“I am not afraid of seeing naked men and women,” she said, steady enough to surprise herself. “If that is your concern with me, sir.” Darcy’s heart pounded like a drum in her ears. She had the distinct sense that securing this position hinged on convincing the earl of her competence. Without his approval, she doubted Madame Rebecca would offer her the post at all.
The earl’s mouth curved, and his dark blue eyes brightened with a provocative light. “Is that all you think you are going to see, Red? Naked men and women?”
His gaze traveled slowly, skimming the line of her throat, the swell of her breasts, the narrow of her waist, the curve of her hips, as if a gloved fingertip traced each secret place. Heat unfurled low in Darcy’s belly, tight as a pulled ribbon, and she was fiercely grateful for the mask that hid her flush and the quick parting of her lips.
The earl rose, languid and unkindly delightful. “You will see cocks being sucked, women’s arses blushing under a good hand, and bodies trembling for what they beg not to be given.”
Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. She said nothing, fearing it would reveal her ignorance.
He tipped his head. “Never say you do not even know what a cock is.” The gleam in the earl’s eyes sharpened. “How intriguing. An innocent in a den of depravity. My boredom is lifted.”
Rebecca made a small, arch sound, an almost-purr of approval at the spark leaping the space between them.
Darcy kept her spine straight. “My task is to see and to render with accuracy and grace. I am not here to be your amusement, my lord.”
“You are already my amusement,” he said, his lips quirking as if filled with humor by his own verdict. “But no matter. Let us see what your accuracy and grace can endure.”
He moved with a predator’s unhurried grace and set his hands to the linen at his throat. The cravat slid free. He dropped it onto the chaise and unbuttoned his shirt. Heat rushed up Darcy’s neck into her face before she could prevent it. He laughed softly, and the sound sent a peculiar shiver down her spine.
“She blushes,” he mocked, opening his shirt. “How interesting.”
The earl’s chest was a study in strength and proportion, the play of light over muscle something an artist might chase through a dozen sketches. The warmth that began in Darcy’s cheeks spread treacherously through her to places that had no business waking.
He watched her watch him, then set his fingers to the fall of his trousers. “Shall we be thorough?” he murmured, opening the flap.
Darcy spun around so quickly her gown whispered. The room seemed to tilt again. She stared at the door panel and willed her breath to behave. Lord Raine laughed, and the chill of mockery in it struck her square in the chest, sharp and unexpected.
Behind her, Rebecca sighed. “If you cannot look at a naked man objectively, my dear, this commission is not for you. A pity. You have such a wonderful talent.”
Miserable uncertainty gripped Darcy. Eight hundred pounds flickered like a candle in a draft.
Oh, God, do not be so missish! She fiercely scolded herself.This is a chance at a better future for my family—a future that might free us from dependence on others’ pity or charity.
Darcy took a breath that felt like a decision and turned. Her heart trembled. The earl was already there, close enough that the heat of his body pressed against the coolness of the mask. She stepped back and met the unyielding reality of the door. He followed that step as if it were a dance he had led a dozen times.
“Careful,” he said softly. His finger came under her chin, a single point of contact that lifted her face. Through the mask, she met his eyes and saw the wicked tranquility of a man entirely at ease with sin.
A sharp tremor quivered through Darcy.
“This work is not for you. Go home. You have failed the interview.”
Desperation threaded through her chest. “I can do it, my lord. Pray allow me the chance,” she said. “I promise I shall not look away again.”
“You will,” he said. “Your sensibilities do not belong here. Go home.”
“I will not,” she returned, stubborn and acutely aware of his fingertip still beneath her chin. “Please permit me to try again.”
A dark brow winged upward. “What Rebecca wants is for you to paint men and women in the act of congress. You will be required to paint cocks sheathed in a woman’s pussy, mouths open on pleasure, backs bowed in surrender. You will see men touching, fingers coaxing women and perhaps other men. You will watch bodies that do not pretend indifference.” His finger drifted to the edge of her mask, almost but not quite touching the corner of her mouth. “Will you keep your hand steady and your wits about you?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I will keep my hand steady and my wits in order. I will not faint, and I have no fragile sensibilities to protect.”
“How… interesting.”
“So you’ve said,” Darcy murmured, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Every instinct urged her to look away—to retreat from the dark sensuality he wielded without shame—but she did not. His eyes felt like a touch, deliberate and assessing, and she knew if she wavered now, he would see just how deeply he unsettled her.
Rebecca’s voice drifted over, amused and approving. “Very good. I think you will do, Red. Raine…what do you think?”
“Yes…what do you think?” Darcy drawled, alarmed at her own audacity.
