Page 27 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
She shook her head, looking at him from beneath her thick black lashes, a flash of blue from her eyes just visible. “I’d prefer if you waited until the end, Your Grace. A portrait can change greatly from the first sketch to the final product.”
He smiled at her. “Very well. I shall wait with bated breath!”
“You won’t be disappointed, Ravenswood,” Sinclair said. “I can assure you of that.”
“I don’t doubt it. May I have another?” He waved his empty glass in the air. Sinclair nodded, indicating the crystal decanter and raising his own glass.
Sebastian smirked. So he was to be Sinclair’s servant even as a guest. He took the proffered glass and went to the cabinet when a knock came on the door.
“Gibbs,” Sinclair said, his tone harsh and cold. “What is it?”
“I am terribly sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but there is a messenger here with a package. I tried to take it from him, but apparently, Earl Pembry insisted he did not leave until he saw the package in your hands alone.”
“Pembry, you say?” Sinclair pursed his lips in thought, then got up from the seat. “Very well. I shall be there right away. Do excuse me, Ravenswood. I shall deal with this as swiftly as possible and then return. I shan’t be gone long.”
Chapter 14
It was, by and large, the most difficult portrait Arabella had ever had to paint. It was not the subject, as such. No, the Duke of Ravenswood was an exceptional subject to paint. Perhaps, though, he wastoo gooda subject. It was not the skill that had escaped her, nor the technique, but rather, her ability to focus.
She had been worried this would happen. She was so inexplicably attracted to the duke that she suspected having him in front of her, posing, she would struggle to concentrate. But it didn’t matter so much. She had painted him so many times in her mind that she could almost do it without thinking.Almost.
But her father’s presence made her jittery and nervous, and she made several mistakes as they talked, having to correct them as she went. She didn’t understand it. Normally, he was content to leave a footman or a maid in there with them. He had no time to dally, as he’d so often told her. He either did not trust the Dark Duke or thought him an honoured guest worthy of his attention. She couldn’t decide which.
The knock on the door made her jump, and she tutted as once again she wiped away the paint.
“Gibbs,” her father snapped in his usual tone. “What is it?”
“I am terribly sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but there is a messenger here with a package. I tried to take it from him, but apparently Earl Pembry insisted he did not leave until he saw the package in your hands alone.”
“Pembry, you say? Very well. I shall be there right away. Do excuse me, Ravenswood. I shall deal with this as swiftly as possible and then return. I shan’t be gone long.”
When the door closed behind him, Arabella felt like the entire world had stopped. She had frozen mid-stroke, her entire body tense. She was alone with the Dark Duke! Quite alone! And, knowing her father, they would be alone for some time. The tension crackled in the air as she tried not to look at him.
She glanced over at the duke, who seemed equally thrown. He looked from her to the closed door to his brandy glass, and then he knocked the drink back in a single gulp. He seemed to have decided upon something, and sitting himself on the chair once more, he looked away from her as he spoke.
“Is your father always so overbearing?” he asked.
She snorted, unable to stop herself even though she knew it was unattractive. “To everyone and in everything,” she replied. “Though that is just his way. You will have to excuse him, Your Grace. He has held power for far too long to be any different. He doesn’t mean it.”
Of course, it was not what she believed, but he was still her father, and she still had a duty to him.
“You are a kind woman, My Lady,” he said with a twisted smile. “Too kind, perhaps.”
There was something dangerous about the duke, something hidden within the mystery. Perhaps it attracted her, that darkness hidden just below his surface. She painted in his jaw, the squareness of it, and as she did so, she watched him carefully. He was handsome in every respect, making her stomach clench with need and want.
“You do me too much favour, Your Grace.”
“I do you no such thing,” he retorted, making her giggle. He glanced towards the door as if to be certain her father wasn’t returning. When he looked back at her, he said, “Do you mind awfully if we drop the formality when it’s just the two of us? I find it so … stuffy. It reminds me far too much of my father.”
She looked up at him, mouth open agog. Even with the Lord’s Society, where people eschewed the normal rules of life, the men preferred to be called by their titles.
“How very bold of you,” she replied, not offended but amused. She used a tone of mock admonishment. “How awfully familiar.”
He chuckled, looking at her from under his brow. She felt the danger of it across her chest, skirting across her flesh. The Dark Duke played with fire if he wished to risk her father’s wrath in such a way.
“Do you not care for familiarity?” he asked, getting up and taking a step towards her. He seemed to think better of it, though, because before he reached her, he swivelled towards the brandy decanter.
Thank goodness.It would have been too much to have him near her, within reaching distance.
