Stroke of Genius by Mia Marlowe Read Free Book Online Page A

lifting a corner of the sheeting.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Crispin’s voice made her jump away guiltily before she was able to snatch a peek.
    “I was just—”
    “Just being a nosy female,” he finished. “Did it occur to you that if I wanted that canvas on view, I wouldn’t have left it covered?”
    “I meant no harm.”
    “Of course not. Your sort never do.”
    His black scowl was out of all proportion to her offense.
    “We’re finished for this day. Wyckeham! Show Miss Makepeace and her servant out.”
    The man had just dismissed her! Grace flinched as though he’d slapped her. Then she straightened to her full height. Others might fear what he could do to them in marble, but she refused to cower.
    “Excellent. I’ve had quite enough of you as well,” she said as she breezed past him. “If you don’t want anyone to look at it, I suggest you keep the canvas in your private rooms, not in your open studio.”
    “Be here again at eight tomorrow morning.” He frowned at her, but his voice lost its rough edge.
    “Regrettably, I have another appointment which will engage me for the entire day.” She had no such thing, but she was tired of him ordering her about. “Perhaps I can fit you into my schedule the day after, but not until nine o’clock. Good day, Mr. Hawke.”
    Crispin watched her go. The full sunlight in the atrium rendered her gown nearly transparent and he was treated to a glimpse of her long legs beneath the palla.
    Once she disappeared around the corner, he strode over to the canvas and yanked off the sheeting.
    The sketch was of the woman who’d invaded his dreams for the past month. The wanton succubus caused him to wake with either an aching cockstand or a damp sheet and a flush of pleasure like he’d never known.
    Only to be followed by yawning emptiness when he realized she was but a dream.
    Capturing her on canvas had started as a lark. She was his ideal woman, he’d told Wyckeham, the one his soul was destined for, even though he knew she was nothing more than mist. He thought bringing his dream nymph to life on canvas would make sense of the recurring night phantom.
    Instead it only cemented her image more firmly in his brain.
    He never fancied he’d meet her in the flesh. Now that he knew her name, he doubted he’d ever be free of her. Not that he would act to make his fancies real. The idea was laughable.
    “Do you think she saw it?” Wyckeham said from behind him.
    “No. She wouldn’t have left so quietly otherwise.” Crispin picked up a bit of charcoal and added a tiny mole near the figure’s elbow. Then he tossed the sheeting back over the easel again. The fine linen billowed over the portrait. Anyone viewing the sketch would never believe Miss Grace Makepeace hadn’t sat for it personally.
     And in splendid nakedness.

Chapter 5

    No one knew for certain why Pygmalion shoved people away, but one suspected the reason was rooted in his past.
    A past he guarded as if its secrets would topple the Crown.
     
    25 years earlier
    Peel’s Abbey, a Cheapside House of Pleasure

    The bells of St. Paul’s chimed the hour. Seven of the clock. The ‘gentlemen’ would be coming soon. Time to make himself scarce just as soon as he finished scrubbing the corridor outside Madame Peel’s chamber.
    “No, Leo, I don’t hold with such things,” young Crispin overheard Madame tell one of her best clients. Leo was a longtime customer and one of the few who were allowed to enter her inner sanctum. “It ain’t natural.”
    “But that’s what makes it so very lucrative. My friend runs the cleanest molly house this side of the Thames. Your bootblack boy is a likely lad. I assure you he’d be well treated. A regular pet, that one.”
    “He’s too young,” Madame protested.
    Crispin heard her bracelet tinkle merrily and pictured her imperious gesture in his head. The girls always said he had more imagination than a body needed. Even though Crispin knew the sparkly