Page 91 of What a Lord Wants

Everyone else in the room stared wide-eyed because of the scandalous nature of the composition, because of the brushstrokes and colors that were undeniably Vincenzo’s, because they’d heard of the man’s wicked reputation and were now finally seeing proof of it for themselves.

But Eve stared because it was a painting of Constance. Anewpainting. One so recent that the paint hadn’t yet cured.

She lay naked across the same velvet chaise from Dom’s studio, and in the background was the studio itself, right down to the work tables with their rows of pigments and supplies. Her long hair draped over the rolled arm of the chaise, and her hand rested suggestively between her legs. The look on her face wasn’t at all the one of innocent allure that Dom had wanted for his masterpiece but one of a woman who had just been thoroughly ravished and wholly satiated…by the artist who had painted her.

Eve’s startled gaze darted to Constance.

The woman smiled back triumphantly.

Chapter 27

Bewilderment surged through Dom as he stared at the painting. A new Vincenzo…impossible.

Yet there it was, right before his eyes. Every inch of it was exactly as he would have painted it, right down to the minimal use of line and the scandalous nature of the composition.

He knew damned well that he hadn’t painted it. Not recently. Notever.

But Eve didn’t. Even now the blood drained from her face and left her as white as a ghost. When she began to tremble, the desperate need to protect her overwhelmed him.

“I didnotpaint that,” he said quietly to her as whispers and embarrassed giggling went up through the crowd. He took her arm, but she pulled away. “You have to believe me.”

Her expression of uncertainty shattered him. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“You can damned well believe this.” He clasped her arm, this time refusing to let her move away. There had been enough distance between them in the past several weeks. Now it was over. For good. He called out loudly, “That is not a Vincenzo!”

The scandalized whispers of shock that had gone up from the guests turned to outright utterings of surprise and disbelief. The crowd craned their necks to garner better views, not of the painting but of Dom as he stepped toward the Institution’s superintendent, leading Eve with him. They glanced from the painting to Dom and back again, recognizing Vincenzo’s style.

It was a forgery, yet Dom was the only one in the world who knew that for certain.

He gestured at the painting as he announced loudly enough for the entire gallery to hear, “That painting is a fraud!”

More and louder whispers went up, then fully-fledged murmurs and hushed voices. A few of the gentlemen called outBollocks!beneath their breaths, believing the lie and supporting their institution’s leader, while the ladies tittered, more embarrassed by Dom’s accusation of fraud than by the shocking way that Constance was draped across the canvas.

The superintendent blinked with bewilderment. “Of course, it’s a Vincenzo. Look at it!”

“That isnota Vincenzo,” Dom protested, as much to Eve as to the crowd. “I own several pieces by Vincenzo, and believe me, that is not one of his.”

The superintendent exchanged puzzled looks with his assistant as the man hurried forward to double check the signature on the canvas and match it to his list of auction paintings.

The guests didn’t bother speaking in whispers now as they began to argue with each other over the painting and Dom’s protests. Many of them pushed in closer to gain a better look.

“It’s a fraud—granted, one that mimics his composition and brushwork, but most certainlynotan original.”

That sent up a new ripple of confusion through the crowd, and Dom was certain this little display would only deepen the rift between the Institution and the Royal Academy, which was already tenuous at best. For him, as a leading member of the Academy, to call out the superintendent of the Institution for not knowing an authentic painting when he saw one—this alone was enough to ruin his reputation in the English art world. But he didn’t give a damn about that now.

“Dom,” Eve whispered, attempting once more to pull away. She turned her face away, but not before he saw the glistening tears welling in her eyes. “Please stop.”

She didn’t believe him…Damnation,she didn’t believe him!

“Look at it, Eve.” He took her arm and gestured at the painting. “The composition is too overconfident, the colors too garish—and look at the lines, firm when they should be created with color and shading. That painting isnotone of mine.” Aware of the almost two hundred pairs of ears eavesdropping on them, he added loudly to the superintendent, “You’ve been had.”

“It’smypainting,” Constance interjected as she wove her way forward through the crowd.

Dom’s gaze narrowed murderously on her. That lying little shrew…But the crowd believed her, giving way to move aside as she sauntered forward. Whispers and pointing rose in her wake as the guests realized that she was the model in the painting. The same woman who had recently been Lord Alfred’s mistress. A society pariah on both fronts. But Constance relished in the notoriety.

She gave Dom a sideways glance as she glided past him to hold out her hand to the superintendent and drop into a curtsy. “Vincenzo gave it to me, and I donated it to the Institution.” A self-amused smile curved at her lips. “I’ve always been a dedicated patroness of the arts.”

The superintendent’s eyes flared wide in surprise. “Well—I—I—”