Stroke of Genius by Mia Marlowe Read Free Book Online

hope, as powerful as she ever need be.”
    She scowled at him. “You make it sound so . . . mercenary.”
    Crispin bent to his work again. “Isn’t it? Services rendered for goods received.”
    Grace’s arms ached so from holding them still. She pacified herself with visions of bashing him over the head with his sketchbook. “So in your view of marriage, am I the goods or the service?”
    He cocked a brow at her. “Both, my dear Grace, if your future husband is a man of any luck at all.”
    That sounded as naughty as his nude sketch, so she looked away, trying to imagine him on another continent. A ‘Lady’ in front of her name was her mother’s wish, not hers. But that was none of his business.
    “Engaging me to sculpt your hands is a good opening gambit in the husband hunt,” he said with a smile in his tone. “It shows you to be a young woman from a family who understands and values quality.”
    His ego was beyond measuring. Perhaps another continent wasn’t far enough. Another planet might do.
    “Tell me. How will your campaign for ‘lady-hood’ proceed?” he asked as he rubbed a thumb across a portion of his sketch to smooth the shading. “Presentation at Almack’s, I assume.”
    Grace bit her lower lip.
    He chuckled. “Never say you haven’t been able to purchase a voucher.”
    Grace tried to ignore him.
    He made a tsking noise. “Say what you will of the she-dragons who guard the gate at Almack’s, they cannot be bought and they are well-nigh incorruptible.”
    “No doubt you’ve tried.”
    “For what purpose? I’m not in the marriage market. However it may interest you to know that I do possess a voucher to that exclusive establishment, awarded to me by Lady Hepplewhite after I did a bust of her eldest that pleased her.” A sardonic grin split his face. “Artistic genius is not without its compensations.”
    “Or its conceit,” she murmured, then raised her voice. “For your information, I do not possess a voucher because I have not yet applied.”
    Not having a voucher to Almack’s was no disgrace if you’d not attempted to secure one. If it were noised about that Grace had been turned down, it would mean Polite Society need not even acknowledge she existed. Better to put off making her application till she was more certain of the outcome.
    “If you must know,” she said with exasperation, “my family and I are planning an outing to Vauxhall this evening.”
    “Hmm. The pleasure gardens are frequented by the ton , so you’ll no doubt be seen by some of the ones you hope to impress.” When he looked up from his work, all hint of levity drained from his features. “But Vauxhall is open to the public, which means all manner of riffraff are allowed in. Beneath the revelry, the seedier side of the city is apt to burst forth. If you want my advice—”
    Grace was saved from whatever Crispin had planned to say by Wyckeham’s appearance in the doorway.
    “Beg pardon, sir, but you wished to be informed when the new shipment of stone arrived,” his manservant said.
    “Rest yourself for a moment, Grace. I need to see to this.” Crispin grabbed his walking stick and followed his servant out without so much as a by-your-leave.
    “It would serve him right if I was gone when he returned,” she muttered as she shook her arms to restore circulation to her fingertips. The tingle gave way as blood screamed back into her hands. 
    The threat to disappear was an empty one. Her mother would have a fit if Grace left the sitting early. She stood and decided to take a turn around the room, pausing by each block of marble where figures were emerging from different colors of veined stone. Even unpolished, the works were bursting with life. Unapologetically human, warts and all, it was like walking through a crowd of real people frozen between one heart beat and the next.
    A draped canvas stood on an easel in one corner, oddly out of place in this garden of stone. Grace padded over to investigate,