A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,53
great art, however the small-minded might view it. I will continue exploring the gallery, but don’t be surprised if we come upon images of you in similar situations.”
A breeze stirred through the room, bringing with it the fresh scent of the countryside in high summer. Vera’s neighbors, who generally regarded London as the seat of all wickedness, would never grasp the aesthetic subtleties of nude paintings, much less nude erotic paintings.
They might silently tolerate a naked Roman, provided he sported a few strategic fig leaves. Amazons of old were permitted to bare an occasional breast, and satirical prints could be filthy as long as they were humorous, but an erotic portrait?
Vera would no longer be troubled with invitations if word of these paintings got out.
“This is all just a discussion of art to you,” she said. “Of canvases and asking prices. I cannot claim that degree of disinterest. I never posed for Dirk unless I was fully clothed, never sat for him in anything less formal than a morning dress. He could not have included me in his collection of… naked ladies.”
Oak undid his cuffs and slipped the sleeve buttons into his pocket. “I could draw you without your clothing easily. Artists are imaginative, and Dirk surely had opportunities to observe you. Perhaps he walked in on you at your bath or came upon you with Alexander at the breast. What Dirk didn’t observe with his eyes, he explored with his hands, or I hope he did.”
Not very carefully, he hadn’t. “See what’s lurking in my gallery before you turn to the restorations, please, but you will find no risqué renderings of me. I’m sure of that.”
Oak turned back his cuffs and propped his fists on his hips. “Would it be such a terrible thing, Vera, if your husband had paid artistic tribute to his desire for you?”
She hadn’t an answer to that. Either way—if Dirk imagined her as a houri and if he never had—she had grounds to be upset.
“Explore the gallery. I’ll see you at supper.”
“As you wish, but before you go, I’d like to deal with one other matter.”
A gentleman did not typically remove any article of his attire before a lady, and thus the sight of Oak, his wrists exposed, his chest and arms clad in a shirt and waistcoat, affected Vera. She’d seen him naked and aroused, but was still susceptible to this minor display of dishabille.
With Dirk? Vera shut that line of inquiry down before her mind could form an answer. “What other matters have we to discuss, Mr. Dorning?”
He crossed the room to stand before her, and Vera was assailed by the memory of him hoisting her so easily against the wall. Perhaps the hardest part of a discreet liaison was not exchanging pleasantries over the breakfast table, but managing this unexpected inner tumult.
This desire.
“I passed a very agreeable night in your bed,” he said, “and woke to even more agreeable activities, but I neglected to so much as kiss you. Not well done of me.”
“Oh. Well. We managed to find other—”
He pressed his mouth to hers, a nearly chaste kiss, except that it was lip to lip, and he touched her nowhere else. Why did that make her yearn to be touched?
He lingered near for a moment, close enough that Vera could feel the heat of his cheek next to hers, close enough that she could pick up the fragrance of his lavender soap beneath the painterly scents in the room.
“Enjoy your visit with the neighbors,” he whispered, just as Vera would have put her hands on his arms and commenced to kissing him properly—or improperly.
She stepped back. “I’ll see you at supper.”
He held the door for her, and she abruptly wanted him to close it, lock it, and tup her against the wall.
“Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Channing.”
“You too, Mr. Dorning.”
She walked past him into the corridor, and he quietly closed the door behind her. The soft snick of the lock said he’d work in his studio for the next several hours. Vera was halfway to the main staircase when it occurred to her that Oak had said some men pleasure themselves a lot.
Perhaps he was one of them, and perhaps that was part of the reason why he worked behind a locked door. The thought had her smiling before she reached the steps.
Jeremy had left the table at the end of supper claiming he had lessons to prepare. Miss Diggory had pleaded fatigue, and thus Oak was ending his day