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He tilted his head, forcing himself to focus on the sketch and not on her delicate hands which he wanted to kiss and feel on his body. “Yes. The petals were more pointed though. Aside from that, it’s wonderful. You’re an amazing artist.”

“Not really.” She focused on the petals and reshaped them with quick strokes of her pencil.

“How can you say that?” He gestured at the dozens of sketches she’d already completed.

There were the trees from the island, insects, birds, and flowers, all sketched with great details and realism. He could almost smell the scent of the orchids and hear the flamboyant birds sing.

“I’m not a professional. My knowledge is limited.” She added a few shadows on the petals. “No one would buy my paintings. But book illustrations might be good enough to help me earn something.”

Yes, earning. That was the crux of her problem.

He propped his chin on his closed fist. “What if I help you pay the academy’s fee?”

She raised her right hand and wiggled her fingers. “It’s not a matter of money. My hand still hurts sometimes. My fingers don’t always do as they’re told.”

“But you said they got better since you started sketching more. You need to practise.” He opened and closed his thick fingers. “I did exercises to strengthen my fingers to climb trees. You can do the same. Have you ever tried?”

She paused and stared at her scar. “Actually, yes. I mean, I worked hard to draw again, and my fingers got a little better. But I’ve never done specific exercises to strengthen my fingers. Do you think it might work?”

“I’m sure it will.”

She lowered the sketchbook. “Great, but let’s focus on getting your title back first.”

“After that, may I help you?” He raised his eyebrows. “May I have the privilege to pay for your studies? Provide for you while you concentrate on your art?” Please say yes .

She’d refused his money years ago. But surely, things between them were different now.

She laughed. “You don’t have to.”

He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “There’s nothing I want more than to help you become the great artist you can be.” He kissed her knuckles and the scar. “I want everyone to know how talented you are. I want you to be happy.”

Her lips parted, but whatever she wanted to say was cut off by her mother who barged inside the drawing room in a flutter of blue skirts.

“I’ve been quite tolerant with you.” Mrs. Debenham pointed a finger at Hector.

“I gave Madeline more freedom, turned a blind eye to her sudden disappearances, and for what? To have her almost drowned in the Serpentine of all places and find you kissing her hand? And you still haven’t reclaimed your title.

” She stretched out an arm towards the door. “I kindly request that you leave.”

Maddie lowered her sketchbook. “But Mother?—”

“Besides.” Her mother folded her arms over her arms across her chest. “Rumour has it that a physician produced a certificate stating you, Lord Wentworth, aren’t mentally stable.” She huffed. “Your chances of finding a champion are quite slim.”

Maddie exhaled, but Hector didn’t see the point in lying.

He rose and bowed his head. “Dr. Trevor Smith didn’t even visit me.”

Mrs. Debenham spiked her brow. “Dr. Smith you say.” She narrowed her gaze. “Tell me, Lord Wentworth, do you want to be the Duke of Blackburn, or are you looking for a past-time, or worse, a way to ensnare my daughter?”

Past-time? “The dukedom is my legacy. My brother believed I would be a great Duke of Blackburn. Yes, I want to be the duke. I want to honour my family’s legacy, and I want to do the right thing for Maddie.” Ensnare Maddie. Ridiculous. If anything, it was the other way around.

“Smith.” Mrs. Debenham paced, a hand on her hip. “I might be able to do something and help you with Dr. Smith’s certificate.”

“How?” Maddie asked. Scepticism dripped from her tone.

“Leave it to me. Maddie, you go to your bedroom and rest.” She pointed upstairs. “Now. And you, Lord Wentworth, leave.”

Hector bowed to the ladies. Mrs. Debenham had a point. Maddie needed to rest. “I will see you tomorrow, Maddie.”

From behind her mother, she scribbled something on the sketchbook and showed him the page where the word ‘window’ was written. “See you tomorrow. Lord Wentworth.”

Hector walked around the house and waited in the same spot he’d stopped before climbing her window years ago. The chilly wind blew from the park, and thunder boomed from a grey sky. He kept to the shadows, watching commuters hurrying home and constables huddling their cloaks more tightly.

When the street became less crowded and the constables had turned around the corner, he hauled himself up.

He didn’t even need to pause. His muscles were so trained he didn’t hesitate.

The window was half open, so he slipped inside and landed on the balls of his feet.

He had barely time to straighten before Maddie hugged him.

Laughing, he hugged her back and inhaled her sweet lavender scent. “You didn’t answer my question. Will you accept my money?” He pulled back enough to see her face, needing to stare at her eyes.

Her cheeks reddened. “I can’t pay you back unless I become famous.”

“You’ll become famous, and I don’t want to be paid back.”

“Not even in kisses?” She unbuttoned his waistcoat and tugged at his pathetic excuse for a cravat.

Just watching her slender fingers working on the buttons of his shirt caused his pulse to spike. “That’s another matter. When do we start this payment in kisses?”

“Now. Because it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?”

She removed his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt with one yank. She drew in a breath, admiring him. “You must promise me that one day you’ll pose for me.” She ran her hands over his chest, exploring and studying him.

“Yes. Anything you want.” Oh, his cock ached, but he let her explore his body without interrupting her.

Her fingertips caressing his nipples were sheer torture, but he pushed down the urge to rip her clothes off her beautiful body.

He sucked in a breath as she traced his abdominal muscles and biceps.

Blazes. He had to focus to remain still.

Her delicate touch fed a fierce dark hunger inside him. It nearly frightened him.

When she opened his trousers and knelt in front of him, he couldn’t repress a groan.

She wouldn’t do that, would she? No, he was wrong.

She parted her plush lips and smiled before dipping her head.

He hissed a breath between his teeth when she took him in her hot, velvety mouth.

Fire of hell. His body was aflame with need, pleasure, and the deep desire to marry her.

No, not because she obliterated his reason with her tongue and lips.

He wanted to marry her because he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Another tortured groan tore out of him as she sucked him deep in her throat.

He sank his fingers into her silky hair and fought a shout crawling up his chest. She swirled her tongue over his tip before taking him deeper.

It was good that his thigh muscles were taut and strong, or he would collapse.

Desire welled so fast in his abdomen that he shuddered with it.

He jolted when she stroked his balls with curious hands.

He felt her touch everywhere. She changed rhythm but took him even deeper in her mouth. Hell. He was dying from pleasure.

He couldn’t resist. The release built up quickly, burning him from the inside out. He gently took her face and moved her away before he spilt into her mouth.

She pouted, her pillow-like lips red and glistening. “Why did you stop me? I wanted?—”

He cut her protest with a kiss. Even to his standards, it was a savage one.

Raw and furious. He poured all his burning desire into that kiss.

But she replied by wrapping her arms and legs around him.

They kissed with their mouths open, biting, tonguing, and grazing at each other.

He lifted her and walked blindly towards the bed.

When his legs touched the covers, he laid her down.

He took a moment to admire her kiss-swollen lips and her rising chest before unbuttoning her dress.

It was curious how earlier that day his fingers had struggled to tie the knot of his cravat, but now they managed to unbutton her shirt, untie her skirt and petticoats, and remove her boots in a matter of seconds.

In her chemise and drawers, she was simply irresistible.

She spread her legs, showing him her glistening core without hesitation.

He started kissing her from her neck, smiling against her skin when she moaned.

He bunched up her chemise and closed his mouth around her inviting nipple.

Her hips bucked up as he sucked hard before tonguing her breasts.

She was perfection in everything. All creamy skin, sweet scent, and delicious moans.

He fondled her breasts and tongued her hardened nipples until she writhed underneath him.

“Please,” she whispered. “Make me feel it.”

He buried himself in her with one thrust and paused, worried to have hurt her. But she arched her back and lifted her hips, so he started to move back and forth until he found a rhythm she matched. God, she was so beautiful it hurt.

“Harder,” she said in a commanding tone.

He obliged. When her inner muscles squeezed around him, he stroked her engorged nub. She clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle her scream of pleasure, which he didn’t like. He wanted to hear her scream. He wanted her fully unbridled with passion, free to express her ecstasy.

All in good time. If she’d ever agree to marry him. He pulled away before finding his release. Its power rocked him deeply. It bordered on pain, so shockingly strong it was. Swallowing his shout of pleasure, he waited for his brain to become functional again and his heart to slow down.

“Come here.” She spread her arms, and he went to her willingly, scattering kisses on her face.

The words ‘would you be my wife’ burned on the tip of his tongue, but he reined himself in.

If Quentin’s doctor managed to declare him insane, he’d be locked up in an institution, and he didn’t want Maddie to suffer because of him, being tied to a man proclaimed insane.

So he held her, feeling her soft breath on his chest, and promised—no, swore that he’d ask her to marry him when he could offer her the whole world.