Page 21 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Her body was thin, rakish, and her fingers long and probing. She was not an attractive woman, though Arabella thought that perhaps she once had been. She wore that bitter resentment of a lost beauty, a youth desperately clung to even after it had long disappeared.
“Do you mean painting?” Arabella asked, rubbing the grease from her fingers onto the cotton napkin she held beneath the plate.
It seemed such an odd statement to Arabella. Lady Spencer was among the few noblewomen to attend these events, always bright, flamboyant and loud. She laughed often, was always the centre of attention, and she seemed to enjoy herself.
“I mean the lot of it,” she said, eyes narrowed as she watched the last remaining dancers refusing to give up despite the late hour. “These balls, the debauchery, the excitement. It’s tiresome.”
Arabella turned to look at her fully, her brow furrowed and her head cocked. “Excuse my saying, Lady Spencer, but if you’re tired of it, why don’t you just leave?”
“My carriage arrives in half an hour,” Lady Spencer said absentmindedly.
“No.” Arabella shook her head. “I meant leave the Lord’s Society.”
Lady Spencer let out a bark of laughter so loud that it made Arabella jump.
“Oh, you really are as innocent as they say, aren’t you? Poor dear, with all this at your feet, and you still don’t know how the world works, do you?”
Arabella frowned at her. “Whatever do you mean?”
Lady Spencer shifted in her seat to fully face Arabella, and she leaned in to talk more quietly. “Once you become a member of such a society as this, Lady Arabella, you are a member for life, whether you like it or not.”
“But why?” Arabella couldn’t much understand it. She knew her father wielded power over the members, but she didn’t realize it was to such an extent that they couldn’t leave.
Lady Spencer thought for a moment and then said, “They know too much. They have you in the palms of their hands. As a female, I am naturally not a full member, but I have been involved with the society long enough to know not to cross any of the higher echelons.”
“So you have to stay, even if you don’t want to? You have to attend, regardless?” Arabella asked, her throat constricting with the horror of it. But Lady Spencer shrugged.
“You have to stay unless you want to become a recluse and see no one. We cannot be trusted to enter normal society, you see. Not knowing what we know about who is here and what they have done. Fully-fledged member or not, once you’re tied in with the Lord’s Society, there is no escape. As sad as it may seem, I would far rather continue attending these events than waste away, lonely and alone, in some forgotten corner of my brother’s mansion.”
“That’s awful,” Arabella replied breathlessly, but Lady Spencer shrugged again, turning back to look out over the ballroom once more, not looking at Arabella as she answered.
“We all make choices in our lives, My Lady, and we must live with the consequences of those decisions.Comme on fait son lit, on se couche.It’s too late for me now. I must lie down on the bed that I made, but it’s not too late for everyone.”
She looked at Arabella from the side of her eyes, a single eyebrow raised. Arabella chewed her lip. Was it too late for her? She hoped not, but perhaps it would be. Even if she could convince her father to release her from her duties, could she ever move on? She couldn’t imagine any man falling in love with her once they knew she had been involved in the Lord’s Society, even as an unwilling participant. Her father had ruined her.
With her lips twisted in discontent, she leant forward and dumped her plate on the table, the remainder of her food as unappetizing as Lady Spencer’s words. Arabella was certain she meant them kindly, but they made her chest ache with longing and fear, and they poured blackness over the picture she had painted in her mind of a life so very different from this one.
“It’s always delightful to talk with you, Lady Spencer,” she said, shifting her skirts and moving her chair closer to her easel. “But I really ought continue with my painting. Father does hate it so when I return home with a half-finished piece.”
She frowned at the scene in front of her, the card tables painted so meticulously, coins stacked up in the middle, and dice rolling across the floor. All she had to do was finish the players, but even that seemed a mammoth task at such a late hour.
Lady Spencer grinned. “And I shall have one last dance with some handsome gentleman or other before I disappear into the night. Good evening to you, Lady Arabella.”
Arabella didn’t pay her any attention as she walked away. Instead, she licked the tip of her paintbrush and dipped it into the paint. With the brush hovering over the empty space on the canvas, she looked up to get her bearings. And there he was, the so-called Dark Duke, Sebastian Ravenswood, talking animatedly with her father just ahead of her.
Despite herself, her heart began to race, and she felt like one of her unfinished potatoes had lodged in her throat. Much to her disappointment, she hadn’t seen much of the duke for the entire evening. As she had dressed that evening, it had been her consolation—she couldn’t go to the Pembertons, but she would be able to see the Duke of Ravenswood.
And lust after him all the more.
But he hadn’t spoken to her or even greeted her. She wasn’t entirely certain he had even looked at her, and though she had no true desire to know him, that weighed heavily on her heart. Perhaps her father had warned him off after all, or perhaps he could see her for what she was—an integral part of the Lord’s Society and tainted with it.
She had espied him a few times over the evening, though not as much as at the previous ball. He always seemed deep in conversation, lost in a man’s world. At least she hadn’t seen him with the dancers nor at the card table. It seemed he had some integrity and decency, even if he was here, parading as a new member.
Or perhaps he is biding his time before taking what he wants.
She watched him now, his head close to her father’s, talking some secret or other. He laughed at something, his whole face lighting up, and Arabella licked her lips. The idea of him being so base as to take what he wanted excited her, even though she knew it shouldn’t. The thought of seeing him dance and move while watching the rhythm of his body sent tingles down her spine.
Even so far across the room and in such darkness, she could trace his shape with her eyes. His hands strong but nimble. His arms thick and muscular. His legs …goodness, his legs. She licked her lips again, her mouth dropping open, unable to tear her eyes away from him. When he lifted his hand in gesture, the loose cotton of his shirt fanned up, revealing the tightness around his thighs.
