The earl’s smile deepened, slow as a wicked dawn. “I will decide after you look at me, Red. Properly this time. Learn your subject.” He stepped back just enough to let air move between them. “Show me you can stand and see without fainting.”
Darcy did not trust her voice, so she let her eyes obey. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the clean cut of his waist, the long, powerful line of thigh beneath the open fall. She cataloged the planes of him as she would light and shadow on marble. Her pulse seemed to live in every inch of her skin.
“You are beautiful,” she said softly. “You will be wonderful to paint.”
He stilled, a flicker in his eyes as if she had startled him, then the mask of indifference returned. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca,” he said without looking away from Darcy, “bring the easel and the brushes and the oils you prepared.”
“Of course,” Rebecca replied. She crossed to the door with the other worker in her train. Her gaze flicked to Darcy, amused. “Do not let him rattle you, Red. He enjoys it far too much.” With a knowing smile, she swept out.
Silence pressed for a heartbeat. Darcy’s pulse felt loud in her ears.
“Wine?” he asked, moving to a sideboard where a crystal decanter caught the candlelight like captured fire.
“No, thank you, my lord.”
His brow lifted. “Afraid?”
“Prudent,” she said. “Since I am the rabbit and you are very clearly a wolf, it seems best to keep my faculties clear.”
He laughed, low and startled, the sound warming the air between them. “A sensible rabbit. Be easy. You are here to work. No one in this house will force you to do what you do not wish.”
She found herself believing him. “I am glad to hear it.”
A pair of servants slid in with quiet efficiency, carrying an easel, a stool, palettes, brushes, and small stoppered bottles of oil. They set everything by a tall screen where the light fell most kindly, adjusted a lamp, and withdrew. Rebecca reappeared just long enough to approve the arrangement with a glance, then inclined her head.
“You have the room,” she said. “Raine, when she is finished, send for me.”
He gave a lazy salute. “As you command.”
They left, the latch settling with a softclickthat seemed louder than it was. Darcy was suddenly, acutely aware of the hush, of the faint music thrumming through the walls, of the heat in her own cheeks.
He took up a glass for himself and crossed the carpet with unhurried grace, stopping at a respectful distance. “You may position me where you like, Red.”
She moved to the easel, tested its legs for stability, and adjusted the angle. “By the chaise, if you please. The light falls well there.” Her voice sounded almost calm.
“As my artist wishes.” He went to the velvet chaise and settled with practiced indolence, one arm along the back, hiscravat undone, shirt open at the throat. His gaze held hers, steady, faintly amused. “Better?”
She nodded, dipped her brush in oil, and primed the bristles. “Look at me as you did before,” she said, surprising herself. “As if you intend to do something… wicked.”
He obliged, the corner of his mouth tilting, the rake’s mask sliding easily into place.
She set the first lines with care, blocking the shapes, mapping shadow and light. Her breath evened with the work. The act of seeing steadied her. He watched her watch him, and it was like stepping out onto a narrow bridge over a drop that thrilled and frightened in equal measure.
“Whenever I tell you to shift or hold still… please comply.”
“I am a model of obedience,” he said, and his smile sharpened, beautiful and dangerous. “You will paint my cock.”
She swallowed. “Your…cock?”
“Hmm.” The earl looked like a man fighting back deep amusement. He loosened the fall of his trousers and drew his manhood free. Darcy’s breath caught. She had never seen a man this way.
“Red, this is my cock.”
She parted her lips to claim she already knew—but thought better of offering a lie. Her breath caught instead, heat rushing to her cheeks as her gaze flicked downward before darting back. A hundred questions sparked in her mind, none of which she dared ask aloud. Curiosity tangled with a flustered thrill low in her belly, but she held her ground, refusing to look away. His cock was thick and long, the skin flushed and satiny, the head sleek. When his hand closed around himself and slid once, slow and assured, something pulsed low in her belly in answer. Lord Raine settled deeper into the chaise, letting the shadows kiss his torso while the lamplight gilded the length in his palm. Histhighs eased wider. He looked, in that quiet arrogance, like some pagan god at his ease.
