Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1

by Victoria Vale

  Evelyn’s wide eyes darted here and there, taking in the spectators, her entire body wracked with tremors. “Hugh...everyone’s watching. They’re all staring at us.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath, her tremors stilling as she laid her hand on his arm and tightened her hold on his hand.

  “Look at me,” he urged, searching out her eyes.

  Her gaze came up to meet his, every bit of her trepidation vanishing in an instant. He smiled at her.

  “It’s just us, Evie. Just you and me.”

  She relaxed in his arms, and in the midst of his sister’s ballroom with hundreds of the beau monde looking on, he led her in the sweeping motions of the waltz. He never took his eyes off her, sinking into the moment as if it truly was meant only for them. Yes, he’d staged this entire thing to win her, but in the end none of the people looking on mattered. He had the one thing that mattered most right here in his arms.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured. “The things I said...I didn’t mean them.”

  Her brow furrowed as she searched his eyes as if trying to ferret out the truth. “Then why did you say them?”

  “Because I am a fool. I realized I loved you a while ago, Evie. I loved you so much and so deeply, it hurt...because I never thought you would feel the same way.”

  “All you ever had to do was ask. God, even Patience said it was written all over my face.”

  “And Aubrey said it was written all over mine, and still you doubted it. We are both guilty of denial, Evelyn. I convinced myself that loving you would doom me, because you’d purchased me for a temporary arrangement. I was the one who had allowed myself to fall in love when our agreement never made room for such.”

  She let out a little huff of stunned laughter. “And I had convinced myself that I was foolish for loving a man whose business was literally making women feel special and cherished. I told myself that I was only a means to an end for you, that all your tenderness toward me was part of the job.”

  He shook his head at her, tightening his hold on her. “You were never just a job to me, Evie. Yes, I’ve spent years creating illusions of love for women in exchange for their coin. Yes, I was very, very good at it. But with you I never needed to try to create a thing, it all came so naturally. And I realized that’s because it was all real, every bit of it from the first kiss to this moment.”

  “So, here we are,” she said with a coy smile.

  “Yes, here we are. I love you, Evie. You’re my light, my joy, and you’ve even become my muse. My life, my art...all of it is at its best with you in it. Marry me, darling. Marry me and let me make you happy for the rest of your days. I don’t have much to offer—”

  “You have everything,” she declared. “Everything I’ve ever wanted, Hugh. I don’t care about money or family connections or any of it. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I am an heiress. I duped my family into giving over the money by holding out on getting married. Now we can have it all.”

  He threw his head back and roared a laugh, which sent even more talk drifting through the ballroom as word spread that Hugh Radcliffe’s fiancée was, apparently, quite witty.

  “I received three commissions for portraits today alone,” he confided. “It won’t be long before I have the means to support us.”

  Her wide smile pleased him more than the commissions had, bright and joyful. “I love you, Hugh...and I am so very proud. You did it. You set out to make a name for yourself, and now you have.”

  Taking her through one final turn, he halted right in the middle of the dance floor and took her face in his hands. “More than that, I have the one thing that will make it all the sweeter...you.”

  With that, he lowered his head and kissed her lips in full view of the ton. She gasped against his mouth, stiffening for a moment before going pliant in his arms. Exaggerated gasps and more murmurs filled the room, but he paid them no heed. This woman was his, and now the world knew it.

  By the time they’d pulled apart, the next dance had begun, couples filling the dance floor while gaping at them with shocked expressions.

  His sister appeared at their side, with Benedict and Aubrey on her heels.

  “My God,” Melanie said with wide smile and bright gleam in her eyes. “You’ve made my little fête quite a sensation. People will still be talking about this when next Season begins!”

  With an amused smirk, Hugh gestured toward Melanie. “May I introduce my overenthusiastic sister, Melanie? Mel, my fiancée, Evelyn.”

  Evelyn blushed and took Melanie’s outstretched hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you for inviting me...I feel certain Hugh enlisted your aid in getting me here.”

  Melanie beamed proudly. “He did, and I was happy to help.”

  Benedict cleared his throat. “As much as I love scandalizing the ton, I just want to point out that you’ve just ruined Evelyn in the midst of a crowded ballroom.”

  Taking her hand, Hugh laughed. “None of that matters when they all know I’m going to marry her.”

  “The sooner the better after that,” Aubrey suggested.

  Hugh’s smile widened as he turned to his betrothed, prepared to unveil his final secret of the day. “It will be done tonight, if Evie is amenable.”

  “Tonight?” Evelyn echoed, giving him a confused look.

  “Well, knowing that a public display would cause something of a spectacle, I thought to make certain preparations,” he revealed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the special license he’d stashed there. The document had felt like a hot coal against his chest the entire night. “I had such high hopes that you would accept my suit, that I took the liberty of procuring this. I also paid a very impatient member of the clergy to await us in the drawing room of my home. We could be wed within the hour, if you wish.”

  Her eyes lit up with excitement, and she grinned up at him as if he’d just pulled a handful of stars from the heavens and placed them in her palm.

  “Of course it’s what I wish,” she said. “The sooner the better, just as Aubrey said.”

  Every fiber of his being rejoiced at the thought of making her his before the sun had risen on the next day. But he paused for a moment, lifting a hand to her cheek and searching for any sign of reticence on her face.

  “Are you certain? It doesn’t have to happen so fast.”

  “I don’t want a big ceremony with a church full of strangers staring at me as I walk down the aisle. I only want you.”

  “That carriage is still waiting outside,” Benedict offered. “And you’re going to need witnesses. Aubrey?”

  Aubrey nodded, giving Evelyn a wink. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks!” Melanie bemoaned. “I have a party to host, otherwise I’d never miss it.”

  Hugh released Evelyn and took his sister into his arms. “Thank you...for everything.”

  Pulling back, she patted his cheek and smiled. “My favorite brother becomes a famous artist and gets married all in one in day. I am happy for you, Hugh.”

  Releasing him, she urged them to go before rushing off to revel in her newfound status as the woman who’d thrown the Season’s most memorable party.

  Taking Evelyn’s hand, he rushed her from the ballroom as swiftly as he could with Benedict and Aubrey helping ward off those pressing in to congratulate them or get a closer look. As they burst out onto the front steps and descended to Benedict’s carriage, Hugh glanced over at Evelyn to find her grinning from ear to ear. The gravity of the moment settled on him with a somber poignancy. He’d walked into this ballroom with a hope that had just been fulfilled, for he now held the rest of his life in one hand.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Evelyn sat on the bed in Hugh’s bedchamber, wrapped in a dressing gown which concealed the ensemble she’d donned just for him. No, not Hugh’s bedroom...their bedroom. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread so swiftly it was a wonder it didn’t split her face in two. The hours after they’d left the ball had passed in a wh
irlwind, with their hasty, private ceremony in Hugh’s drawing room with Aubrey and Benedict as witnesses, followed by a later dinner and champagne in celebration.

  There hadn’t been time to inform anyone else, and her staff had been utterly shocked when she had stopped off at home to pack a valise and join her husband in his home. She’d informed Patience that she no longer had need of a companion now that she was wed, but the position of lady’s maid was hers until such time as she could become a properly trained housekeeper. She and Joseph would join them tomorrow, joining Hugh’s household, while her housekeeper, cook, and second footman stayed at her previous residence since Evelyn had decided to let the townhouse as soon as possible. Those servants would come with the property. Another order of business for the next day would include visiting her mother and sister, and informing them that they’d been right about her and Hugh all along. They’d be furious to know she’d gotten married without them, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Hiring Hugh as her courtesan had been a thing to do for herself—a choice made for her own happiness. She had continued on that path by choosing to marry him. Her mother and sister already had the lives they’d wanted...this was her life, her choice.

  After such an eventful and emotional day, she ought to be exhausted. However, she was far too giddy to register any such feelings, her entire body vibrating from the excitement of it all.

  She was now the wife of The Honourable Mr. Hugh Radcliffe, a thought that made her giggle uncontrollably whenever it came to her mind. She flopped back onto the bed with a laugh of disbelief, closing her eyes and basking in the warmth that had stolen over her at the ball and had yet to lift. She’d begun her arrangement with Hugh thinking it would offer a temporary distraction from her loneliness, and had gained something far more permanent. She’d never go lonely, unloved, or unappreciated ever again.

  Opening her eyes, she frowned and wondered what was keeping Hugh. He’d urged her to prepare for bed before leaving the bedchamber, telling her he had a wedding gift of sorts for her. Half an hour had passed and she’d been ready for quite some time, yet he had not reappeared. She was anxious to have him near her again, her body aching for a touch she’d gone far too long without. The weeks stretching behind them now seemed endless in hindsight, reminding her of how much she’d missed him.

  He is yours now, forever. You will never have to be without him for so long again.

  Another joyous laugh escaped her as she sat up in bed, determined to go after her husband and drag him back to this room. It occurred to her that he might have gotten distracted in his studio, but she told herself not to be ridiculous. It was their wedding night, and he would never leave her up here alone while he tarried downstairs to sketch or paint.

  A moment later, the door opened and Hugh appeared, holding two items in his hands.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, but it took me longer to prepare than I anticipated.”

  “Prepare for what?” she asked, watching as he laid what looked like a paintbox on the bedside table, while keeping a book in his grasp.

  “We’ll get to that in a moment. First...your gift.”

  She perched on the edge of the bed as he approached, wondering what sort of book he’d gotten her as a wedding gift. He paused before her, reaching down to stroke her unbound hair before speaking.

  “First, I must say I had hoped the day would end this way, but I still find myself stunned to be going to bed tonight with my wife. Thank you for marrying me, Mrs. Radcliffe.”

  The smile was back, making her cheeks ache as she felt as if she might never stop grinning. “I love the way that sounds...Mr. Radcliffe.”

  “Now, for your gift,” he said, extending the book to her. “I was a bit presumptuous, but when I realized I could pull it off, I couldn’t resist.”

  She took the book, which had been bound burgundy leather and adorned with fine, hand-tooled gilt. Laying it in her lap, she lifted the cover to reveal the title page and frontispiece, both of which made her breath catch and hold. The Mad Baron, read the title page, with the opposite frontispiece in breathtaking full-color depicting Regina running across the moonlit moors, her skirts held in one hand and her cape flying behind her as she gazed over her shoulder with wide eyes at the unseen Baron Redgrave. At the bottom, Hugh’s distinct initials had been signed with a flourish, marking it as his work.

  Her breath came out on a startled cry as she gazed up at Hugh. “You...you …”

  “The manuscript was left here all those weeks ago, and in the time that passed since then I’ve read it four times. It is a brilliant work, Evie, so good that I couldn’t stand for others not to know how good. So, I spent days transcribing a fair copy without all your markings and corrections to take to a publisher. I drew from my savings to front all the initial costs for printing, and within a matter of weeks it will be released in bookshops and circulating libraries all over London. The frontispiece is my work, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now. Only your personal copy has it rendered in color—which I did myself just for you. The others will be copied in black ink.”

  She stared back down at the title page in awe, running her fingers over the scrawling typeface spelling out an unfamiliar name.

  “E. Whiswich,” she read aloud.

  “A pseudonym to protect your identity,” he said with a little shrug. “I didn’t want to subject you to another scandal, or unwanted attention. But I also did not want for this book to sit languishing in a drawer along with the others. So, when you see ladies in the park and at the library with their nose buried in copies of The Mad Baron then you’ll know...you were worthy all along, Evie. You only needed someone to believe in you, and show you that you needed to believe in yourself.”

  The book fell atop the coverlet as she rose to her feet and launched herself into his arms. He gathered her close, resting his head atop hers as she buried her face in his chest.

  “It’s the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you, Hugh.”

  He ran a hand over her hair and kissed her crown. “The publisher says that if the copies we printed sell well enough, he’ll front the costs for the next book. So, I suppose you’d better get to work preparing The Vicious Viscount.”

  Evelyn went up on tiptoe, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his. “I love you, ever so much.”

  “And I love you. Now...we have one other matter to see to this evening.”

  She fought the urge to stomp her foot and demand he take her to bed right this minute, and toyed with the belt of her dressing gown instead. “What matter is that?”

  He strode back to the bedside table and lifted the lid of his paintbox, revealing several rows of pots situated into little wells, each one filled with watery substances holding pastel colors.

  “Painting, Hugh?” she groaned. “Need I remind you what tonight is?”

  With a chuckle, he took her hand and pulled her toward him, tearing at the knot in her belt. “I know very well what tonight is, thank you. And I think painting and wedding nights ought to be combined more often. When I’m done, I am certain you will agree.”

  Before she could respond, he opened her robe and let it fall to the floor, revealing what she wore underneath. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her wearing the gossamer scrap of gauze she’d posed for her portrait in. The material left nothing to the imagination, displaying the pink circles of her nipples and the dark triangle of curls between her thighs. His mouth fell open as he reached out to touch her, skimming his hands up her sides until he cupped her breasts, strumming her nipples with his thumbs.

  He smiled when she whimpered, arching her back in a silent plea for more.

  “Tonight, my lovely muse, you are to be the canvas.”

  He slipped the gown off her shoulders, trailing his hands down her arms as he coaxed it off her body. Her skin prickled from even so slight a touch, her body starved for the contact she’d gone without for several long weeks.

  “And what a lovely
canvas you are,” he murmured, running his fingertips down the valley between her breasts then across her belly. “On the bed, wife.”

  Curiosity and anticipation spurred her into action, and she did as he asked, setting her book aside before climbing up onto the bed. She laid in the center of the mattress, arms at her sides, breath accelerating as he approached. He stood beside her, lifting a brush from his paintbox and glancing at her with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “I am not certain if you know this, but many of the pigments I use in my work with oils are quite toxic.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Is this talk supposed to be some artistic form of seduction? Because I must say, it isn’t working.”

  He laughed, dipping the slender brush into one of the pots. “I only mentioned that to say...I wracked my brain for a way to do this without endangering you and stumbled upon a most pleasing solution. You see, watercolors will not do, for they also carry their own risk of toxicity...but certain pastel crayons—the right colors, you see, those known to have little to no risk...well, they make an adequate enough paint when ground down and mixed with water and a binder. So, here we have it...the perfect paint for the perfect canvas.”

  “I am relieved,” she quipped. “Though, if you poison me, I will be forced to haunt you.”

  “At least, you’d always be with me,” he said, climbing up on to the bed and straddling her hips. “Now, I need you to lie very, very still…”

  She gasped at the first touch of his brush against the inside of one wrist, the coarse bristles ticking her sensitive skin. The cold paint only exacerbated the sensation, sending goosebumps rippling along the surface of her skin. She glanced down to watch as he created a swirling green pattern along the inside of her arm, like a vine. He went back for more of the paint, then continued, his brow furrowed in concentration as he trailed the brush along her skin, leaving the most arousing sensation in his wake.