“Perry, please.” She swept a curl of hair from her face.
He arched a dark eyebrow. “I’ve just corrected the artist’s grammar.”
“It’s fine.” Valentine nodded and smiled. “And His Lordship is right. Please spread your arms and lift your chin.”
He worked in silence, fully focused on her. When he concentrated, he lost his debonair look and became more ruthless and serious.
He paused to study her, head tilted. “I think the top of the tunic should be lower. Let’s show a few inches of your beautiful breasts.” He went to touch her, but Perry shot him a cold glare that stopped him in his tracks.
Valentine shrugged. “Or maybe not.”
Edith shot her gaze up. “Please, we need to be quick.”
Despite Valentine’s efforts, it took hours to finish the painting and an entire day for it to dry and be recoated and dried again, barely in time for Sir James’s visit.
When the painting was carefully packed and ready to be transported to Perry’s house and his bank account was lighter, Perry shook Valentine’s hand. “Carter, I admire your work. You’re a true artist, but?—”
“Let’s end it there.” Edith tugged at Perry’s hand.
Valentine shrugged. “For ten thousand pounds, I’ll accept any criticism from the earl.”
