rose abruptly. Both Olivia and Manning turned his way.
Immediately, her friend dropped her hand. ‘Will you be able to arrive before eight? I would love to capture the early morning light on the folds of the satin.’
She rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness. ‘Yes, I believe I can.’
Manning walked to a cabinet and began removing bottles of pigment. She was about to enter the dressing room when she paused at the sight of Gabriel approaching his side.
Her husband picked up a dish with something brown resting in it and held it out. ‘You smoke while my wife sits for you?’ Gabriel asked, arching an intimidating brow.
‘No, I would never.’
‘See that you do not.’
Olivia shook her head as she walked into the dressing room, wondering why it should even matter to him. A short while later, she emerged wearing her very proper bonnet and cinnamon-coloured walking dress with Colette at her side. As her maid walked towards the door, Olivia approached the easel, curious about the composition. What she saw surprised her.
Her face was turned away from the viewer so only her neck and the outline of her left cheek were visible. Her hair was fanned out around her with one dark curl sloping down her neck and gliding over her breast. The fingers of her left hand appeared relaxed as if they had no strength left in them. True to his word, no one would know who the subject was.
‘Well?’ Manning asked, approaching her side.
‘I do not even recognise myself.’
‘I told you to trust me. It will be breathtaking when I am finished. Mr West will be begging me to exhibit it.’
She hoped for his sake that would be true. The man was a highly skilled artist. The more people exposed to his work, the more commissions he would receive.
There was a distinct clearing of a throat from the doorway where Gabriel stood, looking down at his watch. If he was so impatient to leave, he could do so without her. For years he had completely avoided her and last night he interrupted her dinner with Andrew. Now he wanted to escort her home. What was he about?
* * *
As they walked out onto the pavement, Gabriel had to squint to adjust to the bright sunlight. After last night’s discussion with Andrew, he was curious about this artist Olivia had taken an interest in. Luckily it did not take James long to find where the man’s studio was located.
‘Where is your carriage?’ he asked, scanning the busy road.
‘Colette and I walked. One of the wheels of my carriage required some work this morning and I saw no reason to wait on such a lovely day.’
‘My carriage is always at your disposal should there be a need.’
He took her by the elbow and steered her around some young boisterous bucks. The moment they passed them, she shifted her arm out from his grasp.
‘Where are you planning on hanging the portrait?’ he asked, clasping his hands behind his back and redirecting his thoughts away from the idea that she could not bear for him to touch her.
‘We hope to have Mr West agree to exhibit it at the Royal Academy.’
Gabriel froze and Colette almost collided with his back. He could not have possibly heard her correctly. That portrait of his wife—looking as though she had just been thoroughly and completely satisfied—was to be on display for all of London to see? Like hell it was!
‘No,’ he stated firmly and resumed walking. At least that was taken care of.
Olivia caught up to him and did her best to keep pace with his long strides. ‘What did you say?’ she asked.
He glanced down at her. She was not pleased.
‘I said no. That portrait is not leaving our house.’
‘The decision is not yours to make. I did not commission it. I am sitting for him as a favour.’
Again Gabriel stopped abruptly, and again Colette pulled herself back from knocking into him.
He must have misunderstood. ‘Pardon me?’
‘I said that portrait is being painted with the intention for exhibition to show the breadth of his skills as an artist.’
‘And you agreed to be his model? Why would you agree to such a thing? That portrait is indecent.’
She snorted. His refined wife actually snorted at his statement. ‘You are one to say what is indecent?’
They were turning onto Bond Street, bustling with servants and members of the ton. He was aware they were garnering attention simply by walking together. The last thing he needed was gossip about this argument—and this was going to be an argument. She was much too stubborn for it not to be.
He directed his attention ahead of him. ‘We will discuss this at home.’
‘I’m not going home.’
‘Yes, you are. We are going home to finish this discussion.’
‘Then I suggest we finish it now because I. Am. Not. Going. Home.’
His nostrils flared when he looked down at her. ‘When did you become so defiant?’
‘When you showed your true colours,’ she replied with clipped movements.
She didn’t know him at all. If she believed he was going to allow that portrait to hang in the Royal Academy, or anywhere else outside one of their homes for that matter, she was sorely mistaken. ‘Very well, you want to discuss this now, we will.’
Guiding her by the elbow, they walked past Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon and into William Gray’s Jewellery Shop. The moment the bespectacled proprietor spotted the impeccably dressed couple, he came hurrying over.
‘Leave us,’ Gabriel commanded.
The mouse-faced little man retreated behind the curtain to the back of the store.
Next he turned his attention to her maid. ‘You are to wait outside.’
It was of no surprise that Colette glanced at Olivia for her approval before she walked out the door. He was surrounded by women who seemed to have forgotten he was the Duke of Winterbourne.
Now he would settle this matter with Olivia once and for all. He tugged her into a corner of the shop away from the windows overlooking the street. ‘You are the Duchess of Winterbourne, a respected member of the ton and my wife. You cannot display yourself for all of London in such a fashion.’
‘No one will know it is me.’ Her voice was low but strong.
‘I will know.’ He kept his voice down as well, but it wasn’t easy.
When he had walked in on the roguishly dressed man standing over his reclining wife and touching her, Gabriel wanted to carve out the man’s bollocks with a butter knife. ‘You are not to go back there.’ There! Now there would be no question where the painting would be hung since it would not be finished.
‘You are mad and have lost all sense of reason,’ she whispered sharply.
He wasn’t foolish enough to deny what this was. He was feeling proprietary over a woman he hadn’t taken to bed in years. And maybe he was just a little bit mad. ‘No one should see you that way. I am the only one who should see you that way,’ he bit out.
Yes, mad. He was definitely mad.
‘But you don’t. You cannot even bear to take me to bed.’
‘Now who is mad?’
She fisted her hands at her sides and leaned closer so their foreheads were almost touching. ‘It’s true. So what if he thinks his study of movement and light is also a testament to female sensuality? So what if he believes I am striking? You do not.’