Page 38 of Portrait of a Lady
Her mouth fell open as she took in a complete tableau depicting a masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens. She recognized it by the glow of the lanterns hanging from the trees, the serpentine paths winding under the feet of the people dancing and reveling, and the glimpses of the rotunda in one corner and a folly ruin in the other. In the foreground of the mixture of opulence and depravity, a young woman danced in the arms of a handsome man, her white attire and matching mask making her look like a veritable goddess. The pair seemed to leap off the canvas, appearing so real it almost felt as if they were truly present in this room. Even without knowing much about art and what was accepted as ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ she recognized Hugh’s unique talents. He’d created movement in a stationary piece, making her believe that if she stared long and hard enough, she might feel the breeze making the lady’s skirts billow around her legs and strands of her hair blow against the side of her neck.
“Oh...it’s breathtaking.”
He stood beside her observing the painting, hands clasped behind his back. “Thank you. It is nearly finished; just a few more finishing touches. I want to make sure it is absolutely perfect.”
Evelyn could see nothing that could be improved upon but was certain he knew what he was about. “If those stodgy old judges do not accept this into their Exhibition, they are truly mad.”
He chuckled. “I have no way of knowing what exactly they are looking for, as they offer no insight into their process for selecting the paintings. But I have high hopes for this year. Did you notice anything interesting about the lady in the painting, the goddess in the foreground?”
Her gaze fell on the primary focus of the painting, a woman who portrayed both innocence and sensuality, who had the look of both a debutante and a seductress all at once. She had not noticed it until he’d called her attention to it, but Evelyn could not help but pick up on the nuances that echoed her ensemble from the night they had met. The white, Grecian style gown, the dark hair gleaming with the detail of tiny seed pearls, the mask. And it wasn’t only her attire, it was the woman herself, one who upon closer inspection revealed herself to be Evelyn. The tilt of her nose and angle of her chin, her complexion, the shape of her lips...the goddess washer.
“Oh, Hugh,” she whispered with a tiny shake of her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. “You don’t have to say anything. In truth, I’d nearly finished the painting before we met, but that night...you truly inspired me, Evie. It seems you have been ever since.”
A pleasant warmth stole over her at his words, even as the intruding thought came crashing through her mind that there was nothing inspirational at all about her. Even though she was paying him to make her feel like the only woman in the world, there was a sincerity about him—about the things he did and said that made her truly believe he found her beautiful. Seeing that he’d immortalized her on a canvas only made her believe it more.
“You are far more talented than I realized, to have made me look so…”
“So, what?” he urged.
“So...beautiful. So unlike my true self. Though, I suppose the mask and the mystique of the scene do help to make me look like a more intriguing version of myself.”
He went still behind her, his hold on her tightening. “Now, why would you say something like that? I did no more than translate what I see onto the canvas. That woman isyou, Evie, not some idealized, fantasy version of you.”
She stared at the canvas for a long moment without blinking, soaking in what she was seeing and trying to reconcile it with the woman she saw whenever she faced a looking glass.
“She looks like the sort of woman who has men clamoring for her notice,” she murmured. “Not like the kind who grows so tongue-tied around strangers she can hardly make polite conversation.”
He spun her to face him, his face fixed into an expression of pure determination and unwavering certainty. “What nonsense. That woman on the canvas is the real you, the one no one knows, because no one has bothered to see it. ButIsee it…I saw it that night among the ruins the first time we kissed. It was all over your face when I touched you and you came to life in my hands, bursting with light like a star.”
Her lips parted on a sigh as he cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing her chin. Even as her rational mind argued that she knew better, that she knew herself to be as unremarkable as a pebble on the ground, she couldn’t fight the thrill of him looking at her as if he held a precious diamond in his hands.
“I wish I could see myself the way you do,” she whispered, her throat constricting with the raw emotion making her eyes sting with the threat of tears. “But my experiences have made me feel the exact opposite. I’ve always felt as if people looking at me don’t really see me at all, as if they are lookingthroughme like I am made of air.”
He lowered his head until their lips hovered inches apart, until she longed to lean in and fit her mouth to his. She held back, arrested by the intensity of his dark gaze, the unsaid things glimmering in the depths.
“You are not made of air. You are made of sweetness and light, goodness and kindness. You are made of the kinds of things people pretend to be but fall short because it isn’t genuine. I see you, Evie...if you never believe a single thing I say to you, I need you to believe that. I see you.”
Tipping her chin up, he finally kissed her, overwhelming her with the force of it. He kissed her as if desperate to drive home the truth of his words, to make her feel them as well as hear them. She melted in his embrace, clinging tight to him as he devoured her mouth, kissing her the way she’d always dreamed of, the way she’d only ever been able to experience through her writing before he’d come into her life. How could she fight the wealth of emotions exploding from deep within her and exposing themselves to the light of day? With him kissing her as if he’d never tasted anything sweeter, what else could she do but believe that his words were true?
Pulling away, he held her in place with one hand wrapped in her hair and the other at her back. “Let me show you until you believe it. Let me prove it to you.”
Her only response was a soft sigh as he dipped his head to kiss her again, his hold on her unrelenting as he began backing her across the room. She allowed herself to be swept away in the moment, no longer thinking of her own insecurities or the reservations that had held her back from having the things she wanted most in life. She let herself feel every frightening thing he stoked within her, deciding that there was nothing wrong with wanting it, or letting herself enjoy it for however long it would last. She had wanted the physical parts of this, yes. But Evelyn hadn’t realized until just now how much she’d craved the rest of it—the affection, the affirmation, the bliss of feeling cherished.
She surrendered to it all as he untied the sash of the dressing gown, his lips traveling over her chin, her neck, her shoulder. Then, he abruptly turned her until she faced an ornate, full-length mirror resting against one wall near the chaise longue he had led her to. Reaching around to take hold of her chin, he raised it until she was forced to confront the reflection. Avoiding the sight of herself looking like some unknown, wanton creature, she fixated on his image, the sight of him taking hold of the sides of the dressing gown to uncover what she hid beneath. The unadulterated desire she found upon his face as he revealed her nude body made her pulse thrum wildly in her throat, and her heart pound with excitement and anticipation.
Placing a light kiss on her shoulder, he then stared up to meet her gaze in the mirror. “God, look at you. Just look how beautiful you are.”
Evelyn stiffened when his hand fell onto her belly, her skin tingling in the wake of his touch as he trailed it up toward her breast. His other hand cupped between her legs, his fingers slipping into the seam of her mons and finding her clitoris with purpose. She sagged against him, her legs going weak as he nibbled her ear, then the side of her neck, his thumb and forefinger teasing her nipple into a stiff peak as he worked her to fever pitch, driving her back to the brink of unbridled passion and want. She had thought it impossible to ever want him more than she had before their first time, but now found her theory proved wrong. Having him once hadn’t been enough. It had only awakened her to the possibility of more, and just now she felt as if she’d die if he didn’t lay her down on the floor and take her.
Her eyelids grew heavy, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open, arrested by the sight of him behind her, his gaze intent upon their reflection as he touched her. Just like the painting, this image made her feel as if she looked at someone else, some bold and fearless woman with the power to make the man standing behind her desire her to a maddening degree.
“I love the idea of this part of you being a secret,” he whispered, smiling against her neck. “It means no one sees you like this but me. My own little goddess.”
She moaned, her hips bucking against his hand as he slid a finger into her, the heel of his palm pressing against her at the perfect angle. Just now, she didn’t care if all of London saw her this way, so long as he didn’t stop. She was so close, she could taste the heady sweetness of culmination, her mouth watering for it. He latched onto her shoulder, the light scrape of his teeth driving her over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut, going limp in the tight hold of his arm around her waist as he stroked her to the finish, a second finger joining the first and his palm maintaining that perfect pressure against her clitoris as she splintered, her climax tearing through her with swift, pounding waves.
His fingers stilled inside her once her cries had died away into soft whimpers, his lips pressing tender kisses against the spot where his teeth had found her shoulder.
