Page 11 of Wicked With You
Miss Sutton shifted on her feet, clearly restless. “Is she that important to you? Surely there are other…ladies who might fall at your feet in the hopes of being your…mistress.”
“I like to win,” he said drolly. “A duke and two marquesses have tossed their hats into the ring. Even my good friend, George, the Earl of Carlisle, is trying to best me.”
“This courtesan will choose the best man to be her new protector?”
“Yes,” he said with relish and a deliberately provocative smile. “And I am to be that man.”
“You suppose you will win after she sees a mere portrait of your…nakedness?”
“Mere?” Simon said with mock affront. “You underestimate the power of a good size…er…charm already coupled with a reputation of a giving er…friend.”
Her lashes veiled her expression, but she blushed prettily. “I fear I will not be able to paint your…er…charms, Lord Hardwick.”
Ah, so the lady was not so ignorant to what he alluded. “Three thousand pounds.”
She gasped. “You are outrageous!”
“Of course I am, and very wealthy too; shall we continue bargaining?”
She laughed and shook her head, but he could see that she was exceedingly tempted.
“You know you want to say yes,” Simon coaxed.
Color swept along her cheeks once again. “I do not want to do anything of the sort, my lord.”
Her teeth sank into a lush bottom lip, and her slim, elegant fingers gripped the basket in her hand. A basket he then noted held several paintbrushes, charcoals, and oils.
Simon shifted closer, persuasively drawling, “This will also be between us. Upon my honor, I would never reveal that you are Henry Atwood.Never. We can draft up that contract you planned to ask for.”
“I was being…silly. I know there is no reasonable way to enforce it.”
“I vow upon my honor you would have no reason to worry about being alone with me or painting me…in the nude.”
She glared at him, and once more, he tried his most charming smile. Something hot tumbled through him when Miss Sutton’s breath audibly hitched. She sashayed across the room, and every one of his muscles tensed in awareness of the innate sensuality with which she moved. Simon frowned, pushing aside the awareness.
“You are certainly committed to securing your…paramour,” she said acidly.
“I have always been single-minded, relentless, and ruthless in anything I pursue. A blessing and a curse according to many.”
Her chest lifted on a ragged breath as if she released an internal struggle. “I will paint you, Lord Hardwick.”
Triumph and a rare prick of wariness lanced him. To be enclosed with her for any number of hours felt dangerous. Still, he was a man who knew how to restrain his baser needs, so he brushed aside that small misgiving. “Good, now—”
She cast him a sideway glance. “However, I do have conditions.”
Bloody hell. “Very well. I shall hear them.”
“You will keep your breeches on.”
It was his turn to scowl. “Miss Sutton—”
“I will allow your…chest to be bared and your arms, but I must insist the breeches stay on, my lord, or you shall have to find yourself another painter even if you offer ten thousand pounds.”
Simon considered that determined chin and the hope in her eyes. “Very well, ten thousand pounds and the breeches stay off.”
“You wretched, outrageous, insufferable—” Her words seemed to close on her outrage, and then she inexplicably delighted him by laughing.
Miss Sutton’s shoulders shook with her mirth, and she pressed a gloved hand over her mouth.
