Page 12 of Wicked With You
“Please do not,” Simon murmured.
Her eyes widened and a muffled sound came from behind her glove.
“Do not hide your laugh,” he supplied to that silent query.
To his surprised pleasure, she lowered her hand and chuckled, the sound low and throaty, yet exquisitely sweet.
She stared at him for a long moment, her lips slightly parted. “You are an interesting gentleman, my lord; I also realized you were funning me just now.”
“That I was, Miss Sutton. Three thousand pound is our agreed sum, and I am confident a half-naked portrait would have the same impact. You have a deal, Miss Sutton.”
* * *
“A deal,”Henrietta whispered, her heart pounding with trepidation and thrill.
As if he sensed the complex feelings pouring through her body, the earl’s eyes turned more smoky gray than blue. “How do we seal our new relationship…with a handshake, a kiss?”
He smiled, and it was such a beautiful look on him something hot and uncomfortable writhed inside her chest. “There will be no flirting, my lord.”
“Is this another condition?”
“Yes,” she said primly.
“Done.”
“Thank you.” She felt a bit silly as she stood there, staring at him.
“Do we still start today?”
Henrietta delicately cleared her throat. “Yes, of course. However I might need a two to three sittings to get a full sense of what I need from you, my lord.”
“Just let me know when you need me, and I shall be here.”
“Thank you.” She took off her bonnet and placed it neatly on an empty shelf. Then she turned to the earl. “Would you please make yourself comfortable on the bed, my lord. I will consider some classical drapery to make the picture more acceptable. Do you want to be portrayed as Mars in Venus’s bed, Achilles, Samson, or perhaps some other classical hero?”
He shucked off the shirt and tentatively sprawled his body upon the small bed that filled the cottage’s alcove. Really, the cottage consisted of only one medium-sized room. One side of which held a sitting area, fireplace, and range. And the other side the bed, the sofa, a small table with two spindly legged chairs, and a bookcase. Sometimes Henrietta slept in the bed when she wanted to catch the dawn light for a special effect to her painting.
She set up her easel and chose a large canvas, placing it horizontally and considered how he was posed. A wicked kind of smile hovered about his mouth, and the way he watched her felt rather intimate. The earl appeared very powerful, his repose emphasizing the force of his thighs, the slimness of his hips and the muscular svelteness of his chest.
He looked as if he was waiting for his lover and planning a night of debauchery. Even though Henrietta was trying to be professional about the scene, the sight of that expanse of golden flesh unmarred except by a faint line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the breeches’ waist made her heart race and other things happen within her body that she tried to dismiss. Her nipples felt taut and tender and there was a tightening low down in her belly that she had never experienced before.
Henrietta was not naïve. She had heard enough young matrons discuss the feelings of desire they had experienced when being wooed by their husbands to suspect that was what she felt. However, this was a desire that she must suppress and ignore. Three thousand pounds was enough for her to live on discreetly without her parents’ censure ruling her life. That was the only thing that should matter in their unconventional arrangement.
She shuddered at the thought of being married to Viscount Courtland. What hair he had left was sparse and grey, the viscount had a double chin, and he was developing a paunch. At least she supposed he had not yet taken to wearing a Cumberland corset, but she did not think him an attractive man. Even if she had found him attractive, the man was a veritable boor who could talk of nothing but horses and hunting. No fancy light-skirt would be gratified in receiving a portrait of Courtland in such undress.
Henrietta chuckled at her nonsensical thoughts and then tried to swallow the laughter in a cough.
“You need to be propped up more; I will fetch more pillows,” she said heading for the overstuffed sofa and the cushions scattered there.
The earl observed her approach with an inscrutable expression, but Henrietta noted his eyes were now more blue than gray. She gestured for Lord Hardwick to sit up as she fluffed the pillows and added a cluster of brightly colored cushions so that he reclined more effectively. Returning to her chair, she sat. “Have you decided on how you wish for me to paint you?”
“Mars, I think; Achilles was a bit of a Nancy, and my hair is not long enough for Samson.” His gaze wandered lazily over her. “Now tell me Henry, what were you giggling about? I do not know if I should be offended or not with you laughing at me…,” he said smoothly.
“I was not laughing at you my lord,” she replied pertly.
“Now how am I to believe it?”
She sniffed. “Perhaps it is a secret, my lord.”
