Page 9 of The Art of Sinning

She fought to act nonchalant, though inside she was bleeding. Did Edwin really think her so unsightly that she needed a famous artist to make her look appealing?

“Forgive my brother, sir,” she told Mr. Keane with a bland smile. “He’s set on gaining me a husband, no matter what the cost. But I’ve read the interview where you said you’d rather cut off your hands than paint another portrait, and I’d hate to be the cause of such a loss to the world.”

Mr. Keane gazed steadily at her. “I sometimes exaggerate when speaking with the press, madam. But this particular portrait is one I am more than willing to execute, I assure you.”

“Eager for the challenge, are you?” Such raw anger boiled up in her that it fairly choked her. “Eager to try your hand at painting me attractive enough to convince some hapless fellow in search of a wife to ignore the evidence of his eyes?”

Belatedly, her brother seemed to realize how she’d taken his words. “Yvette, that’s not what I was saying.”

She ignored him. “Or perhaps it’s the money that entices you. How much did my brother offer in order to gain your compliance in such an onerous task? It must have been a great deal.”

“I didn’t offer him money,” Edwin protested. “You misunderstand what I—”

“Iwantto paint you,” Mr. Keane snapped even as he glared Edwin into silence.

With betrayal stinging her, she gathered the remnants of her dignity about her. “Thank you, but I am not yet so... so desperate as to require your services.”

She turned to leave, but Mr. Keane caught her by the arm. When she scowled at him, he released her... only to offer her his hand. “May I have this dance, Lady Yvette?”

That took her by surprise. Only then did she notice the strains of a waltz being struck. She had half a mind to stalk off in a huff, but that would be childish.

Besides, other people had begun to notice their exchange, and she couldnotendure the idea of people gossiping about her making a scene at the wedding breakfast of her friend... who happened to have jilted her brother.

“Lady Yvette?” Mr. Keane prompted in a steely voice.

She cast him the coolest smile she could muster. “Yes, of course, Mr. Keane. I would be delighted.”

Then she took his hand and let him sweep her into a waltz.

As soon as they were moving, he said, “You have every right to be angry with your brother.”

“My feelings toward my brother are none of your concern.”

“I was telling the truth about wanting to paint you.”

She snorted. “I don’t know how much money—”

“But not for a portrait.” He bent close enough to whisper in her ear, “Though he doesn’t know that.”

That caught her so off guard that when Mr. Keane pulled back to fix her with a serious gaze, she couldn’t at first summon a single answer.

“I see I finally have your attention,” he said.

“Oh, you always had my attention,” she said testily. “Just not the sort of fawning attention you probably prefer.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Tell me, Lady Yvette, do you have something against artists in general? Or is it just I who rub you the wrong way?”

“I don’t trust charming rogues, sir. I’ve encountered enough of your kind to know all your tricks.”

He arched one eyebrow. “I seriously doubt that.”

When he then twirled her in a turn, she realized with a start that they’d been waltzing effortlessly all this time. That almost never happened with her. Few men knew how to deal with an ungainly Amazon like her on the dance floor.

That softened her toward him a little. A very little. “So what exactlydoyou want to paint me for, anyway?”

“An entirely different work. And agreeing to your brother’s request seemed the only way to get close enough to you to arrange that.”

She eyed him skeptically.