Disturbed. Definitely more disturbed.
“What,” he ground out, “did you need to discuss that you could not write about in a letter?”
For the first time, she looked hesitant. She bit her lip, as she had done at Denham’s party.
Christian forced himself not to look at her mouth.
“I have a solution for your sister,” she said. “A female oil painter who is willing to come live with you in Northumberland until Bea’s debut next spring.”
He had not wanted to soften toward her. His grudge against her had been rather comforting. But her fixation on helping Bea was at once ridiculous and—
Rather likable, if he were forced to concede the truth. He liked how determined she was to fix things, even as part of him resented her involvement in the first place.
“I am listening,” he said, “though I imagine there is a catch. Who is it? Some brothel-owning friend of yours, perhaps? A murderer I will have to break out of Newgate before I can employ her?”
“It’s, er—” She looked faintly agonized. “Me.”
“No.”
The word was out of his mouth before he had even properly absorbed her words.
After he had time to absorb them, he managed to say no again, only more loudly and with more force behind it.
She was disruptive. She was outrageous. Bea would be terrified of her. Hell,hewas slightly afraid of her, with her mocking letters that smelled faintly of flowers, and the way her teeth cut into the plump curve of her bottom lip.
She had him attending parties and looking forward to the post, and he needed to put an entire country’s worth of miles between himself and his bizarre temptation to spend more time in her presence.
“I realize this may be slightly untoward,” she said.
“Slightly?” He did not know whether to shake her or sprint away. “You are the unwed sister of an earl, not a professional artist.”
“To that point,” she said, “I am in fact a professional artist.”
Her delicate rendering of his cock flashed through his mind, and he experienced a confusing welter of emotions.
Outrage. He was fairly sure at least one of them was outrage.
Matilda winced at the expression on his face. “I suppose I should not have brought that up.”
“Perhaps not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Putting the issue of your credentials aside, the situation is impossible. Even were I open to the idea—which I amnot—you could not live at my estate without doing irreparable damage to your reputation—”
“I told you, I have no reputation to speak of—”
“You are unmarried,” he snapped, “and I am a well-known sexual deviant. You may think you have no reputation, but I assure you, you have no idea what you are about. After several months at my estate in Northumberland, you would never be received in society again.” He knew what that felt like and somehow he did not want it for this cool-voiced, absurdly fearless woman.
“We need not advertise my presence there,” she countered. “My brother is in Wales, and I can put it about that I’ve joined him at our estate there.”
“And what of your brother? I don’t know Warren but I imagine he would cavil at your sudden disappearance.”
“I’ve thought of that,” she said. “I have a plan to deal with Spencer and Margo, without telling them about the engravings.”
“Lady Matilda,” he said, “the answer is no.”
Her infuriating lower lip tugged into an expression that, on another woman, Christian would have called a pout. “You are being needlessly obstinate. This is a good idea. I am talented and classically trained. I am a woman. I am willing.”
Something pulled taut inside him at her sweet little mouth forming the wordswomanandwilling.“I do not care if you are the most celebrated female painter in the country. This is not about your bloody artistic abilities.”
“It’s not about me at all! It’s about your sister, and how I can put this situation to rights, if only you will let me!”
