Page 17 of What a Lord Wants

“I am.”

“And of me.”

His dark eyes captured hers as he repeated in the same throaty rasp, “I am.”

Eve stared back, unable to find the resolve to look away.

She needed to tell him the truth, that it was a mistake that had brought her here. That she couldneverbe naked in front of him. That she couldn’t continue to be his model even fully clothed, no matter how exciting the thought, how tempting the adventure it would bring.

Yet the thought of returning to a silent house to stare at the walls terrified her. She couldn’t bear to hear the clock ticking away and feel the anxious desperation sneaking up on her like a specter, clenching at her chest and stealing her breath away.

She whispered, “When do we begin?”

Chapter 4

One Week Later

The Pall Mall Picture Galleries

Dom leaned in for a closer examination of one of the paintings.

“Ellsworth!”

Rolling his eyes, he straightened as Robert Sheridan, Viscount Margrave, approached. He’d hoped to avoid mindless conversation this evening, preferring instead to focus his attention on the new crop of artists on display this year. No such luck.

The viscount gestured at the wall of paintings. “Fine exhibition they’ve managed to pull off.”

“Agreed. Highest quality of art in years.”

“And good champagne.” Margrave raised his glass, toasting the refreshments table.

Dom turned away before he laughed at the man.

Around them, a sparse crowd of aristocrats, landed gentry, and moneyed middle-class pretended to be interested in the exhibition. In reality, they were taking the opportunity of tonight’s preview not to look at the best paintings that English artists had to offer but to show off their finery and catch up on the most scintillating mid-season gossip. Only William Etty’s latest drew their attention, and even then for his scandalous subject matter of frolicking female nudes that theTimeshad labeled “offensive and indecent” rather than his technique and composition.

True, theTimeshad gone too far in its critique, but Dom had no patience for Etty’s work. His royal and mythological subject matter was a backslide rather than forward progress for nude subjects. A situation Dom hoped to rectify with his painting of Eve.

“I hear you’re the man responsible for all of this,” Margrave persisted.

“I thought it was the artists,” Dom muttered, already losing patience with the conversation. The viscount’s unmarried daughter, Lady Jane Sheridan, was still on the hunt for a high-ranking husband, having humiliatingly lost the Duke of Trent last year to a country gel no one had ever heard of. Dom feared the man’s sudden interest in him was purely mercenary on his daughter’s behalf. He could have saved Margrave the trouble, as he never planned on marrying. He was already wedded to his art.

Margrave laughed and slapped Dom good-naturedly on the back. “We all know it’s money that keeps the artists in their paints, and that money comes from people like us who sponsor them. Where would they be without us? I ask you that.”

He forced a smile, knowing the role he had to play tonight as Ellsworth. Still, that didn’t keep him from snatching a glass of Madeira from the tray of one of the passing attendants to fortify himself.

“Besides,” Margrave continued boorishly, “we both know this exhibition would be half its size if not for the paintings you’ve loaned for display.”

Not true, but the displayed paintings by the old masters from his private collection would certainly be a draw. Both the British Institution and the Royal Academy directly helped artists who might not otherwise have the means to create, and as the Marquess of Ellsworth, he would do whatever he could to support the arts.

Even if it currently meant being known in England only for providing paintings by other artists.

Not one person in the room suspected how he truly spent his time, or that his gloves hid paint-stained fingers and nails. But they would soon, if he had his way. And then a new career would begin.

“Why must we see your fine collection only at exhibitions, hmm?” Margrave complained jovially. “Why do you refuse to host parties—or even dinners—at Mercer House?”

In other words, Dom realized, why didn’t he host a dinner and invite Margrave and his lovely husband-hunting daughter? He smiled tightly. “I’m far too dull, I’m afraid. My guests would be bored to tears.”

He also needed to keep his private life separate from his public persona. He already danced a fine line during the months when Parliament was in session, to attend enough votes and events so that he wouldn’t be accused of neglecting his duties, yet find sufficient daylight hours to work in his studio. The last wrinkle he needed to add to his life was increased participation in the season’s soirees.