Page 37 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

There was also a colorful watercolor of Kat in her lavender sea bathing dress. Three other women in pastel-colored gowns, one carrying a green parasol, stood behind her.

A million pictureswas an exaggeration. However, there were a shocking number. And when had he had time to create the series of black and white sketches of Kat in her theater ensemble, her expression ranging from haughty indifference to delight? He could not have spent the evening bedding some mystery maid and still created so many pictures of Kat. Could he?

She flipped the page and gasped. A lone picture torn from the book had been crumpled, then flattened as if someone had tried to destroy it and changed his mind. Her mask lay beside her in the grass; her lips parted sensually, the swell of her bosom rising indecently high above her neckline.

Scandalous indeed. Her neckline had not plunged that much. Evan Eaton was so…

Deliciously wanton? Infatuated with her? Thought her as lovely and sensual as his artwork depicted?

One thing was certain—he was talented, and his attention to detail was commendable.

She flipped through the pages again, stopping to study the child’s artwork with its corner-consumingW.

CouldWstand for Wellspring? Did the man not have a single artistic inclination? Interestingly, she had yet to see her portrait, but Buttons had declared it wonderful. Had she been duped? Were they all in on it? Even Ethan and Anna? Since Beth could not keep a secret to save her life, her involvement seemed suspect.

There was only one way to discover the truth, and she was much too angry to give a brass farthing about who witnessed her march to the library.

Chapter sixteen

July 1st, 1818

Since Evan was moving closer to the library, he had to be walking, but he’d be damned if he could feel his feet hitting the ground. Hell’s bells, he was exhausted.

After waking the Harringtons’ head housekeeper to ask her to take care of Taylor’s maid, he’d been unable to sleep. So, instead, he’d sketched until almost dawn. It was a fool’s notion to think he could rid himself of fantasies about Katrina if he drew her because it had only made him want her more. More than Mrs. Clayton’s biscuits. More than the sunshine on his face. More than his next breath of air. Enough that he would forgo knowing another woman’s touch—forever.

He’d grunt out his frustration, but he was too fordone to make the effort. Besides, how many times would he havethis battle with himself? He was not ready for a relationship. He was a personable enough bloke. But he possessed the maturity of a ten-year-old. And when it came to women and schoolbooks, he had the attention span of a gnat. Relationships required selflessness. And when was the last time he had done something for someone else?

Although….

Last year, he’d saved his sister-in-law from a bloodthirsty devil. But that did not count because Evangeline was an angel. Any man would do the same. And yes, he had a critical part in raising their one-armed, orphaned ward. But Jimmy Clayton was a brilliant lad, and Evan considered him a little brother. One looked out for their family. It did not earn you accolades. It was simply something you did.

Once upon a time, he’d researched the despicable Baron Handershane and helped to seal the man’s fate. Not that Evan had a choice. The rat was sending his factory workers to early graves.

Painting Anna Harrington did not count as a selfless deed because he enjoyed art. He always gifted his friends with unique pieces he thought they might love.

Although Evan had saved poor Caroline for the time being, it had not taken much persuasion to convince Anna to take on a ladies’ maid. Not when she’d heard the girl’s heartbreaking tale. If Evan had not shown up, Greyson may have forced the maid into his bed. When would someone hold the marquess accountable?

Henceforth, Evan would devote himself to ending Greyson’s reign of terror. He’d escort him to hell if it was the last thing he did. This in no way made Evan a hero. He didn’t want to do it. He had to do it. And he needed to face his truth.He was an irresponsible libertine, and no poor woman should be saddled with him forever.

And now, after a particularly long night, a fortnight without sex, and an upcoming cricket match in which he was expected to win the trophy for his team, Harrington had asked him to check on Wellspring’s portrait of Katrina to see if anything could be done to “spruce it up.”

“Springy is insisting Katrina see his ‘real’ version if he is to propose,” Harrington had declared with a huff. “Can you imagine what my sister will say when she sees that mess? She has three chins, a bosom where her neck should be, and a nostril-less pine tree for a nose. Good Lord, man, I’d dump the chap for that monstrosity. See what you can do.”

So, with hazy vision brought on by fatigue, Even stumbled into the library. Surely, he was hallucinating from lack of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and refocused.

Katrina stood behind the easel. Everything about her was perfection, from the purple ribbon in her golden hair to her floral print dress—everything that is, except her glower.

She came out from around the painting to stomp toward him. “What cruel joke did you mean to pull on me? Who is involved? Alexander? My brother? Surely not my sister-in-law?”

Their absurd plot to make a match of Katrina andWellspring had been doomed from the start, and Harrington should be the one to deal with his sister’s wrath. There was no way Evan could placate her. She may have flirted with him at the theater, but obviously, she still detested him. Being attracted to someone you found distasteful wasn’t unheard of. And once he admitted that he had not objected to the dupe because he’d hoped if she courted his friend, he’d no longer fancy her; the truth would hardly endear him to her.

“’Tis no cruel joke? Your brother wanted you to marry a good man,” he finally said.

She jammed her finger in his chest. The poking digit should have annoyed him. But he was so desperate for her touch that he’d take whatever he could get—even the pesky little jabs singeing him to the core.

“Agood manwho lies to me?” Tears glistened, turning her sapphire eyes ice-blue. “Who tells me he is an artist and then paintsthat.” She waved her hand at the easel. “Why not tell me the truth?”

“Art is in the eye of the beholder,” he said. Although true, it was difficult to find something to compliment in Wellspring’s art. Evan placed a hand on the small of her back. His heart ached when she flinched. “Please, Katrina. Let us sit and talk. I will explain everything.”