The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four by Maggi Andersen

practical. It just seems such an insurmountable task, which I doubt I’m ready for.”
    “You won’t know that until you try, will you? I’ll be in London next month. If we begin immediately, we could follow up with more sittings then.”
    “It hardly gives me enough time to—”
    “What if I allow you the final say as to whether we display the painting? If you don’t care for it, I can have it hidden away in the attics.”
    She huffed as her pride took over. “I am sure whatever I paint will be worthy of being hung somewhere!”
    “Aha,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow.
    He was being altogether too clever. She smiled up at him. “You are teasing me.”
    “ Au contraire . I am resisting the urge to influence you. You must make up your own mind.” His smiled faded. “I have faith in you, Charity.”
    She turned away from the bank. “Let me think about it.”
    He tucked her arm in his. “I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide.”
    She widened her eyes as they strolled back to the house. “One day? What if I decide against it? Which artist would you choose?”
    “I am not prepared to consider your refusal. We can begin while you’re here. What else do you have to entertain you?”
    She could hardly deny that. She sorely missed painting and was at a worse loose end than Mercy had been. “Tonight, I’ll discuss it with Father.”
    “Good.” He glanced at the sky where dark clouds gathered. “It looks like rain. Best we hurry back.” He whistled to Henry, and the dog emerged from a clump of bushes, tail wagging.
    ****
    Two days later, Robin sat on a wing chair opposite Charity while she arranged her sketchpad and pencils on the table.
    “First, I need to absorb more about my subject.” She studied him with what he imagined was a critical eye. “I like to sketch freely until I feel I know how I shall go on.”
    They were in the small salon where the light was good, a tray of tea things on the table in front of them.
    Robin crossed his legs. “How should you like me to pose?”
    “Would you prefer to stand? Or shall I paint you seated in your robes?”
    “Good God no.”
    “What about on horseback?”
    “Like Goya’s painting of Wellington? I shouldn’t enjoy the comparison.”
    She laughed.
    “I could stand near a gnarled old oak tree with Henry at my feet.”
    “With your hunting rifle?”
    He sighed. “I don’t like any of those ideas. What about sitting in the library at that big desk with some books on it?”
    “A portrait is meant to display your wealth and circumstances for posterity,” she said thoughtfully as she poured them both a cup of tea. “But as you’ll have further portraits painted with your duchess and children, I don’t see why not.”
    “I daresay,” he agreed, taking the cup and saucer from her. “I don’t expect you to paint that one.” He planned to have her in it. His chest tightened with frustration. How could he best appeal to her? What if he were to leap up and kiss her senseless?
    “No, of course not.” She looked at him and widened her eyes, and he almost feared he’d spoken aloud.
    She put down her cup. “Let’s begin.” She began to make sure strokes over the page as he watched with interest. “I learn more about a person’s character this way.”
    “I would have thought you’d be familiar with my face by now, like this slight bump on the side of my nose.”
    “How did it happen?”
    “I fell out of a tree when I was seven.”
    “Why do small boys wish to climb trees when it so often ends in tears?”
    “To see the world from a different perspective, perhaps.” He grinned at her. “I’ve given the practice away.”
    She penciled in a few deft lines. “I like to capture an expression, something that reveals the essence of the person I’m painting.”
    “What…essence, did you capture of the Marquess of Brandreth?”
    “One would expect such a man to be self-assured, almost pompous, but…”
    “But what?” He put down his cup