Page 34 of The Art of Sinning
“Even if I wanted to be alone with her ladyship, her brother is coming in to chaperone, so it’s impossible.” Until tonight. When he would have her all to himself, displayed provocatively atop his makeshift altar. God help him. “Now stop flapping your jaws and do your job. Sharpen some pencils.”
“Already sharpened them.”
“You’ve restretched the canvases?”
“Aye.” Damber crossed his arms over his chest. “Did them all last night. And what are you wanting with so many of them, anyway?”
Despite what Jeremy had said to Yvette, it wouldn’t be that easy to keep their nighttime trysts secret from Damber. “I told you.” Jeremy strode across the room to examine the mantelpiece so he could decide if he wanted it in the image. “I have some other works going.”
“That keep you up into the wee hours of the morn?” When Jeremy shot him a surprised glance, Damber added, “Aye, I noticed. Came up to make sure you were done with me for the night, and you weren’t in the room.”
Jeremy fought to appear nonchalant. “You know perfectly well that when I can’t sleep, I paint.”
“Aye. But I usually see the results next morn.” Damber glanced around. “So where is it? I don’t see anything.”
“Where it is doesn’t concern you,” Jeremy said sternly. “Whatdoesconcern you is this portrait. And since I may actually get to the painting of it this afternoon, you’d best have my materials ready. Have you set out my palette knife?”
“Done.”
“And my brushes?”
“Done, done, done. Everything’s done!”
Jeremy frowned at him. “So you’ve mixed all the colors I asked for—the Paris green, the bone black, the Naples yellow—”
Damber’s face fell. “You said naught about mixing up Naples yellow.”
“Yes, I did, last night. You were too busy flirting with the chambermaid to give me your full attention.”
Damber thrust out his chest. “Well, you can’t expect me to remember—”
“I can and I do.” Jeremy quelled the impudent scapegrace with a look, then examined the canvas to be sure Damber had got it tight. “It’s part of your position, lad. Best get used to it.”
His shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir.” As the boy turned for the paint pots, he mumbled, “S’pose I won’t be getting breakfast until noon.”
A light and lilting voice came from the doorway. “Why isn’t Mr. Damber getting breakfast?”
Jeremy stiffened. It was her. “Because he hasn’t finished his preparations. When he does, he can eat.” He looked up from what he was doing, and her attire gave him pause.
Today she wore a day dress of moiré with a wide pelerine collar and slimmer sleeves than were currently fashionable. The fabric swished about her, and the touches of lace were interesting visually. But he didn’t like the overall effect.
Was it the ivory hue, the color of unabashed innocence?
No. She’d worn white while he sketched her in the schoolroom, yet she still had looked as erotic as any soiled dove.
Was it the style?
He didn’t think so. Though the neckline was slightly higher and the hem slightly lower than yesterday’s gown, it was no less respectable.
So it must be the combination of the color and the staid cut and the lace. Taken altogether, they turned her into the personification of decency, a vestal virgin.
No doubt she was trying to remind him—and maybe even herself—that despite her curiosity about physical passion, she was still an upright female and not some round-heeled slattern. The problem was, her demure choice simply didn’t work for the portrait. Now how in thunder was he to tell her that without insulting her?
“You’re up early,” he grumbled. “I thought you said you preferred to lie abed late most mornings.”
Avoiding his gaze, she glided into the room. “I... um... couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could the master,” Damber said from where he stood stirring paint. “You’re a daft pair, you are.”
