Page 12 of Real Earls Break the Rules

Her breath caught in her lungs. She struggled to comprehend the enormity of what he offered. She understood why he’d want her to paint a copy of the Cuyp landscape. Her unique ability to forge paintings was rare. But his second request was baffling. “Why me? I know why you sought me out to replicate the Cuyp painting, but why not hire Stirling himself for your portrait?”

Vale’s eyes darkened to a deep moss. “Stirling no longer paints portraits, but I wouldn’t commission him even if he did. The true reason I want you to paint me is because I don’t want to look like them,” he said, flicking his thumb at the portraits on the walls. “I don’t want to look earlish.”

A single thought crossed her mind: Vale looked nothing like them. The comparison was as foolish as the tingle of excitement she experienced every time he looked at her, and she suppressed the urge to press her hand to her pounding heart. There was so much male beauty that she longed to capture on canvas.

The risks were high. She could get caught alone with him at night while she worked. She could ruin her reputation and her chances at a future marital match. Eliza would be devastated.

She would spend hours alone with Vale, watching him, studying him for as long and as freely as she wanted as she painted. It was sinful, wicked, and entirely improper.

When had that ever stopped her in the past?

She looked into his eyes and saw the flash of victory before she uttered the words.

“I’ll do it.”

…

A thrill of primitive satisfaction coursed through Brandon.

She’d agreed.

He imagined standing still as Amelia worked. Her eyes intently studying him feature by feature as she painted.

Christ. It was enough to make him grow hard in his breeches and his skin sizzle.

She looked lovely in an azure gown that emphasized the color of her eyes—a deep blue. Her skin was as flawless as porcelain and her glossy hair a unique blend of browns and reds. His fingers itched to remove the pins in her hair and discover if the locks reached past her shoulder blades.

As if she read his thoughts, a spark of annoyance flared from beneath her thick lashes. “It will be a strictly business arrangement.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You will act the perfect gentleman.”

It would take every ounce of willpower he possessed, but he wouldn’t pounce on her. “I will.”

He may fantasize about her in his bed, but he would not act upon his desires. He wasn’t a complete scoundrel. He did not want to ruin her reputation, and he could never offer her marriage. He was an earl with a responsibility to his title, his family, and all those dependent upon him, and he needed to marry a wealthy woman. And as his best friend’s sister-in-law, Amelia was not mistress material.

But he could take pleasure in watching her as she worked. There was passion beneath her surface. He was sure of it. She freely expressed it in her artwork—in the swirling texture and strokes of her brush. If Amelia’s layers of respectability were peeled away to reveal her true essence, he had no doubt that she was a fiery, passionate woman. What if after spending hours alone with him in the intimacy of his study as she worked, she would come to want him?

God’s teeth. His control wouldn’t last.

A hint of hesitation crossed her face. “You must understand why I’m concerned. I’m not like most women. We may have owned a respectable print shop, but that did not stop men from asking if more than the artwork in the establishment was for sale.”

A streak of unexpected fury stuck Brandon. Three women proprietors—especially three beautiful ones—would be considered fair game among men. But he didn’t like the thought of any man making advances toward Amelia.

Bloody hell. What was wrong with him? He’d never been possessive of a woman before. Courtesans, widows, and mistresses had come and gone in his life without regret or thought. So why did it bother him now?

His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. “You can trust me.”

Chapter Four

Amelia presented an ease she didn’t feel as she looked up at Lord Vale. Could she truly trust him? Now that she’d agreed to his offer, doubts had crept in. She wanted tutelage from the master artist, but how on earth was she going to paint Vale without anyone in the house knowing?

“How will we keep it secret?” she asked.

“Don’t worry. There are hidden passageways in the house that no one knows of but myself and my trusted butler. You can travel through one at night after everyone has retired and paint in my study,” he said.

“Secret passageways?”