“What—what do you paint?” she stammered, trying to gain a little purchase on the situation.
“It started with landscapes,” Pembroke said. “And regular portraits. When it was a hobby, my father supported it. But once I expressed interest in selling my work, in getting out from under his thumb…well, then it became common. But I refused to stop. To bend to him.”
Oliver leaned forward. “What did he do?”
“Cut me off,” Pembroke admitted. “And though at first the idea was terrifying, ultimately, it allowed me a freedom I never could have imagined. It allowed me to turn to more interesting…and lucrative…subjects.”
There was something hypnotic about the way he said that. Something that felt raw. Anna fought to find her breath. “What kind of subjects?” she whispered.
“Erotic portraits, Your Grace,” Pembroke said simply.
Anna and Oliver both sucked in their breath at the same time, and somehow it was comforting that he was as shocked as she was by Pembroke’s statement. Pembroke was watching them both now, gauging their reactions, she thought. Waiting for whatever would come next.
“I…don’t understand,” Anna said.
“The words or the concept?” Pembroke teased gently.
“The concept.” Oliver surprised her by answering in her stead. “I think both of us are having trouble grasping the meaning.”
Pembroke nodded slowly and then said, “Finish your supper and I’ll show you bothexactlywhat I mean.”
CHAPTER3
Oliver
It wasn’t often that Oliver got to partake in a fine supper like the one that had just finished, but every bite had been like sand on his tongue as he waited for the moment when Pembroke would show them what he meant by erotic art. As much as his protective instincts…and jealousy…flared every time the man looked at Anna like she was dessert, his interest was also raised. After all, Pembroke was uncommonly attractive, and Oliver had always known what he was.
Anna held his heart, and he wanted her with a desperation that sometimes kept him up at night. But he was no monk, and he had always been attracted to both men and women. Taken his pleasure with both over the years.
But Pembroke, like Anna, was not within his reach. So he steadied himself as best he could and smiled up at the servant who had taken his plate. Supper was over now. Judging from how Pembroke was shifting, he was just as anxious about what would happen next as Oliver was. And Anna was practically coming out of her skin. Oliver knew her tells. Knew the way her breath caught when she was aroused, knew the way her pupils dilated.
He knew a great deal more than that.
“I think we’ve dallied long enough,” Pembroke said, rising. “Oliver, why don’t you escort Her Grace?”
It wasn’t that Oliver hadn’t done as men above his station had required for most of his life. They snapped orders, they demanded obedience and subservience from those of his class. But there was something about the way Pembroke said his words…drawled them, something about the way he saidOliver…and Oliver wanted to do anything the man said. Everything.
He blinked and rose to his feet, holding out a trembling arm toward Anna. “Your Grace?” he said softly.
She folded her fingers into the crook of his arm without hesitation and looked up at him, dark blue eyes soft and filled with desire. God, all that desire. He would have trembled with it except he used all his control not to.
“Follow me,” Pembroke said, and exited the dining room. He led them through the twisting halls of the estate back into what seemed to be a private area away from the main rooms where guests might congregate. At a door, Pembroke took a deep breath and opened it, motioning them inside. Into a room unlike anything Oliver had ever seen, and he knew in that moment that everything was about to change.
* * *
Ezra
Normally Ezra was confident. It was a skill he’d cultivated over many years in order to combat the intense verbal berating he’d suffered from his family. He could convince himself under normal circumstances that he didn’t care what anyone thought.
But as the Duchess of Pembroke and Oliver Wynn entered his studio space, he could hardly breathe from anxiety over what they might think of it all. In truth, aside from clients, who only saw the images he painted for them, no one had ever seen his private work laid out like it was in this moment.
He watched them both, saw how the duchess’s mouth went slack, how Oliver’s dark eyes went wide as they darted from wall to wall. They moved together toward the first painting nearest the door and walked around the entire perimeter of the space, looking at each piece like this was the most interesting museum.
He knew what they saw. These were intimate images, capturing deeply personal moments. Sexual situations between passionate partners. Some of them were traditional, men and women together. But there were also portraits that depicted two women enjoying each other, and two men. As well as all permutations that could be combined between them. People taking pleasure. That was what his work was about.
He held his breath as the duchess slid her hand away from Oliver, her cheeks bright with a blush. But she didn’t seem uncomfortable as she breathed, “They are beautiful, Mr. Pembroke.”
“Thank you,” Ezra said softly, and speared her companion with his stare. “And what do you think, Oliver?”
