Page 30 of The Art of Sinning
“You have no idea,” he muttered. “In any case, the ball is at the end of next week. You and your brother should receive the invitation tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear.”
He shot her a sharp glance over the top of the canvas. “What?”
“Edwin hates masquerades.”
“Your brother appears to hate everything.”
She bit back a smile. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? But honestly, he can be very winning when I can coax him out of himself. He broods too much.”
“I noticed.”
“Don’t worry—I’ll talk him round to it. He knows that I enjoy masquerade balls, and I can point out that it would be rude of you not to attend your own cousin’s affair.”
Mr. Keane stared hard at her. “Do you do that often? ‘Talk him round’ to things?”
“Someone has to. Otherwise he’d spend his entire life alone in a room with his automatons. He doesn’t like people much.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too.” Mr. Keane returned to sketching.
“Anyway, do you mean for us just to slip out of the ball together?”
“Yes. We’ll be in costume, so as long as no one knows what we’ve come as, we’ll be safe.”
“Does Lady Zoe live near Covent Garden?”
“No, we’ll have to take a hackney.” He made a large sweeping motion with the charcoal over the sketch pad. “Mrs. Beard’s establishment is on the near end of Covent Garden, so that’s where we’ll start.”
“Good Lord, you certainly know your nunneries,” she said acidly.
“If you’ll recall, thatiswhy you wanted me to help you.” His eyes had gone a steely blue as he sketched.
“True.” And his knowledge shouldn’t irritate her so much, but the more she got to know him, the more it did. Perish the man.
A lock of his golden hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back, heedless of the black streak he left on his forehead. “When are you going to tell me exactly whom you’re looking for in the nunneries?”
That put her on edge. “Soon.” When he cast her a dark look, she added, “First, I need to be sure I can trust you.”
“You mean, because I’m the sort of man who spends my time in brothels,” he said in an oddly irritable tone. As if somehow he chafed at being characterized in such a way.
“Well, you do, don’t you?”
His lips thinned into a line. “Yes, I do. Quite a bit, as a matter of fact.” Now there was a certain defiance in his tone.
It roused her curiosity. She’d begun to wonder about his reputation as a whoremonger. Sometimes it didn’t seem to fit him. Wouldn’t a notorious seducer have at least tried to kiss her by now? Especially after the way he stared at her occasionally.
Of course, she might just be reading into that what she wanted to see. That he desired her. That he thought her worth seducing. Perhaps he didn’t.
That was a lowering thought. How could she have any luck gaining a decent husband if the only men she ever attracted were fortune hunters and scoundrels? If she couldn’t even tempt a rakehell while wearing a flimsy piece of linen and reclining atop a table?
Not that she wanted to tempt him. No, indeed. Though it might be nice—just once—to find out what it was like to be kissed with genuine passion. To be the object of a man’s desire, not just his greed. Since Mr. Keane had no need of her fortune or rank, he might actually desire her for herself. Or her body, anyway. At this point, she wouldn’t mind that so much.
She stiffened. Good Lord, this seductive pose was making her think the unthinkable. Which was probably his plan in the first place—to move slowly and subtly to seduce her. Although he was movingreallyslowly.
Once more, her curiosity about him and his habits was roused. “I’ve never understood why some men prefer frequenting bawdy houses to spending time with their wives.”
He snorted. “You don’t seriously expect me to enlighten you on that.”
