Page 22 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair. He should refuse Rebecca’s request. He had no business thinking of Red, not with such heat, not with such fractured hunger that scraped along his nerves and made a mockery of his restraint. Yet the moment he imagined another man, Dunmore of all insolent bastards, pressing too close to her, whispering filth into that delicate ear, trying to coax another blush from her or seduce her into removing her clothes, a dark, vicious curl of something possessive tightened in Sebastian’s gut.

The possessiveness was ridiculous, yet his answer formed instantly and without a whisper of doubt. He would go, and perhaps, in the quiet between strokes of her brush and the shadows cast by candlelight, he might finally discern what it was about the woman behind the mask that pulled at him with such maddening appeal.

CHAPTER 9

Sebastian allowed the sensation stirring low in his body to spread through his limbs, indulging it long enough to examine its source. It was rare for desire to take him unguarded, and rarer still for it to take root in curiosity, intrigue, and something darker. This was the second woman who had ever roused such visceral hunger in him, so swiftly and without invitation.

The first was Miss Darcy Whitley.

He shoved the thought of her aside with practiced ruthlessness. Yet the thought refused to remain buried. Red stepped into the long hallway on the second floor beside Madam Rebecca, and the world narrowed to the measured sway of her hips and the glint of lamplight on yellow silk. Red’s gown was a deep golden hue, rich as the last sunlight of a waning summer day. The bodice hugged her generous curves with unapologetic boldness, the fabric dipping just low enough to hint at the full rise of her breasts. Her hair was piled artfully atop her head, streaks of auburn and copper pinned in a loose arrangement that left a few rebellious tendrils to trail down the column of her neck. The red-and-black mask concealed her brow and nose, leaving only her mouth exposed, plush, parted, and unpainted.

Sebastian’s chest tightened. Red was color and softness and ripe temptation wrapped in silk and mystery. No debutante at her first ball had ever looked so lovely. Her steps faltered as her gaze collided with his. Sebastian caught the telltale motion of her throat working around a tight swallow, followed by a deep, swift flush that painted her throat like spilled claret. The little artist remembered him, and more tellingly, she blushed at the memory of capturing him on canvas while he stroked his cock before her.

Her innocence was so unmistakable he could all but scent it upon her, and it fascinated him even as it warned him away. A woman untouched by the world’s wickedness had no business stepping foot inside Aphrodite. What would she do, he wondered, when she faced the next scenes Madam Rebecca had planned? What would remain when that innocence was stripped away in oils and pigments, canvas by canvas? If the act of watching him, one man alone and half in shadow, had rattled her composure and provoked such pretty blushes, what chaos would befall her when faced with a tangle of limbs, the slickness of heat, and mouths locked in carnal worship?

Sebastian straightened from the wall just as they reached him, arching a brow as Rebecca’s eyes danced with mischief and delight.

“I am so pleased you will be able to paint both scenes tonight,” Rebecca said, almost vibrating with excitement. “Are you certain it will not be too much?”

Red smiled. “I am sure.”

“Good.” Rebecca clapped her hands once. “One scene will depict wicked debauchery, while the other will capture something almost innocent. This idea came to me after a few of my best patrons were stolen by matrimony. I want the paintings to tell a story. A young woman whose innocence is first brushed by temptation: a first kiss, the first wicked touch of seduction, her yielding to it, and finally the moment she surrenders completely. Each canvas must carry her from temptation into willing surrender. I want resistance and hunger etched across her face, every raw, aching emotion laid bare. I want to see the curiosity on her face, and the surrender.”

Sebastian smiled faintly. Trust Rebecca to devise such a scandalous progression and speak of it with all the ease of discussing a dinner menu. He looked at her a moment longer, amused and oddly touched. It had been seven years since he had pulled her out of the rain, when a brute of a man had chased her through the streets and cornered her like prey. She had been trembling and soaked to the skin, yet even then a fierce, calculating spark had burned in her. Since then, they had been friends, with no blurred boundaries and no sexual play between them, only mutual respect and the rare comfort of understanding.

Sebastian allowed his gaze to drift to Red.

When she reached him, she lowered into a graceful curtsy.

“My lord. I had wondered whether I would have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

His mouth quirked. “Had you wondered, Red? How flattering.”

Her eyes widened at the soft mockery in his tone, and a delicate flush stole across the portion of her cheeks left exposed by her mask.

Rebecca smiled. “Raine, I shall leave Red in your capable hands.”

With that, she turned and walked away. Sebastian glanced down at Red, noting that she did not meet his gaze. “This way.”

He indicated the corridor ahead and fell into step beside her, guiding her toward the private chamber where she was to paint her first scene. At the end of the passage, he opened a door and stood aside, allowing her to enter before following her inside and closing it behind them.

The chamber was already prepared. Dozens of candles burned in gilded sconces and silver candelabra, their warm light spilling across walls draped in rich crimson silk and gleaming upon the polished dark wood of the floor. A magnificent chaise upholstered in deep red velvet occupied one side of the room, its gilded frame carved with curling vines and leaves. Nearby, the easel had been positioned to afford Red an unobstructed view of the chaise, with a chair set before it and brushes, oils, palettes, and clean cloths arranged upon a small table within easy reach. Everything awaited only the subjects and the artist who would commit their debauchery to canvas.

Red had only just taken her seat and adjusted the angle of her canvas when Lord Dunmore entered, exuding practiced sensuality. He strolled toward her, his gaze slow and deliberate, an unmistakable gleam of carnal curiosity in his light green eyes.

“What stroke of fortune grants me so beautiful an artist? Pray give me your name.”

She glanced up, startled. “You may call me Red, my lord.”

He tsked. “No, I do not care for that. I shall call you something far more fitting, perhaps⁠—”

Dunmore broke off when he spotted Sebastian standing by the mantel, calmly pouring brandy into a glass.

“Raine?” Dunmore’s brows lowered. “I had understood this evening belonged to me.”

“It does,” Sebastian replied smoothly, swirling the brandy in his glass. “I am merely here to ensure the artist is not troubled by an excess of your charm.”

Awareness sparked in Dunmore’s eyes, sharpening into something less pleased. A muscle jumped in his jaw, but before he could voice a protest, Lady Lavinia made her entrance.