Page 8 of What a Lord Wants

Even as he spoke the words, he knew he’d be a fool to act on them. Bedding his model…Wasn’t that what had gotten him into his current predicament in the first place, as an artist without a model?

He’d sworn to himself nearly a decade ago that he’d never blur the lines between art and intimacy, knowing that both would suffer. But he’d made a mistake with Constance. A grand one.

Even now he couldn’t say who had seduced whom, only that one moment he’d been painting her and the next he’d been accepting the physical pleasures she eagerly gave. She’d been irresistible…beautifully curvaceous, innately sultry, and confident in her own naked flesh. She’d let him satiate himself in her, in a way he hadn’t with any other woman since he returned to England.

But she wasn’t content to be his model and lover. She wanted to be his wife. And that demand was downright madness.

As the Marquess of Ellsworth, he couldn’t marry her. A former actress turned artist’s model could never be his marchioness. He’d be laughed out of England. And as Vincenzo, hewouldn’tmarry her, because he’d long ago sworn never to divide his passions. A man couldn’t serve two mistresses. Both would lose.

So he’d had no choice but to end the relationship. Which meant that he’d also lost her as a model and needed to find a new one.

“Am I what you’re looking for?”

When he glanced up at the soft voice, his heart stuttered.

She stood in front of the screen in the cream-colored gown whose front ties hugged at her breasts and accentuated her hips before the soft cotton draped down from her slender waist to tease at her knees. She was bare above the neckline of the corset-style bodice, the view of her creamy, slender shoulders unimpeded.

Without a word, he slowly circled her again, to take another assessing look at her. A faint blush beguilingly pinked her cheeks, and she crossed her arms to cover her bosom, although the gowns that society women wore to the opera were far more revealing than this.Good.Because it wasn’t the world-weary, hard-edged look of an experienced seductress he wanted to capture for his next painting, but the exact opposite—one of softness and innocent excitement.

She possessed all of that. In spades.

“That costume will do nicely,” he finally murmured, which earned him a deepening of her blush. And an inexplicable tightening of his gut in response.

He gestured her toward the chaise longue.

She took a step forward, then halted, suddenly nervous. “You closed the doors.”

“Yes. For privacy.” He frowned at her expression, one that reminded him of a doe cornered by hounds. “But the doors are unlocked. You can leave any time you choose. And I will not lay a hand on you.”Thatpromise he would never break. “You’re perfectly safe here.”

Uncertainty flitted across her face as she bit her bottom lip.

“Enough good light comes through the fanlight to allow me to paint you with the doors closed.” He pointed at the large, semi-circular window. Unable to resist, he teased, “Unless you’d rather I paint you dressed like that in full view of the neighbors.”

“Of course not!” She gave a short, nervous laugh, her arms once more crossing over her chest.

Good Lord, she really was new to all this. Which only increased the challenge she presented.

He didn’t dare tell her that he planned to eventually paint her in the nude for fear she would flee before he had the chance to even sketch her. With this one, better to ease into his plans.

“It’s just you and I, then?” She twisted her hands in her skirt. “Will that other man—the one I met in the alley—will he return?”

She was nervous about being seen? Wherever Eads had found her, it definitely wasn’t half-dressed in some backroom review. “Jacopo’s done for the day. He won’t be back until morning.”

“Good,” she answered on a breath of relief.

He narrowed his gaze on her, gauging her reaction even as he grabbed a wooden chair and dragged it up in front of the chaise. “You don’t like Jacopo?” When she hesitated, he prompted, “I’ll be paying you to expose yourself to me for hours on end. I think the least you can do is answer my question.”

With a forced shrug of her shoulders, one which signified her answer to be anything but casual, she sighed out, “He…patted me…on the bottom.”

Dom froze for a beat, unprepared for the rush of anger her words brought. “Did you kick him between the legs?”

“No!” Her blush turned scarlet, accentuating the creamy smoothness of her skin.

“You should have.” He picked up his sketchbook and flipped it open as he sat on the chair and gestured once more toward the chaise. “You should kick any man who touches you without your permission.”

Amusement sparkled in her voice. “Including you?”

“Especiallyme.” He snapped off the tip of the charcoal and tossed it away. “As hard as you can. And then kick him again when he’s down.”