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“I see. So,” said Lucy, pouring a healthy dollop of the golden liquid into each glass and handing one to her, “let me get this straight. You asked the man to model for you. You asked him to tell you nothing about himself, not even his full name. Now you have found out his full name, and that he owns what is apparently one of the most delightful art collections in the country—”

“How do you know that?” She had not intended to snap, but intentions were hardly attuned to actions these days.

Lucy frowned. “It’s all anyone talked about when the last viscount died—or rather, it was all you talked about last year. Remember? You said it was an art collection to die for.”

Evelyn took a large swig of the brandy. It burned all the way down her throat, but it made her feel more alive, her mind sharpening. “Such a pretty art collection.”

“—and now you are upset with him for having done precisely what you asked him to do,” finished off her sister.

It is most unfair of Lucy to be so… so blasted reasonable.

Evelyn did not say that aloud. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow as she took a large gulp of her brandy—without, Evelyn noticed with a wry smile, wincing a bit. Just how long had her sister known about that secret cupboard?

“It doesn’t sound complicated to me,” said Lucy quietly. “It sounds like you are angry at him and you’re not sure why.”

It did. Not that Evelyn was about to admit that.

Taking another large gulp of her drink and wondering how she would stand upright after this, she tried to see if there was a way she could explain it better.

She’d asked him to keep a secret, and he had, and now she was upset. No, that wasn’t it.

She’d asked him to keep his name a secret, and he had, and… Blast.

She’d wanted to keep an air of mystery about him, and now that air was gone. Yes, that was it!

But that was hardly a crime, was it? Certainly not deserving of some of the things she had shouted at their last meeting.

“I said I wanted a blank slate, not a liar! You know how I feel about liars, Richard! Or should I call you ‘my lord’?”

Evelyn sighed. “I don’t seem to be able to explain it in any rational manner—not a huge surprise, given my—”

“Artist’s temperament, yes,” Lucy cut in. “I know Percy’s deception, his lies, upset us all, and I know you have had an aversion to liars ever since. But what has your model done?”

What has my model done?

So much. Evelyn could hardly believe she had lived without him.

Whenever she attempted to look back and remember her life before Richard had stepped into this very drawing room and offered to be her model, there was just a gap there.

A strange, empty gap. Her life had had less color, less vibrancy.

As though her life had gone from charcoal to oils.

But no, she couldn’t think like that, could she? He was gone from her life now, and she would not return to charcoal.

“He modeled for me, that is all,” Evelyn said curtly.

Lucy just smiled.

“That is all,” she repeated defensively. “And he—he took off all his clothes.”

Oh, blast . She had not intended to say that out loud.

For the first time in their conversation, Lucy’s cheeks were pink. “I beg your pardon?”

“For art,” Evelyn added hastily.

It appeared that did not matter. “I’m sorry. Did you say he took off all his clothes ? And Laurent allowed this?”

Evelyn didn’t mention their lady’s maid. “And he agreed with Father that he would marry me, before even talking about it with me first, either of them,” Evelyn added, certain that her sister would agree with her on this.

She clearly did. Lucy’s brow furrowed and she finished the last of her brandy. “Now that is most unacceptable.”

“You see!” Evelyn spoke with triumph, but it melted away the instant her sister started to shake her head.

“Not really. Oh, it was foolhardy indeed for the viscount and Father to discuss your marriage, I agree… but is it possible that they spoke only of theoretical? That he was sounding out Father, rather than making an agreement?”

Evelyn opened her mouth to immediately refute the ridiculous idea. Then she closed her mouth again.

She did not actually know, did she?

“And as far as I can see, it’s all perfect,” continued Lucy blithely, tucking her legs under her in the armchair and grinning. “I mean, what lady hasn’t wished to have an eye on the goods before matrimony?”

“ Lucy !”

“You think that because I care about prison reforms that I have no other thoughts in my head?” she challenged.

Evelyn bit her lip. Well, yes. In a way . Lucy was always so passionate about the transportation laws, about how unfair it was that some crimes could be done away with thanks only to a little coin. It was all she spoke of.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It was all Evelyn had listened to.

“He sounds like the perfect match for you, if you ask me,” her sister was saying. “He doesn’t mind sitting around all day for you to draw or paint him, which is something I find most tedious. He is a good-looking man, I suppose, in his way. What do you think of him?”

Unbidden and most welcome images of Richard, naked beneath her as she rode them both to pleasure, rose in Evelyn’s mind.

Heat burned her cheeks. “He… He… He is amiable.”

“And you have the benefit of knowing that you fell in love with him before you even knew whether he had a title or not,” finished Lucy as she placed her brandy glass down on the floor beside her. “You are in love with him, aren’t you?”

Yes .

Evelyn wished to deny it. She wanted to rip out her heart and rid it of this contamination, this sickness. This pain that it was causing. This knowledge that she would never be the same again because she loved Richard Sempill.

She looked helplessly at her sister. “I love him.”

“You fell in love with him as he was, then. No name, no title, no rank, no fortune,” Lucy said, ticking off her fingers. “You fell in love with him. And now you can’t love him despite discovering he is respectable?”

And the kernel of truth that had buried its way into the center of Evelyn finally revealed herself, surprising even her.

“Part of the charm was that he wasn’t respectable.

At least, I did not presume so—it was… oh, forbidden.

Not a titled man, not like one of the primping popinjays who so often attempt to gain our attention at a ball or a concert or the theater. He was just… Richard.”

It was almost shameful to admit it. That was it, wasn’t it? Some of the attraction lay in the danger of not knowing, of the mystery. Now that that attraction was gone, was there enough love left?

Evelyn looked up at her sister, and there was no judgment in her eyes. She was a fine sister, a wonderful sister. “What am I going to do?”

Lucy grinned. “Who am I to advise the great artiste ?”

She took it back—her sister was the most irritating, most infuriating—

“Fine, fine, I’ll give you my opinion, though with the caveat that I should not consider it advice. I am hardly an expert in these matters, after all,” said Lucy with a shake of her head. “Just answer me this. When you look at him—when you affixed his visage with your artistic eye—”

“ Lucy !”

“—what do you see when you look at him?”

Evelyn blinked. It was a most odd question, indeed. What did she see when she looked at him? “Richard. Obviously. The Viscount Sempill now. What are you talking about?”

“I mean, when you truly look at him, when you look past the planes of his face and the contours of his clothes, what do you see?” Lucy asked quietly.

Evelyn was in half a mind to clamber back down onto the drawing room floor and gaze up at the ceiling. She would gain just as much comfort from that as the nonsense her sister was spouting.

But then she allowed her mind to wander. When I look at Richard.

And she remembered laughter, and delight, and silliness.

How he teased her, that sparkle of mischief in his eyes telling her that she was about to see him being wicked.

She thought of the vulnerability he shared in removing his clothes, the way he held himself proudly because of what he had done, who he was.

And she thought of that moment, Richard smiling on his knees declaring his love for her, and how she had reacted in panic. In pain.

When she looked at him, she saw all the possibility. The bravery and the joy and the inability to admit when he was wrong. She saw a man who challenged himself and could be a challenge to her. Who had seen her for what she was: an artist, despite Society telling her she could not be.

He was everything.

Evelyn groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “I… I see the future. Blast it all to hell.”

When she looked up, Lucy was grinning. “Well, then. What are you going to do about it?”