Williams.
“That damn wretch,”Sebastian murmured, voice low and lethal. The man’s flight was confession enough. Peabody had stolen what his father set aside. So, there had been provision for his issue. The crooked blackguard had merely diverted it and never imagined one day Sebastian would demand answers.
He would do his best to uncover whatever provisions his father had left them, ensure they received what was owed to them, and then wish them well in their lives. That, at least, he was willing to do. His jaw flexed. He forced a steady exhale and reached for the second letter. Madam Rebecca. He broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents.
Raine,
I have invited Red to Aphrodite this evening to begin her first commissioned piece. Lord Dunmore has agreed to pose with his current flame of the month, Emily. He is preeningalready, convinced he will be immortalized as Adonis. I trust Red’s steadiness far more than I trust Dunmore’s manners. The man is a libertine in every sense, and Red’s lush figure will test his restraint, and his arrogance will allow him to believe that she could not possibly be immune to his charms. I promised Red safety while she worked. She seemed comfortable with you by the end of her interview, and I hope you will accompany her as her protector while she paints him.
Rebecca.
Sebastian reread that last line,something taut and electric coiling inside him. The raw awareness he’d felt for the woman behind the mask slammed through him with the force of a storm breaking against stone. It surged so swiftly, so violently, he had to brace a hand upon the desk.
Bloody hell. These last few days, he had done his damnedest to excise the woman with the moniker Red from his thoughts. He had told himself it was the novelty of the situation, the absurdity of being painted sprawled with his cock throbbing in his hands, the reason he’d been so attracted to her quick wit and figure. Sebastian assured himself he would forget her and the encounter by morning.
He had been wrong.
Sebastian’s mind offered up the memory with obscene clarity: the lush curve of her mouth visible beneath the mask, the faint catch of her breath when she first saw him bared, the tremor she fought so fiercely to hide. She had painted him with such reverent intensity that he had felt flayed open, seen in a way no lover ever managed.
And her hands—steady, capable, elegant—had moved with devotion over the canvas while his cock throbbed in his grip like a man starved.
A muscle jumped in his throat.
Worse—far worse—was the way she had invaded his sleep. Twice now he had dreamed of her, the mask gone, her hair unbound and spilling down her back, her eyes warm and wanting as she sank to her knees before him. Dreams so vivid he woke hard and hungry, cursing himself.
Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair. He should refuse Rebecca’s request. He had no business thinking of Red, not with such heat, not with such fractured hunger that scraped along his nerves and made a mockery of his restraint. Yet the moment he imagined another man—Dunmore, of all insolent bastards—pressing too close to her, whispering filth into that delicate ear, trying to coax her blush… to seduce her into removing her clothes…
A dark, vicious curl of something possessive tightened in Sebastian’s gut.
Ridiculous. Yet, the answer formed instantly, without a whisper of doubt. He would go. And perhaps, in the quiet between strokes of her brush and the shadows cast by candlelight, he might finally discern what it was about the woman behind the mask that pulled at him with such maddening appeal.
CHAPTER 9
Sebastian allowed the sensation stirring low in his body to spread through his limbs, indulging it if only to better examine its source. It was rare for desire to take him unguarded—rarer still for it to root in curiosity, intrigue, and something darker. This was the second woman who had ever roused such visceral hunger in him, so swiftly and without invitation. The first was Miss Darcy Whitley.
He shoved the thought of her aside with practiced ruthlessness.
And yet…
Red stepped into the long hallway on the second floor beside Madame Rebecca, and the world narrowed to the measured sway of her hips and the glint of lamplight on yellow silk. Red’s gown was a deep golden hue, rich as late sunlight on a dying summer day. The bodice hugged her generous curves with unapologetic boldness, the fabric dipping just low enough to hint at the full rise of her breasts. Her hair was piled artfully atop her head, streaks of auburn and copper pinned in a loose arrangement that left a few rebellious tendrils to trail down the column of her neck. The red-and-black mask concealed her browand nose, leaving only her mouth exposed—plush, parted, and unpainted.
Sebastian’s chest tightened. Red was color and softness and ripe temptation wrapped in silk and mystery. No debutante at her first ball had ever looked so lovely. Her steps faltered as her gaze collided with his. Sebastian caught the telltale motion of her throat working around a tight swallow—and then the flush, deep and swift, painting her throat like spilled rose wine. The little artist remembered him. Not only remembered, but blushed at the memory of her hand capturing him on canvas while he stroked his cock before her.
Innocent. He could all but smell it on her. And it both fascinated and repelled him. A woman untouched by the world’s wickedness had no business stepping foot inside Aphrodite. What would she do, he wondered, when she faced the next scenes Madame Rebecca had planned? When innocence was stripped away in oils and pigments, frame by frame? If the act of watching him—one man alone, half in shadow—had rattled her composure and provoked such pretty blushes, what chaos would befall her when faced with a tangle of limbs, the slickness of heat, and mouths locked in carnal worship?
Sebastian straightened from the wall just as they reached him, arching a brow as Rebecca’s eyes danced with mischief and delight.
“I am so pleased you’ll be able to paint both scenes tonight,” Rebecca said, almost vibrating with excitement. “Are you certain it will not be too much?”
Red smiled. “I am sure.”
“Good.” Rebecca clapped her hands once. “One scene will be of wicked debauchery, and the other of almost sweet innocence. This idea came to me after a few of my best patrons were stolen by matrimony. I want a set of artwork to tell a story. A young woman, her innocence brushed by temptation… a first kiss, thefirst wicked touch of seduction and her yielding to it… and then the moment he takes her. Each canvas must tell the story of ravishment and seduction. I want her resistance and hunger etched across her face—every raw, aching emotion laid bare. I want to see the curiosity on her face, and the surrender.”
Sebastian smiled faintly. Trust Rebecca to devise such a scandalous progression and speak of it with all the ease of discussing a dinner menu. He looked at her a moment longer, amused and oddly touched. It had been seven years since he’d pulled her out of the rain, when a brute of a man had chased her through the streets and cornered her like prey. She’d been trembling, soaked to the skin, and yet even then there had been a spark in her—a fierce, calculating spark. Since then, they have been friends. No blurred lines. No sexual play. Only mutual respect and the rare comfort of understanding.
Sebastian allowed his gaze to drift to Red.
When she reached him, she lowered into a graceful curtsy. “My lord. How delightful to see you again.”
