Page 31 of Real Earls Break the Rules

Caroline cleared her throat and drew their attention. “Sara and I have been talking. We’d both love to learn how to paint.” She looked at Amelia. “Will you teach us one afternoon?”

Amelia blinked at her in surprise. “I suppose so. Although I’ve never given art lessons before.”

Caroline waved a dismissive hand. “We don’t expect to be as good as you after one or two lessons. We just want to learn the basics. It will be fun. Please say yes.”

How could she refuse? “Of course, I’d be delighted to teach you. We can start with oil painting then move on to watercolors.”

Caroline clapped her hands and turned to Sara. “See? I told you she’d agree.”

“I’d like to learn as well.” Lord Emmett spoke up.

Weston glared at his brother. “You’ve never mentioned an interest in art before.”

“So? I don’t tell you everything,” Emmett shot back.

Weston adjusted his spectacles. “Fine. Why don’t we both participate in the first lesson? No need to waste the lady’s time for a second session if art doesn’t arouse either of our interests. Agreed?”

“Only the next bill in parliament arouses you,” Emmett snapped.

“Unlike you, I’m particular about what entices me,” Weston shot back.

Emmett hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. We’ll both attend the first class.”

Amelia forced herself to smile. Were they still talking about artwork? Or was there more to Lord Weston’s words? Either way, she had no interest in involving herself in sibling rivalry.

She looked up to find Brandon watching the exchange. A swift shadow of anger swept across his face before he raised his wineglass and drank.

Chapter Ten

The charcoal felt light as air in Amelia’s hand. Dozens of candles lit the room as she sat on a wooden stool in the center of the study. Her subject, Lord Vale, was in his shirtsleeves once again, his jacket and waistcoat draped across the armchair. He was in his desired pose leaning against the desk.

Amelia’s curious eyes examined him as she worked. He shifted, and the muscles in his shoulders were clearly discernable beneath the fine linen. Her mouth went dry remembering their shared kiss by the stream. Even though he’d worn his jacket that day, when she’d clenched his shoulders she could still feel the sinewy strength beneath the layers of cloth. She pulled her drifting thoughts together and forced herself to focus on her task. Once she had the charcoal sketch complete with the proper proportions, she’d start with the oils on the canvas.

She studied his right hand. Light lines soon distinguished his fingers, tapered and strong, as they curled around the edge of the desk. A few more lines and muscle beneath the skin appeared. A fine white scar marred his thumb, from just above his fingernail to the second joint.

“How did you get the scar?” she asked, then felt her face grow warm as she realized she had spoken the question aloud. It was turning out to be a pleasurable arrangement; he posed and she had permission to openly study him. She’d been so engrossed in her drawing that she’d been working for over an hour in silence.

Brandon rubbed his scarred thumb with his forefinger. “It happened in the boxing ring.”

“Boxing?”

“At Gentleman Jackson’s salon to be precise.”

“Jackson gave you the scar?” she asked.

“Nothing so glamorous. I tripped getting out of the ring and sliced my thumb on the side of a cracked water pitcher.”

She chuckled as she envisioned the accident. He seemed too graceful to trip, let alone fall as he climbed out of a boxing ring to land on a pitcher.

The corners of his lips twitched in amusement. “It was quite humiliating, I assure you. My first pugilist lesson with the great prize fighter and I fell flat on my face.”

“At least you have a good story to tell,” she said.

“I do, don’t I?”

“Now hold still. I’m not finished with the sketch.”

Her fingers gripped the charcoal as she focused on his face. The keen intelligence in his eyes was as distracting as his physical appearance. She suddenly felt overly warm in the study.