Page 22 of What a Lord Wants

“The costume isn’t here.” She reached her hand over the screen. “Can you hand it to me, please?”

“You’re not working in costume today.”

Her heart skipped, as if it knew what her mind was afraid to contemplate. “But you said you wanted to do the initial sketch today.”

“I do. I’m sketching out your form on the canvas so I can consider colors, textures…” His voice drifted away as he moved around the studio, preparing for their session. “There’s a dressing gown on the wall hook if you’re afraid you’ll get cold.”

She swallowed. Hard. Knowing the answer before she asked, she forced out, “Why would I get cold?”

“Because you’re going to be nude today.”

At that, her heart stopped entirely. When it lurched back to life, the jarring thud was so painful that she winced. Her hand flew to her belly. Oh, she was going to be sick!

She could never be naked in front of him. Or in front of anyone.Ever.Even when she contemplated her future wedding night, she pictured darkness so black that she and her husband might as well be blind.

To think that she would be lying naked in front of Domenico in one of those alluring poses in which he’d sketched her before…

Never. Simplynever.

She dragged in a deep breath. She knew this day was coming, but she also knew that she’d never be able to go that far in this secret adventure. She’d expected to be warned in advance, and then she would have simply stopped coming to the studio and disappeared.

But why, ohwhy, did this day have to come so quickly? Her time here had been exactly what she needed to feel alive. Until now, she’d loved every minute of being in the studio. She’d loved simply being withhim.

Now it all had to end.

She stepped slowly out from behind the screen, still fully clothed.

“What’s the matter?” he asked irritably when he saw her. “Why aren’t you undressed?”

She folded her arms across her chest, although she’d undone only half the buttons on her bodice. “I can’t undress.”

He gestured for her to approach. “Then come here and I’ll help you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She explained softly, “I can’t be undressed…in front of you.”

He blinked at that, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “You can’t be…” Then he repeated angrily as her meaning became clear, “Youcan’t?”

She dropped her gaze to the floor.

“We’re painting a reclining nude.” He said as he walked toward her, “Anude. That means you have to take off your clothes.”

“I know what it means,” she replied in a whisper. Her voice became quieter as his grew in intensity. “But I thought…I thought…”

“You thought what?” He stopped in front of her. “That I’d be able to magically paint your naked flesh with you fully dressed?”

She winced at his sarcasm. She deserved his anger, yet knowing that didn’t lessen the sting.

“You knew what this painting was going to be. I showed you the book, told you what I’d planned—” He cut himself off, once again raking his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sake, why do you think Eads found you in that theatre? You’re an actress, a woman used to having men stare at her.”

She couldn’t lift her gaze from the floor at that lie.

He’d never come right out and asked her, but she’d not corrected his assumption, either. She let him believe that she was a woman who made her living strutting the boards, one who had been willing to pose for him in order to earn extra blunt and to let thousands of other strangers stare at her once the painting was finished. Was this how he thought of her, even now, after so many days spent talking intimately about art, the world, science, philosophy—as only a body to be painted?

“That canvas has to befinished in time for the next exhibition. As of last night, that is my primary focus.” The resolve in his deep voice was so fierce that she shuddered from it. “So if you won’t remove your clothes, then I need to find another model who will.”

His words pierced her. She’d expected him to be angry—or at least she’dhopedhe’d be, because that would prove he’d not been lying when he’d said how special she was, how beautiful. But she never expectedthis, or that she would have to face the full brunt of his anger. That he would make her feel so…so much like a doll to be played with. Or an object to be used.

“My apologies,” she choked out in a trembling breath. “I didn’t realize that I’m nothing more to you than a fruit bowl.”