Page 58 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
He kissed the top of her head, letting his nose rest there, breathing her in. “We can, my love. Give it time.”
She shifted on the bed, the soft sheets moving across her naked body as she twisted to look up at him. “I don’t think we can, Sebastian. Not if you are so intent on committing whatever act my father has in store for you.”
Sebastian sighed and turned his head away from her. Irritation scratched her throat. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and wouldn’t even talk about it! She sat up, gathering the sheet around her breasts, and turned her back to him. He didn’t move, but she could feel his eyes on her back.
“It’s not as simple as you think, Arabella,” he said. “There are things you do not understand.”
“Because I am a silly woman?” She turned to glare at him.How dare he say such a thing?
“No! Good Lord, it has nothing to do with your sex!”
He sat up, too, and looked at her pleadingly. A hand hovered over her shoulder, uncertain whether to touch her. She was glad he didn’t.
“Then what is it? Make me understand, and then perhaps we can overcome this together.”
Sebastian huffed and swung his legs around to sit on the other side of the bed, his back to her back.
“Why must you be so infuriating at times,” he cried. “What reason is there for you to know?”
Arabella scoffed, getting to her feet and clutching the sheet tightly around her. “Perhaps so that I do not think you just another man, like all the others in the Lord’s Society.”
He swung around to face her, incredulous. “I should like to think you know me better than that by now, Arabella! You know me better than anyone has ever known me.”
“I know what you have chosen to show me and nothing more,” she snapped. “I thought perhaps we have a future together. I thought you loved me!”
“Idolove you,” he said. He shook his head. “I love you more than I thought it possible to love anyone, but perhaps that is the problem, Arabella. Perhaps love interferes with real life.”
She stopped and stared at him, his words seeping into her soul. She snatched her clothes from the floor and began to dress, fury in her every action. “Well, do excuse me for interfering with your real life,” she said. “And there was me thinking that what we had was something real.”
“It was,” he cried, snatching the clothes out of her hands to prevent her from dressing. “Itis. Please, just—”
“Then explain it to me!”
He opened his mouth, his eyes wide and full of pity. She thought for the briefest of moments that he was going to tell her whatever was on his mind. But then his jaw snapped shut, and he shook his head again. He handed her the torn gown. She slipped it over her head as he spoke quietly.
“You don’t understand,” he said again. “I must go through with what is required of me, but I love you, Arabella, and as soon as all this is over—”
“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” She picked up her cloak and wrapped it tightly around her, hiding the tear in her gown. “But I cannot do this any longer. I cannot see you, not if you insist on going through with this final act.”
She looked at him, her eyes pleading, giving him one final chance to talk to her but when his mouth stayed firmly closed, she sighed.
“Very well. Please ask the coachman to take me home. I shall tell my father I felt unwell and was unable to complete the portrait. Good luck, Sebastian, and I do hope the Lord’s Society does not darken your soul entirely.”
She turned and walked away from him. Her heart felt as if it were tearing in two, but she knew, with unwavering doubt, that she could never be with a man who even humoured her father, let alone committed the sort of acts she knew would be expected of him.
Chapter 28
“Good morning, Arabella,” Priscilla said, taking the seat opposite her at the breakfast table.
Arabella was tired and bleary-eyed, and she had no energy for conversation. She wanted only to eat and return to bed, where she could continue to wallow in self-pity. It was her own fault—she had ended her relationship with Sebastian, not the other way around. But she knew she had no choice.
She couldn’t be with a man who workedwithher father instead ofagainsthim. She only wished she understood Sebastian’s motives because she was certain it wasn’t merely because he was a brute.
“Good morning, Grandmother,” she replied, though she didn’t look at Priscilla.
She buttered her toast and cut off a little cheese, her entire focus on actions rather than thoughts. If she allowed herself to think, she knew she would never stop crying.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning,” Priscilla said. “I thought you were painting last night. A private portrait, wasn’t it? You often stay out all night when you do those.”
