Page 55

“I did not know you had a brother,” she commented idly.

Cassian clenched his jaw. “I don’t. He died when I was young. He drowned.”

The silence was heavier this time.

Emily met his gaze across the low table. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, I am sorry.”

He shrugged. “As I said, Emily, save your pity. Don’t take offense, but I would rather not discuss my father or my brother. Not now.”

Emily bit her lip and said nothing. Of course, she had many questions, but he’d made it clear that he would not answer them. Besides, if he chose to keep what was clearly a painful past to himself, she ought to let sleeping dogs lie.

To distract herself, she glanced down at the drawing. It was good, technically speaking, but there was something missing. Somethingblandabout it.

It’s just a man sitting in a chaise.It isn’t Cassian.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his dark eyebrows drawing together.

“Nothing, I just… Oh, I don’t know. The picture is missing something.”

He leaned forward, and she held the drawing out for him to see.

“I haven’t even begun drawing your face,” she added apologetically. “It’s just notright.”

He leaned back, sighing. “It’s unsatisfactory, then.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say…”

“Would that feeling have anything to do with the other sketchbook we perused earlier? Where the models were wearinglessclothes?”

Emily’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not as if I could forget,” she mumbled.

Cassian turned his head, effectively shadowing his expression. “I can’t help but notice,” he drawled, “that your desire to draw the male form cameafteryou saw those sketches.”

She was sure her head was going to explode. Her cheeks were practically glowing in the dark.

“Please do not remove all of your clothes,” she said, as staunchly as she could manage. Her voice, thankfully, did not wobble.

“Perhaps,” the duke murmured, leaning forward, “we mightcompromise.”

Before she could ask what that meant, he lifted a hand, hooking one finger beneath his cravat. He tugged at the knot, and it unraveled at once. Then, he slid the crumpled fabric away from his neck. His shirt dipped, revealing a neat V of skin at his collar, fine dark hairs curling towards the base of his throat.

Stripping neatly and smoothly out of his jacket, Cassian tossed it carelessly aside. He was watching her, staring hungrily. That familiar sensation of desire curled in the pit of her belly. Emily swallowed hard.

Cassian tilted his head, almost coyly, and lifted a hand to the brass buttons on his waistcoat, undoing them carelessly. The waistcoat slipped off his broad shoulders, and he tossed it aside.

The shirt underneath was thin white linen, falling loosely over his frame.

With a little light behind it,Emily mused dizzily,he would look like one of those Grecian statues.

And then, between blinks, Cassian took off his shirt and tossed it neatly aside.

He sat there, bare-chested, and leaned back a little, watching her.

Emily was fairly sure she had stopped breathing. His torso was lean yet sculpted, his narrow waist a counterpoint to wide, thick shoulders. The faint fuzz of hair bloomed in the center of his chest, trailing down in a line to the waistband of his breeches, tight around his muscular thighs.

“Is this a little more than what you had in mind?” Cassian asked, his voice low.

Emily found that her mouth was dry.