Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty Page B

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    “I have it under good authority,” she began slowly, “that Lord Venner has reason to doubt its authenticity. He is displeased.”
    Thaddeus’s face pulled into a scowl. Slim white eyebrows drew together. “Go on.”
    “They would like the cost of the painting adjusted accordingly, or the original offered in its stead.”
    He began with a slow nod. Then, inexplicably, his twisted mouth eased toward a smile. It held no mirth; that would be as unlikely as fairies flying in from under the door. No, his smile said that he and his darling niece shared a secret. Greta shivered.
    “I see, Margaret,” he murmured. “I see what you’re trying to do.”
    “My lord?”
    “It makes sense, in a way. I almost admire your ingenuity.”
    He appeared as if he had just learned the solution to a troubling puzzle, but Greta could claim no such assurance. “My lord, I don’t understand. Bitte… ”
    “You did this, didn’t you? You decided, all on your own, that selling the copies was an affront to your sensibilities. You could not divulge what you know, not directly—not without angering me. So you informed the Venners.”
    He stood from his desk and closed a folio of papers, taking the time to neaten the edges before filing them away. With a sure hand he smoothed the back of his bald head and continued that infuriating nod. He removed his pipe from its cedar box, then packed and lit the tobacco. Each action was done with calm precision, accentuating his hold over the situation. Over Greta.
    Her breath came in shallow, fiery bursts. Fury warred with terror as she waited—a rabbit who feared a fox, yet knew enough to hate being mocked in the moments before death.
    “It must have been that valet,” he said. “Am I right?”
    Greta lost the ability to speak and was thankful. Oliver had said as much, that she was a terrible liar. Now she could not lie because she could not form words. Breath and tongue and vocal chords seized, hardening like mud in the sunshine. Did Thaddeus know? Had Baron Hoffer said something?
    Upon finding her right heel tapping up and down, up and down, she pressed her hands against her knee. The close, dark study began to close like twilight over a garden.
    “He would be the perfect man to deliver any insinuations,” Thaddeus continued. “The merest hint of the truth would be enough to rouse his suspicions and tell Lord Venner. Suddenly…no more forgeries sold.”
    “I didn’t—”
    “And a pretty girl like you—you would be believed. A moment alone with a young man, perhaps a smile or two.” He skewered her with a harsh look. “More, perhaps. You are, after all, your mother’s daughter.”
    “My lord—”
    “Quiet, child!”
    He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her out of the chair. Shoved hard, she tripped over the leg of the chair. The jolting crack of her backside against the floor stole her breath, replacing all sensations with pain. She tasted blood where molars had sliced her tongue.
    Greta cowered, not even brave enough to look up at her uncle as he loomed high above. She saw his shoes. She was so low as to stare at his shoes.
    I will hurt one of us before suffering this again.
    The words trembled through her like an earthquake. But she did not move.
    Thaddeus knelt, taking hold of her chin with tense fingers. “If you ruin this, Margaret, I will have no recourse but to send you from my care. Permanently. You will be alone. You will be at the mercy of whomever deems you worth a charitable glance.” He sniffed. “Think of your mother and how long she lasted. Consider how she looked at her funeral. Is that what you want?”
    Still mute, her head throbbing with violence and fear, she could only shake her head.
    “Then you will do your duty to this family and continue your work. Look at me.”
    Greta dragged her gaze away from his polished black leather shoes. He was placid again, his anger now a memory and a few bruises on her backside.
    “I will contact Lord Venner and