Page 108 of Her Beast of a Duke
Once, this sight had made him nervous. Now, he looked out at the blur of faces, none of them particularly discernible to him, and he only felt confident.
He knew his place; he had dragged his family’s reputation out of the dregs of London, and he had secured respect once more.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” he began.
Behind him, the starlight piece was veiled, and eyes flicked between him and the covered canvas.
“It is no secret that I am a man who enjoys supporting a good cause, and tonight’s charity auction is about funding an incredible organization. Last year, the women’s school, Hopefield House, suffered terrible water damage. The building is an old, Jacobean manor, and preserving it, as well as the service it provides to vulnerable women, is a cause that is incredibly important to me.
“We do not need sisters, or wives, or mothers to understand how necessary it is to support such an organization. Women have found shelter and protection there. I wish to do my part by doubling the funds it has already received, so it can be fully restored. With proper support, it can continue changing lives, just as it already has.”
Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd, and he noticed some older women nodding in understanding.
He continued, not wanting to lose their interest.
“All proceeds will go to Hopefield House, and I hope to present a large sum of money to them after the sale of my most recently curated starlight piece.” He nodded to the footman waiting to unveil the portrait. “It is a valuable original painting by a very well-known artist whose name you will recognize from my other auctions. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to youThe Slumber of a Watchful Star, painted by Christian Dawson.”
The veil dropped, and Charles smiled broadly, turning to admire the piece behind him. Only, hundreds of gasps filled the room.
Looking around at the faces, he realized that it was not awe that met his newest piece, buthorror. Shock paled faces and slackened jaws.
“Goodness,” somebody whispered, and a fan clattered to the floor.
An awkward laugh sounded near the front.
“Oh dear” Levi muttered and bit his lip when Charles spotted him in the crowd.
Jerking his head to face the painting, Charles’s stomach dropped.
He froze.
It was notThe Slumber of a Watchful Stardisplayed in that silver frame. It was not the sleep deity with her raven-colored tresses speckled by stars.
No, it was his other painting. A most private one that he had never let even Levi see.
His heart sped up as he looked upon it, feeling the blood drain from his face.
Wrapped artfully in silk, so like the gown she’d worn that night, the young, nameless woman he’d met at Anton Bentley’s party was tastefully posed. Seductively draped, she offered a demure smile from the canvas, her pale skin bared in elegant swaths against the dark sheets he’d once lowered her onto.
Heat rushed through him—anger and humiliation and desire all at once.
More scandalized whispers rippled through the crowd, and somebody cried out. The painting was not explicit, and he had painted the mysterious, stunning woman from memory, for she had not posed at all.
Not in this way, only beneath him, in the throes of pleasure.
Yet Levi had been right; brandy loosened his tongue at times, and his hand, and he’d worked endlessly to capture her beauty.
But that painting was not for the eyes of the ton, nor had it ever been meant to be sold or seen outside of his studio.
Yet there was his signature. Not Christian Dawson, for that was reserved for the paintings he showcased to the public, but his own name, clear as day.
Swirling gold cursive announced that Charles Thorne, the Duke of Branmere, had painted such an astounding piece.
Charles cursed under his breath.
Chapter Two
“You do not understand! All you ever do is chide me, just like Mama does.”
