Page 28 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
She smiled at his words, though. “I suspect my father wouldn’t care much for it.”
“But your father is not here, My Lady.” He paused, retaking his seat. His emerald eyes bored into hers, and she swallowed, resisting every urge to go to him. She could not help smirking. His words excited her almost as much as the look of him did.
“Very well. If notYour Grace, what shall I call you?”
Other than the fifty inappropriate endearments I have in mind.
“Sebastian.”
His voice rasped as he said his name and Arabella almost swooned. She had never before realized that one could find a voice sensual, yet she did.Goodness, I do.
“Arabella,” she replied in a squeak, then kicked herself silently. He already knew her name, and she was nothing but a silly fool.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Arabella.”
“Yes,” was all she could manage to say.
Focus.
She returned her attention to the painting, not wanting her father to be suspicious when he returned and saw little progress. They were silent for a long while, and though she didn’t look up at him, she could feel his eyes on her, tracing her body as she had traced his.
“Well, Arabella, I must say your father has given me quite the welcome.”
Grinding her teeth, Arabella groaned inwardly. She wanted to talk of anything but her father or her life. She wanted to talk to this mysterious man about adventure, the world, books, science, and philosophy. She wanted him to free her mind, even if he could not free her body.
And I want to touch him.
“I wonder if I will also have the good fortune of meeting your mother one day.”
She frowned, not looking at him. “It’s unlikely,” she replied. “My mother died during childbirth.”
“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said.
She glanced up at him. His cheeks had turned pink like a lady’s, and he did look genuinely upset to have mentioned it. She let out a sad giggle.
“There is nothing to apologize for. You weren’t to know, and I never had the good fortune to meet her.”
He nodded. After a moment, he said softly, “I lost my mother when I was just a child, too. I understand how hard it is.”
Arabella felt her heart burst with desire for this man—not only for his handsome face or taut body but now, for his kind words and intelligent nature. They were the same, he and her, in so many ways. It was no wonder she felt such an incredible pull towards him.
“I am sorry,” she said, unable to look at him. She couldn’t bear to see her own pain reflected in his eyes.
“It’s just you and your father, then?” he asked after a moment.
“And my grandmother, Priscilla.”
She continued to paint, curious as to why he was asking her such questions. Did he not want her as much as she wanted him? She had thought he did and sensed that, but now she began to doubt herself. Perhaps it was all in her imagination, wishful thinking.
“Paternal or maternal?”
Looking up at him, she frowned deeply. This went far beyond polite conversation and even getting to know someone. It was probing and inappropriate—and most of all, very odd.
“What a peculiar question. And rather a familiar one, even if we are on first-name terms. Really, Sebastian, why do you want to know?”
He laughed and looked away from her, his eyes on the coving above them. He shook his head, knowing he had done wrong.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I suppose I am just endlessly curious about the beautiful lady currently painting my portrait.”
