Page 9 of The Pearl (The Godwicks 3)

“Marriage isn’t very happy,” she said. “Trust me. I speak from nearly ten years’ experience. You know why I changed the painting?”

“Needed to cover a hole in the wall?”

“I was married to Sir Jack for over nine years, and I wasn’t allowed to move so much as one book to another shelf. Everything always had to be in its place, and ‘its’ place was where Sir Jack wanted it and nowhere else. Now I change my paintings as often as I change my outfits.”

She had changed her outfit, too. Gone was the black trench coat and black boots. Now she wore a black silk kimono with a red sash. No more tasteful pearl choker around her neck. Now she wore pearls dangling from her earlobes. They glinted in the firelight as she crossed the rug to bring him his drink. He took it but didn’t taste it.

“Evelyn de Morgan,” Arthur said. “Wasn’t she a Pre-Raphaelite painter? Something like that?”

She applauded by lightly slapping her free hand against the wrist that held her highball glass. “You do know a little something about art, don’t you?”

“Yes, well, the Godwicks own over a dozen art galleries. I grew up in a house with a billion pounds of art hanging on the walls, and my name is literally Art.”

“Such a brat,” she said. “I think that’s what I’ll call you. My Brat.”

She laughed that low throaty laugh that had affected him so profoundly earlier. The laugh of a woman playing a game who already knew the outcome, but he couldn’t quite tell if she knew she’d already won or already lost.

“Some trophy wives buy clothes, handbags, shoes. I bought artwork. Great art always goes up in value and you can sell a painting for quick cash if you ever have to make a dash for it. Luckily, Sir Jack died on me before I had to do that.”

“Why did you marry him if he was so awful?”

“You sold yourself to me to protect your brother. I sold myself to protectme. Everyone has their price, yes?”

That morning Arthur would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he couldn’t be forced, strong-armed, coerced, or blackmailed into doing anything that went against his own will, his own conscience. Example: having sex with a total stranger. Apparently, she was right. Everyone did have their price and she’d found his. He consoled himself that he could be bought for love while she’d sold herself for Jack Ferry’s money.

“I suppose so,” Arthur admitted. “Maybe you got a bad deal.”

“I got what I wanted, to never be caught short. Whenever it got bad, I’d repeat these three words to myself—I chose this.”She looked at him. “And so did you.”

She pointed at the decadent luxury that surrounded them and then finally at herself. He could have left Charlie here. He could have let her have the painting and let his parents sort it out with lawyers. But no…he signed up for this. No one to blame but himself.

She touched his glass with her own. He still didn’t drink.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said. “Or do you not drink?”

“I don’t know what you’re planning to do with me or to me. Thought I’d stay sober to be on the safe side.”

“Scared?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” He wasn’t too proud to admit to being afraid. “I don’t know you. I don’t make a habit of sleeping with women I don’t know.”

“Then have a seat. Get comfortable. Let’s get to know each other.”

With easy grace, she draped herself on the golden chaise. Arthur started to sit in a leather tufted club chair to the right, but she shook her head and pointed at the floor.

It took a great deal of self-control to not roll his eyes. He took off his jacket and laid it over the arm of the chair he wasn’t allowed to sit in, then lowered himself on the floor, his back to Regan, his face to the fireplace.

He set his untouched drink on the hardwood by the mantel. “Why did you say—”

“Turn around, Brat. I know you’re sitting that way to spite me.”

He was. He turned to face her, feeling annoyingly young and vulnerable sitting on the floor at her feet.

“So,” he said. “Why did you—”

“Oh no, I’m asking the questions.” She took another drink. “Question one. Why don’t you use your titles? You’re a Viscount, yes? What did Charlie say? Viscount Mansfield?”

“Have you ever been to Mansfield?”

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