Nicole Jordan by Lord of Seduction Page A

artist and the tongue of a poet, and I was blind to the practical realities of life.” Her voice lowered a register, and she averted her gaze, focusing on a nearby blossom of bougainvillea. “I thought we would have a wonderful future together, earning our fame and fortune with our art. I would have lived in a garret attic had he asked. But he had loftier plans for us. He thought he could force my uncle to relent once we were wed.”
    “So you eloped to Scotland?” Thorne asked.
    “We attempted to. But our hired carriage broke down barely a day outside London, which allowed my Uncle Basil to catch up with us. When Uncle vowed he wouldn’t release my modest inheritance until I was twenty-one, my suitor abruptly cried off, pleading debts that couldn’t wait. I was brought home in disgrace.” Her mouth curled with wry bitterness. “As you can imagine, I was considered a fallen woman after that.”
    Bracing herself, she lifted a defiant gaze to meet Thorne’s, intending to reject his scorn or pity if he offered either. But his eyes held neither, only curiosity and perhaps sympathy.
    “Well,” Diana muttered in a lame tone, “you can see how inappropriate it would be for me to sponsor Amy.”
    Thorne nodded. “Yet if Nathaniel intended for her to have her comeout last year, he must have planned some kind of suitable arrangement.”
    “He meant to hire a respectable widow to act as Amy’s chaperone—one of our neighbors in Derbyshire, in fact—but she has since passed away.”
    After another moment, Thorne nodded again. “And this artistic opportunity you spoke of?”
    Diana was glad for the change of subject. “I have been invited to interview with the president of the British Academy when I am next in London.”
    “I try to attend the Royal Academy exhibition each year. And my father is one of their patrons. But I’m not very familiar with this newer academy.”
    “It was established some years ago as a backlash against the rigid conservatism of the Royal Academy. But neither has yet to accept any women into its classes.”
    “You must be extremely talented if they are considering your application. Is your expertise in landscapes or portraitures?”
    “I enjoy both. And presently I work almost exclusively with oils.”
    “That is an unusual medium for a female, isn’t it?”
    Diana smiled. “Indeed. Normally girls are permitted to draw and dabble in watercolors only. But my uncle recognized my odd passion when I was quite young and was kind enough to hire a drawing master who taught me rudimentary oils. And in the past few years, I have trained with an elderly artist who retired near Lunsford Hall.”
    “And you mean to earn fame and fortune with your art? Somehow you don’t strike me as the sort who would paint simply for the income.”
    “I don’t need the income, since my inheritance is adequate for my needs. But of course I would like to sell my work, for it would be a measure of my skills. And while my paintings do very well locally, London is a vastly different market. Training at the academy would gain my work wider acceptance.”
    “And would allow you to take control of your future,” Thorne observed in a thoughtful tone.
    Diana felt her eyes widen. It amazed her that he understood the driving force behind her ambition.
    After her uncle died when she was twenty-one, she had indeed decided to take control of her future and follow her dream to live her life as an artist. She’d found a mentor who helped mold and polish her talent, but when she outgrew his ability to instruct her, he had advocated her move to London.
    The notion had held enormous appeal to Diana. Earning the respect of the art world as a renowned artist would give her the kind of freedom she had never before enjoyed. And for the first time since her aborted elopement, she had a goal that excited her.
    She intended to start a new life for herself, where she no longer had to bow to society’s dictates.
    But she didn’t want