sketch a few studies of you before I paint. Do not speak.”
“How long will this take?”
Eliza exhaled and lowered the brushes. “Blocking? Or painting your portrait?”
“The portrait.”
“Well, Lord Somerton, that all depends on you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, and how many times you interrupt my work.”
The corners of Magnus’s lips lifted. He didn’t give a damn about the portrait. She could be drawing stick figures for all he cared. Nay, he simply enjoyed Eliza’s refreshing company and her ability to make him forget his money troubles … if even for a short while.
With naught else to occupy his time, as Eliza studied every nuance of his face and body for the portrait, Magnus afforded himself a gratifying study of his own.
Softly-curled sable locks fell loose about Eliza’s shoulders, seductively cascading down her back in thick, silky waves. Magnus imagined those glossy tresses sliding over his bare skin and bit back a pleasurable sigh. By God, she was a beauty, in face as well as form—from her long pale throat, high breasts and slim graspable waist, down to the delicate turn of her ankles.
He could well understand how any man could be distracted by Eliza, despite her less than perfect reputation. “They call her the hellion of Hanover Square,” one well-meaning patroness had whispered to him at the Greymont’s ball. But that only made Eliza more interesting to Magnus.
He, himself, had never managed to adhere to Society’s rigid rules and mannerisms. Not when his father carted him off to Eton, where his instructors thought it their sacred duty to the Realm to beat his wild Scottish nature and brogue from him. Nor in the military, where his impulsiveness regularly rippled his regiment’s crisp lines.
Pity Eliza did not suit his pocket. Otherwise, she fit him so well. Magnus’s gaze rose warily to Eliza’s eyes. It would not do for his guilty indulgence to be detected.
At the moment, however, Eliza was thoroughly engrossed with her work.
Magnus watched her face, entranced, as her pink tongue moistened her lips and her skin took on a slight sheen as she concentrated her attention on the page at hand.
As her focus grew, she drew faster, blended and smudged with the tips of her fingers and the side of her thumb. Three pieces of charcoal, of varying sizes, now poked out between the fingers of her left fist as her right hand moved ceaselessly over the paper.
At length, Eliza lifted her eyes from the page. “Lord Somerton, if you did not expect me to begin this morn, might I ask why you are here?”
“Merely to discover if ye were serious about our arrangement. I see now that ye are.”
“I am quite serious, I assure you,” Eliza confessed. She lowered her wedge of charcoal and frowned. “Now you’ve moved.” Setting her board aside, she walked toward Magnus. Framing his face with her hands, she leaned close and tilted his head upward. “Oh, I’ve smudged you.”
Magnus breathed in her fragrance as he plucked a linen from his waistcoat and handed it to her. “Lavender.”
“Yes. Fine nose you have, Lord Somerton.” Eliza looked at him and gave a little smile. “Our lady’s maid, Jenny, bottles its essence in the stillroom for my aunts. Do you like it?”
“I do,” he said, breathing deeply of her.
Eliza leaned in to the remove the mark from his cheek, and suddenly Magnus felt the tip of her breast lightly rub against his chest. He looked up, and their gazes locked.
Magnus’s breath seized in his throat and for the briefest of moments, he had the oddest notion that he should kiss her. He straightened his back and blinked, surprised at the power and suddenness of the urge.
He knew he mustn’t. She was a lady, an innocent. Not some camp follower vying to share the warmth of his cot. He should remain the gentleman. He definitely should.
Eliza likely read his base intentions for she backed away, retreating behind the relative safety of her drawing board. When she looked at him
“How long will this take?”
Eliza exhaled and lowered the brushes. “Blocking? Or painting your portrait?”
“The portrait.”
“Well, Lord Somerton, that all depends on you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, and how many times you interrupt my work.”
The corners of Magnus’s lips lifted. He didn’t give a damn about the portrait. She could be drawing stick figures for all he cared. Nay, he simply enjoyed Eliza’s refreshing company and her ability to make him forget his money troubles … if even for a short while.
With naught else to occupy his time, as Eliza studied every nuance of his face and body for the portrait, Magnus afforded himself a gratifying study of his own.
Softly-curled sable locks fell loose about Eliza’s shoulders, seductively cascading down her back in thick, silky waves. Magnus imagined those glossy tresses sliding over his bare skin and bit back a pleasurable sigh. By God, she was a beauty, in face as well as form—from her long pale throat, high breasts and slim graspable waist, down to the delicate turn of her ankles.
He could well understand how any man could be distracted by Eliza, despite her less than perfect reputation. “They call her the hellion of Hanover Square,” one well-meaning patroness had whispered to him at the Greymont’s ball. But that only made Eliza more interesting to Magnus.
He, himself, had never managed to adhere to Society’s rigid rules and mannerisms. Not when his father carted him off to Eton, where his instructors thought it their sacred duty to the Realm to beat his wild Scottish nature and brogue from him. Nor in the military, where his impulsiveness regularly rippled his regiment’s crisp lines.
Pity Eliza did not suit his pocket. Otherwise, she fit him so well. Magnus’s gaze rose warily to Eliza’s eyes. It would not do for his guilty indulgence to be detected.
At the moment, however, Eliza was thoroughly engrossed with her work.
Magnus watched her face, entranced, as her pink tongue moistened her lips and her skin took on a slight sheen as she concentrated her attention on the page at hand.
As her focus grew, she drew faster, blended and smudged with the tips of her fingers and the side of her thumb. Three pieces of charcoal, of varying sizes, now poked out between the fingers of her left fist as her right hand moved ceaselessly over the paper.
At length, Eliza lifted her eyes from the page. “Lord Somerton, if you did not expect me to begin this morn, might I ask why you are here?”
“Merely to discover if ye were serious about our arrangement. I see now that ye are.”
“I am quite serious, I assure you,” Eliza confessed. She lowered her wedge of charcoal and frowned. “Now you’ve moved.” Setting her board aside, she walked toward Magnus. Framing his face with her hands, she leaned close and tilted his head upward. “Oh, I’ve smudged you.”
Magnus breathed in her fragrance as he plucked a linen from his waistcoat and handed it to her. “Lavender.”
“Yes. Fine nose you have, Lord Somerton.” Eliza looked at him and gave a little smile. “Our lady’s maid, Jenny, bottles its essence in the stillroom for my aunts. Do you like it?”
“I do,” he said, breathing deeply of her.
Eliza leaned in to the remove the mark from his cheek, and suddenly Magnus felt the tip of her breast lightly rub against his chest. He looked up, and their gazes locked.
Magnus’s breath seized in his throat and for the briefest of moments, he had the oddest notion that he should kiss her. He straightened his back and blinked, surprised at the power and suddenness of the urge.
He knew he mustn’t. She was a lady, an innocent. Not some camp follower vying to share the warmth of his cot. He should remain the gentleman. He definitely should.
Eliza likely read his base intentions for she backed away, retreating behind the relative safety of her drawing board. When she looked at him
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