Page 2 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Then this will be good practice for her, won’t it?” he said, snarling at her grandmother. “You well know it is not anormalball nor part ofnormalsociety. Those in attendance will keep her presence a secret that we can rely on one hundred percent. It would hardly be the first secret they have kept.” He snorted in amusement, and Arabella shivered.
“I … I’m not sure what you mean, Father,” Arabella said. She could feel herself shrinking under his excited gaze, a ball of dread already tightening in the pit of her stomach. Whatever he was suggesting, she was certain not to like it. She’d always known her father was involved in something less than proper, but Priscilla had been careful to keep the details away from her.
“My sweet, innocent, darling girl,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I belong to a group of like-minded gentlemen who gather together occasionally. Upon seeing your art, I have absolutely no doubt that some of them would like to have their portraits painted. You would be perfect for the job.”
“That isnotwhy I asked you here to look at them, Edward,” Arabella’s grandmother snapped, her chin defiantly in the air. Arabella could sense her worry from across the room, and it made her own heart thud.
“And I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he snapped. “Drink your tea and mind your own business.”
Arabella swallowed back her fear. When he turned back to her, the rage in his eyes had gone, replaced by what she thought was love. She wondered how he could be so kind to her and so cruel to his own mother, but she supposed it wasn’t her place to ask. Priscilla had raised her as her own and had been nothing but kind and loving. She would discover the truth eventually.
“Now, Arabella dear, how would you feel about coming to the ball with me this weekend?”
She pursed her lips together and thought, though she knew she would go. She always did what her father wanted her to do. “Will I get a new gown?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Yes, we can arrange for you to have a new gown. And you can bring your paints!”
She frowned, her brows deepening into a v. “But why on earth would I take my paints to a ball?” she asked.
“Because, my sweet girl, you will play a very special role.”
“I will?”
“Oh yes. You’ll be painting portraits live for our very special guests.”
Chapter 1
Three Years Later
The Duke of Ravenswood sipped his wine, leaning against the wall and watching the events unfold in front of him. London’s season had just begun, and he was glad to be a part of it. It was his first year attending, and it seemed his reputation had preceded him.
The invitations had started pouring in the moment he had arrived in London. He had worked hard to get to where he was, and now he was here, determined to find the person he was searching for most. He just had to work out who everybody else was first.
“So you’re the Dark Duke, are you?”
He jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice, deep and sensuous, and he turned to look at her. She joined him, leaning against the wall and watching the world go by. She wore a gown of shocking red silk, and her cheeks had been painted to match. He blinked at her boldness. Though he may not have been to many of these events, he knew it was rare to have a lady speak so openly without a prior introduction.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” she said in a loud whisper, leaning over her glass of wine as if conspiring with him. “You’re the only gentleman here I do not recognize, Your Grace, and I would have thought that—from what everyone says about you—boldness would not be a problem.”
He turned to look at her fully, intrigued at what the latest gossip was. “And whatarethey saying about me?”
She held the rim of her wine glass in both hands and grinned as if she had snared him. He could have her, he knew it, if he wanted to. She wouldn’t be the first, either. He looked her up and down, appraising her. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but he no longer had an interest in such things. No, he had a much more important job to do than satisfy his loins.
“They say you are something of a man of mystery,” she said.
He laughed. “I should imagine they say that about everyone they have never met.”
“True enough,” she said with a tilt of her head. “But nobody knows much about your past, either. And the nobility, as I’m sure you’re aware, believe they know everything about everyone.”
“The late duke, my … my father,” he said, his words halting, “was something of a recluse. I suppose it’s only now I have an opportunity to explore the world, shall we say. Introduce myself to society.”
At five-and-twenty, Sebastian Ravenswood really did fit the image that the gossip mongers seemed to have created. He was indeed the Dark Duke, with hair the colour of midnight that flopped over his forehead and sideburns as thick as a baby’s arm. His emerald eyes shone with secret knowledge, speaking of tales untold and adventures yet to come. His eyes alone made people want to know him. He was handsome, and he knew it. Everyone knew it.
It was not merely his brooding good looks, though. Sebastian had long ago learned to hold himself confidently, even when he didn’t feel it. He also held his cards close to his chest, rarely revealing anything about himself unless he knew it was worth his while.
Information, after all, was a currency in the world of theton, where the wealthy had no need for money. Besides, he had no time—nor any desire—for idle chatter or making friends. He was here for one reason and one reason only: to find the man who had murdered his mother.
“You know, everyone is saying how you are the most eligible bachelor attending this season,” the woman continued. “You’re quite the catch. I’m surprised you haven’t had all the matrons fluttering around you, trying to pair you off with their ugly daughters.”
