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“As far as I can tell, one needs to sit down and not move,” Mr. Mysterious said in a lazy tone. “It’s something I am accustomed to. In fact, I gather that sitting for you will be so akin to my normal day, I may not be able to tell the difference.”

Evelyn could not help but raise an eyebrow.

She would have guessed a gentleman, based on that description. No working man she had ever encountered had ever found leisure time to be as mind-numbing as this man obviously did.

But that did not make sense. She had an eye for the details, something her mother had always applauded, and the details of this particular man did not make sense.

A man with leisure—that would suggest a gentleman. His clothing, too, was of good quality; not fashionable, but then, men’s fashions were so tiring sometimes, Evelyn could not blame him if, like her brother, Percy, he had decided not to update his wardrobe every six months.

But his hands… his hands were scarred. Calloused, as though he had done a great deal of manual labor. There was a rangy strength in him that suggested he had, for a time, been short in the dinner department.

And the boldness…

Well, boldness could come from all strata of Society, Evelyn was almost certain. But a gentleman would surely not stare at a lady like—like that.

Evelyn attempted to force down the rising heat, but it was no good. Being alone in a room with a man like this was like being alone in a room with a tiger.

You were almost convinced he would not attack you. You were going to give him no reason to do so. And yet…

“So, will I do?”

Evelyn swallowed. Would he do? She could find infinite contours of his body to sketch and practice and would never tire of finding something new.

He was a miracle. She had never thought such a man would answer her advertisement—most definitely not after the fools who had traipsed through here earlier.

The man cleared his throat with a raised eyebrow. Evelyn’s cheeks burned.

“Yes… Yes, I think you will do,” she said slowly.

Well, there was no point in giving him too much confidence. He had more than enough of that already.

The man smirked. “Excellent. And you are?”

Blast . She had completely forgotten to introduce herself. Ah, well, that was what happened when one was faced with inexplicable handsomeness like his.

“My name is Lady Evelyn Chance,” she said coolly. “Eldest daughter of the Earl of Lindow. And what is your given name?”

Ah, she had surprised him there. The man’s eyes widened, and instead of barely veiled contempt at the world, there was now just a hint of curiosity. “Richard. Richard—”

“No, I don’t wish to know any other details about you,” Evelyn said firmly.

She had begun this relationship—working relationship—most improperly, ushering her sister out of the room like that. What more harm could the impropriety of addressing the man without his proper title do?

In fact, it only helped matters. She was certain of it. She was not about to lose her innocence to a man she never fully knew.

Richard stared, evidently befuddled. “You don’t?”

“Absolutely not,” said Evelyn, fingers itching to find a sketchbook this very moment to attempt a replica of that eyebrow and that scowl. “I wish to keep you as a blank canvas—a blank slate, if you will. The less I know about you, the better.”

And it will also , she thought ruefully, keep me from getting too intimate with you. Your full name, your life story, where you live, just what you look like with those breeches off—

No. Best I don’t venture down that particular path.

“Does this mean I have the job?” asked Richard with a wicked grin.

Flutters of heat soared through Evelyn as she hesitated.

Scandalous .

That was what her sister had said. Scandalous, the idea of having a stranger model for her. Evelyn knew their parents would agree—Percy’s opinion would firmly not matter to her—and as for the rest of Society…

Well, perhaps Laurent could be persuaded to claim she had sat with them for all of the modeling sessions.

It was not as if she intended for the man to be nude. She knew other artists—all men—had access to nude models, but she was not going to be so improper as that.

It hardly seemed fair, really, for ladies to have different expectations of them, but… No, she could not be so improper as that.

Even if no one would know…

The man still wasn’t objecting to her lack of chaperone. She did not know what to make of it. He knew she was neither someone of the working class nor married, based on her introduction alone.

He, like Evelyn, would have to know how scandalous simply being alone together in this moment ought to have been.

But he raised no objections.

Evelyn’s attention flickered over the man once more. He was a truly excellent specimen. She could not have hoped for better.

“I can pay you six shillings an hour,” she said quietly.

It had been difficult, indeed, to consider what to pay the man. What did other artists pay their models? Evelyn, accompanied by Laurent one afternoon, had endeavored to find out and had been accused by one man in his studio of attempting to entice away his models.

The thought of stealing another’s model had not occurred to her, though in hindsight, perhaps it should have.

“Six shillings?” Richard repeated.

Evelyn could not tell from his tone or demeanor whether he was flattered or offended. “Too much? Too little?”

His gaze flickered to her hands then back to her eyes. For some reason, it made her unreasonably hot. “Six shillings will do.”

There was a quirking smile across his lips that Evelyn did not understand—and would not think about for the rest of the day, she told herself firmly. Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous. Foolish in the extreme.

Likely to occur, but foolish.

“Well, you have the job,” Evelyn said in as businesslike a manner as she could manage. “Can you start tomorrow?”

There was a flicker of mirth in the man’s eyes before he nodded curtly. “What time do you want me?”