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He stared. Then he looked down at his boot, which was rather more green than it had been when he had first entered. “Not a sage?”

Lady Evelyn did not look impressed. “I call it ‘emerald,’ and I say so advisedly.”

It definitely looked more like a sage to him, but he was hardly in a position to argue. Not after he had now mixed it with the blue and dark red beside it with his clumsy feet.

The place was, in truth, a mess.

Richard liked it. When was the last time he had seen any place that had been truly lived in, had been enjoyed as it had been designed to be?

“I like this place,” he said aloud.

“Good,” Lady Evelyn said briskly, “for I intend for you to spend a great deal of time here. Well, go on. Take your clothes off.”

Richard knocked over a very expensive-looking white paint. “I beg your pardon!”

He must have misheard her. There was no other explanation possible: young ladies, particularly daughters of earls, did not go around asking men to take their clothes off!

Unless he had been running with entirely the wrong sort of crowd for years… It was true—she was here in the room alone with him. That in and of itself was not what he had considered proper behavior for a lady of her class.

Not that he had minded , he admitted to himself. But this !

Lady Evelyn does not look nearly so flushed as she should , Richard thought as he stared, open mouthed. Why, she looks positively calm!

“I said, take your clothes off,” she repeated patiently, pointing at the chair in the center of the studio with the end of a pencil. “Come on. I don’t have all day. You might, but I don’t.”

Richard could only gape. “B-But—dash it all, Lady Evelyn, but… but you’re a lady !”

“Yes, and I have had plenty of practice with the female form,” Lady Evelyn replied, with what appeared behind the canvas to be an eye roll. “It is the male form I have had no practice with, as you can imagine. So. Take your clothes off.”

“You never told me that would be part of the job!”

She swallowed slightly. “And you never questioned whether it was proper to be in a room alone with me. I imagined you to be more… open-minded.”

His pulse was racing uncomfortably now, and Richard was wondering whether or not this had been a fine idea after all.

Sitting in a chair for hours on end—well, that had been easy enough. It would hardly be a departure from his typical afternoon, and the opportunity to walk home with a few extra shillings to buy a pie on the way home… What had there been to lose?

His dignity, as it turned out. And his privacy.

Richard glanced down at his chest—which was completely covered with a shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. The idea of taking them off, bearing his chest to this woman…

No .

No, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. Not for all the shillings in the world.

Lady Evelyn sighed, completely misunderstanding his reticence. “Look, it’s very simple. Male artists can paint anyone and everyone in the nude. I deserve my chance to do the same.”

“Now, hang on,” Richard said weakly.

“Well, perhaps not everyone . You cannot exactly walk up to the nearest specimen and demand they strip,” mused Lady Evelyn, who evidently considered this a damned shame. “But my point is, why can’t I paint any model in the nude? Is artistic genius to be the sole purview of men forever?”

Richard opened his mouth, found that once again, there was very little he could conceive of to say, and closed it.

The woman made an excellent point. It was just a shame that her point wended in the direction of him being forced to take all his clothes off.

“Besides, I have furs and blankets and things,” Lady Evelyn added, gesturing to the pile in the corner. “You can drape yourself, I suppose. Artistically. You can do that, can’t you?”

What the hell was he supposed to do? There had been no mention of this in the advertisement—he certainly would not have responded if he had known that a prerequisite of the job was stripping off his clothes!

“I… I presumed you knew what modeling for an artist entailed.”

Richard’s attention jerked up. Lady Evelyn was looking at him curiously, as though he were the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

His spirits perked up a bit there—or perhaps it was his ego. Or something lower down.

“No,” he said stiffly. “No, I didn’t.”

“Ah. In that case, I take it you are offended, perhaps even scandalized, by my continuous request for you to take all your clothes off,” Lady Evelyn said vaguely, placing her pencil behind her ear and continuing to examine him.

For the first time perhaps in his life, Richard flushed. “I-I… I will admit, I… I did not expect—”

“Look, you’re clearly nervous, and I have no wish to make you feel uncomfortable,” Lady Evelyn said, her tone returned to a more businesslike manner. “You are free to go, naturally, but if you would like to stay, why don’t we compromise?”

Richard had not moved. The very idea of walking out of here and never seeing Lady Evelyn again was absolutely ludicrous. He could not, would not do it. “‘Compromise’?”

Hell, he had only come here for some diversion.

Why did Lady Evelyn’s opinion of him matter so much?

Why did he find it so difficult to say no to her?

Why had he not once questioned her lack of a chaperone aloud?

Could not a potentially doting papa force him to marry her at once should he catch them here, together, merely speaking without the presence of an observer?

Never mind what might happen if the earl caught Richard with his clothes off…

“Yes, a compromise.” Lady Evelyn had disappeared behind the canvas again, her voice ambiguous. “If you take your jacket and waistcoat off, maybe roll your sleeves up, I can do an arm and hands study.”

“Arm and hands study”?

Richard’s jaw tightened. If he only had to roll up his sleeves… well, then, she wouldn’t see. He wouldn’t have to reveal what he did not want her to see.

“I think that is a fair bargain,” he said quietly. How his voice managed to stay level, he did not know.

“Good,” came Lady Evelyn’s reply. A pencil jutted out from behind the canvas. It was pointing at the center of the studio. “Agreed. Chair.”

Trying not to grin at the way she had evidently become lost in her thoughts, or more likely, her art, Richard stepped forward and sat on the chair.

It was a very comfortable one—an armchair that had seen better days, certainly, and had perhaps been ready to be thrown out by the family before it had been claimed by the daughter.

“Off, please.”

Richard swiftly lurched to his feet before realizing what she’d probably meant. “Oh, right.”

Now he knew he could keep his trousers on, it was a lot easier to remove his jacket and waistcoat. That did not explain, however, the shaking of his fingers as he carefully unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves.

Not too far up, not near the elbow… there. That would have to be enough. He wouldn’t let her see it. No one would need to see that.

“Excellent,” said Lady Evelyn, popping her face around the canvas with a furrowed brow. “Now, if you would just sit there with your forearms on the arms of the chair, your hands resting unclenched… I said, unclenched .”

A nerve jumped in Richard’s temple as he tried to release the tension in his arms.

“Better,” was the artist’s verdict. “Now, just stay there—precisely there. Do not move an inch.”

“For how long?”

“Forever, I think,” came Lady Evelyn’s vague response.

Richard stifled a smile. Well, he had heard about artists entering a highly focused state so that the rest of the world did not appear to be even real, but it was amusing to see it in person.

The minutes ticked by. Every now and again, Lady Evelyn’s beautiful face would reappear, her eyes narrowed and her focus absolute. Richard could almost feel the weight of her concentration flickering down his arms, taking in every line, every hair, every curve of his fingers.

It was… Well. He had to admit it.

Sensual .

The rare times he had taken a woman to bed, it had been to fulfill a need. To satisfy a craving. To scratch an itch.

Need fulfilled, craving satisfied, and itch scratched, he would leave.

There had never been any long, pondering gazes or resplendent looking at each other. He had never been looked at before with this sort of intensity.

But then, he’d had nothing to be ashamed of—self-conscious of, if she asked him to push his sleeves back another three inches.

Richard sat up straighter.

“Did I tell you to move?”

“No,” Richard said hastily, dropping himself back down in the chair. “My apologies.”

“I haven’t drawn a man’s arms like this in ages,” said Lady Evelyn, her voice low, her concentration evidently on the end of her pencil, not the conversation itself.

And a spark of envy, of jealousy, spurted through Richard. “Who was he?”

“‘He’?”

Damn it, he had to control himself. “The man you drew.”

“‘Man’?”

He had to smile at that, even if his mind was still reeling from the idea that he was not the first man who had enjoyed Lady Evelyn’s company in this way. “The other man you have drawn.”

“Oh, Percy doesn’t count as a man,” she said imprecisely.

The jealousy was getting worse. Percy? She was on such intimate terms with him?

Fine, admittedly she was technically on intimate terms with him as well. She had wanted to know his first name and nothing else—but he had thought that a quirk of their connection, something special.

And now, to find out that she treated all her models this way…

Richard swallowed. Now why the hell did that bother him?

“Yes, I have never thought of my brother as a man,” Lady Evelyn mused aloud, the noise of her pencil moving across the paper filling the studio. Her brother. A breath escaped Richard’s lips. “He’s also an absolute rotter of a liar and currently in my bad books.”

“A ‘liar’?”

“I cannot abide a liar,” Lady Evelyn said fiercely, her eyes flashing. “To deceive is to destroy. No relationship, no connection can withstand the damage. Though I admit, Percy has been making attempts to gain forgiveness for many months now. I may have no choice but to accept him. Eventually.”

Richard swallowed. A hatred of liars. Well, he was hardly lying, was he? Omitting the truth, and at her request—that could hardly be considered the same thing.

“And Percy was never a very good sitter. Not like you.”

Despite himself, Richard preened.

So, Percy was her brother—and a liar, which she evidently was not happy with.

Strange. Richard had always approached truth with a loose grip.

It had served him well in France. And most importantly, he was a better sitter than her brother.

Why the devil that should matter so much was neither here nor there.

Wait a minute. Wait a goddamn minute.

“You said before—”

“If you absolutely must speak, try to do so without moving in any way,” Lady Evelyn said curtly, without even looking around her canvas.

Richard opened his mouth, then partially closed it, and wondered what on earth he had gotten himself into. But now that the thought had occurred to him, he simply had to know.

“You said before that you had plenty of experience with painting the female form.”

“Hmmmm?”

Blast . He had absolutely no idea how to go about asking this question. One simply did not ask ladies this sort of thing. Why he was about to was anyone’s guess. “Did… Did you mean a female nude? I mean, the naked form of a woman?”

Lady Evelyn appeared at the side of her canvas. She was smiling. “You have never heard of a full-length looking glass?”

She disappeared behind the canvas again.

Very slowly, attempting not to move while he did indeed move, Richard crossed his legs to hide the stiffening manhood that was tenting his trousers.

Dear God. So Lady Evelyn had stood in this art studio, completely naked, in front of a looking glass and… and painted a self-portrait.

Where the devil is that painting?

“I thought I told you not to move.”

“I thought you were drawing my hands and arms,” Richard shot back, his voice strangled as he attempted to gain a hold of himself. “Not my legs.”

“You have shifted the weight of your left arm and twisted your right arm inward about a quarter inch,” came the swift reply as Lady Evelyn glared around her canvas. “I pay attention to these things, you see.”

“If it’s just a study, not a formal portrait, I don’t see what difference it would make,” he said, as firmly as he could.

Cold thoughts, man, cold thoughts!

“And that is why I am the artist, and you are only the model,” came the sweet reply. “But I’ll let it go this once. This is your first ever time modeling, after all.”

Richard tried to remain calm. Well, he was attracted to Lady Evelyn—it was hardly a crime. And they were alone here. And he was technically unsuitably dressed. And they had spoken of her naked body…

Cold thoughts!

“Is there anything you would like to ask about me?” he said aloud. That was it. Change the topic of conversation. Stop thinking about Lady Evelyn and her naked body—damn it, man!

“No.”

She sounded almost bored. No, not bored. Highly focused.

It was fascinating. She was fascinating. Richard had never encountered an artist in this way, in their place of work as it was, and the atmosphere was strangely peaceful while at the same time greatly disconcerting.

Here he was, just… sitting.

Worst of all, Lady Evelyn’s total lack of interest in him was a little wrongfooting.

“Are you comfortable?”

No , Richard wanted to say desperately. No, I cannot understand why I am so damned attracted to you, why I have allowed myself to spend time with you without a chaperone present, and why being here with you, in silence, is far more interesting than anything I have done in the last year.

“Oh, yes,” he said aloud.

“Excellent,” said Lady Evelyn with a brief smile around the canvas. “Stay precisely there for two more hours, and I’ll give you an additional shilling for each hour.”

Richard smiled weakly. And of course, she did not know who he was. That would surely not become a problem in the future.

“‘Sit here’?”

“Stop talking,” Lady Evelyn said severely from the other side of the canvas.

Richard’s smile warmed. Well, he had thought it wouldn’t be much different, sitting for an artist compared to sitting at home.

How very wrong he had been.