Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1

by Victoria Vale

  She obeyed, even though her pose kept her from being able to look at him. “You’re right, of course. It is only my mother and my sister who have chosen to read far too much into the situation. They interrogated me at length over the nature of our association. I told them we were only friends.”

  Friends who make love, she thought with a knot of grief welling in her chest. Friends who will part ways soon, leaving one of us a heartbroken mess.

  “Hmm,” he mumbled, setting aside his brush and reaching for one with a narrow set of bristles. “That isn’t entirely untrue, you know. I think of you as my friend.”

  That brought a smile to her face, even though she was supposed to maintain an expression of placid serenity for the purposes of the portrait. “Really?”

  “Of course. I like to think we would have gotten along had we met under other circumstances. Our arrangement has nothing to do with the fact that I genuinely like you.”

  Did you like your other keepers, too? Or did you merely tolerate them because you were being paid to?

  The questions sat on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back. He’d convinced her that he saw her as special somehow, and even if it weren’t true, she wanted to pretend it was. She wanted to believe that their connection ran deeper than that of a courtesan and the woman bedding him. Earning the answers to those queries could too easily shatter the delusion.

  “I think of you as my friend as well,” she declared, wiping the smile off her face and resuming the proper expression. “After all, you are one of the only people in the world who knows of my writing. I don’t go telling just anyone about it.”

  He chuckled. “Does that mean you’re going to let me read The Mad Baron now?”

  It was instinctual to rebel at the idea, but once that feeling passed, she was gripped with the urge to know his opinion of her work. While she appreciated Patience’s compliments and eagerness to read her latest book, she’d always wondered if anyone else would find it worthwhile. She trusted Hugh, and supposed it could not hurt to allow him to read it.

  “You know, I think I will,” she replied. “I will bring it with me the next time I visit. You must be certain to tell me what you truly think of it. Do not try to spare my feelings.”

  She glanced over at him just as he peeked out from behind the canvas, giving her a warm smile. “Evie, I have complete faith in you. I don’t have to read it to know I’m already going to love it, because you wrote it.”

  Again, she fought a smile, her face warming as his compliment suffused through her entire being. She’d insisted she did not care for compliments when they’d first met, but Hugh was changing that with every honeyed word that fell from his lips.

  “I do believe we are finished for the day,” he said a moment later. “It’s been well over an hour, and I’ve made quite a bit of progress.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she quipped, hopping carefully off her pedestal. “My arse was beginning to grow numb.”

  “I do believe I could be of assistance in that regard,” he replied, pulling his smock off over his head and letting it drop to the floor.

  Then, he advanced on her with amusement in his eyes, reaching out to pull her into his arms. Her blue silk fell to the floor at her feet, the strap of her gown slipping off one shoulder. She issued a surprised laugh when he palmed her buttocks, squeezing and kneading them and pulling her tighter against his body.

  “How’s that?” he murmured against her temple, kissing a path toward her ear.

  “Hmm,” she teased. “I am not certain; perhaps you ought to continue until I am sure.”

  He captured her lips in a kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. Beneath his smock, he’d worn only a shirt and trousers, enabling her to feel every inch of him through the near non-existent slip of fabric she wore. As always, her body roared to life at his nearness and the promise offered by the press of his hard cock against her belly.

  “Evie, darling, I don’t believe we’re going to make it to the bed this time,” he whispered, already gathering the hem of her gown in both hands to pull it up. “You look far too ravishing in this gown, it’s a wonder I could think about painting at all.”

  She giggled as he pawed at her beneath the gown, his lips and teeth tugging on her earlobe and making her laugh melt into a groan. “Hang the bed...the floor will do.”

  “That’s my girl,” he rasped, cupping her breast and toying with her nipple.

  She’d gotten so caught up in the moment, it took her several seconds to realize that someone had knocked upon the door. Hugh pulled away from her with a whispered curse, his annoyance clear. He hurried to offer her his dressing gown, which he’d left draped over the back of a chair. She slipped it on at once. It was one thing for her to be portrayed wearing it in the painting, but quite another for anyone to see her this way in person.

  He waited until she’d covered herself before opening the door, revealing a footman on the other side.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but you have a caller. It is your brother and he insists the matter is urgent.”

  Evelyn’s pulse sped up, instinct telling her the brother who had come calling must be Marcus. Her suspicion was proven true when the footman was pushed aside to admit Hugh’s eldest brother.

  Marcus’ mouth pinched tight when he laid eyes on Hugh, then pressed into a thin line when he noticed Evie standing behind him, one hand holding the dressing gown closed over her chest.

  “He will see me, and I will not stand about in the corridor while you beg him to admit me.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Hugh directed a glare at his brother. “Look at you, already so adept at throwing your weight around. Father must be so proud that his mantle will someday rest on your shoulders.”

  “I’ve no time to suffer your impertinence,” Marcus snapped. “I want a word...alone.”

  That last word he said while casting Evelyn a glance, one that seemed heavy with reproach. She raised her chin and refused to look away or be daunted by this man, regardless of how intimidating he might be. That they’d been caught in Hugh’s studio and not his bedroom boded well, for she could always fall back on the truth of the painting to protect her reputation—though her state of indecent dress and presence here without a chaperone would surely count for something. She told herself that none of it would matter, as Marcus himself would never reveal their affair to the world, since anything Hugh did would fall back on his family, no matter that they were estranged.

  Hugh gave his brother a disdainful sneer. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Evelyn. You certainly had no trouble giving me the cut in front of her.”

  Marcus ran a hand over his jaw and shook his head, seeming quite put out by Hugh’s obstinacy. However, he pressed on, his words coming out clipped and sharp. “Very well. I suppose it cannot hurt, since the young lady is the matter I wish to speak with you about. It makes no difference to me if she is present to hear me ask you what in God’s name you could be thinking.”

  Evelyn stiffened, going cold with fear as Marcus’s words slammed into her with all the force of a hammer between the eyes. Did he know? Had word spread of the nature of their relationship?

  Hugh drew himself up, hands curling into fists, his chest swelling as he stared at Marcus with murder in his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Evelyn is a dear friend who has commissioned a portrait, nothing more.”

  Reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, he withdrew a folded copy of The London Gossip. “Care to explain this, then?”

  While Evelyn fought to maintain her composure, Hugh scoffed, staring at the paper as if it were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. “Viscount Radcliffe has taken to reading the scandal sheets like a sniveling girl. How surprising. You can’t honestly give any credence to the filth written on those pages.”

  “Perhaps not,” Marcus ground out. “But I saw the two of you myself, and Elinor reports hearing that the two of you have been seen together
on a few other occasions.”

  Hugh shrugged one shoulder with a fluid motion that denoted nonchalance. Meanwhile, Evelyn felt as if she might faint, all the feeling seeping out of her fingers and toes. This was exactly the sort of attention she hated, the sort that made people whisper and stare.

  “You seem quite interested in my affairs for a man who had no problem casting me out of the family,” Hugh spat. “Who I spend my time with is none of your affair, just as you’ve made it clear that the details of your life are none of mine.”

  “It is my business when the reputation of an innocent woman might be at risk,” Marcus countered, before turning to address Evelyn. “Miss Coburn, you and I are not well acquainted but my impression from what I’ve heard is that you are an upstanding lady with a pristine reputation. My brother is not fit company for one such as yourself. Aside from lowering himself to this degrading profession, he is known to make friends with the most disreputable of London’s rakes, including the man whose theater box you occupied last week, an act which has drawn attention to you both.”

  So that was it, then. Marcus thought himself a hero rescuing an unwitting maiden from the clutches of his brother. The insinuation was insulting, toward Hugh most of all, who had never treated her with anything but respect. His friends had only ever been kind to her, and their entire arrangement rested on her desires, not Hugh’s.

  Squaring her shoulders, she found her voice as well as a good measure of indignation. “I understand your concerns, my lord, but it is as your brother says, we are friends and I have hired him to commission a portrait.”

  When she paused, Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but Evelyn cut him off. She was far too riled up to be silenced now.

  “Furthermore, you ought to be ashamed to speak of your own brother that way. He has done nothing to deserve such scorn.”

  “Miss Coburn,” he began, raising a hand to placate her.

  “Your mother ought to box your ears for treating your own flesh and blood that way. As a future earl, you possess the power to make people accept Hugh, and instead you’ve decided to join them in treating him like an outcast. It is my opinion, my lord, that you are the despicable one in this situation, the one who would not offer your brother the benefit of the doubt and have instead decided to cast him in the light of some sort of villain. Well, I’ll have you know that I am no simpering miss in need of coddling or concern. I will thank you to mind your own affairs and put mine from your thoughts.”

  When she fell silent, she was shaking all over with rage. She’d never spoken so many words to a stranger before, and would never have dared talk this way to a lord of the ton before. Yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret it. If no one else would stand up for Hugh, then she would.

  Hugh remained silent, though a smirk had curved his lips, the smug expression seeming to only agitate Marcus further. The elder Radcliffe ground his teeth in silence for a long moment, his gaze darting from her to Hugh and back again.

  At last, he cleared his throat, stuffing the scandal sheet back into his coat pocket. “I can see that my words will go unheeded. Very well, then. Do try to remember my advice, Miss Coburn, when things between you and my brother come to an unsatisfactory end.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the studio, slamming the door behind him so hard it shook the walls. Evelyn deflated with a heavy sigh, her body which had been wound taut now going limp. Her head spun as she looked to Hugh, who studied her with the light of admiration in his eyes.

  “My God,” she whispered. “I cannot believe I spoke to him that way.”

  Hugh came to her with a few swift strides, taking up where they’d left off and pulling her into his arms. “You were magnificent! I do not think I’ve ever heard you speak so forcefully.”

  Clinging to him, she shook her head slowly, still grappling with what had just happened in her mind. “I’ve never...I just...I was so angry at him for daring to come into your home and speak to you that way that I...I’m afraid my mouth ran away with me.”

  He grinned. “It did, but you didn’t flinch or stammer, not one time. It was quite amusing, but I must say it was also the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows, both shocked and soothed by his reaction to her outburst. He was pleased, which went a long way toward putting her at ease.

  “It was?”

  He kissed her throat, then her chin, and finally her mouth. “Oh yes. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted you more than I do right now.”

  She smiled, tangling her fingers in his hair. “We wouldn’t want your arousal to go to waste. Shall we go to bed now?”

  He arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the patch of carpet at their feet. “I thought we had decided on the floor for today.”

  Pulling from the circle of his arms, she untied the sash of the dressing gown and allowed it to fall from her body, leaving her nearly naked before him in the transparent bit of gauze.

  “So we did, Mr. Radcliffe.”

  His dark eyes smoldered as he looked her over from head to toe, able to see every bare inch of her through the fabric. The hunger in his gaze stoked an answering need in her, the confrontation with Marcus forgotten for the moment. Going down to her knees on the floor, she braced herself on her hands and stared up at him with a wicked smile.

  “I saw this one in a book. It looked rather primitive, but—”

  Hugh was on her in an instant, snatching open his trousers and yanking up her gown before propelling her back into him and spearing her on his waiting cock. Evelyn released a startled cry, which melted into a sigh of pleasure as he took up a slow, deep rhythm within her. Closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as the pleasure overtook her, Evelyn forgot about everything except Hugh.

  * * *

  The next fortnight passed Hugh by in a blur of blissful happiness with Evelyn. He was hardly ever without her company, rushing straight home after his sessions at the Royal Academy to prepare to work on her portrait. She arrived every afternoon at four o’clock to sit for him, proving to be the consummate subject. He was speeding through her painting in a way he never had any other, finding that she inspired him to do some of his best work. He became a wizard of sorts, somehow able to perfect his pigments and execute every flawless curve and line of her face and form without second-guessing his every decision. He felt the sort of excitement he had as a young student watching his first pieces come together, wanting to work on it his every waking hour. He did what he could without her sitting before him, perfecting the fall and drape of the blue silk and filling in the background. It had seemed fitting to put her in the midst of scenery akin to the ruins they’d first kissed in at Vauxhall Gardens with the light of the moon shining down on her.

  When he wasn’t painting her, he basked in the joy it brought him to simply be near her. They took walks and visited Gunter’s to try new flavors of ice. He taught her to sketch while sitting on park benches, laughing over her abominable execution of trees and foliage. She insisted that her drawings were horrible, but he kept every single one, gathering them into a pile shoved into the back of his sketchbook. He found himself looking at them from time to time and smiling as he recalled the way her tongue rested at the corner of her mouth when she was concentrating, or the way she squinted and turned her head to try to get her angles right.

  Of course, when they weren’t doing those things, they were in bed. Gone was the taciturn woman he’d first seduced and in her place stood one who had grown comfortable with him, but more importantly with herself. He saw the difference in her carriage and the way she walked, the confidence that she’d gained over the course of their time together. It had been a part of her nature from the beginning, but it seemed that being made to feel cherished had worked wonders for her.

  It was working wonders for him as well; he was not ashamed to admit to himself. He no longer lamented that his work was not good enough, or that he’d estranged himself from his family for a profession he migh
t never excel in. She believed in him so strongly that he could not help but believe in himself, his confidence in the piece he’d created for the Exhibition unwavering. He’d even stopped making alterations to it, varnishing the canvas, and setting it aside. He would gaze at it from time to time and find that he was more than satisfied with how it had turned out, surer than ever that this year would be the one to propel him to the sort of fame he’d always aspired to. This time next year, he would be overrun with clients, his studio no longer the haven of a starving artist, but one of a flourishing portraitist.

  As always, that thought brought him circling right back to Evelyn and the inevitability that their time together would end once he’d gotten the one thing he’d always wanted. It was something he’d avoided thinking about previously, but as the time drew near for him to submit his painting to the Academy, it became something he could no longer avoid. In a matter of weeks, things between him and Evelyn would be over for good. Where the thought had brought him a sense of peace and contentment before, now it only made a heavy stone of panic lodge itself in his throat. He could not have both. He could not paint portraits with the lords of the ton while bedding their daughters and wives, nor could he afford the blow to his reputation if word of his indiscretions became public knowledge. Which meant his association with anything having to do with the Gentleman Courtesans, and Evelyn, must be left behind.

  As he opened the door to his studio to admit Mr. Crosby, Hugh told himself that his feelings were no more than an infatuation that would fade once she was no longer a part of his life. As his mentor had instructed him, he’d enjoyed the influence she’d had on his work, while also relishing the pleasures of being her lover as required by his contract. But she’d never been meant to be part of his life in a long-term arrangement. She was simply his favorite of all the keepers he’d had over the years, and he would always remember her fondly for it.