A Scandalous Portrait (The Rose Room Rogues 1)

“You frighten me, Diana, because you’ve given me more than my share of sleepless nights.” He raised his hand. “Before you begin huffing, please remember all the times I bailed you out of your messes.” He smirked and looked down at her.

She must not be distracted by his rakish smile. Or his very male scent. Or his hooded eyes. Or the taut muscles under her hand. Let the other ladies swoon at his feet, she must keep her senses where he was concerned. “What messes?”

After a few moments, he said, “Must I number them?” He began to count on his fingers. “First there was the time you climbed a tree just as your parents’ guests were arriving for a house party. If I remember correctly, you were stuck up there for hours before I found you.”

“For goodness sake, Hunt, I was ten years at the time!”

“Ah. That is true. In that case, I will not number all the other rescues from then until you made your come-out.” He turned them so they moved on the path around the side of the house where another set of French doors revealed couples waltzing by in the ballroom.

“Do you remember Lady Abercrombie’s garden party?”

She offered a stiff nod.

“Do you also recall falling into the creek behind her house, drenching yourself, forcing me to sneak you out the back gate to my waiting carriage to get you home?”

“It was not my fault that the rocks alongside the creek were so slippery.”

“Yet no other young lady took a swim that day.” Hunt moved them to a stone bench under a tree, under a brightly lit torch. He apparently was not going to put them into a situation that would cause a scandal. At least nothing near what she was facing.

Once they settled, he took her hand in his. Improper as it was, since he was an old friend, she wasn’t concerned.

“Then there was the time you took a ride on Rotten Row with the horse your papa forbade you to ride because the spirited mare was beyond your abilities.” He gazed out into the garden, as if picturing the disaster that day. “If memory serves—”

Diana raised her hand. “Stop!” Whatever did the man do? Keep a list of all her indiscretions? She swore he was laughing at her.

He didn’t seem annoyed at the recitation of her blunders but viewed her with amusement. “Therefore, Lady Diana, since you appear to not want to hear the rest of my stories, I rest my case about the fright you trigger within me and the sleepless nights you have caused.”

Diana took both of his hands in hers. “This is serious, Hunt. Not some mishap on a horse or falling into a creek. I am in serious trouble.”

His amusement turned to something else. Something protective and, if she was wont to admit, possessive as well. “What happened, Diana? Did someone harm you? Do I need to call someone out?”

She shook her head and pulled her hands from his to hug her middle. “A little over a year ago—before I left for Italy, I arranged to have a portrait of myself painted.” She glanced over at him. “As vain as that sounds, I did it merely to appease my late grandmother who had asked me for years to have a portrait done and hang it next to hers in the library at Waverly Manor, the estate I inherited from her, along with the London Townhouse.

“I was feeling quite blue and missing her dearly one day and decided to have it done.”

Hunt felt a tightening of his stomach muscles, scared to death at what she was about to say. “Go on.”

“I commissioned Mr. J. D. Mallory to do the portrait. I sat for him for hours, but I knew it would be worth it when it was finished.” She took a deep breath. “At his insistence, he had me resting on a lounge, facing him, but with my head ti

lted in such a way that hair fell over part of my face, which was not clearly seen. I thought it odd at the time, but since I’d never had an official portrait done before, and didn’t want to appear a novice, I merely acquiesced to his instructions.”

* * *

Hunt studied her as she spoke, staring out at the garden, looking as though she wished to be swallowed up by the roses. He’d begun to realize she’d gotten herself into something deep this time but had no clue as to where her tale was leading. “Go on.”

“He gave me the portrait before I left for Italy, and it is now hanging in the library at Waverly Manor.” She stood to pace. “It is quite lovely, actually.”

“Then what is the problem? If it’s hanging in the library at Waverly Manor, why do you want me to steal a portrait from Mr. Mallory’s studio? I don’t understand.”

Diana stopped and took a huge breath. “I’ve never spoken out loud about this, to anyone, but if you are to help me, I must trust you.”

He reached out and took her hand again. “You know you can trust me, Diana.”

She nodded. “Shortly after I returned from Italy, Mr. Mallory sent a note that he wished to visit with me at my townhouse in London.” She turned to face him.

“Go on, sweetheart.” Hunt stood and took her other hand in his. Even through both their gloves, he could feel her ice-cold hands.

Another deep breath. “When he called, he told me he’d made some changes to the portrait and would I care to see the difference. I was quite taken aback and confused to be honest, because I didn’t understand why he would do such a thing. Or how he had even gotten it from my estate.”