“Yes.”
Darcy lowered her fingers from her lips, a soft laugh escaping her. “These paintings are meant to be displayed here, in a pleasure palace. Do those who are… innocent… truly frequent such an establishment? And if they do, what purpose is served in tempting them so?”
“Are you not here?”
The question caught her unawares. Darcy’s eyes met his. “And are you so certain,” she returned, a note of challenge slipping into her voice, “that I am innocent and not a woman of the world? One well-versed in the ways of men… and pleasure? Am I a woman who needs to be tempted?”
A low chuckle left him, warm and entirely unconvinced. “Yes.”
Something willful sparked to life within her at that. Before Darcy could question the impulse, she stepped forward and lifted a finger, placing it lightly beneath his chin.
His eyes flared—just slightly, but enough.
A thrill rushed through her at the reaction.
“I daresay you are mistaken, my lord,” she said, her voice soft but edged with defiance. “I am a lady of unfathomable depth. You knownothingof me.”
His dark blue gaze deepened, something sharper and more dangerous slipping beneath the amusement.
“I confess,” he murmured, “you now possess the boldness of someone… daring. Perhaps even a touch of wickedness.” His eyes dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to hers. “It is a most intriguing contradiction, Miss Red. I like it and most assuredly prefer you like this.”
She lowered her hand, acutely aware of the heat rising in her cheeks, though she fought to master it. “Fortunately,” she replied, striving for composure, “I possess sufficient good sense not to concern myself with the preferences of a charming libertine.”
He laughed, the sound low and rich, brushing over her senses like a caress she could not quite escape.
“There is no need to praise me so.”
“Praise?” she spluttered, entirely unwilling to admit the answering flicker of warmth in her chest.
“Is ‘charming’ meant to be an insult?”
A provoking glint entered his gaze as he stepped closer still. Darcy lifted her chin in response. She would not retreat. She would not behave like some fluttering miss overcome by nerves. She had resolve, and she would prove it. Why it mattered so greatly, she could not say. Yet the thought only steeled her further as Darcy held his gaze, her chin tipped upward in quiet, stubborn challenge. “Share with me your… insight and experience with kisses, my lord.”
“Why?”
“I wish to render the painting exactly as Rebecca envisions it. I would not have her displeased, nor risk losing the commission if I fail to capture what she requires.”
“This position matters to you.”
Darcy’s eyes widened slightly. “Anyone who must work to eat and live values their position immensely, my lord.”
She almost winced at the edge in her tone, for it carried a quiet reproach—one that suggested a man of his rank and privilege might never truly understand the needs and fears of those who were not born to wealth. Several beats of silence passed as he held her gaze, his own searching, as if trying to understand her.
“You can do this painting without knowing passion. Not every kiss speaks of passion,” he finally said. “Some offer comfort… others reveal the first stirrings of desire. Some are nothing more than a quiet acknowledgment, a way to feel the presence of another. But all—” his gaze dipped meaningfully to her mouth, “—all should carry some measure of feeling.”
Darcy willed her expression to remain composed. “I see. Please continue.”
“Many women who visit Aphrodite for the first time,” he continued, “arrive with the sensibilities of the untouched but curious, wanting to break away from the mold others wish to cast them in. They look upon such paintings and see not vulgarity, but wonder. The promise of something…more. This painting would be the slow unfolding of seduction. The sort that leads them, step by step, toward a carnal pleasure they cannot yet name… yet cannot help but crave.”
“They do not leave untouched… nor so innocent,” Darcy murmured, a quiet sense of understanding unfolding within her. “They return to their beds and wonder what it is to be touched with care… with reverence… and with desire.”
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Indeed. They do not leave untouched… nor unmoved. They then allow their thoughts to turn to rakes and libertines, and the pleasures that might be discovered in their embrace.”
A silence stretched between them, taut and charged.
“It sounds interesting,” Darcy said, though the banal words scarcely conveyed the sense of curiosity twisting through her chest.
“Have you ever been kissed, Red?”
