Page 46 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“And what of my father?”
He pulled back and looked at her, head cocked curiously. “I care nothing for your father,” he said with a venom that surprised her, given how close they had grown.
“But—”
“Shhh.” He silenced her with another kiss. “I will deal with your father. There is nothing to be concerned about.”
She leaned into him, her body pressing against his naked chest, and she kissed him with more fury, more need than before. He had broken her down with a few simple words, removed her doubts and fears in the blink of an eye, and she didn’t care. All she cared about now was havinghim. Her hands explored the muscles of his back, taut and strong, as he kissed her, his hands still in her hair.
“Don’t you want your portrait painted?” she asked, suddenly remembering the purpose of her visit. She held him at arm’s length, watching his reaction to her question. He wore humour on his lips. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“If ever there was a good reason to take my clothes off in front of a beautiful woman, this was it. Yes, I would like a portrait, but only because it is a painting by your fair hands, my love. Not because it is illicit or because it is expected within the Lord’s Society, but because you did it. And it always, always would come second to spending time with you.”
She raised herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him chastely, then lowered herself back down. “You are a charmer, Sebastian Ravenswood. But if you’re here to have your portrait painted, then perhaps I ought to paint.”
He looked at her quizzically. While she didn’t take her eyes off him, she reached behind her, feeling for the paintbrush she had left in the pot.
“I think I’ll start with your chest,” she said.
At the last second, he spotted what she was doing, but it was too late to stop her. With a chime of laughter, she pulled her hand around and left a huge streak of bright red paint across his torso. He leapt back and gasped, looking down at himself, but he had no time to react, for she stepped forward and painted another streak, this time beneath the curve of his muscle, outlining and accentuating it.
“Wha—”
She interrupted him with a laugh, then painted another and another until she had almost traced his entire chest, somehow bringing it even more to life.
“It’s always easier when one can paint to a template,” she said, laughing again.
He, too, let out a roar of laughter and ran away from her, darting around the room. She followed, paintbrush in hand, lunging forward to strike again. She chased him until he was veritably criss-crossed with red paint, and the brush had all but lost its ammunition.
She dropped it on the floor then fell into his arms, her sudden weight pushing them both off their feet. They landed on the cushioned sofa in the corner of the room, their breathless laughter filling the air.
Once they had caught their breath, Arabella was wrapped in his arms; she looked up at his face, so serene and at peace.
“Red suits you, you know?”
He smiled down at her with such tenderness that she thought her heart might explode. “Yousuit me, Arabella. Stay with me, won’t you?”
“My carriage doesn’t return until morning,” she reminded him with an eyebrow raised, suspecting they would not use the guest bedchamber after all.
“No,” he replied. “I mean …”
He trailed off, looking into the distance, somehow pained. She struggled to read him, knew he was holding back for some reason—her father, no doubt. But she wouldn’t let it ruin their night, not now she had learned the truth. Whatever problems they had to face, they could face together—and tomorrow.
She twisted until she was on her knees, then kissed him gently on the lips. “Let’s forget about everything else,” she whispered. “And just enjoy tonight.”
Chapter 22
Arabella hitched up her robe and straddled Sebastian, all the while continuing to kiss him. He was gentle at first, tender, almost uncertain. It seemed that he didn’t want to break her, and she could feel waves of emotion rolling from him. She didn’t understand it, but she didn’t care. Whatever happened after tonight, at least they would have shared this special connection. At least they could enjoy this moment before facing the consequences.
“Arabella,” he muttered, his hands by his sides while she kissed him and caressed him.
She ignored him, pushing away her concerns and holding on to this feeling. Despite her worries, this feltright; it felt like what she was supposed to do. And perhaps Priscilla was right, perhaps Arabella ought to trust Sebastian.
She ran her hand down his chest, moist but for the drying streaks of paint. The sensation of flesh upon flesh made her shiver with delight, and she wanted more of it. She wanted every inch of her naked body pressed against his. She wanted every inch ofhiminside her, taking her.
“Arabella,” he repeated, louder this time. “Please.”
She sat up and frowned at him. “Don’t you want to?” she asked.
