Page 10 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he muttered, then followed him out and back to the party.
Chapter 5
As Arabella had watched her father lead the Duke of Ravenswood from the ball, her heart had thudded so hard it made her feel sick. She wondered if she would ever see him again, her thoughts flitting back to George Heath, the man she was once pledged to marry. Had the duke already offended her father enough to warrant his disappearance? She hoped not—for his own sake but also because, despite all her concerns, she desperately wanted to see him again.
She had paused in her painting for a long time, simply staring towards her father’s study, willing the duke to come out the door and return to the ball. When she finally returned her attention to her canvas, the black streak had long dried, and it was too late to remove it. What little reparation work she had done while talking to the duke was hardly noticeable.
With a heavy sigh, she set to work, finding ways of incorporating the black into the background and where she couldn’t, painting over it carefully and laboriously. It worked well as a distraction, for a short while at least, though her thoughts wandered to the duke. She barely knew the man, but she already felt an incredibly strong pull towards him.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome, though that helped. It wasn’t only the shape of his body, either, though she could see thick muscles tight within the confines of his clothes, and it thrilled her. But when he was near, she felt like a storm was brewing, the energy between them thick and unstoppable. Call it fate or magnetism or mere lust, she knew there was something there.
I only hope he does not get chosen for the Lord’s Society,she thought with a sigh as she began adding people onto the background of her painting.
She made sure they were unrecognizable, as her father had always advised her to do in such large paintings. Mere representations of guests, he’d said, and so she painted generic people, picking out bits of masks she liked and ignoring others.
“Another excellent painting, Arabella,” a man said. She looked up to find the Earl of Pembry admiring her work.
“It isn’t finished yet, My Lord.”
The earl was an old man and an unattractive one, too. Like her father, he relished in the power he had within the Lord’s Society, though it wasn’t quite as extensive as Sinclair’s himself. He carried himself like a proud cock amongst the hens, and though Arabella knew she couldn’t push him, she also wouldn’t bow down to him. She spoke to him like an equal when and where she could.
“I can see that,” he said. “But you’re getting better and better. Perhaps you can paint my portrait again one of these days. I have new ideas!”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he said it. Arabella ignored the rumble of disgust in her stomach. “You will have to speak to my father about commissioning portraits, Earl Pembry,” she said, doing her best not to look at him. “As you well know.”
He chuckled. “I like you, Arabella. You’ve got something of a fighting spirit. I’d wager you’re a feisty one.”
She looked up at him and smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “And I, My Lord, must return to my painting. I have no doubt my father would not approve of your distractions.”
The earl laughed again. “Sinclair doesn’t know quite what he’s got with you,” he said snidely. “He could make a damn sight more money if he did.”
Arabella shivered at the implication, refocusing on her painting as the earl wandered off, no doubt to pester some other young woman. Though the Lord’s Society only accepted male members, some ladies from the ton had gained special dispensation to attend their events, ladies upon whom propriety was lost.
In addition to those, there were a number of women brought from the local brothel—not those who walked the streets, of course, but something of a higher class of escort. On any other event of the year, these women would be for hire. Not tonight, though. Always on the first night of the season, they were offered to members as a gift from Edward Sinclair and the other founding members.
She watched over the top of her canvas as the earl grabbed a young woman’s arm and pulled her into him. She laughed raucously, throwing her head back with abandon in a way nobody could at a society ball. Arabella painted in the flare of her large lace skirt as it kicked into the air, her bosom heaving as the earl tipped her over his arm.
When she finally spotted the Duke of Ravenswood again, she sighed with relief. She didn’t know when they reentered the ball, but he looked relaxed and calm. At least it seemed her father had not been harsh on him, and she wondered what they had discussed.
You cannot stay, she willed, watching him take a glass from a passing maid.You cannot stay, for I cannot bear to have you around.She wasn’t convinced she could control herself around him, so strong was her desire for him even after such a short time.
And yet, even as she thought it, she hoped he would stay and become a member. She wanted to see him, certainly, but the prospect of painting his portrait sent shivers of excitement through her. Even now, as she painted the ball, she pictured him laid out in front of her, displaying himself for her. She licked her lips, imagining the way she would draw in his muscles, the way she would shape his flesh until it came alive under her fingertips.
“Good evening, My Lady,” someone said, raising a glass as he passed.
Arabella nodded her greeting in return. Even though she was a mere installation, a show within a show, the members had grown accustomed to her presence and, for the most part, were kind and courteous. She didn’t think she could handle it if they weren’t.
Her mind wandered to the duke once more, though he had been ever-present in her thoughts since that first moment she set eyes on him. He would fit well in the Lord’s Society. She knew it already. After three long seasons, she knew what type of person to look out for, which new members would be welcomed and which would be sent away. Perhaps she was more like her father than she cared to admit.
The duke was perfect. She knew it from the way he carried himself and the way he spoke. Such confidence, even perhaps a touch of arrogance. He knew his place in the world and wouldn’t let anyone tell him otherwise. It was so like the other members of the society.
“I do hope that’s not me!” The lady giggled.
“No, Lady Spencer,” Arabella said, shaking her head as she looked at the ugly figure in the corner of her painting. She looked up conspiratorially. “It’s supposed to be Lady Montgomery, but don’t tell her that.”
Lady Spencer giggled, making Arabella smile. She knew how to play these ladies as well as her father did. The truth was, the figure was not meant to be anyone in particular, except maybe a representation of their ugly morals. But she knew how jealous Lady Spencer was of Lady Mongomery, and it would have titillated her to hear such a thing.
“You really are a wonderful artist,” Lady Spencer said as she skipped happily away.
