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“W ell, there’s no time like the present. How about a short lesson now?”

What had possessed her to say that?

Evelyn heard the words echo in her mind as she tried to understand how and why she had said such a thing.

It was far too forward. It was entirely outrageous.

And the worst of it was, her intentions were even more scandalous than how the words could be interpreted.

Richard was still seated. Evidently, he had not entirely believed her. “What are you working on, Evelyn?”

Evelyn attempted to ignore how just the way he spoke her name made ripples of heat soar through her. “I said, how about a short lesson now?”

A teasing smile appeared on his lips. “You cannot be serious.”

“Why not?” she retorted. “You think I cannot teach you?”

How she had known that remark would be taken as a direct challenge, she did not know.

No, that was not entirely true. She knew Richard, knew him well. She could predict how he would respond to certain things and this approach, this method of teasing him into it, was one of the few ways he could be encouraged to be so bold.

Not that he needed to be much bolder.

Richard grinned. “I do not have an artistic bone in my body, and I don’t need you attempting to teach me to know that.”

Trying very hard not to think of the numerous bones in Richard’s body, and how much she had adored seeing that body naked, Evelyn said, “I’ve always wanted to teach someone else. Are you truly willing to deny me?”

Once again, she spoke words that could have been taken innocently… and once again she saw in Richard’s eyes that he wondered precisely whether she was speaking not-so-innocently.

Evelyn’s breath was short in her lungs. This is a mistake. This is a brilliant idea. I’ll regret this. I’ll always regret not doing it.

Oh, what on earth am I thinking?

She wasn’t thinking. She was acting instinctively. Something she had never done before.

“You cannot know, I think, what it is to be entirely different from those around you,” Evelyn said quietly, placing her paintbrushes into their pot of water.

Richard snorted. “Don’t I just.”

“You have no role to play in Society. There are no expectations of you,” Evelyn countered. “I am the daughter of an earl.”

“A privileged position.”

“A cage made of gold is still a cage,” Evelyn said quietly. “I have always been different. I’m not like my cousin Lilianna, or Gwendoline, content to parade oneself about Society until one finds a husband. I wanted more.”

Richard’s throat bobbed. “‘More’?”

Well, that was more suggestive than she had intended. “More from life,” she said quietly. “I want to be an artist.”

“You are an artist.”

“But I am not respected as one. Not considered anything more than a hobbyist with an expensive taste for paint,” Evelyn said with a wry smile. “So why not ignore the expectations of Society entirely? Why not continue to be different? Why not… teach you?”

“I-I can’t paint,” Richard stammered.

Stammered. Evelyn had never seen him so nervous. So uncertain of himself. Here was a man who was almost always the most confident person in the room… and now he was watching as though she could at any moment do something wild.

Perhaps she would.

“I can’t paint.” For some reason, Richard’s voice was hoarse. “I’m telling you, I can’t!”

“Afraid of trying something new? Afraid of failing?”

His breath hitched and a flicker of pain across the man’s face, a sting she had not intended to inflict. Evelyn thought back to those scars, the pain he must have felt.

How was that a failure? To bear such torture and continue to live, to defy the odds? Was that not a victory?

Richard had continued to affix her with a stern look. “I am telling you, I cannot paint.”

“Nonsense. Everyone can paint,” Evelyn said briskly, an idea circling her mind so scandalous, she should not have been considering it. “Here.”

He had evidently not been expecting her to step toward him. He had also not been expecting her, based on his lack of resistance, to pull him to his feet.

“Evelyn,” he said quietly.

A jolt of desire flickered through her. Evelyn did not attempt to ignore it.

This was the perfect opportunity, was it not?

Her parents at that dull ball, her brother out gambling, her sister at that rally their parents absolutely refused to permit her to attend and so presumably Lucy was once again disguised in Laurent’s clothing…

The house was empty. Everyone but the servants was out this evening. No one was expecting her company to discuss the weather, or chat about gowns or whatever insipid politics had occurred today.

No, she had all the time in the world.

And Richard.

He was still protesting. “It takes years to know how to draw, let alone paint. Evelyn, that’s not why I came to see you tonight.”

“Oh, stop twittering,” Evelyn said, her heart in her mouth as she made the decision to do something so risqué, she could hardly believe it of herself. “Now, stand here.”

It was easy enough to remove the paper she had been working on and slip a new, fresh-white piece onto the easel.

Richard was grinning uncertainly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Look, here,” said Evelyn quietly. “I’ll start you off.”

She leaned past him to pick up a pencil, highly conscious of the way her shoulder brushed up against him.

It should not have made her breathing quicken. It should not have received an answering hiss from Richard.

It did.

Stay calm , Evelyn attempted to tell herself. If you truly wish to do this, then… then you are going to have to have a much braver approach than that.

“See, I’ll draw an outline for you,” she said quietly.

Trying not to be so conscious of just how closely Richard was standing behind her, Evelyn made short work of the empty page. Within minutes, it was no longer empty and had been filled with the sketched outline of a person. They were standing, arms by their sides.

“There,” she said, pleased with her effort.

“See, you have already done it—and far better than I could ever do.”

“Just trust me, won’t you?”

Evelyn had not intended to turn on the spot and say the words mere inches away from Richard’s mouth. She had also not intended to whisper them, to fill her voice with a longing she had barely managed to keep hidden from the moment that he had entered her studio.

Still. For all her lack of intentions, the result she had hoped for was most gratifying.

Richard placed a hand on her shoulder. Then it moved to her arm. “I don’t know what you expect me to be able to do with that outline.”

“Never fear. I would not expect you to be able to draw without a model,” said Evelyn as she stepped from him and toward the chair.

No, she could not sit down—that would hinder her purpose. Besides, she had drawn an outline of a person standing. She couldn’t very well then sit and make it even more difficult for him.

As she turned on the spot, it was to see Richard tilting his head. “But I don’t know how to start.”

“Pick up a pencil,” Evelyn said, her mouth dry, “and… and caress me with the tip.”

Richard’s eyes could not have been wider. “I… I’m sorry, I think I almost passed out for a moment there. Did you say ‘caress’ you?”

“Look at me and caress my body with the tip of the pencil, but on the paper,” Evelyn said, heat stirring in her that she had never felt before.

Oh, this was most improper. This was outrageous. This was more forward than she had ever been in her life!

Richard appeared to be having some difficulties with his trousers. He hastily stepped behind the easel and peered out. “Evelyn, this is too much.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But don’t you want to?”

She held his focus for far longer than she could ever have imagined. In that look, Evelyn attempted to tell Richard so much more than her lips would permit her.

How she wanted him to touch her. How his touch would be most welcome, most delicious… how she would have no regrets if he were to kiss her again.

But how to tell him? How to find the words, when words, unlike watercolors, refused to bow to her wishes?

Richard picked up a pencil and, eyes serious, looked at her. Evelyn reveled in it, finding an unexpected delight and frisson in being looked at so.

Dear Lord, no wonder so many artists had affairs with their models. It was… It was electrifying, to be looked at like this. To be consumed by a man’s gaze, to know you were the only thing in the room worth looking at.

“I… I feel I must say again that I cannot draw,” Richard protested, his pencil making but a few marks on the paper.

Well, it appeared she would have to do something more drastic to make sure her point came across.

“In that case, don’t draw,” Evelyn said, cheeks burning but resolve determined. “Just watch.”

Richard’s brow furrowed. “Watch? I don’t under… under… Oh, hell.”

Oh, hell, indeed. Or rather, quite the contrary: oh, heaven.

Evelyn had never felt anything like it: this power, this vigor that soared through her as she slowly moved her hands behind her back and untied her apron. It fell to her studio floor with a soft sound. It was the only sound in the building.

The only sound, that was, other than a slightly strangled sound from Richard.

So, the apron was off. What next? Ah, yes.

Evelyn did not remove her gaze from Richard as she slowly lifted her hands to remove her hairpins. One by one, they were dropped to the ground, and little by little, her curls cascaded down her shoulders.

Right. What next?

“Evelyn,” Richard croaked as she slowly moved her hands down her side, unbuttoning the top of her gown. “You… You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Evelyn said softly, hardly able to believe she could finally speak. “But I want to.”

“But—”

“Don’t you want me to?” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, yet Richard had clearly heard it.

“Yes,” he murmured, eyes flashing with desire that Evelyn had known had been lying just below the surface. “Don’t stop.”