Page 43 of The Art of Sinning
Thunderation, he was starting to sound like the English. Who cared what she called the ass? Who cared that “Warren” had salivated over her in that red evening gown she’d worn for the portrait?
No one could blame the man. Jeremy had spent the past several days staring at her in that gown and aching for her. Getting hard for her as he never had for any other model. It made their nights together unbearable, especially now that he knew what it was like to kiss her, caress her...
“Since Yvette’s gone, I believe I’ll get some estate work done with my steward.” Blakeborough rose. “The servants will let me know when she returns.”
Only with difficulty did Jeremy not ask when that was likely to be. He’d managed to put Blakeborough’s suspicions about him and Yvette thoroughly to rest in the past week, and he wasn’t about to ruin that by appearing overly concerned with her disappearance.
Still, that didn’t keep him from spending the morning with one eye on the clock. Then doing the same thing all afternoon, while he worked onArt Sacrificed to Commercewithout her. He should be glad of the chance to finish the Commerce figure—which he was modeling after himself using mirrors—but it merely kept her provocative image in front of him, making him wonder what in thunder she was doing over there with Knightford.
When she didn’t return for dinner at six, Jeremy had to bite his tongue half off to keep from saying anything. By the time he and Blakeborough had dined without her and were making serious inroads into an excellent bottle of brandy, he could keep silent no longer.
“Does your sister mean to spend the night over there with her friends?” He knocked back the remainder of his third glass and poured himself a fourth, despite being well on his way to becoming foxed.
“Oh, I doubt it.” Blakeborough swirled the liquor in his own glass. “Knightford will send her and her maid back in his coach before it gets too late. He always does.”
Always? Jeremy frowned. “They see each other quite a bit, do they?”
“When he’s visiting his aunt’s estate, yes. Yvette is like a sister to him.”
Jeremy had heard that one before. “Still, do you think it wise to let her spend time alone with the fellow?” He prided himself on the fact that he sounded unaffected. Unconcerned.
Or maybe not, because the earl eyed him closely. “Knightford has known Yvette since she was a babe. At eleven, he dandled her on his knee. At fifteen, he let her give him her lost teeth for safekeeping. He called her ‘Pest’ up until a year ago.” He chuckled. “She said if he kept calling her that in public, she’d box his ears. He stopped.”
That account of a friendship more familial than flirtatious didn’t soothe Jeremy one bit. “Maybe he stopped because he started thinking of her as a desirable woman ripe for the plucking.”
Blakeborough laughed outright. “I doubt it. Just a month ago, she tried to marry him off to one of her friends. He told Yvette he would wed after he got Clarissa situated with a husband.” The earl snorted. “Wheneverthatmagical day might arrive. The little witch keeps bedeviling him. And me. And any man foolish enough to take her on.”
Jeremy eyed him closely. “Are you still talking about your sister? Or do you mean Clarissa?”
Blakeborough started. “LadyClarissa.” He swallowed some brandy. He looked as if he, too, might be growing foxed. “I mean, I’m talking about both. Peas in a pod, those two. Sure, they seem different at first glance. Clarissa’s a bottle of champagne that explodes when you shake it, and Yvette’s a pot coming to a slow boil. But if you ever see bubbles in either, you’d best take cover. Because trouble is brewing. Those two have a penchant for it.”
Yvette sure did. She’d been coming to a boil for over a week now, getting more witty and effervescent the more annoyed she got with him. Which she’d been ever since the night they kissed.
How stupid he’d been to kiss her. That was why trouble was brewing, and he couldn’t even regret it. Her supple mouth, so warm, so sweet... Oh, God, and those soft, silky thighs that Knightford might even now be—
Damn it. “You’re saying you trust Knightford with her. Even though he’s known for his flirting and his... women.” Falling back against his chair, Jeremy cast the earl a belligerent look.
“So are you.”
“Yes, and you keep me under a watchful eye. But not him.”
The earl shrugged. “I know his character. He and I became good friends while getting Yvette and Clarissa out of scrapes.” He waved his glass distractedly. “Warren might... flatter my sister, but she knows he doesn’t mean it as anything. Plus, he only dallies with loose women, not respectable ones.”
Jeremy scowled. He wasn’t so sure. Any respectable woman who kissed like Yvette had been kissed before, and intimately, too. By Knightford? Or somebody else?
Knightford made the most sense. The man had apparently been allowed to see her whenever he pleased. And girlhood crushes sometimesdidlead to more once the girl became a woman. Could the marquess be the one who’d prompted her to request that Jeremy sneak her into a brothel?
“Why do you care, anyway?” Blakeborough asked.
“Excellent question.”
He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until the earl said, “I know. That’s why I asked.”
Thunderation. Jeremy couldn’t admit the truth. That the idea of her being manipulated by Knightford into risking her reputation ignited something ugly in his chest.
Not jealousy. That’d be foolish. Very, very foolish.
“Because I like your sister.” Avoiding the earl’s gaze, he stared down into his brandy. “Admire her spirit. Hate to see it damaged by a man who didn’t respect it.”
