Page 29 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
If Arabella wasn’t blushing before, she certainly was now. How easily she could be swayed away from irritation by sweet words and a handsome face. The heat rose on her cheeks as it rose on her chest, and she resisted the urge to fan herself. He laughed again.
“You seem a little flustered, Arabella.” She detected the note of amusement in his voice and flushed a deeper shade of purple. “Is my calling you beautiful too forward, or is that acceptable?”
On the contrary, I rather liked it.
Before she could answer, he got up from his seat once more. This time, there was no indecision. As he strolled over to her, she watched the movement of his legs. Every muscle in her body was tense, her breath shallow and barely under control.
Keep coming, she prayed, looking at him from the side of her eyes.Come closer.
He moved behind her. She didn’t turn on her seat. If she did, her nose would be to his navel. She could smell him, though, his rich, earthy scent overwhelming her. He raised his hand and brushed his knuckle softly along the curve of her neck, so soft she could convince herself she was imagining it.
It made her shiver, her breath ragged and uneven, her breasts rising and falling. He stood tall and dominant, and at that moment, she would have given him her all.
“Tell me, Arabella,” he said. “How can you paint passion so well when you yourself have never experienced it?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Her voice was a whisper, her eyes closed, and despite herself, she leaned back, leaned into him. His stomach was hard behind her head, and he let his fingers trail along her shoulder blade, down across her collarbone. She let out a whimper, unable to stop herself, and yet she leaned further, opening up her chest for him.
He crouched down so that his mouth was close to her ear.
“Perhaps you are an inherently passionate woman, Arabella.”
“Perhaps,” she said with a croaky voice. She cleared her throat.
And then, just like that, he had straightened and darted across the room. She blinked, unsure what had just happened or why he had disappeared.
Is he playing with me?
She looked around, desperate to find her bearings, when she heard it: the distinct sound of her father’s footsteps in the corridor. She let her breath out slowly from between her parted lips, hoping the heat didn’t show too strongly on her cheeks. She was out of luck.
“Are you all right, Arabella?” Sinclair asked as he strode into the room.
She cleared her throat and, picking up her feathered fan from the side table, began to cool herself.
“It’s an unseasonably warm spring, don’t you think, Father?”
He looked from her to Sebastian with suspicion. Arabella spied a look at the duke. He was as nonchalant as ever, calm and relaxed as if nothing at all had happened.
Did I imagine the whole thing?
“I shall tell the scullery maid not to bother with more wood, then,” her father replied. “In the meantime, Arabella, perhaps you ought to have a cool glass of sherry.”
“Yes,” she replied in a daze. “Yes, perhaps I ought.”
Chapter 15
“Did you receive my package?” Pembry asked.
He and Edward were climbing the steps to the Lord’s Society’s private townhouse in Mayfair, lovingly nicknamed The Haven. It had been purchased jointly by the members, and it was a place any of them had the right to use upon request.
Some used it to meet lovers and mistresses, others for shady dealings they didn’t want anyone to know about. Others still used it simply as a place of peace and quiet, somewhere to escape their wives and children and all the troubles that came with the business world.
It had, in its way, become a gentlemen’s club of sorts as well, and they often hosted events there. That afternoon was one such event. It was not quite a luncheon, not quite a ball, but rather an informal afternoon with whisky and brandy and picnic-style food designed for all the members to get to know one another better. For Edward, the closer the members became to one another, the better control he could have over them all.
“You know I received it,” Edward replied. He slipped the key into the lock and turned it. He had sent the maids ahead to ensure the space had been prepared, but he preferred to keep the keys himself. “You do like a bit of cloak and dagger, Pembry. Really, you couldn’t have made it more obvious if you’d tried. Insisting I took it myself indeed!”
Pembry chuckled. “It must be all those mystery novels my mother insisted on reading to me as a child. Makes it more exciting, though, doesn’t it? And besides, I couldn’t risk the information falling into the wrong hands. Did you read it?”
