Holding back a sly smile, she looked at her would-be suitor and didn’t blink. “I will marry you, but only if you agree to pose nude for me, so I can create a masterpiece painting.”
Lord Sommerset’s eyes widened in shock.
Good. He deserved to feel as equally off balance as she did after such an unexpected proposition.
Recovering from his initial surprise, he frowned, his dark brown eyebrows accentuating his confusion. “I’m sorry. Did you say you wished for me to be your model for a painting after we marry?”
Oh no, that wouldn’t do. She doubted any husband would allow her to spend hours a day refining her talent when there was so much time needed to run a household, entertain, and mother children. Absolutely not. It was why she’d turned down the last two offers she’d had. She must reach the pinnacle of her talentbeforemarrying.
Scanning the garden to make sure her mother was far enough away, she shook her head. “Not after,before. And not simply model, but pose without any clothing. I would, of course, need to do a few paintings with clothes and numerous sketches with and without, but to paint the scene I envision for you, I would need you to pose nude. It will take many sittings.”
To give the earl credit, he did not run straight to her mother, nor politely retract his offer and leave. Instead, he studied her, obviously trying to decide if she were jesting. But this was no jest. This was how she would avoid having to turn away another offer of marriage. She needed more time.
“I see.” As he spoke, he ran his gloved hand through his thick hair on the right side of his head. “Would that not put your reputation at risk?” He glanced toward her mother before lowering his voice, “or would you be chaperoned?”
To be fair, she hadn’t expected him to continue the conversation beyond his initial reaction, and so she hadn’t thought through the details. The idea had simply sprung to mind once she’d caught her breath after her initial surprise. What would he find more offensive? “No, there could be no chaperone. In fact, no one must know.” She paused as she searched for particulars on how the arrangement could work if she were actually willing to marry. “Of course, that would mean while in the company of each other at any public setting, we would pretend no specific relationship to avoid any hint of impropriety.” That should send him off in a huff. What man wanted his betrothed to appear available?
His eyebrows raised at that. “But it is improper.”
To pretend to not be spoken for? Oh, he meant the unchaperoned sittings. She sighed. Of course he would think it improper. No one in thetoncould understand that the human form sans clothes, was the same as a horse, or a church, or a dinner plate, to an artist. Though, it was far more complex than a dinner plate, and one of the reasons she struggled with the male form. “I understand that many would think so, but from an artist’s point of view, it would be no different to me than painting a bowl of fruit.”
He straightened his rather broad shoulders, obviously insulted by her comparison.
She quickly grinned. “Please excuse me, I forget sometimes that others do not appreciate how an artist’s mind works. Let me make a better comparison. It would be no different to me than painting the Tower of London.”
His stance didn’t relax. “And when would this secrecy end?”
Horse feathers. She hadn’t expected to still be discussing her offer. He should have been too shocked by her terms. He was supposed to leave off immediately. She lifted her right shoulder. “Until the painting is complete, of course.”
He appeared to be contemplating her offer seriously. “And where would you create this painting?”
Her stomach tightened. Did he inquire because he didn’t believe she meant it and wished to see how much she truly wanted to paint him, or did he believe her and wished to know how to fulfill his part of the bargain? Either way, she could feel excitement starting to ignite in her chest right beside her greatest fear. “I have my own studio, both here at Craymore Hall and at our country estate in Bedford.”
“I see.” He moved to the left to stand before a tree trunk which he promptly leaned against. He crossed his long, muscled legs which were revealed by the fall of his brown great coat before they disappeared into his black boots. His thick multi-toned hair, not mussed in the least from his hand, seemed to capture the sun’s rays in specific strands, adding a bit of warmth to their spot in the mostly dead garden.
What did he see? There was nothing to see. She’d asked him to pose nude, unchaperoned, in her studio. He should be appalled. Or did he think her a woman of easy virtue? She frowned. “Of course, such sittings would be innocent at all times.” It was the closest she could bring herself to discussing her virginity. “And after the painting is complete, if you prefer not to wed, no one would be the wiser.”
His lips quirked up. “But then you would have a painting of all of me. Would you keep it or would I become the owner of said piece?”
Her heart thudded in her chest. He was clearly considering her proposal. Half of her was elated. She would finally discover what she’d been doing wrong with her male figures and do so with the very man whom she’d wanted to paint since Lord Harewood first introduced him at the theatre at the start of the season. The other half of her was terrified. What if this didn’t result in her masterpiece? What if after finishing the painting, he insisted on marriage and she hadn’t accomplished her goal?
“Lady Amelia?” He pushed away from the tree and stepped closer to her.
She grasped the thick folds of her rose-madder spencer to keep her fingers from twitching. The thought of painting him was quickly becoming a craving too hard to dispel. “Would you wish to have it?”
He cocked his head. “If it was well done, then yes. I am after all, an art collector.”
She hadn’t known that. Obviously, he wished to add an artist to his collection as well. Could she allow him the painting if it resulted in her masterpiece? At the thought, her decision came quickly. She could. Her need was to create, not covet. The tension left her. “Then I would gladly relinquish it to you.” She held up her hand to forestall any comment. “But only when I determine it is finished.”
“We would want at least one witness each to our bargain, to protect both parties.” He glanced behind her, no doubt looking at her mother.
She shook her head. “No, this would be far too much for my mother to keep private. My eldest sister is the keeper of all secrets in our family.”
“And my good friend, the Earl of Harewood, who has impeccable integrity, has kept many a secret of mine over the years.”
He spoke as if he’d already made his decision and she found herself growing breathless, so she simply agreed with a nod. Could this truly occur? It was a serious risk to her painting, her reputation, and her future, but it gave her everything she wanted, except a husband. But she’d learned a few difficult lessons from Aunt Mabry, and one was that a husband was a requirement no matter how much artistic talent a woman had, and no matter how much she didn’t want one.
He offered his arm to her. “Shall we walk a bit more? You have given me much to contemplate.”
