Page 26 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Again, she nodded mutely. Sebastian shifted in his seat, overwhelmed with discomfort. He was fascinated by this woman and everything she did, and yet he felt completely on display for her. He watched her hands move quickly and efficiently across the board, her eyes tracing him, moving over him, drinking in his every detail. He shifted again, cleared his throat, and wondered whether he could get Lady Arabella alone.
“Relax,” Sinclair advised. He’d moved to the corner of the room now, pouring two glasses of brandy. “She’ll do a better job if you just relax.”
Sebastian glanced up at Sinclair as he handed him the brandy. “Do you intend to stay in here for the entire portrait?” he asked.
Sinclair snorted with amusement. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “I couldn’t very well leave you alone now, could I?”
“I just thought …” Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but the words did not come. Sinclair filled the space for him.
“You forget, Ravenswood, that my daughter is a lady, not one of the womenfolk from the balls. As such, she needs a chaperone, and what better chaperone than her own father?”
Sebastian laughed uncomfortably, realizing the mistake he had made. “It’s difficult to get comfortable with you watching,” he said, hoping to cover hisfaux pas.
Sinclair’s look of amusement turned to a snarl. “Get used to it,” he growled through his clenched teeth.
Sebastian pulled at his cravat, hot and flustered at the duke’s warning tone. He took a sip of the brandy, the burn in his throat satisfying his nerves, and he took a deep breath, reminding himself of his reasons here.
“You have a very beautiful house,” he said, hoping to change the subject.
“I do,” Sinclair agreed, ever humble. “I understand your mother also had something of a penchant for interior design. Or was the late duke’s wife not your mother?”
Sebastian almost choked on his brandy, but he recovered quickly. “I can assure you that the rumours of her infertility were greatly exaggerated. I thought we’d covered that already.”
Sinclair chuckled, cold and calculating. “It’s always worth double-checking,” he said.
He wandered over to the fireplace, next to which sat a smaller chair in the same style as the one Sebastian sat on. Sinclair lowered himself into it and rested his brandy glass on the arm. Sebastian watched him through the corner of his eye, stalking his movements while the rest of his focus was on the beautiful Lady Arabella.
Seemingly deep in focus, her own eyes looked at her father often. Sebastian wondered if she was frightened of him, and then he almost laughed.
Of course she is frightened of him!
“Remind me, Ravenswood,” Sinclair said, staring into his brandy glass. “Which school did you attend? I’m certain it wasn’t Eton.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw. No, he hadn’t attended Eton, Saint Andrews, or any other schools the other gentlemen in the Lord’s Society had attended.
“I completed my education in France,” he said, parroting the same lie he had already told. “Paris, to be exact.”
“Paris?” Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the lucky one?”
Sebastian winced.Luckywas not how he would have described his upbringing—and that was no thanks to Sinclair himself. He had walked in on his mother being murdered at such a tender age, and he’d educated himself in revenge rather than anything else.
“I should have rather attended Eton,” he said with a good-natured chuckle. “But alas, the late duke wanted to see me on the continent.”
“Did he visit you often? Your father?”
Sinclair was trying to pry, Sebastian realized. He wanted to dig for information, just as Sebastian had been doing all the past weeks. He allowed himself a small smile, on more confident footing now that he knew what the man was trying to do.
“Not often. I know he was an old friend of yours, Sinclair, but he was not a good father by any stretch of the imagination. Wanted me out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”
Sebastian hated saying such. It felt like a betrayal after all the old man had done for him. But he couldn’t let Sinclair know that. He had revenge to enact, and he would enact it however he could—even if that meant being cruel to those who had cared for him.
“No, I should imagine not,” Sinclair murmured. “He never did seem the fathering type, the doddery old fool.”
“You are free to move around now, Your Grace,” Lady Arabella said.
Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. In his battle with Sinclair, he had almost forgotten she was there. Her voice was a balm to his ears, honey to his soul. He wished she would speak more often. He would listen to her talk and watch her moist pink lips shape the words.
“You’re quick, My Lady,” he said as he stood up, wanting to stretch his legs. “Am I allowed to look?”
