Page 92 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

Loud laughter burst from the party of young men, quickly suppressed.

“Don’t see the problem,” one said, then added, in a lower voice, “Art is full of nude pictures.”

“Those nude pictures you look at ain’t art,” one of his friends joked.

“’Tis not right for a woman to draw nudes.”

“Right, women shouldbethe nudes!”

Once again they laughed, then once again hushed each other, aware of the ladies down the other end of the room.

London would be alive with such bawdy chatter and jokes at Juno’s expense, and she would—

It wasnothis concern.

“It’s nonsense, this notion that women are more delicate than men,” one young fellow said. “Last woman who saw me in the buff, she didn’t so much as blush.”

“They say that every year at the Royal Academy, some student faints the first time a model drops her robe.”

“Think I fainted my first time too!”

Then Leo was moving, his legs propelling him down the drawing room, so fast the air seemed to rush around him. The ladies stopped talking and stared at him in surprise.

“Dammerton?” Susannah said.

“I must return to London,” he heard himself say. “Urgent matter.”

“The archbishop’s decor?” She sounded incredulous.

“Yes. Do excuse me. I must go.”

They were staring at him as if he were a madman. Perhaps he was a madman. No matter: He was a duke. If he said he must leave, then no one would comment on it. At least, not to his face.

He bowed. Spun on his heel.

He walked until he was out of the room.

Then he ran.

* * *

Juno’s task was simple:Take each prop out of her cabinet and pack it into the crate.

But all she could do was stare at the array of whimsical gifts she’d received from Leo over the years. His first gift: a violin so she could complete a commission. His final gift: the conch shell.

She still had to pack her secret paintings too, secret because the figures wore no clothes. What a scandal! For a woman to paint like a man! How dare she paint a mermaid claiming a shipwrecked sailor, or Hypatia being dragged over stones by a murderous mob. What on earth was she todowith these paintings? Mustn’t let anyone see them. Mustn’t let anyone know she painted nudes.

Laughter erupted out of her, so wild she feared losing control. She looked for the cats to soothe her, but Livia and Phoebe had already taken them away, and now her studio was truly nothing more than an empty room.

Her family had stood by her while her world collapsed, though they really ought not to. Her uncle Gordon said he did not care for others’ opinions; his career was fine. Phoebe said she did not care, for she’d already ruined herself by leaving her husband. Livia said she did not care, for she did not even want a husband. Daniel said he did not care, for it only made him more interesting among the lads. Even Hadrian came rushing back to London, once he heard the news, and said he did not care, because the government needed him too much. They’d all gathered around her, and she did not deserve them when she had been such a fool.

But their support changed nothing. She was finished in London and there was nothing anyone could do.

It was the letters that convinced Juno she had truly lost everything.

Of course, she had known as soon as Hester showed it to her that Prescott’s letter to the editor ofTheTimesspelled the end, but it hadn’t seemed quite real.

Then the other letters came.

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