LITMIR.BIZ

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that his trust in her was not misplaced. ‘I have given the servants the afternoon off.’

      His glance became appreciative rather than the glower he’d worn when he first came in. ‘Is there any reason why?’

      ‘I thought I could paint you. Get started on the portrait. It might not be an Alpine meadow, but I thought the bed would do.’

      Dark passion flared in his eyes. ‘You want to paint my portrait now? What has brought this on?’

      ‘Now!’ Sophie put her hands on her hips. If he went, she’d never regain the courage. She had everything planned in her mind. She’d seduce him and then she’d explain about the dinner party she’d planned. She knew having a dinner party before they had done the rounds of the At Homes wasn’t strictly speaking the done thing, but she wanted to show Richard and his father that she was a capable hostess. ‘Myers said that there wasn’t anything you had to be doing. I laid careful plans, Richard.’

      He pressed his lips together and then his face cleared. A wicked glint came into his eyes, warming her. And she breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to be easier than she’d feared. ‘Never let it be said that I don’t do what my lady requests, particularly when it is prettily put. Do you want me in my coat and hat for this portrait of yours?’

      ‘I would like you to sit over there on the bed.’ Sophie’s limbs trembled. He was doing as she asked. She walked over to the easel and picked up a brush.

      ‘You want me seated, not reclining.’

      ‘Whichever way is more comfortable. But you need to keep still. Don’t move a muscle. I want to capture you. When it is finished, I want to hang it over our drawing-room mantelpiece. Today I want to do a preliminary study and see if you can withstand the rigours of sitting.’

      The dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘I assume you will insist on entertaining the worthy.’

      ‘Precisely. I’ve no wish to shock.’

      Sophie drew a rough charcoal sketch of Richard’s head and shoulders. She did intend to paint his portrait eventually. It would give her a chance to get to know him better, but this afternoon was about more than simply painting. It was about showing Richard that she could be inventive in their love-making.

      ‘And you intend to paint all afternoon?’ he asked after a few moments’ silence in which she sketched the outline and gave a rough indication of how his hands ought to go.

      ‘Is there some problem with this?’

      ‘My nose is starting to itch. How am I supposed to scratch if you don’t want me to move?’

      Sophie smiled and reached for her brush. The request she had been waiting for. She walked over to where he sat. ‘I believe I have a solution.’

      She leant forwards and stroked his nose with the brush. ‘All better?’

      He gave a slight nod rather than reacting as she expected. ‘Trying not to move as my wife ordered.’

      She pursed her lips. This might take longer than she thought unless … She allowed her robe to slip as she started to turn away. His hand caught her sleeve.

      ‘Where are you going? Other parts of me itch.’

      ‘Do they?’

      He nodded. ‘All over. It is deuced uncomfortable being a model. You should have told me when I volunteered.’

      ‘Then I shall have to see to them.’

      ‘With your brush?’ His voice held a husky note.

      ‘I use it when I am painting and don’t want to get paint on my nose.’ Sophie used the brush to caress his cheeks and forehead. ‘You see. Nice and soft.’

      His eyes closed. ‘More, please. Remember you told me not to move. I’ve no intention of spoiling your … portrait.’

      Her hands worked at his neckcloth and discarded it. She gently stroked down the strong column of his throat, before working on his collar and the collar studs.

      His coat proved a bit more problematic to remove. And he kept true to his word and didn’t move a muscle, allowing her to undo the buttons and pull off the sleeves.

      With a sinking heart, she saw his shirt sleeves were fastened with intricate cufflinks. Richard’s clothing was every bit as fiddly as her own.

      ‘Next time I paint you, I think I shall have to take your advice and have you in fewer clothes. I can always paint the clothes in later.’

      ‘I am taking your instructions to heart, but I do have the most terrible itch.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘You are not drawing now.’

      Sophie drew her brush along his collar bone. ‘You know how this game is played.’

      ‘I’m a good guesser.’ He pulled her against his chest. ‘Is it all right for me to move now? Truly?’

      She gave a nod. ‘It is safe. I reached a stopping point on the portrait.’

      ‘I promise to be the most obliging of models, but it is best to do a little at a time. It saves on the itching …’ He took off his shirt and vest, leaving his skin gleaming golden. She put out a hand and touched the warm muscle.

      He fell back on the bed so that she straddled him. His hands reached up and cupped her breasts. His thumb slowly rubbed her nipple, making it become a hardened point. Sophie gasped. He bucked upwards and his arousal teased her.

      ‘What are you wearing under this robe?’

      ‘Nothing,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I wanted to see how it would be for painting.’

      ‘A novel approach—having the artist undressed and the model clothed.’

      ‘I can be unconventional as well as conventional.’ She brushed her lips against his mouth.

      ‘Have I ever complained, Sophie?’ He caught her face between his hands.

      Sophie bit her lip. He had not complained, but she felt him slipping away from her.

      Rather than answering him, she concentrated on the next stage. Her hands went to his trousers and undid them, allowing his erection to spring free. Without waiting, Sophie opened her legs wider and positioned herself. She moved her hips back and forth, feeling the engorged tip of him rub her as the ache grew within her and then, very slowly, she lowered herself down on him, calling the rhythm for once.

      Much later, Richard lay with a sleeping Sophie curled beside him. With a gentle hand, he smoothed a lock of blonde hair from her face.

      Sophie had the unerring knack of knowing what he needed without him even having to tell her. With her curled into his side, he could almost allow himself the luxury of believing that he could protect her and keep her safe. That he would have chosen this marriage if she knew everything about him.

      He watched her stir and realised his feelings for her had grown, rather than diminished. But the only reason she was in his bed and his life was that he’d used her desire for virtue. Sometimes it felt as though he was waiting for the whole house of cards to fall.

      ‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, giving a stretch. ‘That was pleasant.’

      ‘Pleasant?’

      ‘Wonderful. It may take me an awfully long time to get that particular portrait done.’

      ‘I’m happy to pose whenever you like.’ Richard sobered. ‘You said my father has set a date for leaving.’

      ‘A week on Monday. He has booked his train ticket.’ Sophie raised herself up on her elbow. ‘We are going to give a dinner party, Richard, on the Sunday. For your father, my stepmother, Robert and Henri. I have sent the invitations. I was sure you wouldn’t mind. Robert and Henri arrive back two days before your father leaves. It seemed opportune. My stepmother and your father agreed readily.’

      Richard

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