Page 43 of Portrait of a Lady
Hugh remained silent, though a smirk had curved his lips, the smug expression seeming to only agitate Marcus further. The elder Radcliffe ground his teeth in silence for a long moment, his gaze darting from her to Hugh and back again.
At last, he cleared his throat, stuffing the scandal sheet back into his coat pocket. “I can see that my words will go unheeded. Very well, then. Do try to remember my advice, Miss Coburn, when things between you and my brother come to an unsatisfactory end.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the studio, slamming the door behind him so hard it shook the walls. Evelyn deflated with a heavy sigh, her body which had been wound taut now going limp. Her head spun as she looked to Hugh, who studied her with the light of admiration in his eyes.
“My God,” she whispered. “I cannot believe I spoke to him that way.”
Hugh came to her with a few swift strides, taking up where they’d left off and pulling her into his arms. “You were magnificent! I do not think I’ve ever heard you speak so forcefully.”
Clinging to him, she shook her head slowly, still grappling with what had just happened in her mind. “I’ve never...I just...I was soangryat him for daring to come into your home and speak to you that way that I...I’m afraid my mouth ran away with me.”
He grinned. “It did, but you didn’t flinch or stammer, not one time. It was quite amusing, but I must say it was also the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Evelyn raised her eyebrows, both shocked and soothed by his reaction to her outburst. He was pleased, which went a long way toward putting her at ease.
“It was?”
He kissed her throat, then her chin, and finally her mouth. “Oh yes. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted you more than I do right now.”
She smiled, tangling her fingers in his hair. “We wouldn’t want your arousal to go to waste. Shall we go to bed now?”
He arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the patch of carpet at their feet. “I thought we had decided on the floor for today.”
Pulling from the circle of his arms, she untied the sash of the dressing gown and allowed it to fall from her body, leaving her nearly naked before him in the transparent bit of gauze.
“So we did, Mr. Radcliffe.”
His dark eyes smoldered as he looked her over from head to toe, able to see every bare inch of her through the fabric. The hunger in his gaze stoked an answering need in her, the confrontation with Marcus forgotten for the moment. Going down to her knees on the floor, she braced herself on her hands and stared up at him with a wicked smile.
“I saw this one in a book. It looked rather primitive, but—”
Hugh was on her in an instant, snatching open his trousers and yanking up her gown before propelling her back into him and spearing her on his waiting cock. Evelyn released a startled cry, which melted into a sigh of pleasure as he took up a slow, deep rhythm within her. Closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as the pleasure overtook her, Evelyn forgot about everything except Hugh.
The next fortnightpassed Hugh by in a blur of blissful happiness with Evelyn. He was hardly ever without her company, rushing straight home after his sessions at the Royal Academy to prepare to work on her portrait. She arrived every afternoon at four o’clock to sit for him, proving to be the consummate subject. He was speeding through her painting in a way he never had any other, finding that she inspired him to do some of his best work. He became a wizard of sorts, somehow able to perfect his pigments and execute every flawless curve and line of her face and form without second-guessing his every decision. He felt the sort of excitement he had as a young student watching his first pieces come together, wanting to work on it his every waking hour. He did what he could without her sitting before him, perfecting the fall and drape of the blue silk and filling in the background. It had seemed fitting to put her in the midst of scenery akin to the ruins they’d first kissed in at Vauxhall Gardens with the light of the moon shining down on her.
When he wasn’t painting her, he basked in the joy it brought him to simply be near her. They took walks and visited Gunter’s to try new flavors of ice. He taught her to sketch while sitting on park benches, laughing over her abominable execution of trees and foliage. She insisted that her drawings were horrible, but he kept every single one, gathering them into a pile shoved into the back of his sketchbook. He found himself looking at them from time to time and smiling as he recalled the way her tongue rested at the corner of her mouth when she was concentrating, or the way she squinted and turned her head to try to get her angles right.
Of course, when they weren’t doing those things, they were in bed. Gone was the taciturn woman he’d first seduced and in her place stood one who had grown comfortable with him, but more importantly with herself. He saw the difference in her carriage and the way she walked, the confidence that she’d gained over the course of their time together. It had been a part of her nature from the beginning, but it seemed that being made to feel cherished had worked wonders for her.
It was working wonders for him as well; he was not ashamed to admit to himself. He no longer lamented that his work was not good enough, or that he’d estranged himself from his family for a profession he might never excel in. She believed in him so strongly that he could not help but believe in himself, his confidence in the piece he’d created for the Exhibition unwavering. He’d even stopped making alterations to it, varnishing the canvas, and setting it aside. He would gaze at it from time to time and find that he was more than satisfied with how it had turned out, surer than ever that this year would be the one to propel him to the sort of fame he’d always aspired to. This time next year, he would be overrun with clients, his studio no longer the haven of a starving artist, but one of a flourishing portraitist.
As always, that thought brought him circling right back to Evelyn and the inevitability that their time together would end once he’d gotten the one thing he’d always wanted. It was something he’d avoided thinking about previously, but as the time drew near for him to submit his painting to the Academy, it became something he could no longer avoid. In a matter of weeks, things between him and Evelyn would be over for good. Where the thought had brought him a sense of peace and contentment before, now it only made a heavy stone of panic lodge itself in his throat. He could not have both. He could not paint portraits with the lords of thetonwhile bedding their daughters and wives, nor could he afford the blow to his reputation if word of his indiscretions became public knowledge. Which meant his association with anything having to do with the Gentleman Courtesans, and Evelyn, must be left behind.
As he opened the door to his studio to admit Mr. Crosby, Hugh told himself that his feelings were no more than an infatuation that would fade once she was no longer a part of his life. As his mentor had instructed him, he’d enjoyed the influence she’d had on his work, while also relishing the pleasures of being her lover as required by his contract. But she’d never been meant to be part of his life in a long-term arrangement. She was simply his favorite of all the keepers he’d had over the years, and he would always remember her fondly for it.
While he pulled the drape from over the easel holding the completedVirtue and Vice,he reminded himself thatthiswas forever. Art was his passion, his one true love. It was the one thing in his life that had always been constant.
He stood back in silence while Crosby studied the painting, his heart pounding as he waited for a verdict. Submissions for the Exhibition were due next week, and while he was welcome to turn his completed work in early, Hugh hadn’t wanted to do so without a final opinion from Crosby.
“I must say, Hugh, I’m quite stunned by the difference in this piece since I last saw it,” Crosby remarked, taking a step back to better observe the full tableau. “Where before I felt as if I viewed this scene through the eyes of one removed, I now feel as if I am a part of it...as if I know these people and recognize myself in them. You did a splendid job with the lanterns. What pigments did you use to achieve that look, as if they are glowing?”
Hugh smiled. “I used a blend of orpiment and gamboge, then after it had dried I glazed over it with yellow lake. I was pleased with the effect.”
Rubbing his chin, Crosby nodded his approval. “I can find no fault with it. The color composition, the movement, and most importantly, the perspective.”
He pointed to the center of the canvas, to the masked goddess in the arms of her beau. “This woman...you changed her into someone else entirely.”
His mind filled with memories of Evelyn at Vauxhall, the lanterns glowing off her white gown and mask, the seed pearls making her hair look as if it had been alight with a thousand stars.
