“Yes, my love,” he said. “You only had to ask.”
And when he gathered her into his arms, and her lips met his, she knew that all they took on—life… love… making love—would be as art, because they made it so, together.
Epilogue
London
One year later
Amelia stood inher discreet corner and checked the gold pocket watch Tristan had given her as a wedding gift. Cheeky man.
Eight o’clock.
The doors to Sutton House would be opening any second. A frisson of anxiety flashed through her, and her palms slicked with sweat.
She’d insisted none of her family be here until the doors opened, like everyone else.Everyone?It might only be her family who showed up, and in truth, she might prefer it that way. Because what she was about to show theton, well, they might not be prepared for it.
Oh, why had she agreed to a showing of her art?
Because Tristan had asked.
That was all.
And she could deny him nothing.
She took another sip of prosecco and smiled. Tristan had ordered it especially for the evening.
“What if I dance naked in a fountain?” she’d asked.
He’d given her the wicked smile that ever set her thighs ablaze. “This time I’ll be able to enjoy it as your husband.”
As attendees began to stream in, Amelia pasted the smile reserved for society onto her face and began extending greetings and thanks for their attendance at the Marchioness’s little soirée in her honor. Naturally, her ears were attuned to any opinions of her work that might be floating on the air.
“There are certainly numerous studies of men’s hands.”
“Coarse hands,” came another observation.
“The honest hands of a laborer,” came yet another.
Amelia smiled a secret smile. Actually, she could inform them, if she were so inclined, they were the hands of a duke.
Herduke.
Further, she could tell them that she’d fallen in love with his hands first. Except that wasn’t quite correct. She’d fallen inlustwith his hands first, and the man himself not long after.Aftershe’d experienced those hands on her body.
But it was a conversation starter that wasn’t quite fit for polite company, and when she pulled back the curtains and revealed the triptych at the center of tonight’s collection, she would be testing the limits of polite company quite far enough for one evening.
Through the set of open double doors leading from the next room strolled Archie, Delilah, and Juliet. Mama and Papa had returned from Samarkand early for her and Tristan’s wedding, but then had immediately taken themselves off to Denmark.
Delilah took in the contents of the room with a sweeping glance. “There are certainly a lot of hands,” she said. “I think it would be fair to say you have those down pat.”
Amelia felt herself blushing at the gentle ribbing only her family could deliver.
“I take it those are the Duke’s hands?” asked Juliet.
“They appear quite…” Archie began and stopped, as if only realizing his sister had painted those decidedly sensuous hands.
“Capable,” finished Juliet, blushing.
