Page 4 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
With a heavy sigh, Sebastian himself made to leave. There was no point staying if his target wasn’t here, and he had no desire to talk to anyone else. Instead, he fetched his cloak and hat from the footman and travelled back to his London townhouse.
He was disappointed, certainly. Sinclair knew nothing of him, of course, and had no reason to trust him, but Sebastian had hoped to secure an invitation to the secret society—or, at the very least, some way of getting to know Sinclair better. Despite that, the conversation had been hopeful. Sinclair seemed interested in Sebastian, and that was a good sign.
The carriage rolled to a stop on the busy London street, rattling on the cobbles beneath. The footman opened the door, and Sebastian stepped out, his feet loud on the metal steps. He looked up at the house for a moment. It was a beautiful building, the red brick bright even in the gloom of nighttime, the black door polished to a shine. He’d always wanted a house like this, and now … well, here he was.
He climbed the steps just as the butler opened the door.
I could get used to this.
“Good evening, Beaumont,” he said, taking his hat off.
But before he could get through the door, someone called from behind him.
“Your Grace! Sir! Your Grace!”
Sebastian turned and, to his surprise, found a boy of no more than nine years holding out a piece of folded parchment. Even from a distance, it looked of high quality, and he could make out his name scrawled across the front in decorative script.
The Duke of Ravenswood.
Sebastian dug in his pocket for a coin, which he flicked to the messenger, then took the letter from him. The boy ran away before he could even say thank you, but Sebastian was far too intrigued to care. He looked down at the parchment, turning it slowly in his hands. It had been sealed with thick black wax, the image Sebastian knew instantly. It was the symbol of the male, though a rosebud had replaced the circle.
The symbol of the Lord’s Society.
He cracked the seal. Opening it slowly, he peered at the words inside. He could make them out despite the darkness of the night. It was an invitation to a ball the following week. Folding the parchment back up and inhaling deeply with satisfaction, Sebastion Ravenswood turned and trotted up the steps into the house. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
Chapter 2
Arabella sat with her legs curled beneath her, staring out at the moon and stars. She often found herself here, on the window seat, though more often than not with a book. Tonight, she wanted only to look out over the sky and dream of the day she would be free.
If ever that day should arrive.
She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Though there was a low fire in the grate and summer had begun in earnest, Arabella could find no warmth in her life. Her father had made sure to crush all that out of her, and no amount of her grandmother’s fussing made her feel any better.
It wasn’t all miserable, of course. There was Priscilla, who cared for her like her own. They spent long hours together, talking about art books and mathematics. Priscilla was the only mother figure she’d ever had, her own mother having died bringing her into the world, and now Priscilla was her only friend too. As she had grown up, Arabella witnessed how cruel her father could be to her grandmother as well as to her, but at least they had each other.
There were the odd occasions that Arabella was permitted to attend a society event as well—anormalsociety event, not one of her father’s events. Those evenings, she was overjoyed to feel normal, to dance and talk and explore.
It was never long before her father whisked her back to Westment Manor and locked her away again, but for those few hours, Arabella felt free and happy. She lived in between proper society life and life within the Lord’s Society, never quite getting to know either one.
She had everything she could wish for physically, too—delicious food and beautiful gowns, every book she could imagine, and estate grounds she could wander at will. And yet …
“Arabella? Are you still awake?”
She looked up to find her father at the door. As he always did, he let himself in without knocking, as if she were still a child. She tried to smile.
“It’s late, Father,” she said weakly. “I was about to retire for the evening. Is something the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter, child. I just wanted to inform you that the Lord’s Society’s first ball of the season is on Friday evening. You will be expected to paint, as always.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t help letting the disappointment show in her voice, her heart sinking at the realization she would be expected to attend yet another season. This would be her fourth, and she hated every minute of it.
“Don’t be like that, Arabella,” he said. He came into the room and sat near her, reaching out to touch her hand as if he were a loving, caring father. She turned her head and looked out the window again. “You know these events wouldn’t be the same without you. Why, half the guests only come to see your wonderful work.”
“No, of course,” she said, still looking at the moon.
She had longed for her father’s affections as a child. Now, she wished he had never noticed her paintings. Now, he showered her with attention but profited from her skills. If only a handsome knight could come and rescue her, take her away from this place. It happened in the novels she read, but she doubted it would ever happen in real life.
Will he ever let me marry?
