Page 91 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

It should have occupied him completely.

It nearly did. Yet somewhere beneath questions of Parliament and strategy, beneath the smoke curling into the darkness and Templeton’s measured arguments, Darcy remained at the edges of Sebastian’s thoughts.

As she had been for three damned weeks.

CHAPTER 29

Darcy sat within the private chamber Rebecca had assigned to her at Aphrodite. Several lamps and candles had been lit, their warm glow spilling across the chamber and gilding the canvases arranged upon easels at various stages of completion. The faint scents of linseed oil and pigment lingered in the air as her brush moved with careful precision, though her thoughts possessed no such discipline.

Several days after replying to Sebastian, she had remained in the countryside, her heart laid bare by a foolish hope and a persistent, aching longing for a man who had so clearly put her from his mind. How easily he had dismissed her place in his life. A single letter, so courteous and painfully restrained in its phrasing, had shattered everything that had passed between them: the heat of his kisses, the ease of their laughter, the quiet intimacy of truly knowing one another, and that fragile, wondrous sense that she had stood upon the brink of something deeper than anything she had ever known. Something beyond her limited experience, yet achingly, inexplicably beautiful.

Another week and a half had passed since she left her sisters beneath Lady Sutton’s capable guidance and secured a modest townhouse in Bloomsbury Square. The neighborhood was respectable and comfortably removed from the ostentation of Mayfair, inhabited by prosperous merchants and members of the gentry who valued discretion. Most importantly, the house had been acquired through Darcy’s own efforts. She would live without charity and answer to no one.

She dipped her brush again and forced her attention toward the canvas. By arriving before Aphrodite opened fully for the evening and departing before Sebastian’s customary hour, she had thus far avoided him. She hoped to complete every commission Rebecca secured without once encountering him.

A soft knock sounded upon the door. “Enter,” Darcy called, setting her brush aside.

Rebecca entered with her customary assurance, followed by two ladies whose elegance and bearing proclaimed their rank before Darcy recognized the Duchess of Basil.

She rose at once and dropped into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

The duchess crossed the room and took Darcy’s hand before she could complete the formality. “Please, let there be no stiffness between us. You must call me Elizabeth.”

Darcy straightened, disarmed by the warmth of her welcome. Elizabeth then gestured toward the lady beside her. “And this is my dear friend, the Countess of Radbourne.”

The countess inclined her head, amusement gleaming in her striking green eyes. “Agatha, if you please.”

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Darcy said, still struggling to reconcile their rank with such easy familiarity.

“I wished to show Her Grace and Lady Radbourne your paintings,” Rebecca explained. “I am curious whether they evoke the forbidden longing and dangerous desire I intend them to inspire among the ladies of society.”

Darcy’s eyes widened as she realized that these elegant, exalted women were not merely aware of Aphrodite, but moved within its secret world.

Agatha laughed at her astonishment. “I once danced in the ballroom below upon a raised dais and auctioned my virginity to the highest bidder.”

“Goodness,” Darcy breathed. “You are a countess.”

“I was not a countess then,” Agatha replied with a saucy wink.

Darcy could scarcely reconcile the beautifully dressed woman before her with anyone daring enough to create such a spectacle. “I truly cannot imagine it.”

“It was quite memorable,” Agatha said, her brow lifting playfully, “and ended most satisfactorily. The gentleman I loved with my entire heart proved the victor.”

Elizabeth’s smile turned mischievous. “And I daresay you would swoon outright were I to recount how I came to an understanding with my duke.”

For one startled moment Darcy could only stare. Then laughter escaped her with a freedom she had not known in weeks, loosening the tension wound tightly through her chest. “I am shocked and yet thoroughly delighted.”

“That we are not insufferable prigs?” Agatha asked.

“Indeed,” Darcy admitted, still smiling.

Rebecca poured sherry and pressed a glass into each woman’s hand before settling upon the sofa. Elizabeth leaned forward to study the canvases. “These are extraordinary.”

Agatha examined one with a discerning eye. “Brilliant, truly. You have captured not merely the form, but the feeling. It is quite… evocative. The pleasure appears authentic rather than manufactured for the scene. Your understanding of it is unmistakable.”

Warmth climbed into Darcy’s cheeks. That understanding had been purchased in Sebastian’s arms, and the thought made her lower her gaze before quietly accepting the praise.

“Rebecca tells us you are seeking patrons,” Agatha continued, playful wickedness entering her voice. “I should very much like you to paint my portrait. Something decidedly improper, intended for my husband’s eyes alone. Pray do not insult me with a modest fee.”