Page 6 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
That’s when she saw him. Her breath froze in her chest, her heart seeming to stop, and she stared at him. She had no idea who he was, but she had an overwhelming desire to find out.
If only I could.
He was leaning against the wall just next to the window she was painting and staring right at her. As she looked away, putting her brush to the canvas, she felt her cheeks redden, a heat rushing across her chest and down her belly. She couldn’t even see his face behind the dark mask, but she could see the sharp angle of his jaw and that beautiful black hair dropping across his forehead.
He had one leg raised so that his foot was against the wall. As his gaze bored into her, her eyes were drawn again and again to that thigh, the trousers taut against the muscle.
Paint, she told herself harshly. Paint she did, but her hand shook slightly, and she struggled to breathe slowly, calmly. Again and again, her eyes were pulled to his legs, to what was between his legs.
At least look at his face, she thought, reprimanding herself once more. She did, and she saw him take a long gulp of his drink. When he lowered his glass, he licked his lips, his pink tongue darting out from his mouth. To her surprise, she wanted to kiss those lips, to be wrapped in his arms.
Is this the knight I’ve been waiting for?
For the first time in a long while, Arabella wanted to paint the human form again—hisform. She imagined the shape of his chest, the way her brush would have to move across the canvas to capture his essence. Perhaps she would get the opportunity sooner rather than later.
She shook her head at that thought and forced herself to focus. Anyone willing to be in this society was unworthy of her attention, no matter how handsome. She painted the candles in their sconces on the walls, the light bright against the dark background. Then she began working on the ballroom floor, the feet that danced across it, the glasses of wine they held. She wouldn’t look up again, no matter what. She couldn’t risk it.
Except she couldn’t stop herself either. After only a few moments, she raised her head again, searching him out, drawn to him in a way she had never before experienced. She looked over to the window, but he was gone.
Chapter 3
As the night wore on, Arabella found herself distracted. She painted as she always did, but her gaze drifted across the crowd, always in search of the mysterious stranger. She saw him once or twice, though never for very long. Sometimes he was talking to other members, but more often than not, he was alone, watching as she watched, eyeing the other people with caution and consideration. He didn’t look at her again—or if he did, she didn’t notice.
She tried, time and again, to ignore him, but she couldn’t. There was just something about him, something that called to her. Every part of her wanted to know him more, from her curious mind to the heat in her stomach. She knew she shouldn’t—couldn’t—get to know him, of course. Her father would see to that, even if she did have an opportunity. But that didn’t dampen the longing she felt inside.
“I had heard you were something of a talented artist, but I hadn’t quite believed it until now. Your work is quite exquisite.”
Arabella gasped in fright, her hand jerking as she jumped. She swore, muttering at the streak of dark black paint that now stretched across her canvas. She scowled, dabbing the corner of her cloth into a cup of water and beginning to fix her mistake. She still hadn’t turned to see the man who had approached her from behind, but her skin prickled, and her muscles tensed.
It’s him. It’s got to be him.
“My Lord, one would have thought you would know not to sneak up on an artist as she paints,” she said coldly, hiding her secret desire.
“Did I frighten you?” he asked.
His voice was thick and lush, like a deep, rich velvet into which she could bury her fingers. She still hadn’t turned to look at him, but she could picture those lips as easily as if she’d looked at them every day of her life. She licked her own lips, thinking of their softness, their moistness.
“You made me jump, nothing more,” she said, still refusing to show him her true feelings. It was too dangerous.
He chuckled at her response, sending a shiver down her spine. “In that case, My Lady, I apologize. I merely wanted to compliment you on your work. I’m certain you’ve heard it many times before, but you are exceptionally talented.”
“That’s very kind of you, My Lord, but may I offer you a word of advice?”
Still, she did not turn to face him. She wasn’t sure she would be able to control herself if she did. It felt as if something shot between them, some invisible force pulling her body towards his. She swallowed, forcing her eyes to focus on correcting the painting, dabbing the cloth, and wiping away the paint slowly and methodically.
“I always take advice from beautiful ladies,” he said.
She bit back a whimper.He thinks me beautiful!She steadied her breathing before speaking again.
“Beware of using such sugared words, My Lord. You have not even seen the face behind my mask. You do not know if I am beautiful.”
“Is that your advice?” he asked, his voice rising a little in amusement. “If it is, it matters not. I know you are beautiful, for I can sense it. I could sense it even when watching you from the window.”
She tensed further, silently reminding herself to breathe. He felt it, too, the pull between them.
“That being so, you ought not approach me in such a manner—and not only for the sake of my painting. Stay away from me, My Lord, and if you have any sense whatsoever, you’ll stay away from the Lord’s Society altogether.”
She could feel him shift his weight behind her, his body close to hers. Too close.Not close enough.
