Page 45 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Her head shot up to glare at his use of her given name. They had, of course, done away with formalities, but that was before her mind was changed. Before she realized what a mistake she had made. He was no different. He was not the knight she had been waiting for.
“LadyArabella,” she said firmly. “And yes, quite well, thank you. Now, please get into position.”
She turned her attention back to her canvas, priming it ready for colour. He paused, watching her curiously, then he stood up and shed his shirt, letting the garment drop to the floor with a thud. Paintbrush in midair, Arabella stared at him, her mouth dropping open in surprise. Her eyes traced the outline of his muscles, the shape of his torso, the slight sheen to his flesh. Her breath came rapidly.
“You seem a little out of sorts today, Arabella,” he said, his gaze on her face as intense as hers was on his chest. “Is everything all right?”
“I … um …” She licked her lips, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight in front of her. So perfect, so strong. “I …”
Sebastian chuckled, then moved swiftly across the room to stand next to her, his top half entirely naked. “Is this not how these paintings normally go? I was under the impression that—”
“Yes,” she replied croakily. She averted her gaze, forcing herself to focus on her paints.
He stepped closer still, so close that she could feel the heat from his body radiating off him. How she longed to reach out and touch him, to run her hand down his ribbed stomach, to play with the hairs that ran from his belly button and down into the hidden depths of his trousers.
“Arabella,” he said softly this time. His breath brushed across her cheek, blowing her hair across her face. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and turned her head so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “Please, tell me what the matter is.”
The matter!She inhaled, suddenly incensed by her own weakness, and she turned away, leaving his hand empty. How dare he woo her in such a way!
“I’ll tell you what the matter is,Your Grace, if you take a seat and allow me to begin painting.”
“Tell me now,” he demanded, not moving even an inch away from her.
She gritted her teeth together. “Very well,” she said, looking ahead of her. “I thought you were different, Your Grace. I thought you were better than the others. But now I realize how very foolish I have been! You are no better than any other member of the Lord’s Society.”
“Whatever makes you say such a thing?” he asked, the sensuous note of his voice replaced by a tone of surprise.
She snorted with incredulous amusement. “You mean other than the fact that I am here, painting your portrait in such a manner, under my father's instruction?”
Sebastian let out a laugh that surprised her, and he walked back to his chair, seating himself in such a position that his muscular body was on proud display. With his lips still twisted into a smile, he said, “You are wrong, Arabella. Iamdifferent.”
“Then why am I here?” she demanded.
In a fit of annoyance, she jabbed the paintbrush into the paint, then slopped the colour onto the canvas. If she had no choice but to paint his portrait, then paint it, she would, but she wouldn’t give him the benefit of her good humour as well.
He laughed again, though this time it was gentler, kinder. “Perhaps, dearest Arabella, this was a mere ploy to get you here alone. After all, there are few instances when I can see you without a chaperone, and I know that your father does not expect you home until tomorrow. He has requested I set up a guest room for you.”
“I … well, yes,” she replied, still firm, still annoyed, but faltering. “It’s true that is what normally happens.”
“And you don’t have a chaperone because …”
“Why, it’s because no one is foolish enough to cross my father. There is no need for a chaperone.”
“Except me, Arabella.” He stood again, walking over to her once more. “I will cross him every second of every day, Arabella,” he whispered into her ear. “If it means I get to spend just a minute alone with you.”
Try as she might, she could not maintain the scowl on her face, and her smile grew broadly. She leaned almost perceptibly into him, a silent forgiveness, a quiet request for more.
“I couldn’t bear going another day without seeing you,” he whispered, capturing her earlobe in his mouth as he spoke. Arabella shivered. “I long to always be near you.”
She let out a whimper. “And I you,” she admitted. “As much as I tell myself, I shouldn’t.”
“Let’s not deny ourselves any longer, Arabella,” he said. He put a hand on her cheek and pushed his fingers into her thick mane of black hair. “You are the most beautiful creature in the world.”
She rested her head against his chest, feeling his heart thud. His flesh smelled earthy, of sweat and soap and passion. Turning her cheek, she kissed the muscle she found there, unable to stop herself. She kissed and kissed, working her way up his chest, along his neck and jawline, until she found his mouth open and ready. And when their lips touched, his tongue darted into her mouth, probing and curious.
“Did you really arrange this to see me again?”
“Yes,” he said into her mouth, urging her to continue.
