Read Online An Invitation to Sin by Suzanne Enoch - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Enoch
Ads: Link
shouldn't make ultimatums to our guests. And you shouldn't monopolize his company, especially when you have unmar—"
"I always keep my word," Zachary cut in, unwilling to hear that particular sentence completed. "My hands will be in the garden this afternoon, alongside my ears." Until he could figure out why he preferred the one Witfeld girl who didn't seem interested in pursuing anything more than his image on canvas, he would continue to make an effort to keep her close by.
Link Link Link
Caroline sat back in the barouche and tried to ignore Joanna jabbing at her ribs and whispering silly nonsense in her ear. At the moment she would have given a great deal of money to have a sketch pad in her hands and the elbow room to draw.
Lord Zachary rode beside them, chatting amiably with Violet and Grace about the state of the roads in Wiltshire, and looking like the very model of a proper English nobleman. His gray gelding was at least three-quarters Arabian, though she wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to discover that Sagramore was a Thoroughbred.
Zachary was even more obviously a thoroughbred, sitting easily in the saddle, with one hand loosely holding the reins and the other gesturing at a stand of elm trees as though they were a novelty he'd never viewed before— simply because Violet had pointed them out to him. The breeze caught his dark hair, lifting it from his collar and blowing strands across one gray eye as he laughed at some silly comment of Grace's.
As far as she knew, he hadn't kissed any of her sisters— at least not yet. He'd only been there for twenty-four hours, though. If he wanted to, he could probably ruin every female in the county within a week, especially with the way they all fawned over him. Caroline sniffed, turning to view the creek on her side of the barouche. So what if he'd chosen to kiss her, and so what if he did it well? Her sisters could have him—once she'd finished sketching and painting him, that was.
Sagramore swung around to her side of the carriage. She lifted her gaze as Zachary doffed his blue beaver hat at her. "I didn't mean to take you away from your sketching," he said, smiling.
"Of course you did. What I don't see is why. You have six attractive young ladies here all trying to chat with you. Did you really need one more?"
His grin deepened. "Yes."
"And why is that?" she returned, annoyed at his presumption. He undoubtedly thought she would be flattered. She only had three weeks, however, to submit the most perfect portrait she'd ever done. And she would need every minute of that time—especially if her sisters kept trying to drag her subject into town, and even if she felt as though she could draw him with her eyes closed.
At the same time she wondered why his presence felt like a warm afternoon breeze, fresh and alive and a little wild. And she wondered why she liked that, when in general she had no time for such silliness, and when now in particular she had more important things with which to occupy herself.
"It's very complicated," he returned. "I think that perhaps I'm your muse, your inspiration. I'd hate to deny you my presence."
She snorted. "Oh, good heavens." Very well, perhaps taking the time to visit Trowbridge wasn't annoying as much as it was distracting.
"I feel inspired," Joanna muttered, jabbing her again.
Caroline had to admit, she hadn't expected one of the Griffin men to be so good-humored—or so witty. The way the Duke of Melbourne helped set government policy and bought and sold property and goods, she'd expected hard, dry, old, cigar-smoking curmudgeons. Perhaps that was it. She was merely surprised by Zachary, and thus set a little off balance. Though why that mattered when she only needed his outsides for a painting, she had no idea.
"If you were my muse, you would be in the garden sitting for me right now while I sketched your hands," she noted, since he continued to gaze at her.
He put an elegant hand to his chest. "One would
"I always keep my word," Zachary cut in, unwilling to hear that particular sentence completed. "My hands will be in the garden this afternoon, alongside my ears." Until he could figure out why he preferred the one Witfeld girl who didn't seem interested in pursuing anything more than his image on canvas, he would continue to make an effort to keep her close by.
Link Link Link
Caroline sat back in the barouche and tried to ignore Joanna jabbing at her ribs and whispering silly nonsense in her ear. At the moment she would have given a great deal of money to have a sketch pad in her hands and the elbow room to draw.
Lord Zachary rode beside them, chatting amiably with Violet and Grace about the state of the roads in Wiltshire, and looking like the very model of a proper English nobleman. His gray gelding was at least three-quarters Arabian, though she wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to discover that Sagramore was a Thoroughbred.
Zachary was even more obviously a thoroughbred, sitting easily in the saddle, with one hand loosely holding the reins and the other gesturing at a stand of elm trees as though they were a novelty he'd never viewed before— simply because Violet had pointed them out to him. The breeze caught his dark hair, lifting it from his collar and blowing strands across one gray eye as he laughed at some silly comment of Grace's.
As far as she knew, he hadn't kissed any of her sisters— at least not yet. He'd only been there for twenty-four hours, though. If he wanted to, he could probably ruin every female in the county within a week, especially with the way they all fawned over him. Caroline sniffed, turning to view the creek on her side of the barouche. So what if he'd chosen to kiss her, and so what if he did it well? Her sisters could have him—once she'd finished sketching and painting him, that was.
Sagramore swung around to her side of the carriage. She lifted her gaze as Zachary doffed his blue beaver hat at her. "I didn't mean to take you away from your sketching," he said, smiling.
"Of course you did. What I don't see is why. You have six attractive young ladies here all trying to chat with you. Did you really need one more?"
His grin deepened. "Yes."
"And why is that?" she returned, annoyed at his presumption. He undoubtedly thought she would be flattered. She only had three weeks, however, to submit the most perfect portrait she'd ever done. And she would need every minute of that time—especially if her sisters kept trying to drag her subject into town, and even if she felt as though she could draw him with her eyes closed.
At the same time she wondered why his presence felt like a warm afternoon breeze, fresh and alive and a little wild. And she wondered why she liked that, when in general she had no time for such silliness, and when now in particular she had more important things with which to occupy herself.
"It's very complicated," he returned. "I think that perhaps I'm your muse, your inspiration. I'd hate to deny you my presence."
She snorted. "Oh, good heavens." Very well, perhaps taking the time to visit Trowbridge wasn't annoying as much as it was distracting.
"I feel inspired," Joanna muttered, jabbing her again.
Caroline had to admit, she hadn't expected one of the Griffin men to be so good-humored—or so witty. The way the Duke of Melbourne helped set government policy and bought and sold property and goods, she'd expected hard, dry, old, cigar-smoking curmudgeons. Perhaps that was it. She was merely surprised by Zachary, and thus set a little off balance. Though why that mattered when she only needed his outsides for a painting, she had no idea.
"If you were my muse, you would be in the garden sitting for me right now while I sketched your hands," she noted, since he continued to gaze at her.
He put an elegant hand to his chest. "One would
Similar Books
