Page 25 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“Is that what it is?” Darcy tilted her head, troubled. “Passion?”

“Yes.” Rebecca tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps you might work it into Shelby’s expression, only a hint of desire and longing and the first trace of surrender.”

Darcy nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the canvas. She barely registered Rebecca’s departure. She moved closer and stood before the piece and extended a hand, not to touch, but to feel the air just shy of the painted lips. She glanced at the first painting, noting the expression of raw ecstasy on the woman’s face, and wondered if it might serve as a point of reference. Darcy sighed softly. That did not seem the correct way to approach it. How was she to capture the expressions that revealed desire in all its shades when she had never experienced them herself? Any attempt to guess would surely leave the work wanting. “Passion,” she whispered. “How do I convey something I’ve never known?”

“Then perhaps,” came a low drawl behind her, “you require a lesson in the subject.”

Darcy whirled around, her hand flying to her chest as though to still the sudden, wild thundering of her heart. “My lord.” She struggled to steady her breath. “I believed you had gone.”

Lord Raine leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, his mouth curved in a smile of carnal promise. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes: wicked, amused, and darkly intent.

CHAPTER 10

Darcy stared at the earl, unsettled by the sensual awareness and curiosity blooming within her. The quickening disturbed her, yet she refused to betray it. Determined to appear unflustered, she lifted her chin. “Madam Rebecca has given voice to what I had already sensed. Something is wanting in this painting. I captured the scene precisely as I observed it, yet it remains lifeless.”

His gaze shifted to the painting. “I see a gentleman kissing a lady. That, I believe, was the assignment.”

Darcy gestured toward the canvas. “I believe they were merely performing. There was no true feeling when their mouths met. There is, perhaps, a trace of tenderness in the gentleman’s gaze, but Lady Shelby…” Darcy hesitated, searching for the proper word. “She seems untouched by it. Indifferent, even. Rebecca suggests it requires passion, but I wonder if it is something else entirely. Surely not every kiss must be governed by passion?”

Darcy was absurdly proud of how steady her voice remained, though her heart struck so violently against her ribs she feared Lord Raine must hear it.

The earl pushed himself from the doorframe and moved deeper into the room, each unhurried step drawing him closer until he stood beside her, his presence palpable. He regarded the painting in silence for a moment.

“I understand what Rebecca intends,” he said at last, his tone low and measured.

“Then tell me,” Darcy said softly.

“Rebecca wishes those unacquainted with such pleasures to look upon the painting and feel something awaken within them. Something they cannot name, yet find themselves helpless to resist.”

“What is that something?” Darcy asked, her voice softening.

The earl’s gaze shifted to her then, lingering in a way that made her pulse quicken.

“A longing,” he said quietly. “A curiosity.”

The words seemed to unfurl slowly, each one deliberate, each one brushing against her senses as though he spoke not of the painting, but of her. Darcy became acutely aware of him. His nearness made her breath falter and her composure strain, as though something long dormant had stirred within her without permission.

“Rebecca would have the observer beguiled by temptation. She wants them to imagine lips meeting theirs, desire slowly awakening, and want unfolding from that first touch. She wants them to feel it and wonder what it might be like to yield. The expressions here accomplish none of that. When you look upon this painting, Red, do you wonder what it would be like to be kissed?”

Darcy’s breath faltered, her fingers rising unconsciously to her lips. The space between them remained outwardly respectable, yet it felt suddenly too small. “No, it does not,” she murmured after a few beats of silence. “Is that truly Rebecca’s intent?”

“That is precisely her intent.”

Darcy lowered her fingers from her lips, a soft laugh escaping her. “These paintings are meant to be displayed here, in a pleasure palace. Do the innocent truly frequent such an establishment? And if they do, what purpose is served by tempting them further?”

“Are you not here?”

The question caught her unawares. Darcy’s eyes met his. “And are you so certain,” she returned, challenge slipping into her voice, “that I am innocent? I might be a woman of the world, deeply versed in men and pleasure. Perhaps I require no temptation at all.”

A low chuckle left him, warm and entirely unconvinced. “Utterly certain. You wear innocence as plainly as that mask.”

Something willful sparked to life within her at that. Before she could question the impulse, Darcy stepped forward and placed one finger lightly beneath his chin. His eyes flared, only slightly, but enough for her to see. A thrill rushed through her at the reaction.

“I daresay you are mistaken,” she said, her voice soft but edged with defiance. “I am a lady of unfathomable depths, my lord. You have scarcely looked beyond the surface.”

His dark blue gaze deepened, something sharper and more dangerous slipping beneath the amusement.

“I confess,” he murmured, “you possess more daring than I first credited you with, and perhaps a touch of wickedness.” His eyes dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to hers. “It is a most intriguing contradiction, Red, and I find I greatly prefer you this way.”