Page 51 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Let’s not think about such things today. You’re going to a ball this weekend!”
Arabella could feel the thrum of excitement in her chest. She wondered whether Sebastian would be there, whether they could finally dance together as she had so often dreamed they would. She hadn’t seen him since painting his portrait, but she hadn’t stopped thinking of him either. Their night together had been wonderful in every way, and Arabella felt newly certain of his feelings.
Priscilla had been right; she could trust him, for the more she fell in love with him, the more certain she was that he felt the same.
We just have to overcome the hurdle of my father.
She sighed. That was a wall rather than a hurdle, and she couldn’t see how they would escape his clutches—or, in truth, whether Sebastian evenwantedto escape her father’s clutches. Despite her hatred for it, she could see how well he fit into the Lord’s Society, which pained her.
“Have you seen anything more of that lovely young man?” Priscilla asked as if reading her mind. “What was his name again?”
“The Duke of Ravenswood,” Arabella said, knowing there was little point in lying to her grandmother. The old woman had a knack for spotting untruths. She paused, then said, “I’ve seen a little of him, yes. He is by far my father’s favourite.”
“Well, that is a shame,” Priscilla said, “but I do wonder if it ishewho has put that glow into your cheeks. The modiste is quite right—you are flushed with young love, and you have been for a number of weeks now.”
Arabella stiffened. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Here we are,” the modiste said brightly as she skipped back into the room, a blue silk swatch in hand. “It’s just the softest thing.”
Priscilla made a show of frowning at the fabric, then shook her head. “I wonder if you have anything in daffodil yellow.”
“But—” Arabella tried to interrupt, but her grandmother shushed her.
“I just want to look at it, Arabella, that’s all. It’s better we have all the options laid out before making our decision, right? Just remember how important this ball is.”
The modiste looked from one to the other uncertainly. “Oh, uh … yes, all right. I’ll see what I’ve got. Back in a jiffy!”
“Why did you do that?” Arabella hissed as soon as the woman was out of the door. “I rather like the blue.”
“She has prying ears, my dear. Everyone knows that modistes are the biggest gossips around. Now, I may be old, but I am no fool. Are you having a secret affair with this Duke of Ravenswood?”
“What?” Arabella cried, straightening up and turning away, her eyes wide with horror. “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”
“I wouldn’t blame you at all, Arabella. In fact, I’d encourage it. It’s about time you had some happiness in your life.”
“But it’s simply not true,” Arabella said.
“The forced outrage in your denial tells me otherwise,” Priscilla said. Arabella’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “But I understand why you don’t want to admit it. All I wish to do is warn you to be careful, that’s all.”
“The daffodil yellow,” the modiste said with a smile as she re-entered the room.
Arabella looked from her grandmother to the modiste in incredulity. She needed time to continue their conversation without the modiste in the room.
“Red,” she said a little sharply, glaring at the poor modiste who had no idea what was going on. “We’d like to see a scarlet red this time.”
“Right,” the modiste replied with a nod of the head. “Scarlet red. Yes.”
She turned on her heels and marched once more to the back room. Arabella’s gaze darted back to her grandmother.
“Warn me about what?”
Priscilla sighed and threw Arabella a pitying look. “I understand your desire for companionship and escape, Arabella. But please always remember your father’s power. I know I don’t have to remind you of what happened the last time your father discovered you had feelings for someone.”
Arabella returned her attention to the window, images of George Heath running through her mind. He had been a sweet man, but she knew even then he would be no match for her father. Sebastian, though … he was different. Stronger.
And their relationship was different, too. With George, it had been innocent and chaste, a childhood fancy and nothing more. But with Sebastian, it was true and real and passionate. It was everything she had ever dreamed of and more.
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” she said. “There is nothing for Father to find out.”
