An Abridged Excerpt From THE WASTREL

England, 1862

"You seem less than delighted by the prospect of your aunt rendering me."

Since Lord Mulholland spoke the truth, Clara did not deign to reply.

"Don't you want your aunt to paint me?" he asked.

"What shade did you have in mind?" she retorted.

"What color would you suggest?" he countered. "Perhaps something to bring out the color of my eyes?"

His response made Clara look at his eyes, which were a shade of deep blue. Then she realized he was laughing at her. She could see it in those merry, mocking, sky blue eyes, and detected it in the slight upturn of his sensual lips. He reminded her of a sardonic satyr.

She was no plaything for his amusement, and it was time he learned that.

She thought of a reasonable sum for the portrait, and quadrupled it. Then she doubled that. "Four hundred pounds."

Lord Mulholland reached into the breast pocket of his jacket with his long, slender fingers. "Will a check do, or would you prefer the cash?"

She gasped. "Surely you...you don't carry such a sum on your person?"

He simply smiled.

Good heavens, he was a fool. Rich, but a fool!

"Since I have never paid for my portrait before, I will have to trust that this is an honest rate."

Clara's gaze faltered. She was ashamed of herself, despite her reasoning. "No, Lord Mulholland, it is not. I inflated the sum."

"Why? Did I strike you as an easy mark?" He did not look angry at her admission, which she rather wished he would.

She straightened her slim shoulders and gazed at him staunchly. "I thought you were making sport of us."

"I give you my most solemn assurances that I truly want your aunt to do my portrait, and I have no ulterior motive beyond that."

He was so unmistakably earnest that she felt some of the anxiety flee her body. Nevertheless, she did not relax. She couldn't, not when she was alone with him.

She nodded stiffly. "Then we shall accept your commission."

"That makes me very happy," he said softly as he reached out to take her hand. "I am suddenly all aflame to have my portrait done." She held her breath as he bent down and kissed her fingers gallantly.

She yanked her hand from his. It had to be the unexpectedness of his action that took her breath away and made her heart race. "The real price is twenty-five pounds."

He opened his wallet and drew out the twenty-five pounds.

Clara took the money, then wondered where she should keep her. Her reticule was too small, being made with the idea that a woman need only carry a delicate lace handkerchief and smelling salts to be prepared for any emergency. After a moment's consideration, she turned away from Lord Mulholland and swiftly tucked the folded bills into her bodice.

"I envy my money," he remarked with a gleam in his sparkling eyes.

This man was indeed seduction personified! "It is safely where you will never venture," she answered.

He sighed melodramatically. "Hard-hearted wench!"

He drew out his watch with such a knowing smile that she cursed herself for a fool and a ninny. She was reacting like some green schoolgirl! But he was surely a master of seduction. She must be on her guard.

He glanced at the timepiece. "I perceive that it is time for me to leave, and as much as I would dearly enjoy chatting with you, I have friends awaiting me. If you will excuse me, Miss Wells, I look forward to meeting you again in Lincolnshire."

She watched him stroll away unconcerned, as though nothing of any import had happened. She felt as if one of the Greek gods had suddenly appeared before her in mortal form and invited her to Olympus.

Most surprising of all, she wanted to go.