you switched to another subject. One more accustomed to critique.”
Caroline made a derisive noise. “You’ll probably end up resembling a tree stump with warts.”
“A harsh blow to my vanity, softened by the wine.” He settled back on his elbows, every line of his body speaking of lazy elegance. “Unless you’d rather admit defeat?”
“Of course not.” She flipped to a fresh page with renewed determination. “Fine, let’s see if I can’t make you moderately less hideous than my other efforts. But you may want to brace yourself.”
“Do your worst, Miss Winslow.”
Caroline focused on her sketchpad. She carefully outlined the angle of his jaw, the sharp slant of his cheekbones. As she worked, Julian’s aquiline profile took shape on the page, patrician features emerging from shadow and light.
Few men could boast bone structure as exquisitely wrought as the young Duke of Hastings. Here, at last, was a subject who rewarded her – the clean lines and symmetry of his face, a pleasing interplay of light and dark. Julian’s aristocratic features lent him a commanding air beyond his twenty-one years. She softened the sensual curve of his lower lip with delicate strokes of her charcoal.
After a few more minutes, she angled the sketchpad to let him view her progress. “Well? Do you need to fortify yourself?”
Julian studied the sketch. “Not hideous at all. I’m impressed.”
“I suspect you’re half drunk. At this point, a tree stump would merit praise.”
“I know good art when I see it, whatever my state of inebriation,” he countered. “Comes with my own pitiful inability to create it.”
“You make wonderful music. I can hardly play a note.”
Julian gave a careless shrug. “I play the piano proficiently. You make something meaningful. Compelling, even at your worst.”
Warmth blossomed in her chest. “You’re an exemplary subject. Your bone structure is exquisite.” Realising how intimate that sounded, she hastily clarified, “From an artistic standpoint.”
A wry smile crossed Julian’s face. “My most valued quality, to be sure. Would you like to try another drawing?”
“Yes.” She studied the portrait. “My struggles are largely with light and shading. Capturing the way shadows interact with the human form. They say nude studies are most helpful for learning those techniques. Unfortunately, they aren’t available to aspiring female artists.”
“Then use me.”
Caroline’s gaze snapped to his. “You would be willing?”
He gave an elegant shrug, setting the bottle of wine aside. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, slipping them free one by one. “Just keep that sketchbook private and never breathe a word of this to Gracie.”
Friends. Just friends.
Never anything more.
Helplessly, Caroline watched as he peeled the fine linen from his shoulders, revealing smooth skin and lean musculature. He removed his boots and stripped away his stockings before rising to stand barefoot on the grass.
“Trousers off or on?”
Heat scalded Caroline’s cheeks. “Off,” she said before she could stop herself.
Those sharp eyes stayed locked on hers as his hands moved to the fastenings of his trousers. Inch by inch, he revealed himself – lean hips, muscular thighs, until he stood before her nude and utterly unabashed.
Swallowing hard, Caroline forced her attention up from the enticing trail of hair below his navel, the jut of his cock.
