Page 18 of The Art of Sinning
Jeremy rolled his eyes. The lad already made twice what Jeremy’s American apprentices had made. God, he was cocky. Which probably wasn’t surprising, given the boy’s rough upbringing. But despite the differences in their backgrounds, Damber reminded Jeremy of himself at that age—sure of his talent, passionate about painting, and thirsty for knowledge.
Which might not be a good thing, actually. If Jeremy had been a littlelessthirsty, his life might have been different. He wouldn’t have pursued Hannah as a painting instructor. He wouldn’t have tumbled into bed with her and ended up married too young.
He wouldn’t have—
Thunderation, why was he brooding over that after all these years? Hannah and Theodore were dead, along with the man responsible. Time for him to move on. To stop dwelling on the past. To look toward the future.
His masterpiece.
As if Lady Yvette had somehow read his mind, she appeared on the steps of Stoke Towers, accompanied by a footman, and his blood quickened. Yes, his masterpiece, and his lady muse herself.
After nearly a week apart, he’d expected not to be so taken by her, but if anything, she was even more stunning in her ordinary gown of russet and gold stripes. And as before, her porcelain cheeks were faintly tinged with peach and the sun teased out the hint of red in her brown hair.
He should use burnt umber for that shade of chestnut. Perhaps with a little cream to capture the highlights and some black for the shadows. ForArt Sacrificed to Commerceshe’d have to wear her hair down, cascading over the edges of the marble slab.
Marble slab? Would Stoke Towers even have something that would prove adequate as an altar?
“Is that who you’re painting?” Damber said breathlessly. “She don’t look like some delicate gentry mort; she’s a Long Meg, to be sure.”
“Watch the vulgar language, Damber,” Jeremy said mechanically. “She’s not a Long Meg or—”
“But she is. She’s almost as tall as me.”
“That’s not the point! You shouldn’t call her that. Or ‘gentry mort,’ for that matter. She’s a very fine lady, whom I intend to immortalize.”
“What’s ‘immortalize’?” Damber asked.
“Look it up in that dictionary I gave you.”
“And you complain aboutmylanguage,” Damber grumbled. The boy hated looking things up. “You’ve got your own cant with all your fancy words. I’ll wager ‘immortalize’ means something nasty like ‘take a lady to bed.’ It’s got ‘mort’ in it, so it’s got to be about ladies.”
Jeremy stifled his laugh, not wanting to encourage the lad. “You’ll have to find out for yourself in the dictionary.” Frankly, it was a miracle the boy could even read, but someone somewhere had taught the young giant.
Damber shot him a sly look. “Wouldn’t blame you, sir, if you wanted to take that one to bed. She’s got a bosom on her that would float a ship. Though I bet she’s as stiff-rumped as—”
“That’s enough. A gentleman doesn’t talk about ladies that way.”
God, he couldn’t believe he’d said that. Trying to educate his apprentice was turning him into a stuffed shirt.
Though the lad wasn’t far off. Lady Yvette was indeed a bit stiff-rumped. And she did have an impressive bosom. Jeremy couldn’t wait to see how it looked in that Grecian costume he’d acquired.
The image that rose in his head made his blood run hot. Andthatmade him curse under his breath. He wasn’t here to seduce her, as appealing as that might seem.
Annoyed with himself, he jerked the horses to a halt in front. But before he and Damber had even finished disembarking, Lady Yvette was marching down the steps.
“I expected you here earlier,” she said coolly as the footman left her side to unload the curricle.
Damber nudged him, as if to say,See? Stiff-rumped and proud.
Jeremy ignored him. “Impatient to begin, are you? I do like enthusiasm in my women.”
A telling blush rose up her beautiful neck to her cheeks. “I’m not one of your ‘women.’ And it wasn’t enthusiasm. I just... We thought you’d be here sooner, that’s all.”
“Your brother said anytime after two. He didn’t specify an hour.”
“No, but I assumed... Oh, never mind.” She faced Damber, who was giving her the once-over with an insolence she apparently chose to overlook. “You must be Mr. Keane’s apprentice.”
He gave a curt bow. “The name’s Damber, my lady.”
