Page 37 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
His breath brushed across her neck, and she shivered, enjoying the sensation. A maid glanced across at them before returning to her work.
“I have enjoyed painting since I was a young girl,” Arabella continued, all the louder for the sake of their audience. “It was a hobby instilled in me by my grandmother, Priscilla.”
“The truth is, Arabella, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. The memory of our … interaction the other day has played on my mind over and over.”
Arabella pushed her lips together, her eyes wide as she looked around the room for some sort of escape.
Or some way to fall back into his arms.
She took a sharp right, moving closer to her own paintings. “I work with both oils and watercolours, depending on my mood,” she continued. She cleared her throat and paused in front of one particular painting, allowing Sebastian to catch up once more. She inhaled deeply when she felt him behind her once more.
“I admit I knew your father would be absent today,” he muttered. “I rather orchestrated this meeting.”
A thrill rushed through her, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she looked up at her own art. It was a dangerous move he had played, and yet a romantic one, and she was overjoyed that he would put himself to the trouble. She looked at the maid to her left, then refocused on the painting, her lips twitching as she tried to stop herself from grinning.
“As you can see, Your Grace, I have a particular fondness for painting landscapes. I hope to one day branch out from the English countryside to perhaps that of the south of France. I …” she hesitated. “I am pleased you could come today to look at my work.” She kept her eyes straight ahead, hoping he would understand her meaning.
Thank you for orchestrating this meeting.
As if seeing them for the first time, Sebastian’s head jerked in the direction of the paintings, and he let out a gasp.
“Good Lord, My Lady,” he said.
He stepped away from her, closer to the paintings, his face up and his mouth hanging open. Arabella’s gaze drifted to the tightness of Sebastian’s trousers, so against the fashion of the day and yet so seamless on him. She could see the muscles move as he slowly stepped along the paintings, examining each one carefully.
He spun back to her, a look of amazement written across his features. “Lady Arabella, I must say, these are the most beautiful paintings I have ever seen.”
She looked away from him, embarrassment overwhelming her again. “Thank you, Your Grace, but you are too kind. I am not yet at the level I hope to be.”
He rushed back to her, urgency in his voice. “No, My Lady, you must believe me. I am certain you’ve been told this a thousand times, but you have a talent beyond what can be imagined. And though your other paintings are fabulous, of course, these … these are something else.”
Her smile crept back, though she twisted her body away from him, her face to the floor so he couldn’t see her joy at his words.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice soft. “I only hope that one day, I will be able to paint all day and never have to see the darkness again.”
He stepped closer to her and, ignoring all propriety, he took her hands in his. “I promise you, Lady Arabella, from the bottom of my heart, that one day, your wishwillcome true. I will do whatever is in my power to make it so.”
Chapter 18
By the weekend, Sebastian still couldn’t understand what had got into him. He had made a promise to a woman he barely knew, other than in body, and one to whom he had no intentions whatsoever. He was here for one reason and one reason only—and that wasnotto fall in love! A secret meeting in a dark corner was one thing, but agreeing to help rescue a woman from her private turmoil was beyond what he had imagined—or even wanted.
As he stepped into the ball that weekend, he shook his head, annoyed at himself. He had to focus on the task at hand. His dear, poor mother did not deserve the treatment she had received at the hands of Edward Sinclair, and Sebastian was determined to get his revenge.
Over the previous weeks, he had slowly begun gathering evidence, slipping invoices and letters into his pockets as he quickly searched studies and offices. He’d spoken to some of the more disgruntled members of the Lord’s Society, too, those who were unhappy with the level of control that Sinclair brandished. Still, he believed he did not have enough to ensure Sinclair was punished for the rest of his life.
“Ah, Ravenswood,” Pembry said. “Good of you to make it!”
“As if I’d miss it,” Sebastian replied, feigning a grin. “I live for these parties, you know. The longer I’m here, the more I tend to agree with you about just how dull the rest of the world is comparatively.”
“That’s my lad,” Pembry said with a laugh. “Drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
This week’s ball was being hosted by Lord Campbell at Red Brick Hall, and it seemed something of a more sedate affair than Pembry’s. There were no half-naked dancers or card tables, and the whole place was brighter and lighter than other Lord’s Society events that Sebastian had attended.
In fact, as Sebastian looked around, he thought it was no more exciting than a normaltonball. He felt a secret pinch of disappointment, though immediately chastised himself for the thought.
Pembry handed him a glass of wine, and the pair walked further into the hall. The ballroom was smaller than many, but it had a cozy, calm feel. The flickering candlelight was warm and welcoming, and Sebastian thought a slower pace to the evening would make a pleasant change.
