Pippa could almost feel the incessant beat of the sun’s rays. “Brilliant.”
She moved closer to inspect the detail, the technique, to see how the artist had taken paint and canvas to achieve such dimension. She raised a finger but stopped herself before she actually made contact with the canvas.
Still, she wanted to trace every brushstroke and take them into herself. If only she could incorporate them on the most basic level and use them to guide her own hand.
“Quite an interesting composition, wouldn’t you say?”
Heart slamming into her ribs, Pippa jumped back.
A man advanced into the room. He was dressed in proper evening black which ought to have marked him as a guest, and therefore a gentleman, but Pippa knew better. Gossip pinned David Fairchild as a rake of the highest order. He might well be the younger son of an earl, but no lady’s reputation was safe with him. His broken nose attested to at least one encounter with the fist of a disgruntled husband.
“It’s scandalous in its innocence,” he went on. “Ingenious of the artist to capture both aspects.”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Good heavens, she sounded as sniffy as Anna’s mama.
He laughed, blast the man, and the rumble seemed to reverberate low in her midsection. “I don’t suppose you would.”
He had the supreme nerve to look her up and down, from the top of her painstakingly curled coiffure to the pale green silk of her dancing slippers. Such a gaze ought to be outlawed. She should ask her papa to make a motion in parliament, for its intensity made her very aware of her ballgown, of the low cut of her bodice in particular. Not that she wore anything scandalous, but his scrutiny heated every inch of exposed flesh.
“Shall I explain?” he went on. “On first impression there’s nothing at all untoward going on. Nothing to make society ladies throw up their hands and screech about scandal. Just a lady and two men enjoying themselves on a summer’s day. But consider their positions. The one suitor hugging her waist, his mouth hovering just at her bodice. The other lounging at her feet, and his expression can only be described as lascivious. It makes one wonder, is she, in fact, entertaining two suitors? Both at the same time?”
Good Lord, he couldn’t be suggesting…Could he? In spite of herself, she glanced back at the painting. Gracious, but his description fit. “That’s…that’s impossible.”
A single dark brow edged upward. “Is it?”
Though several possible answers presented themselves in her mind, she refused to reply. Not a single one was proper, especially given this man’s reputation. Without a doubt, he’d participated in the sort of debauchery he was suggesting, but Pippa did not need to consider it.
Or imagine it.
“I should go.” Indeed, she’d already spent far too much time alone in his presence. Anyone might walk in on them and then her reputation, which was already teetering on a cliff’s edge, would topple into the depths.
“Ah, I was hoping you’d tell me what you were doing here. Alone.”
Oh, but he had a knack for making a single word sound disreputable. “I’d only come to inspect the painting. Professional interest, you might call it.”
“What a pity. I’d rather hoped you’d something more naughty in mind.”
Lud, did ladies find this excuse for wit intriguing? Or was it his features? They were even enough, but for the nose. No, the nose was definitely a flaw, and even before it had met with its unfortunate fate, it had likely been overlong, overshadowing full lips and a chin containing the shallowest of clefts.
She could capture that divot on canvas with the smallest hint of shadow…
No, no, no. She couldn’t ever, ever allow herself to think on those terms. She had to retreat before someone caught them alone.
“I really must return to the ball.” Blast it, why did her voice have to stop behaving at a time like this? It had come over all breathy.
With a most proper tip of her head, she gathered her skirts and turned.
Too late.
Fairchild’s elder brother, Viscount Tindale, stood on the threshold, a dawning smile spreading from cheek to cheek. “And who have we here?”
Oh, hang it all. In fact, damnation, as Caro would say.
Perhaps Pippa found herself alone with two rakes, or perhaps Tindale would raise a vehement enough objection to singe the gossips’ ears. Either way, she was caught.
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To Tame a Wild Lady Page 28