If the Viscount Falls (40 page)

That softened her toward him a little. A very little. “So what exactly
do
you want to paint me for, anyway?”

“An entirely different work,” he said. “And agreeing to your brother's request seemed the only way to get close enough to you so I could arrange that.”

She eyed him skeptically.

“Ask Blakeborough if you don't believe me. Before I knew who he was, who
you
were, I wanted you to sit for me. I decided it the moment I saw you enter the room. I asked your brother who you were, he asked why I wanted to know, and I told him.”

His gaze locked with hers, as sincere a one as she'd ever seen. But then, Samuel had always looked very sincere, too, when he spun some tale. “Why on earth would you want to paint
me
?”

“No clue. I never know why particular models intrigue me; just that they do. And I always follow my instincts.”

Yvette blinked. He
could
have claimed it had something to do with her looks. The fact that he hadn't lent more credence to his assertion. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.” Yet a tiny part of her found it enormously flattering.

“It
is
ridiculous, isn't it? But true, I swear. No matter what gossip you've heard about me, I'm always honest, no matter the cost.”

“Fine. Then tell me this: Exactly what are the terms of your ‘transaction' with my brother?”

He flinched. “Your brother is an ass.”

“Not really. Just rather oblivious to other people's feelings sometimes.” She cast him a hard stare. “Answer the question.”

With a long-suffering sigh, he tightened his grip on her hand. “I am to paint your portrait. In exchange, he is
to drum up some gentlemen who might be interested in courting my sister.”

She gaped at him. “What a pair of nodcocks you are! Has it occurred to either of you that your sisters are perfectly capable of finding husbands on their own if they so choose? That perhaps we— Wait a minute, I thought your sister lived in America.”

“She's on her way here. She means to drag me home to help her with the family mills.” He cracked a smile. “I mean to fob some other fellow off on her who can go in my stead.”

His look of boyish mischief seduced her. Briefly. Until she put herself in his sister's shoes. “First you abandon her to go flitting about Europe. And now that she has tired of waiting for your return, you think to get rid of her by marrying her off.” She shook her head. “Your poor sister.”

“Trust me, there is nothing ‘poor' about my sister. Amanda can take care of herself.” His smile smoldered. “As, it appears, can you
. Which is probably what made me want you for my painting in the first place.”

She fought not to be intrigued. “What is this painting about, anyway?”

“It's allegorical, about the sacrifice of Art to Commerce.”

That took her by surprise. “Something like Delacroix's paintings?”

“You're familiar with Delacroix?”

His voice held such astonishment that it scraped her nerves. “I do read books, you know. And attend exhibits and operas with my brother . . . when I can drag him to town.”

“Operas, eh? Better you than me,” he teased. “I can't imagine anything more tedious than an evening of such screeching.”

“My point is that I'm not some ninnyhammer society chit who only keeps abreast of fashions.”

“I didn't think you were.” He bent close enough to say in a husky tone, “Unlike your brother, I am fully aware of your attractions.”

The words melted over her skin like butter. And when he then tugged her slightly closer in the turn, she let him.

Not because of his devastating attractiveness, no. Or his deft ability to dance. Or the glint of awareness in his startling blue eyes. None of that had any effect on her. Certainly not.

Fighting to keep her mind off the breathlessness that suddenly assailed her, she said, “So, which character would I play in this allegorical painting of yours?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Does that mean you agree to sit for it?”

“Perhaps. It depends on your answers to certain questions.”

The music was ending. Oh dear, and just when the conversation was getting interesting. Unfortunately, it would be highly improper of him to ask her for another.

But apparently he'd thought of that, for he waltzed her toward a pair of doors that opened to reveal a set of steps descending into the sunlit garden. And almost as soon as the notes died, he offered her his arm.

Cursing the curiosity that prompted her to take it, she let him lead her outside, but she was relieved to see that they weren't the only people strolling about. At least she needn't worry about rousing further gossip.

Besides, she was ready to be out of the stuffy ballroom. Here in the chilly autumn air, she could breathe at last.

“Now, then, madam,” he said. “Ask me whatever you wish.”

“Who am I to play in your painting? What am I to wear? Will sitting for your picture ruin me for life? Is that why Edwin would only agree to a respectable portrait?”

“That's quite a lot of questions,” he said dryly. “Let's start with the last. Your brother and I didn't get as far as my describing the concept of my work. The minute I said I wished for you to model for me, he flat out refused to let you be part of any painting that wasn't dull as dirt, even though I told him you wouldn't be recognized.”

“Won't I?” She felt a stab of disappointment at the thought that he didn't really want to paint
her
, as she was. And why did she care, anyway? “So I'm to be wearing a mask or a cloak or something?”

“No, indeed. But you will be in some kind of Greek costume quite different from your normal attire. I can even change your hair color if you wish. And you'll only be in profile, anyway. I doubt anyone will realize it is you.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Right. Because no one will notice that the woman in your painting happens to have my ungainly proportions.”

“Ungainly!” He shook his head. “More like queenly. Majestic, even.”

The compliment came so unexpectedly that it startled her. She was used to being teased for her height, not praised. She had to turn her head so he wouldn't see how very much the words pleased her.

“But your proportions are unlikely to signify, anyway,” he went on. “You'll be lying down.”

That arrested her. How had she managed to forget he was a rogue? “Why would I be lying down?”

He gazed at her as if she were witless. “ ‘Art' sacrificed to ‘Commerce'? Were you even listening? Damn, woman, I can hardly depict a sacrifice without laying you across an altar.”

Stunned by his matter-of-fact tone, as if it were perfectly obvious to anyone with sense, she mumbled, “Oh, right, of course. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Actually she did know. She thought him quite mad. When he spoke of his art, there was no trace of the rakehell in him. Was it by design? Was he
trying
to rattle her?

Because he was certainly succeeding at that.

“Will you do it?” he asked. “Assuming we can find a way to manage it?”

“Managing it isn't a problem,” she said, thinking aloud. “Artists doing portraits generally reside with the family during the process. So if you come to our estate for the portrait, we can arrange some way to meet for the painting you wish to do for yourself.” She slanted a glance at him. “If you're willing to leave London for a bit, that is.”

“Oh, I don't know.” He stopped beside a marble fountain to smile teasingly at her. “It would take me away from all those gaming hells and nunneries. However will I survive?”

“I'm sure you can find a sympathetic tavern maid or two in nearby Cheshunt to tide you over,” she said dryly.

“So, no nunneries in your neck of the woods?”

“Trust me, if there had been, my other brother would have uncovered them long ago.”

When he looked at her oddly, a blush rose in her cheeks. She didn't know why she'd said that. She couldn't seem to forget the request Samuel had made of her just before he'd been sent off to serve his sentence of transportation.

“I'll be fine, I promise,” he said silkily. “Though you still haven't given me your permission to paint you. For
either
work.”

And suddenly it hit her—the solution to her problem with Samuel. “I haven't, have I?” She stared him down. “Tell me something, Mr. Keane. Are you as willing to make a
bargain with me for your painting as you were to make a bargain with Edwin for my portrait?”

His eyes turned wary. “It depends. What sort of bargain are we talking about?”

Avoiding his gaze, she twirled the water in the fountain with one finger. “I will sit for you—clothed, of course—as much as you like. You may draw as many pictures of me as you please.”

“And in exchange?” he prodded.

“You will find some way to get me inside a nunnery in Covent Garden.”

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

SABRINA JEFFRIES
is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of the Royal Brotherhood trilogy, and the novels in the series The School for Heiresses, The Hellions of Halstead Hall, and The Duke's Men.
Library Journal
chose her holiday Regency
'Twas the Night After Christmas
as one of the Best Romances of 2012. There are more than seven million copies of her books in print worldwide.

Two of her beloved novels written as Deborah Martin—
By Love Unveiled
and
Silver Deceptions
—
have been newly revised by the author and broughtback into print by Pocket Books.

She lives in North Carolina with her husband and son.

Follow Sabrina Jeffries on
Twitter
, join her more than 20,000 fans on
Facebook
, and visit
www.sabrinajeffries.com
.

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ALSO BY SABRINA JEFFRIES

THE DUKE'S MEN SERIES

How the Scoundrel Seduces

When the Rogue Returns

What the Duke Desires

THE HELLIONS OF HALSTEAD HALL SERIES

A Lady Never Surrenders

To Wed a Wild Lord

How to Woo a Reluctant Lady

A Hellion in Her Bed

The Truth About Lord Stoneville

THE SCHOOL FOR HEIRESSES SERIES

Wed Him Before You Bed Him

Don't Bargain with the Devil

Snowy Night with a Stranger
(with Jane Feather & Julia London)

Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

Beware a Scot's Revenge

The School for Heiresses
(with Julia London, Liz Carlyle & Renee Bernard)

Only a Duke Will Do

Never Seduce a Scoundrel

THE ROYAL BROTHERHOOD SERIES

One Night with a Prince

To Pleasure a Prince

In the Prince's Bed

BY SABRINA JEFFRIES WRITING AS
DEBORAH MARTIN

By Love Unveiled

Silver Deceptions