“Hmm. A common enough story.” She sketched as she spoke. “When my father died and my brother came into a modest inheritance, he went rather amok.”
“Amok?”
“Rather.” She paused in her work and sent him a smile, but it wasn’t a happy thing. “He burned through everything Da left him, on women…and gaming. And then—” She turned the charcoal and shaded a bit. He peeped over her shoulder at her creation. It was quite good. For a landscape.
“And then?”
“Ah. And then he went through everything Da left me. And then he went through more.”
“More than he had?”
“Yes. Much more than he had.”
“Where did he get it?”
She snorted, but he was unsure if she did so because of his question, or because, just then, she made an error. She licked her finger and erased the mark. Blurred it a bit, until she liked the effect.
“Where did he get it?”
She snorted again. Ah yes. It was the question, not the error. “A brigand.”
He winced. “A brigand?”
She shrugged. “Brigand, marauder, thief. He has so many appellations.”
“So your brother owes this man money?”
“A small fortune.” She nibbled her lip. “Perhaps not so small. Anyway, there was no money to pay, so Callum—that’s my brother—decided to sell the only thing he had left with any value.”
Edward did not like the way this story was unfolding. It put a nasty gnarl in his gut. Still, he asked, “Which was?”
She met his gaze. The dejection lingering there scored him deeply. “His sister.”
“He sold you?”
He’d kill him. He’d find this Callum and fucking kill him.
Her laugh was a warbling, incongruous trill. “He tried. The merchandise was not cooperative. I went to Violet and she helped me escape. She brought me here.”
Edward wasn’t sure she was any safer here. Not with the lust howling through the desolate caverns of his soul every time he saw her. But he was glad she was here. And he would do his damndest to protect her. From anything.
She tipped her head and smiled at him. “Do you really think I could make a living at this?”
“Definitely.”
She sighed.
He nuzzled her hairline. “What?”
“I’ve seen the like. Artists begging for ha’pennies…”
“Oh no. No ha’pennies for you, my sweet. Your work is…” His heart stuttered. “What are you drawing now?” She’d given up on the bucolic scene and was sketching what appeared to be— Holy hell. It was. “Is that a cock?”
She giggled. “What do you think?”
“It looks like a cock. Kaitlin, I’m shocked.”
He was, but in a good way.
“Hmm. I’m sure you’re shocked. You’re the Dark Duke. You’ve probably seen it all.”
He had. Or very nearly.
The erect cock gained a torso, shoulders, a face. He chuckled. It was his face. “Shame on you, darling. I never beg.”
“You do so.” She added another character, a woman who looked suspiciously like her, disheveled and tousled. Her lips hovered just over that weeping member.
It was a drawing worthy of one of Lord Hedon’s books.
A prospect he’d thought of before, and discarded, resurfaced. Dare he?
He would love to turn her talent to darker purposes—to his darker purposes, although how he could accomplish this without revealing his identity was a thorny issue. He would think on that later.
“Kaitlin?”
“Yes, Edward?”
“What would you say if I told you I was not joking? That you could make a lot of money very quickly by drawing pictures just like this?”
She stilled. “A lot of money?”
“A lot.”
“How much?”
“Seventy guineas per sketch.” More than he’d paid Mabry, but she was better.
She gasped. “Seventy?”
He nodded.
“Seventy is a year’s keep.”
He chortled. “If one lives modestly, perhaps.” There had been a day, not too long ago, when he’d spent seventy guineas a week on…companionship. It was a particular brand of companionship, but still.
He had little need for that now. Not with Kaitlin in his arms. His brash, wanton innocent.
“I can’t see how that is possible.”
“You know the book I gave you?”
She flushed. “Of course.”
“Lord Hedon is looking for a new illustrator.”
“What happened to the old one?”
“He was an idiot.”
“Oh?”
“Thrown from a carriage.”
“Oh my.”
“At any rate, I am sure Lord Hedon would love your work.”