Page 35 of The Art of Sinning

Ignoring Damber, she eyed Jeremy from beneath her lovely dark lashes. “I hope you found your bed comfortable enough.”

“Perfectly so.”

Except for its being too empty.

God, he needed to get hold of himself. “But I never sleep well in a new place.”

Her pretty features froze. “Then you must get very little rest, given how often you sleep in new places in London.”

The thinly veiled reference to his brothel visits gave him pause. Apparently he wasn’t the only one regretting last night’s intimacies. But she probably regretted them for vastly different reasons.

“Oh,” Damber put in, “but the master ain’t sleeping when he’s out and about in town. He’s too busy—”

“I’m sure Lady Yvette can guess what I’m up to, Damber, thank you,” Jeremy said sharply.

Part of him burned to tell her the truth. That he generally spent his nights in the stews, painting. That he was more likely to sketch a whore than screw her.

But revealing that particular secret would be unwise. If the world knew that his models were primarily prostitutes, people would read meaning into that. Or be blinded to what he was trying to say because they were focusing on the outrage of his using a whore to model a respectable shopkeeper.

Besides, having Yvette think him a rank rogue might encourage her to keep her distance. Now that he’d assuaged her fears about her attractiveness, she had no reason to entice him. Just as he had no reason to tempt her.

And maybe if he said it a few hundred times, he would finally get it through his thick head. The one aboveandthe one below. Both of which were painfully aware of her as she approached.

Then he noticed the white rose in her hand. “I hope you don’t intend to hold that for the portrait,” he said sourly.

She tipped up her chin. “And what if I do?”

“Don’t mind the master, my lady,” Damber cut in. “He’s been grumpy ever since he put me to work without my breakfast.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jeremy growled. “Go eat! I’m tired of hearing about it.”

“You see?” Damber said. “Grumpy as a shabbaroon.”

A lively smile brightened Yvette’s face. “Shabbaroon? I don’t know that one.”

Neither did Jeremy. He suspected he was better off not knowing.

Apparently she felt differently. Hurrying to a nearby writing desk, she took out some paper and exchanged her rose for a quill, which she dipped into an inkpot. “What does it mean?”

Jeremy scowled. “It means an apprentice who’s a pain in the damned—” He caught himself when her quizzical gaze swung his way.

Her hand remained poised over the paper. “Is that really what it means?”

With a snort, Damber came to her side. “Of course not. I told you, he’s a bear this morn.” He gestured to the paper. “Ashabbaroonis a mean sort of fellow. You know, ‘mean’ in both clothes and manners. Likeshabby. Only grouchier.”

“How colorful!” She jotted it down. “Shabbaroon. I’ll have to use that one.”

“Wonderful.” Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest. “Any more ‘colorful’ terms you wish to add to her ladyship’s dictionary, Damber? Or are we actually going to start a portrait today?”

Yvette laughed, the tinkling sound tightening Jeremy’s muscles in all the wrong places. “Heisa shabbaroon this morning, Mr. Damber. You’d best flee to have your breakfast while you can.”

Warily, Damber glanced at Jeremy.

“Damn it, I already said you could go. I’ll send for you if I have need of you.”

But as soon as Jeremy sent the lad off, he regretted it. It left him alone with Yvette. Which was probably why, when she picked up the rose again, he snapped, “No.”

“What?”