Page 32 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“Would a little vanity be such a failing?”

“I was not aware that self-conceit had ever been elevated to a virtue.”

“A little vanity, properly indulged and flattered, improves a lady’s spirits and a gentleman’s evening,” he said drily, a hint of mockery in his expression.

“I daresay the ladies of your acquaintance find such indulgence most agreeable. I cannot claim the same experience.”

Boredom reshaped his indolent expression. “How singularly… tiresome. I had hoped there might be a hint of wickedness beneath all that propriety.”

He thought her priggish. Darcy could not help but wonder what he might say or think if he ever discovered she was Red, a woman who had seen him with his cock in hand, stroking himself to pleasure.

As soon as the thought formed, Darcy knew with sudden certainty that the earl must never discover her identity. The certainty settled uneasily within her. Whenever his gaze fell upon her, it felt too searching, carrying an attention that unsettled her even without suspicion.

She wondered whether he might one day hear something familiar in her speech, despite how carefully she lowered and softened her voice at the pleasure palace, or recognize Red’s mouth as Darcy’s when she smiled. She would have to be exceedingly careful, for something within her warned that if the truth were revealed, the consequences of her deception would not be easily borne.

CHAPTER 12

The corridors of Aphrodite thrummed with decadence, every gilded passage rich with the promise of debauchery. Soft laughter drifted through the gilded halls, low and indulgent, mingling with the murmur of intimate conversation and the distant strains of an orchestra. Candlelight flickered against polished surfaces and rich tapestries, casting everything in a golden glow that softened edges and invited indulgence. Warmth and perfume lingered upon the senses, sweet and faintly heady.

Darcy moved through it all with measured steps, her spine straight, her chin lifted, though she felt anything but untouched by the atmosphere. Her simple green gown marked her apart from the other women who passed her, ladies draped in silks that clung too closely, bodices cut daringly low, laughter spilling freely from painted lips.

Their glances were knowing, curious, and assessing. She felt their world press against her own, and found herself wondering what it might be like to inhabit it, if only for a moment, and indulge in pleasure with such freedom, unburdened by the fear of losing one’s reputation or the regard of society.

Why should I long, even for a moment, to know such freedom?

Darcy touched her cheek. The black-and-red silk mask shielded her identity, while the red wig completed her transformation into Miss Red. Yet neither disguise guarded her from the awareness stirring beneath her skin, or from the knowledge of what this place offered and awakened within her: a curiosity that was decidedly reckless and dangerous. She drew a steadying breath and entered the private salon where Madam Rebecca awaited.

“Ah, there she is,” Rebecca declared, rising at once, her eyes alight with pleasure. “My darling Red, you grow more exquisite each time I see you.”

Darcy flushed and inclined her head politely. “Madam.”

Rebecca smiled. “There is no need for such formality between us. Pray, call me Rebecca. You have done well,” she said, her tone rich with satisfaction. “Those paintings possess life, a quality that will draw the eye and hold it. That is precisely what I wanted.”

A flicker of warmth stirred within Darcy, though she kept her expression composed. “I am pleased they meet your expectations. I believe I know how to correct the painting of Lady Shelby), and I shall adjust it to present a kiss that evokes genuine feeling.”

“Wonderful.” Rebecca smiled and clapped her hands lightly, eager to move forward. “Which brings us to your next piece.”

Darcy stilled and waited, wholly attentive.

Rebecca’s gaze sharpened, intent and unapologetic. “I wish you to paint a woman in the act of self-pleasure.”

For a moment, Darcy could only stare at her.

Rebecca continued, untroubled by the silence. “It is a grave injustice that women are kept ignorant of their own bodies and what they are capable of feeling. I would have that ignorance undone, if only in some small measure. Many ladies who come here are quietly unfulfilled by their marriages, yet lack even the language to name what is missing. I would have the painting answer questions they dare not voice. Let them see that pleasure is not a privilege reserved solely for men, but something a woman may discover and command for herself. And,” she added, a faint smile touching her lips, “it may even enlighten a few husbands who have no notion that their wives are capable of feeling as much, if not more, pleasure than they do.”

Darcy inclined her head slowly. “I understand.” In truth, she did not understand entirely. “I will do my utmost to render it truthfully.”

“Lady Lily has agreed to sit for you,” Rebecca added. “She will meet you in chamber five.”

Darcy murmured her thanks, then turned and made her way back into the corridor, her curiosity fiercely stirring. She had not gone far when her steps faltered, and her heart gave a sudden, sharp jolt. Lord Raine stood just beyond the curve of the hall, as though he had been there some time, watching the ebb and flow of guests with the quiet, assessing gaze she had come to recognize.

Only a few hours had passed since he returned them home from Vauxhall Gardens, yet the force with which his presence struck her senses revealed, most alarmingly, that Darcy had been eager to see him again. Aghast at the realization, she suppressed the smile threatening to curve her lips.

Heat rushed unbidden to her cheeks as her gaze drifted to his mouth, the memory of it against hers provoking a far too dangerous desire within her heart. Darcy found herself wanting, quite shamelessly, to taste him again. Startled by the wantonness of the thought, she lifted her gaze at once.

Sensual awareness gleamed unmistakably in his eyes. He had observed the fleeting desire she tried to conceal, and another rush of heat flooded Darcy’s body. Mortification burned through her with the heat of her blush.

A low laugh escaped him, rich with amusement, though something darker threaded beneath it as his regard lingered, slow, deliberate, and unmistakably carnal.