Halting, a shiver passed through her. Did she simply like James Huntington, the intellectual, or did she like James Huntington, the man and all that entailed? She dropped onto her settee. The answer was as clear as a summer day, or rather a normal summer day.
She liked the man.
Her heart thudded hard in her chest. “I like James Huntington, the Duke of Northwick.” Saying it out loud forced her to accept the truth. So what did that mean?
It could mean nothing. She liked Lady Astor, but that didn’t change how she would treat the lady tomorrow when she called. So she wouldn’t change how she treated James either.
Except it wasn’t the same. Not even slightly similar. Her feelings for James were complicated, now that she admitted she liked his mind, his body, his smile, and his scent. No, she should organize that in alphabetical order. Now that she was sure she liked his body, his mind, his scent, and his smile, she would feel differently around him. She also liked his teasing, his dancing, his caring, and his laughter. His tone of voice was exciting too. She also liked having him hold her, and his eyes. She sighed, the sound swallowed by the room.
She jumped to her feet. What was she to do? Heading for her dressing table she sought answers. She would avoid him. But she’d already accepted the invitation to Elsbeth’s ball and she had to go. Fine, she would go, but she wouldn’t converse with him. No, she wanted to converse with him. What was wrong with talking? She simply wouldn’t dance with him. But it would be rude to refuse one’s host. They could dance one of the country dances. But what if he asked her to dance the waltz? She twirled in mid-pace, remembering the feel of being in his arms. She couldn’t refuse him a waltz. Bloody hell, she didn’t want to refuse herself.
Flopping on her bed, she stared at the ceiling. How much did she like him? Would she be willing to give up her independence for him? What about her school? She never wanted to be a wife. Is that what she wanted with him? She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, hugging her pillow. How did this happen?
A knock at the door was her only warning before it opened. Amelia strode in and flounced onto the settee. “I need help.”
So did she, but she doubted very much that Amelia could be of assistance. Happy for the distraction, she sat up in her bed.
“Is something wrong?
Amelia’s question almost made her laugh, but she squelched it, not a little afraid of her own emotional state. “No, it’s nothing.”It’s everything. It’s my life.“What do you need help with?”
Amelia rolled to her side, tucking her feet up on the settee. “I have a delicate matter to discuss with you and only you.”
Oh good, something she could focus on. “I promise not to tell anyone.”
“Good. I thought about asking Mariel, but she’s too…”
“Too insightful? Too discerning? Too practical?” They were all the qualities she ascribed to her older sister in a positive light.
“Proper.”
She raised her brows. “Proper? This does sound intriguing.”
Amelia lay her chin on the side of the settee. “It’s not, but itisdelicate.”
Despite Amelia’s statement to the contrary, her curiosity rose. She lay on her side so she faced her younger sister. “I understand. Then what is it?”
“It’s my painting. It’s not right.” She sighed again.
Art was far from her area of expertise, but she could approach this logically. “What about it, isn’t right?”
Amelia lowered her voice as if they could be overheard. “It’s the men. Their figures are wrong.”
“But you’ve painted men before. What’s different?”
“They were always small and in the distance. In this painting, there are two men in the foreground, and there is something not right about their anatomy. I’ve seen the men painted by the great painters. I’ve even sketched the statue of David by Michelangelo, but using them as models, isn’t working. My men look nothing like earls or dukes of London.”
“I see.” She didn’t exactly because she didn’t have an artist’s eye. “What would you need to make them look how you want them to?”
Amelia sat up. “What I really need is a nude male model.” Her shoulders slumped. “But that would be entirely improper. The next best option is access to sketches of nude men.” She looked up hopefully. “Does Father have a book in the library that might contain even one?”
Drat. She wanted to help her sister but that would mean revealing the book. “Why? Are you painting nude men now?”
“Of course not. To do that I wouldhaveto have a male model.” Amelia shook her head in exasperation. “But to paint a man correctly, especially with fashion the way it is today with everything so closely tailored, I need to know what is beneath the clothes.”
“Oh.” With her sister’s upcoming exhibition, she was aware of how important this was to her. But how to explainthe book. Since she planned to sneak the book back during Elsbeth’s ball, it was, in actuality, just borrowed. “There is a book that could help you.”
Amelia’s blue eyes lit with excitement. “Oh, you must tell me which one immediately.”
