Chapter 1

Fortesque opened the parlor door. "Mr. Kermit Sutherland," he announced, his toneindicating that the person about to enter was a bit less than a gentleman, but a trace higher than atradesman. He stepped aside.

Uncertain what to expect, I found the breath catching in my chest as Mr. Sutherlandstrode into the parlor. He was quite the most unusual man I had ever seen. Craggy faced,clean-shaven, with a sleek mane of deep red-brown hanging straight and silky below the level of hiswide shoulders. He paused just inside the door, staring at me.

I know I colored under his scrutiny. No gentleman would ever stare so openly and sopenetratingly at a lady. Fortesque's instinct had been correct.

He spoke without looking at Mother. "This is the young woman I am to paint?" Theslight emphasis on the first word held a hint of scorn.

"This is my daughter, Miss Wayman." A slight lift of Mother's chins signaled me tostand. I did so, reluctantly, feeling as if his deep-set, dark eyes were seeing right through myclothing. The heat in my cheeks spread into my body, until I wanted to reach for the fan I hadlaid on the small table beside my chair.

"Step forward."

"I...I beg your pardon."

"Step forward girl. I want to see all of you, not just your front."

"Do as he says, Chastity," Mother commanded. I wondered at her tolerance of the man'srudeness. She rarely stood for lack of good manners or respect in anyone.

I stepped to the middle of the room. The sensation of being stripped to nakedness grewas he slowly circled me.

"Good posture," he muttered. He tugged at a curl, dislodging half a dozen hairpins."Hair's a rotten color, but a little cobalt blue in the mix should liven it up."

I shivered as his fingers drifted across my nape.

"Skin's like silk. No, that's too common. Ivory. The finest African ivory. It gleams." Hecupped my chin. "Let's see your teeth."

I wanted to bite the finger that stroked my lower lip. Instead I clamped my teethtight.

"Your teeth, girl! Or are they rotten and black?"

I bared them. I am, however, a lady. I did not stick my tongue out at him, temptedthough I was.

"There! That's what I wanted to see. That sparkle in your eye!" He flicked a fingeragainst my cheek.

It stung. I jerked free of his loose clasp and stepped back. "Are you quite finished withyour appraisal, sir?"

"Chastity!" Mother cried. "Behave--"

His lip curled and one eyebrow rose. "Never mind, Lady Curran. I like to see a bit ofspirit in my subjects. One becomes tired of working with perfect little dolls." To me he said, "Getused to having my eyes and hands on you, missy. There's no one in London who can paint youmore beautiful than I. But I can't do it by admiring you from afar."

Mother and he made the arrangements for my sittings. I did not participate, wanting aslittle to do with the man as possible. Revealing my intense dislike of him to Mother would do meno good. She was convinced that a portrait of me, to be displayed over the fireplace here in theparlor, would add to my consequence and make me more attractive to would-be suitors.

Mother and Father were determined to see me wed advantageously, with little regard formy sentiments toward my future husband. I was resigned to following their dictates. Nineteenyears of living with them had taught me that their vision for my future would prevail.

The first sitting was on Wednesday, one week after my introduction to Mr. Sutherland.He arrived early in the morning, followed by a servant loaded down with an assortment of sticksand boxes. I watched from my bed chamber as they climbed to the third floor where the artisthad approved a large, empty room with a northern exposure, calling it "as good as can beexpected in a residence."

Mother had not been amused. "I supposed one must put up with a certain artistictemperament," she said to Father, "when one considers his reputation."

The room was directly over my bedchamber, and I listened curiously through the nexthalf-hour to the considerable thumping and bumping that occurred. Eventually the servantdescended the stairs. There was not a sound from overhead for several moments, then I heardfootsteps crossing the room and descending the stairs. I remained inside my bedchamber, curledon the window seat, book in hand. To this day I cannot remember what I was reading...if I wasreading.

Shortly thereafter Mattie, the maid who usually brought my morning chocolate, tappedlightly at my door. "Miss? Miss, you're wanted upstairs."

We ascended, I not entirely without trepidation. The man unsettled me in a way no onehad. There was no pleasure in my anticipation of the next few weeks. Ever since I had arrived inLondon, just ten days ago, I had been dreading the entire adventure. Other girls might, as Motherhad often told me, look forward to their Season with delight and eagerness. I, who had neverbeen more than five miles from Father's principal seat, dreaded the entire process. I would farrather stay in the country, would prefer to remain unmarried, for I did not deal well with others,having been a solitary child without playmates. Only a nurse until I was five, then a series ofgovernesses, most of them pleasant enough but lacking warmth.

The draperies had been stripped from the tall dormer windows and the bright winterlight streamed through, turning the polished oaken floor to a pond of molten gold, reflectingfrom the white walls until one's eyes were dazzled. I paused at the doorway, squinting.

"Don't dawdle, girl. Come here! And you--" He glowered at Mattie. "Go away. I don'tpaint in public."

Mattie hesitated. "My maid will remain," I said. "Surely my mother made thatclear."

"Are you afraid I'll ravish you?" His voice was no longer harsh, but was a seductivepurr, one that sent small shivers down my spine.

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