He had lit the chamber with more than twenty candles, and they painted her in a perfect, sensual silhouette behind the screen. His mouth dried as he watched her remove her clothes with economic movements. A soft hiss escaped him, and he looked away, pinning his stare to the blank canvas.
This might prove harder than he’d expected. This was not his first time painting a nude portrait. He’d always affected the right professionalism and bonhomie and had never been affected by any of his models. Even when a few had indicated their willingness for an affair, he had kept their interactions respectful and professional. That his heart would beat at such an uneven rhythm at merely seeing Cressida’s outline was insupportable. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she wanted to use him to ruin herself that affected his senses in such an astonishing manner.
Noting that she stayed behind the screen even after finishing undressing, he went over to the box a modiste delivered earlier. Flicking the lid open, he took up the dark blue silk robe with its lace trimmings and took it over to the screen.
“You may wear this until you are comfortable.”
Her breath left her on a shaky sigh. “Who does it belong to?”
“I had it made for you.”
She reached for it and their fingers lightly grazed. Cressida slipped it on, belting the robe loosely around her waist, then padded out. Her throat looked soft, supple, shapely above the low-cut bodice of the silken robe. It did not cling to her figure, but there was a suggestion of lush, nubile curves beneath the shimmering garment. Her bare toes curled into the lush carpet, and her throat worked on a nervous swallow.
The eyes that met him were wide with nerves and determination. Admiration shifted through his veins.
“Please remove the pins in your hair.”
She lifted her hands up and hesitated. “Who will help me fix it when I am done?”
“I have some skills in that area.”
“You do?”
“I have eight sisters,” he said dryly.
“Growing up must have been an adventure,” she said with a smile.
“It still is.”
Cressida removed the pins, and her mass of auburn locks tumbled down her shoulders and to the middle of her back. She padded over to the chaise longue and sat.
“Climb onto it fully and repose against the cushion. Half sitting, half lying down. You will be in this pose for at least two to three hours. Ensure that you are comfortable and tell me whenever you wish to take a break. I have tea and a fresh jar of lemonade and cakes if you require refreshment. If you wish to keep on the robe, you may.”
She nodded, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. Then she shrugged the robe from her shoulders, allowing it to pool at her ankles. Nicholas jerked as if he had been shot with an arrow. She was…exquisite. Her curves were richly pronounced, her breasts more than a handful, her thighs smooth and supple.
She was a dream for an artist to paint. Her ivory skin was so smooth under the candlelight, her lips so full and lush Nicholas wanted to kiss them again until they were bruised and swollen. Her eyes still showed how nervous she was, and he realized it would take some time for her to relax, but at least he could start sketching her face and hair. No words passed between them, and he was grateful, for surely he would sound like a damn frog should he attempt to speak.
She climbed onto the chaise: her movements graceful yet infused with lush sensuality. He studied the elegant line of her spine, the curves of her hips, the rounded globes of her buttocks that made him want to lower his teeth and bite that firm flesh then soothe it with kisses.
His fingers itched to paint her and that excitement to capture her beauty thrummed through him. “Scared?”
Lady Cressida’s hazel eyes were luminous as they stared at him, her lush, rosy lips were lush and glistening. “Not anymore.”
“Good.”
She unclenched the cushions and, with a whispering sigh, leaned back on the chaise. They shared a smile, and some of the tension leaked from the room. He started to paint her in ruins at midnight, like a Greek goddess—one of beauty and daring. A stroke of the brush that he could imagine to be his fingers on her soft skin glided over the canvas. He made no effort to speak, and he was pleased she did not shatter the intimacy.
Everything inside him quieted as he worked, each stroke over the canvas bringing a small bit of her to life. He lifted his gaze over the canvas and his gaze collided with wide hazel eyes filled with a hint of mystery and allure. He wanted to capture that exact look. Nicholas painted Lady Cressida with mystery hinted in the slant of her eyes, the smokiness of her hazel stare, the small smile on those lush sensual lips.
See me and want me, that look said,but you cannot have. The painting would evoke hunger and want in even the most jaded senses, and the gentleman she intended it for would weep with loss. Nicholas tried to ignore the dissatisfaction that pounded through his veins at the thought of another seeing her like this. He had no right to her.
But you want to. The devil inside him whispered. “Relax your shoulders,” he murmured.
“Like this?” she asked, easing back more on the cushions.
Her body grew more pliant…more sensual. She looked delightfully disheveled. His cock ached and he ruthlessly buried the reaction.
“Yes,” Nicholas murmured. “Just like that.”