Page 10 of The Art of Sinning

“Ask Blakeborough if you don’t believe me. Before I knew who he was, whoyouwere, I wanted you to sit for me. I decided it the moment I saw you enter the room. I asked your brother who you were; he asked why I wanted to know, and I told him.”

His gaze locked with hers, as sincere a one as she’d ever seen. But then, Lieutenant Ruston had seemed sincere at first, too. “Why on earth would you want to paintme?”

“No clue. I never know why particular models intrigue me; just that they do. And I always follow my instincts.”

Yvette blinked. Hecouldhave claimed it had something to do with her looks. The fact that he hadn’t lent more credence to his assertion. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” And rather flattering.

“Itisridiculous, isn’t it? But true, I swear.”

“So what exactly are the terms of your ‘transaction’ with my brother?”

He flinched. “Your brother is an ass.”

“Not really. Just rather oblivious to other people’s feelings sometimes.” She cast him a hard stare. “Answer the question.”

With a long-suffering sigh, he tightened his grip on her hand. “I am to paint your portrait. In exchange, he is to drum up some gentlemen who might be interested in courting my sister.”

She gaped at him. “What a pair of nodcocks you are! Has it occurred to either of you that your sisters are perfectly capable of finding husbands on their own if they so choose? That perhaps we— Wait a minute. I thought your sister lived in America.”

“She’s on her way here. She means to drag me home to help her with the family mills.” He cracked a smile. “I mean to fob some other fellow off on her who can go in my stead.”

His look of boyish mischief seduced her. Until she put herself in his sister’s shoes. “First you abandon her to go flitting about Europe. And now that she has tired of waiting for your return, you think to get rid of her by marrying her off.” She shook her head. “Your poor sister.”

“Trust me, there is nothing ‘poor’ about my sister. Amanda can take care of herself.” His smile smoldered. “As, it appears, can you. Which is probably what made me want you for my painting in the first place.”

She fought not to be intrigued. “What is this painting about, anyway?”

“It’s allegorical, about the sacrifice of Art to Commerce.”

That took her by surprise. “Something like Dela­croix’s paintings?”

“You’re familiar with Delacroix?”

His voice held such astonishment that it scraped her nerves. “I do read books, you know. And attend exhibits and operas with my brother when I can drag him to town.”

“Operas, eh? Better you than me. I can’t imagine anything more tedious than an evening of screeching.”

“My point is that I’m not some ninnyhammer society chit who only keeps abreast of fashions.”

“I didn’t think you were.” He bent close enough to say in a husky tone, “Unlike your brother, I am fully aware of your attractions.”

The words melted over her skin like butter. And when he then tugged her slightly closer in the turn, she let him.

Not because of his devastating attractiveness, no. Or his deft ability to dance. Or the glint of awareness in his startling blue eyes. None of that had any effect on her. Certainly not.

Fighting to keep her mind off the breathlessness that suddenly assailed her, she said, “So, which character would I play in this allegorical painting of yours?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Does that mean you agree to sit for it?”

“Perhaps. It depends on your answers to certain questions.”

The music was ending. Oh, dear, and just when the conversation was getting interesting. Unfortunately, it would be highly improper of him to ask her for another.

But apparently he’d thought of that, for he waltzed her toward a pair of doors that opened to reveal steps descending into the sunlit garden. And as the music ended, he offered her his arm.

Curiosity prompted her to take it and she let him lead her outside, relieved to see that they weren’t the only people strolling about. At least she needn’t worry about rousing further gossip.

Besides, she was ready to be out of the stuffy ballroom. Here she could breathe at last.