The Outcast Earl by Elle Q. Sabine

Curiously enough, Boucher did paint his own wife on that same sofa, though years later. And clothed.”
    Abigail blinked. “It’s positively indecent,” she said firmly.
    “Do you think?” Meriden returned easily. “Do not fear for my reputation. I have not and will not entertain in this room—indeed, you may be the only one beyond the servants to visit it.” Abigail looked around curiously but saw nothing else uncommon before turning her attention back to Meriden. “I must say, it may be one of my shortcomings, but I am hopelessly determined to see you in just that position, and soon. I trust you will be an extraordinary improvement, even on the always beautiful Marie-Louise.”
    “I won’t!” Abigail immediately objected.
    Meriden smiled at her indulgently, reached out and tugged on her hair ribbon, watching her pile of braids fall down around her shoulders. Letting the ribbon dangle down over her bodice, he chuckled. “Oh, you will, you know. Not today, I’ll give you that. But you will.”
    Abigail drew a deep breath, her chin firming. She knew she was being argumentative, but there was a fascinating contradiction of innocence and lewdness in the portrait. “I’ll thank you not to make assumptions about my modesty—”
    “On the contrary, I’ll thank you not to make assumptions about something you obviously know nothing about,” he interrupted abruptly, capturing her chin with his fingers. “After that missish display of outrage over Marie-Louise, there can be no doubt of your innocence in such matters.” He smiled as she blushed. “Do not be ashamed of it,” he murmured huskily, drawing predictably closer. “Innocence is a treasure of immeasurable value, something to enjoy but once. I consider it an honour indeed to be entrusted with yours, whether you wished to give it to me or not. And that brings us back to the point you were attempting to make in the gallery.”
    Blinking, Abigail tried to remember.
    “I do not consider handling you to be a behaviour of last resort,” he informed her abruptly. “Indeed, I find the notion of handling you to be a far superior method to arguing with you, so you should indeed expect it.”
    Inhaling sharply, Abigail met his eyes in sudden, passionate defiance.
    “Superior?” Without a second thought, she jerked her chin from his hand, raised a foot, and stomped it down hard on the top of his boot, then jabbed an elbow into his chest, hard.
    He stepped back, caught off guard by her impetuous dismissal. Furious, she stuck her chin out and retorted in acidic tones, “It is time for you to stop these foolish threats, my lord Meriden. You are less of a man than I hoped if getting your own way all the time is so important that you must threaten me. And you are certainly less intelligent than I expected if you believe such bullying is likely to change my behaviour even one whit!”
    Meriden recovered quickly, in time to pay close enough attention to her words to see them for the challenge she intended. Abigail watched the blood rise in his face, but then he paused and, oddly enough, smiled.
    “You really do not know me very well at all,” he said, with a remarkable calmness that Abigail was sure ought to have worried her more than it did. “Indeed, I have to remind myself that it’s been less than a day. So perhaps you did feel safe in issuing such a silly ultimatum. But rest assured, it is about to backfire on you spectacularly.”
    “Whatever do you mean?” Abigail said impatiently, crossing her arms in front of her.
    “No apology is forthcoming?” he inquired coolly.
    “No apology is warranted,” she objected forcefully.
    Without a word, he leant forwards and picked her up. Two seconds passed until she deduced his intentions but, by the time she had begun struggling in earnest, he was already sitting on the green sofa. In short order, she found her skirts caught between the legs of his breeches, and her face downward on the sofa with one of his arms