Free Once She Was Tempted by Anne Barton Page A

deal of trouble.”
    “Indeed. Walking with a pretty young woman inVauxhall Gardens is a great sacrifice, I assure you. You look especially lovely this evening, by the way.”
    She checked his expression to be sure he was not mocking her. He was not the type of gentleman who handed out compliments freely. Or ever. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “What would you like to know? I shall attempt to answer your questions as completely and honestly as I can.”
    “Who is the artist?”
    “A family friend, Thomas Slate. Both of our mothers are widows and pooled what few resources they had in order to see that Thomas, Anabelle, and I had food in our bellies and a roof over our heads. The three of us were often thrown together, and when Thomas grew tired of sketching the chipped vases and ramshackle furniture in our apartments, he began drawing my sister and me. He was quite good.”
    “His technique leaves something to be desired. The proportions are off. For example, in the portrait I have, your nose should be slightly higher on your face.”
    Daphne blinked. She supposed she should have been offended, but he stated his opinion so matter-of-factly that she couldn’t summon indignation. “I thought you liked the portrait.”
    “I do. In spite of the fact that it lacks technical merit.”
    “And yet you were able to identify me as the subject almost immediately. Were you bluffing, then, when you claimed you knew it was me?”
    “Oh, I knew it was you. Your friend may not have the best eye for scale, but he captured your essence beautifully, as only a good friend—or a lover—could.”
    Daphne stopped in her tracks and whirled to face him. “What are you implying, my lord?”
    “That this Thomas person was either an intimate friend or your lover. He would have to have been in order to paint you with that kind of clarity and truth.”
    He was trying to provoke her, and for that reason alone, she refused to be baited. Let him think what he liked.
    They began walking again, winding their way down a narrow path lined with thick hedges. Lamps hung from festoons in tree branches, swaying in the night breeze like tremulous stars. He steered her to a bench in a little alcove formed by a semicircle of dense shrubbery, and they sat, admiring the softly gurgling fountain in the small clearing in front of them.
    Daphne reminded herself of the business at hand. “So you will concede that Thomas is talented, then.”
    Lord Foxburn inclined his head noncommittally. “I admire his work.”
    Heat crept up her neck, dash it all. “He is the person I was waiting for at Gunter’s.”
    The muscles in his forearm flexed beneath her hand. “Ah, yes. The gentleman who left you standing in the rain.”
    “It wasn’t his fault. I discovered the next day that he’s on the Continent having a grand tour.”
    The earl seemed to consider this. “Who did he paint the portraits for? Does he have a patron?”
    “A country squire commissioned most of his work, including the portraits of me. I don’t know much about him. Thomas said he wasn’t fond of town life and spent most of his time rusticating in the country.”
    Lord Foxburn grunted.
    “What?” she demanded.
    “It sounds like the sort of thing a scheming artist wouldsay to convince a young woman to pose for a scandalous painting.”
    Daphne bristled. “Thomas isn’t like that—he didn’t coerce me in the slightest. You must think me quite dimwitted if you imagine that I would allow myself to be manipulated or taken advantage of so easily.”
    The earl’s eyes flashed with interest and… something else. Perhaps respect. “Why don’t you tell me the real story, Miss Honeycote. Why
did
you do it?”

Chapter Seven
    Tint: (1) Any color or hue that is mixed with white. (2) A pale, delicate color, as in
Her skin, smooth as cream, had the tint of a ripe peach.
    T his was the moment Ben had been waiting for, the reason he had arranged the entire evening. He needed to understand