Page 41 of Portrait of a Lady
Chapter 9
“The best matches of any Season are often the most unexpected …”
The London Gossip,2 April 1819
“Iwould say it is nothing to worry yourself over,” Hugh said, peering at Evelyn from around his canvas.
He studied her for a moment before dipping his brush back into the pigment he had mixed to match the hue of her skin tone, then going back to his work. Evelyn sat perched on a pedestal in the center of his studio wearing nothing more than a white gossamer scrap of material held over her shoulder by thin straps. A long swath of vibrant blue silk had been draped to hang from her elbows like a shawl, the tail end of it falling to the floor in an artful cascade arranged by Hugh. Her hair had been pinned atop her head in a strategic tousle, several loose strands left to hang about her face and neck.
He had asked her to pose for a portrait, something to occupy their afternoons now that he had completedVirtue and Vice. While she’d been flattered that he wanted to devote an entire painting to her, she’d been unable to help wondering what he found so special in her. As a woman who had never attracted attention of any kind to herself, Hugh’s insistence that she had become a muse of sorts for him baffled her.
Still, she hadn’t had the heart to resist when he had told her his vision for the portrait—a piece that would obscure her face enough that anyone looking upon it wouldn’t recognize her unless they knew her as well as he did. And, truly, she would have agreed to anything that would put her in his company for any length of time outside the bedroom. She was a pitiful thing, desperate for any part of him that he was willing to share beyond his contractual obligation, wanting to spend every spare moment in his company.
“I am not used to being the subject of gossip,” she replied, doing her best to remain as still as possible. “I am not sure whether to be flattered or insulted that my status as elderly spinster has made the pages ofThe London Gossip.”
She could see his furrowed brow over the top of the canvas, his eyes focused with intense concentration. “Choose flattery. Only the most important of society can warrant a mention in that God-awful column.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, I was only mentioned due to my proximity to you—a fact my mother and sister couldn’t resist latching onto. Don’t you worry that we are attracting too much attention, that someone might discover what we’re about?”
“Of course not,” he muttered. “Every week, the gossips go into a lather over the latest pairings on the dance floor, which man has danced with any given debutante more than once in a night, and who has been walking in Hyde Park together. We are hardly the only ones...and really, the fact that we are assumed to be courting can work to our advantage. People won’t see or believe the truth because, firstly, the idea of a man being a courtesan is unheard of. Secondly, most people are unable to see the truth even when it’s right in front of them. As I said, it is nothing to worry over. Evie darling, turn your head a bit to the right and...yes, just like that.”
She obeyed, even though her pose kept her from being able to look at him. “You’re right, of course. It is only my mother and my sister who have chosen to read far too much into the situation. They interrogated me at length over the nature of our association. I told them we were only friends.”
Friends who make love,she thought with a knot of grief welling in her chest.Friends who will part ways soon, leaving one of us a heartbroken mess.
“Hmm,” he mumbled, setting aside his brush and reaching for one with a narrow set of bristles. “That isn’t entirely untrue, you know. I think of you as my friend.”
That brought a smile to her face, even though she was supposed to maintain an expression of placid serenity for the purposes of the portrait. “Really?”
“Of course. I like to think we would have gotten along had we met under other circumstances. Our arrangement has nothing to do with the fact that I genuinely like you.”
Did you like your other keepers, too? Or did you merely tolerate them because you were being paid to?
The questions sat on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back. He’d convinced her that he saw her as special somehow, and even if it weren’t true, she wanted to pretend it was. She wanted to believe that their connection ran deeper than that of a courtesan and the woman bedding him. Earning the answers to those queries could too easily shatter the delusion.
“I think of you as my friend as well,” she declared, wiping the smile off her face and resuming the proper expression. “After all, you are one of the only people in the world who knows of my writing. I don’t go telling just anyone about it.”
He chuckled. “Does that mean you’re going to let me readThe Mad Baronnow?”
It was instinctual to rebel at the idea, but once that feeling passed, she was gripped with the urge to know his opinion of her work. While she appreciated Patience’s compliments and eagerness to read her latest book, she’d always wondered if anyone else would find it worthwhile. She trusted Hugh, and supposed it could not hurt to allow him to read it.
“You know, I think I will,” she replied. “I will bring it with me the next time I visit. You must be certain to tell me what you truly think of it. Do not try to spare my feelings.”
She glanced over at him just as he peeked out from behind the canvas, giving her a warm smile. “Evie, I have complete faith in you. I don’t have to read it to know I’m already going to love it, becauseyouwrote it.”
Again, she fought a smile, her face warming as his compliment suffused through her entire being. She’d insisted she did not care for compliments when they’d first met, but Hugh was changing that with every honeyed word that fell from his lips.
“I do believe we are finished for the day,” he said a moment later. “It’s been well over an hour, and I’ve made quite a bit of progress.”
“Oh, thank God,” she quipped, hopping carefully off her pedestal. “My arse was beginning to grow numb.”
“I do believe I could be of assistance in that regard,” he replied, pulling his smock off over his head and letting it drop to the floor.
Then, he advanced on her with amusement in his eyes, reaching out to pull her into his arms. Her blue silk fell to the floor at her feet, the strap of her gown slipping off one shoulder. She issued a surprised laugh when he palmed her buttocks, squeezing and kneading them and pulling her tighter against his body.
“How’s that?” he murmured against her temple, kissing a path toward her ear.
“Hmm,” she teased. “I am not certain; perhaps you ought to continue until I am sure.”
