Page 7 of What a Lord Wants

Folding her arms in front of those same curves, she flushed, certain that the porcelain skin he’d complimented was now scarlet. “I don’t think—”

“Beautiful.”

Beautiful.She stared at him, her protest forgotten. With a single word, he’d stunned her speechless.

He dropped his hand away, then turned to step back inside the studio. He grabbed up a pile of clothes lying across the chaise and handed them to her.

“You can change behind the screen in the corner. And hurry up.” He gestured for her to come inside. “You’ve already arrived too late in the day. If you waste any more time, we’ll lose all of our light.”

Eve stared, utterly bewildered, yet oddly excited as a quiet thrill curled through her. For the first time in two months she felt energized, adventurous, daring…alive. The roiling mix of emotions tingled to the tips of her fingers and toes with wild anticipation. Oh, it was simply divine! And exactly what she’d been missing from her recently boring life.

She looked at the costume in her hand. She should stop Mr. Vincenzo right now and explain the mistake and how she was there to retrieve a painting, not pose for one. That she was a respectable young miss—well, as respectable as a shipping merchant’s daughter could ever be—and not someone who was paid to let men look at her, on stage, in a painting, or otherwise. But if she explained herself, the precious freedom she’d found this afternoon would be snuffed out, and the oppressive dread would press in around her once more.

Yet if she remained…An adventure.

And anyway, what harm was there in missing the breakfast and pretending to be a model? Society women paid thousands of pounds to have their portraits painted, and there was certainly nothing scandalous about that. They bragged about it, in fact. No one would ever know that she’d been here. And what was the worst that could happen, that he would be angry with her when he learned that she knew nothing about being a model? If he was going to be angry and send her away anyway, then—

“Well?” he called out. “Are we going to do this or not?”

With a deep breath to tamp down the excitement coursing through her, she stepped inside.

Chapter 2

As the woman disappeared behind the screen to change, Dominick Mercer shut the double doors with a shake of his head. Who on earth had Eads sent him this time?

That hustler spent his life among the stews and theatres of Covent Garden, attending everything from respectable venues to bawdy backroom entertainments. He was surrounded by women who had no qualms about being displayed naked for payment. Which was why Dom had hired him to find his models.

Every few weeks or so, Eads would come across an actress or singer who was different from the rest of the women onstage. More physically striking, more statuesque. One who exuded energy and vivaciousness. A woman who captured the attention of a room the moment she entered it. Eads referred those women to Dom in exchange for a finder’s fee. Unevenly educated daughters of tradesmen or merchants, they were usually actresses looking for a way to make extra money or singers who didn’t have the voice to strut the boards at the Royal. They all possessed a spark in their eyes, a sultry assuredness tempered by comfortable grace…those qualities that the best models possessed.

Butthisone was different. This one possessed an inherent allure that simply shined.

She wasn’t the most classically striking of women, certainly not as statuesque as he preferred. And her hair and eyes—both had him unable to decide if she were brunette or ginger, if her eyes were amber or green. That alone presented a problem when he’d have to capture her in the varying light. But she also possessed delicate features, fine lines, and an energy that radiated from her.

She might very well prove to be exactly the challenge he’d been seeking.

He needed a spark to re-energize his career. A career that had been decidedly floundering since his return to England two years ago. That was due in no small part to the necessity of keeping his artistic life secret. It was one thing for a peer to dabble in the occasional landscape or study of horses and hounds. But it was something altogether different to create scandalous paintings of naked women in the kinds of shocking compositions on which he’d built his reputation as one of Italy’s leading artists.

Only a handful of people knew his secret. His personal secretary, valet, butler—no one else. Not even his old maestro Giuseppe or Jacopo, his current apprentice, had any idea that Domenico Vincenzo and the Marquess of Ellsworth were one and the same. He fully intended to keep it that way, because if society ever learned the truth, it would mean not only the end of his reputation but quite possibly of the entire marquessate.

And certainly the end of his career as an artist. Which might as well be the end ofhim.

Lately, though, the burden of hiding his identity had become smothering. He had no idea how much longer he’d be able to sustain this dual existence.

“Are you all right?” he called out as he fetched his sketchbook and began to hunt for a piece of charcoal amidst the ordered clutter on his worktable.

“Yes, but the ties are being a bit difficult.”

“Leave them.” He frowned in concentration as he snatched up the charcoal, then spilled a cup of chalk across his palm and searched for a red piece.

Amusement danced in her voice. “So you’re planning a nude sketch, then?”

He chuckled as he palmed both the red chalk and charcoal.Cheeky. This one had spirit. He hoped he could capture it on canvas. “Do you want me?”

A long pause, followed by a breathy but startled, “Do Iwantyou?”

His head snapped up as a hot ache throbbed instantly in his loins. Oh yes,thisone was certainly alluring, all right. Apparently without even trying.

“Needme,” he clarified quickly. Then he rolled his eyes. Well,thatwasn’t any better. “To help with the ties.” His lips twisted as he murmured low enough that she wouldn’t hear, “Or with other things.”