Nothing.
“Dermont?”
She couldn’t even detect the sound of his breathing.
“I really do think this door might be more difficult to open than I originally thought. Shall I return later—”
“Fine. I agree. But let the record show I’m not happy about this.”
“You are entitled to your choice. Though I am quite happy enough for the both of us knowing that you’ll let me paint youandyou’ll hang the portrait in a gallery.”
“That’s two favors.”
“This is a very complex door.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Open it.”
With a quick movement, she unlocked it and swung wide the thick door.
“My place. Tonight. That’s the only offer.” And he strode off.
Chapter 7
Dermont
“Remind me why I agreed to this asinine idea,” Dermont grumbled from his perched seat as Honoria added more strokes of paint to the portrait on her canvas. He should have done this during the day. With people around. With sunlight. But no. He had invited her to return to his private study. Alone. At night. It was like he wanted to be tortured. He simply could not get her drenched frame out of his mind. He hadn’t meant to study the shape or her nipples after yanking her out of the Serpentine, but it had happened all the same. Shape, color, size. All of it wasembedded in his mind. And speaking of beds, he had pictured that, too. Her in it, more specifically.
“You owed me a favor,” she chirped sweetly. Too sweetly for his ears. It was irritating how easily a smile graced her face. “You can sigh all you like, but now that you’ve agreed to this, I will paint your portrait.”
“And why are you doing this?”
“Well, now…that is an interesting question.” She touched her finger to her chin, leaving a mark of paint on her face. “It’s quite personal. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
He shrugged. Better to have her speak than sit in silence with an ever-thickening…air.
“My father asked me to do it. It was one of his dying wishes that I pursue my passion in life.”
He grunted, “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man.”
“He was, wasn’t he?” She radiated a smile up at him, placed a few more soft strokes on the canvas, and looked up at him. “It’s sad though.”
“What’s that?”
“That he won’t get to see me following my heart.”
And maybe a few days ago, Dermont wouldn’t have pressed the conversation, but the last few days had challenged his judgment of Honoria, and he found himself wanting to know more. “Why didn’t you do it earlier?”
“I did. But only in private. Happiness…was…well, it wasn’t really encouraged. Certainly it was a lesser priority than obligation, responsibility, and,” she bit her lip—a lip he watched with great intent, “marriage.” She rushed on with a wave of her brush, a small smattering or paint droplets flew onto her frock. “Anyway, my father wanted us to have more experiences and not be so sheltered. Not that shelter is a bad thing. It’s a good thing, really, but it also led to me having no experiences. Not that awoman should have experiences. Well…anyway, I do remember growing up that pleasure was frowned upon. Dessert was a rarity in our house.”
“Why is that?”
She answered with a chuckle and a gesture that spanned her body. “Have you seen me?”
He could only nod. Because, yes. Yes, he had seen her. He’d seen a lot of her, actually. And much to his frustration, he only wanted more.
“And have you seen my mother?” She held up her paintbrush, her hand sweeping parallel to its handle. “Anyway, it was the oddest thing that I felt almost guilty for being happy. Isn’t that bizarre?” Her eyes met his. Locked in place. As if she just realized she had been babbling. “Of course, that’s not what you asked.” She scrunched up her face. “What was the question, again?”
“You answered it.” He shifted his position, still eyeing the paint mark on her chin. Did she not notice it?