Page 51 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

She paused, startled by the serious look in his gray eyes. They matched the stormy sky visible behind him through the open loft door. “If you are about to suggest Lucy, then—”

“Your sister-in-law? Heavens, no.”

“Then who—”

“Me.” He shifted to his other foot. “Paint me.”

Her stomach dropped from the tone of his words and the vulnerable pleading in his eyes. Was it not the duty of the painting masters to capture a duke on canvas? “I could never do justice to your likeness, Your Grace.”

His face tightened, and his stormy eyes turned to steel. “I did not ask you to paint a duke, Hattie. I offered myself as a man, a subject for your improvement. This is nothing but another lesson.”

Swallowing, she considered his logic as he swiftly brought her back to earth. What had she been thinking? Of course Bentley did not wish to hang the painting. He merely wanted to teach her, to continue their arrangement. Warmth spread up her neck at the audacity of the direction her thoughts had taken, and she considered the situation anew.

If she could remove his status from her mind, he easily became Bentley. Not the Duke of Bentley, but just Bentley. A kind man, generous with his time, and willing to help better her artistic abilities. He had no other motive. In fact, by spending time with her, she very much assumed he was fighting his own discomfort. He had been used to being alone for so many years.

“Very well,” she said. “Shall we begin now?”

He nodded. “Though I can still help you with the colors.”

“I’ll have to begin with a sketch. I’m not certain I’ll need any colors today.”

He nodded, his expression understanding. She gestured for him to sit on one of the sofas in the center of the floor and she obtained her watercolor paint box, pulling the drawer open and selecting a charcoal pencil. She retrieved a blank canvas and wiped the dust away before sitting opposite the duke. Pulling her feet underneath her, she tucked in her skirts, settling the canvas on her lap.

Looking up, Hattie let the charcoal go limp in her hand as she surveyed Bentley. She took in the sharp angle of his jaw, his straight nose, the small half-circles that faintly creased beneath his eyes, and the whisper of a shadow that spread over his face where his beard used to be, revealing a distinct cleft in his chin.

“You shaved,” she said. How had she not noticed before? She’d clearly been too caught up in worrying over what he would think of her paintings. But surveying him now, she realized how very handsome he was without the beard.

“Indeed.”

“Whatever for?”

He cracked a smile. “Because I thought it was time.”

“Hmm.” She gazed at him a moment longer, analyzing the shape of his face and the width of his neck. She noted the thickness of his eyebrows that arched just past halfway and the tiny scar he had to the left of his eye.

She would focus on his face, she decided, and perhaps his neck and shoulders, but not much lower than the knot of his cravat. Hattie was tempted to draw him without a cravat or coat, in merely a shirt and waistcoat as he so often was during their meetings. But that felt inappropriate.

“Do you prefer I don’t shave, Miss Green?”

“You cannot call me Hattie?” she asked to avoid answering his question. “You did so just earlier, and I did not find it uncomfortable.” She looked up. “Did you?”

He coughed, seemingly taken off guard, and shook his head. “No, it was not uncomfortable.” Clearing his throat, he ran a hand over his smooth jaw. “That would be acceptable during our lessons, I suppose.”

She quirked a brow. “There are no occasions in which we will see one another outside of our lessons, I assume. Unless you choose to start attending church.”

“Have you gotten a new vicar?”

Hattie turned her attention to the canvas, lightly sketching the outline of Bentley’s face and neck. “No. Mr. Conway is still the vicar. Has been for ages.”

“Then I suppose I shall not have to go yet.”

She laughed, looking up and tracing the shape of his face intently with her eyes. “You cannot mean to tell me you are waiting for a new vicar before you’ll attend church. That could be years.”

“No, I was not speaking in earnest. I merely…must you do that?”

She startled, her body jumping slightly. “Do what?”

“Stare at me in that way.”

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