Page 17 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Behind her, Rebecca sighed. “If you cannot look at a naked man objectively, my dear, this commission is not for you. A pity. You have such a wonderful talent.”

Miserable uncertainty gripped Darcy. Eight hundred pounds flickered like a candle in a draft.

Oh, God, do not be so missish! She fiercely scolded herself. This is a chance at a better future for my family, one that might free us from dependence upon the pity or charity of others.

Darcy took a breath and turned. Her heart trembled. The earl was already there, close enough that the heat of his body pressed against the coolness of the mask. She stepped back and met the unyielding reality of the door. He followed that step as if it were a dance he had led a dozen times.

“Careful,” he said softly. He crooked one finger beneath her chin, a single point of contact that lifted her face.

Through the mask, she met his eyes and saw the wicked tranquility of a man entirely at ease with sin. A sharp tremor moved through Darcy, yet she refused to lower her gaze.

“This work is not for you, Red. You have failed the assessment. Go home before curiosity carries you farther than courage can follow.”

Desperation threaded through her chest. “I can do it, my lord. Pray allow me the chance,” she said. “I promise I shall not look away again.”

“You will,” he said. “You have already proved it. Your sensibilities do not belong here, Red. Go home.”

“I will not,” she returned, stubborn and acutely aware of his fingertip still beneath her chin. “Please permit me to try again.”

A dark brow winged upward. “Rebecca expects you to paint men and women in the act of congress: cocks sheathed in a woman’s pussy, mouths open in pleasure, backs bowed in surrender. You may see men touching men, women coaxed by clever fingers, bodies that make no pretense of indifference.”

His finger drifted to the edge of her mask, almost but not quite touching the corner of her mouth. “Will you keep your hand steady and your wits about you?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I will keep my hand steady and my wits in order. I shall not faint, and my sensibilities are not so fragile that they require protection.”

“How very interesting.”

“So you have said,” Darcy murmured, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Every instinct urged her to look away, to retreat from the dark sensuality he wielded without shame, but she did not. His eyes felt like a touch, deliberate and assessing, and she knew if she wavered now, he would see just how deeply he unsettled her.

Rebecca’s voice drifted over, amused and approving. “Very good. I think you will do, Red. Lord Raine, what do you think?”

“Yes, my lord. What is your verdict?” Darcy asked, alarmed by her own audacity.

The earl’s smile deepened. “I will decide after you look at me, Red. Properly this time. Learn your subject.” He stepped back just enough to let air move between them. “Show me that you can look without flinching or swooning.”

Darcy did not trust her voice, so she let her eyes obey. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the clean cut of his waist, the long, powerful line of thigh beneath the open fall. She cataloged the planes of him as she would light and shadow on marble. Her pulse seemed to live in every inch of her skin.

“You are wickedly beautiful, my lord, and you will be extraordinary to paint.”

He stilled, a flicker in his eyes as if she had startled him, then the mask of indifference returned. “Is that so?”

“It is, my lord.”

“Rebecca,” he said without looking away from Darcy, “bring the easel and the brushes and the oils you prepared.”

“Of course,” Rebecca replied.

She crossed to the door with the courtesan following at her heels. Her gaze flicked to Darcy, amused. “Do not let him rattle you, Red. He enjoys it far too much.” With a knowing smile, she swept out.

Silence pressed between them for a heartbeat, and Darcy’s pulse seemed unnaturally loud in her ears.

“Will you have wine?” he asked, moving to a sideboard where a crystal decanter caught the candlelight like captured fire.

“No, thank you, my lord.”

His brow lifted. “Are you afraid?”

“Prudent,” she said. “Since I am the rabbit and you are very clearly a wolf, it seems best to keep my faculties clear.”