It was true those hands could make a lady blush.
In fact, they did so on a regular basis.
As if the mention of him had conjured her muse into solid form, he strode into the room, catching no few pairs of eyes. Amelia had grown accustomed to the attention her husband’s presence commanded. Not paying it one iota’s worth of notice, he made straight for Amelia and wordlessly drew her in for a greeting kiss.
Her eyes opened when he pulled away, and she felt foolish. However fleeting, she ever gave herself over to her husband’s kiss, reveling in the feeling of being deliciously claimed. A smile shone in his eyes. He knew. And his eyes promised more.Later.
Archie cleared his throat. “When’s the big reveal, Amelia?” He checked his own pocket watch.
“Have somewhere to be, brother?” asked Delilah.
“It’s Thursday, and Kilmuir is expecting me at the Five Graces.”
Delilah snorted. “You and your low entertainments.”
“Ah, they’re good fun, Lilah. You should join us one night.”
Delilah’s eyes went wide in a perfect affectation of shock. “What? And destroy my speckless reputation?”
Again, Amelia accepted her family’s ribbing. They understood where she now stood on the matter of reputation and its importance.
With them.
On the side of infamy.
Speaking of which, the time had nearly arrived to cast that reputation firmly in stone.
“Duchess,” came the Marchioness of Sutton’s cultured voice, “are you ready for the unveiling of yourpièce de resistance?” Her gaze flicked toward Tristan. “Ripon, I never knew your hands were quite so…commanding.” The marchioness blushed like a girl several decades her junior.
“I’m ready,” said Amelia with a show of bravado, though she quaked on the inside.
The marchioness nodded and mingled into the considerable crowd that had gathered, leaving Tristan and Amelia a moment to themselves.
She caught his gaze. “Are you ready?”
His eyes glinted with mischief. “Are you?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The crowd followed the marchioness’s progress toward the curtained centerpiece of the showing. “I must thank everyone for coming out tonight in support of a most promising new artist, the Duchess of Ripon. Without further ado, I presentMan in Three Moods: A Study.” She signaled a servant, who drew the curtain back.
A few seconds of studied silence…
A collective gasp…
Several more seconds of stunned, scandalized silence.
Before the collective hung three paintings of the Duke of Ripon in various poses…all while starkly, unrepentantly nude. From left to right: the first in the style of a traditional portrait with him facing the viewer squarely with his typical expression of dukely arrogance; the second a silhouette of his body, his head angled just enough to reveal a wicked smile on his mouth and in his eyes; and the third…that was the one which likely had the room growing hotter in their clothes. He lay on his back, an arm draped above his head, utterly and completely spent, his direct gaze replete with satiety.
Amelia remembered that session well.
Now, Tristan reached for her hand and squeezed. “Steady on,” he murmured. “Everyone came here to be treated to your art.”
“But I have a feeling they’ll be staying to ogle your naked form,” she said, dry.
The twinkle in his eyes invited her into a conspiracy with him. “Artistically rendered, of course.”
It was true, for his, ahem, manhood was tastefully angled out of view. To show it, would’ve been one step too far into infamy for Amelia.
