Mistress.
Slithering into his mind unawares. Comparing her with past women.
But nothing compared.
Because Evelyn was an original. An exquisite dichotomy.
A lying mouth with innocent eyes.
Was she a swindler looking to feather her nest or a lady in hardship? A brave woman who fought for a future or a jade who shamelessly wielded her wiles?
Yet if Evelyn Swift really was a shameless jade, jockeying for acceptance as a duke’s mistress, she would have turned into his arms as they’d viewed that painting.
He’d wanted her to.
Hell, he ached to press his mouth to those plush lips. Longed for the touch of her fingers, yearned to tear that goddamn awful black dress from her shoulders and lay her bare upon his chaise. They’d be skin to skin by now. Her glorious breasts crushed against his chest, groaning into each other’s mouths, his hands on her hips and lush derriere, seeking, demanding and…
But instead, she’d skulked to the shadows.
And he’d be damned if he knew why he’d brought her here and what he was to do with her, could not provide the answers she sought.
So, he revealed a truth that he did comprehend.
“I wantThe Fall of Innocence Unveiled.”
“Poor little rich duke,” she replied from the gloom.
Doubtless he’d sounded like a petulant child but frustration gnawed within – for both Evelyn and his defiant one’s twin.
“Why do you admire it so?” she enquired. “Your painting?”
He strode to view the portrait, knew if he stood close to Evelyn long enough, he’d join her in the dark, smother her resistance with pleasure.
Instead, he traced his finger along the lemon ribbon of the girl’s corset, the oil smooth then ridged and peaked. “I respond to something within her.”
“Her allure? Availability?” Evelyn came to stand by his side with curled lip.
Casper shook his head. “No. I see strength. Strength and fragility. She faces away – you don’t often see that – but not in fear nor shame, rather she confronts her predicament directly.” He lingered on a brown curl, frowned. “She has an honest power in this moment that lies unaware – courage and tenacity, the will to prevail, and all I know is…” He tilted his gaze to Evelyn’s bent Titian head. “…that if I ever met this woman, I would want her.”
Evelyn’s eyes flitted up, ivy green in this dim light. “Some thoughts,” she said softly, backing away to the door, “are best left unvoiced.”
Chapter 17
Play your cards right…
“Potato soup,Ma’am?”
Not that Evelyn ever wished to refuse nosh, especially served in a Royal Worcester tureen, sitting within the grandeur of the Queen’s dining room, but really? And although it did appear a superior concoction with leeks and cream, it still was, in essence, a soup made with potatoes.
Artemisia snickered.
“I believe I will pass, thank you.” After all, there remained potage of roasted lobster with mussels and cockles, rabbit collops and stewed scallops so she would hardly starve.
And this was only the first course.
She noted the duke’s frown but ignored him in favour of the divine lobster, and as the other diners enjoyed their soup, Evelyn’s gaze wandered the colossal room.
It did indeed have three windows, which overlooked the square, and its walls were decked in crimson and emerald-green flock paper, whilst a marble fireplace with gilded eagles surrounded a glow that held the cold spring air at bay. The table, in itself larger than their lodgings at Hop Gardens, dominated, and although they all sat at one end upon delicate rosewood chairs, there remained enough space for a Canaletto Venicescape between each diner.
