The Art 0f Pleasuring A Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Read online

  “Do you think it might be possible to arrange an introduction between me and the prima ballerina?” Nathaniel asked, hope springing in his chest at the idea.

  “Oh,” David said, his tone uncharacteristically flat. “Well, I am not sure if that will be possible….”

  “Oh, I see,” Nathaniel said, the hopeful feeling in his chest suddenly deflating. “It need not be anything overly formal or complicated, just a simple introduction is all.”

  David was looking around the lobby now. He seemed distracted, or possibly annoyed.

  Have I done something to offend him?

  Nathaniel could not think of any reason why his friend should feel insulted or upset.

  “I am sorry, Yanborough, I really must be off.” David said, suddenly. “It was nice to see you, but I really must go.”

  Nathaniel barely had time to bid his friend good evening before David had turned and walked away from him. He appeared to be heading off to the backstage area with a well-dressed, stocky, older gentleman whom Nathaniel assumed must be Mr. Bamber.

  Nathaniel was surprised by his friend’s abrupt departure, but collected his hat and coat, and walked out of the theater to head for home. Had he not had thoughts of the prima ballerina to distract him, he might have spent the whole carriage ride pondering why David had acted so strangely.

  Chapter 6

  The following day, Anna had no performance to prepare for, and no rehearsal to fill her day. The day was fine, so she met her friend Bridget for a stroll in the park. The air was chilly, but with a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Anna felt quite comfortable. She breathed in the brisk air, and felt revitalized by it.

  Bridget, too, seemed to be enjoying the weather, smiling at everyone she passed, and pointing out particularly beautiful trees or flowers as they walked. Anna wished that she could have taken on some of Bridget’s cheerfulness herself, for she had been upset ever since her fight with Camilla the night before, and was dreading seeing her again in rehearsal the following day.

  “Oh, Bridget, whatever am I going to do about Camilla?” she asked, when she could no longer hold her feelings in.

  “What do you mean?” Bridget asked, in a casual tone that suggested she had forgotten all about the scene between her friend and her roommate the previous evening.

  “I mean, what she said about me last night? She hates me, and I know that the other dancers do as well,” Anna said, fighting to hold back tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

  “Oh, Anna,” Bridget said, her voice sounding more serious now. “They do not hate you, but they are jealous of you because Mr. Bamber does favor you. There is no use denying that he does.”

  “I’m coming to realize that,” Anna said, quietly, “and I wish that he would treat everyone as well as he treats me. But it is not my fault that he does that. I never asked him to.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Bridget said, soothingly, “but it is safer for them to be angry with you than to be angry with Mr. Bamber—surely you can understand that?”

  “Yes, I suppose that I can. But I offered to speak with him about it, and they told me not to. What else am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Bridget said, thoughtfully. “Perhaps you ought to talk to him anyway, though you would need to be careful not to make him angry.”

  “Hmm…” Anna sighed as she thought about this. She had thought that Camilla made a fair point the previous day about making Mr. Bamber angry.

  Perhaps there is a way to convince him that it is his own idea to treat the dancers well, rather than me asking a favor of him.

  “Of course, Camilla believes that you will never ask Mr. Bamber to treat anyone fairly, no matter what you say. She believes that you like being his favorite, and you tell tales on the rest of us, to get us in trouble with him.”

  “She believes what?” Anna exclaimed, her voice louder and more angry sounding than she had intended. A few people walking on the path near them turned to look at her, and color rose to her cheeks in her embarrassment.

  “Keep your voice down.” Bridget hissed at her, but then continued in a kind, hushed tone, “Camilla likes to spread nasty rumors. I do not think that anyone truly believes her, but…”

  Anna saw a pleading look in Bridget’s eyes and could not understand why, “But what?” she asked, desperate to understand the truth of the matter.

  “Well, you must promise not to be upset,” Bridget said quietly.

  “I don’t know how I can possibly promise such a thing without knowing what it is that might upset me,” Anna said, but then seeing the anxious look on her friend’s face, she continued, “but I promise I shall do my best not to overreact.”

  “All right then,” Bridget began, wringing her hands nervously in front of her as they walked and talked. “I do not think that many people believe her, but Camilla has told a few people that she believes that you and Mr. Bamber are…romantically involved, and you seduced him in order to gain his favor and turn him against the rest of us.”

  “How can she think that?” Anna said, taking care to keep her voice quiet, but failing to hide the note of horror.

  “To be quite honest, I do not think that even she believes it. I think that she simply wants to convince herself that any difficulties she is facing are because of you and not her.”

  “Well, that is a terrible thing for her to say about me. Especially when she is the one conducting an affair with a married man, just so that he will buy her gifts and install her in some fancy flat. It is because of women like her that all ballerinas have such a terrible reputation.”

  “Hmm…” Bridget said, sounding non-committal.

  “Do you disagree?” Anna asked, shocked that her friend could possibly defend Camilla. Bridget had never liked her, and after what she had just shared, it seemed clear to Anna that Camilla was not only an unpleasant roommate, but a mean and spiteful person.

  “No, I don’t disagree,” Bridget said, keeping her tone neutral. “And of course, I wish that things were different. But…this is hard to explain to you, Anna.”

  “Why is it so hard to explain? Am I not smart enough to understand?”

  “It is not a question of being smart enough, Anna, of course you are smart enough.”

  “Then please, explain it to me, because I really do wish to understand,” Anna said, a note of pleading in her voice now.

  “Well, you know that Mr. Bamber has not been paying the rest of us regularly as he has been paying you. This has been going on for quite some time, and he always pays us in the end, so most of us have become quite good at saving and being quite careful with our money to make it last until the next payment is made.”

  “I see,” Anna said, stiffly. She was feeling guilty about this, even though she knew that it was not her fault. “Well, I am sorry that you have had to do that.”

  “There is no need for you to apologize, it is Mr. Bamber who ought to be sorry,” Bridget said, kindly, before continuing her explanation of Camilla’s behavior.

  “Nevertheless, it is hard to live the way we have been forced to live. Camilla has found a way to fix that problem for herself. The unfortunate reputation of ballerinas likely seems a small concern to her, compared to being turned out for failing to pay her part of the rent.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose that is true,” Anna allowed, “but I still wish that she would not take her anger out on me.”

  “I quite agree with you on that point,” Bridget said, “but I do not expect that she will change her behavior any time soon. I am sorry to say so, but I think that the best thing for you to do is to try not to let her words bother you.”

  “Well,” Anna said with a sigh, “that will certainly not be easy, but I might as well try.”

  Bridget took Anna’s arm in hers and beamed at her as they continued to walk along the path through the park. Soon the weather would turn cold, and the path would be covered in ice, but for today, Anna was pleased to spend a beautiful afternoon outside with
her best friend.

  * * *

  Nathaniel had a dedicated art studio on the second floor of the townhouse, and he set up his easel near the window. It was a sunny day, and he always thought it best to paint by natural light when possible. He knew that he ought to paint a landscape, or perhaps a bowl of fruit, but he could not resist the urge to paint the prima ballerina.

  Having seen her only at a distance, there were some details of her appearance at which he would need to guess. However, the shape of her long, lithe body was imprinted in his mind’s eye. The beautiful color of her red hair, and the many shades it contained, was burned into his memory.

  He began by painting the outlines of her body, a delicate creamy white that matched the luminous tone of her skin, bright against a dark background. As his brush moved against the canvas to form her graceful limbs, he could not help thinking of his hands moving against the limbs themselves.

  He recalled, so perfectly, the shape of her graceful legs, and the swell of her pert breasts, because he had imagined what each part of her might feel like, pressed against him. Nathaniel knew that he had some skill with paint and brush, but that nothing he could paint would ever truly capture the essence of her beauty. Nevertheless, he was determined that during the interval before he could see her again, he would not forget any detail, real or imagined, and painting her seemed the most effective way to capture his memory of her.

  As he worked, his rapidly beating heart began to return to its normal pace. He was no less thrilled by the prospect of creating something beautiful in her image, but his body was becoming accustomed to the idea that beauty such as hers could exist. He became so focused on his work that all other thoughts were driven from his mind.

  Nathaniel did not stop what he was doing, nor think of anything else, until he began to mix shades of red, orange, and gold for her hair. The more he tried to capture each shade, the more elusive it became. He soon realized that he did not have enough of the deep red color that he would need for the darker auburn streaks in her hair.

  He considered sending a servant to fetch some paints, while he continued to work on other elements of the painting. However, looking out the window and seeing the fine weather, Nathaniel decided that perhaps some fresh air would do him good. His mother was out, calling upon some of her friends, so he informed the butler of where he was going, in case she should return before him.

  “And, if Mother should return before I do, please tell her not to go into my studio,” he said to the butler, as an afterthought. “I am working on a painting in there and it is not yet dry.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the butler replied with a bow, handing him his coat and hat.

  Nathaniel set off down the street to the artist’s supply shop. The walk there would take about a quarter of an hour, and he decided that he would prefer this to traveling by carriage on such a bright and lovely day. As he walked, he thought about how he might manage to meet the prima ballerina in reality.

  He had been surprised by David’s hesitation when asked to introduce his friend to the prima ballerina. Something had obviously upset David, but Nathaniel could not think what. He felt certain that David could arrange the introduction if he wanted to, and Nathaniel resolved to ask his friend again.

  I suppose that I shall have to be careful about how I ask. I should not like him to get the idea that I am seeking anything unseemly.

  In truth, his thoughts toward the prima ballerina had been nothing if not unseemly, but he did not wish to act upon these base instincts. Nathaniel hoped that upon meeting her he would find her to be charming, kind, and well-mannered as any highborn lady.

  If this should turn out to be the case, then perhaps he would fly in the face of convention, and marry her in spite of her lower station. On the other hand, if he found her to be brazen or uncouth, then he was sure that his love for her would fade. Having learned from the mistakes of his youth, Nathaniel knew that unkindness could mar a beautiful face more than any blemish or scar.

  As he continued walking, Nathaniel was shocked to see his friend, David, knocking at the door of a townhouse about a block ahead of him.

  Nathaniel was about to call out to his friend, when the door of the townhouse opened, and David was greeted by a pretty young woman who led him inside. The woman was most certainly not the Marchioness of Swinton. Nathaniel was momentarily confused, then shocked at his friend’s behavior.

  In the end, however, he realized that this was not, in fact, very surprising. After all, David and his wife had never really liked one another, nor had they made any secret of it. He supposed that this sort of arrangement was quite common among gentlemen of his social class, and in truth, David’s behavior was none of his business.

  Deciding that he would send David a note and invite him to lunch at the club tomorrow, Nathaniel continued on his way to the artist’s supply shop.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” the proprietor said, as Nathaniel entered the shop. “May I help you find anything today?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Nathaniel said, “I am working on a portrait of a young woman with a particularly beautiful shade of red hair, and I am having some difficulty in mixing the correct color.”

  “Ah, yes. Hair color can be quite difficult to capture, Your Grace, but I think that I can help you.”

  Nathaniel described the particular color of Miss Conolly’s hair to the shopkeeper, picturing the way that it shimmered when the light hit it. The proprietor of the shop smiled at him as he spoke, and then began to fill small vials with red, yellow, and brown pigment powders.

  Nathaniel thanked the shopkeeper for his help, bid him farewell, and set off toward home. When he passed the house that David had entered earlier, he studied the front door for a moment. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, and Nathaniel saw no clue as to who might live there.

  Reminding himself, once again, that his friend’s behavior was none of his concern, he returned his thoughts to the prima ballerina, and continued to imagine every detail of her face for the remainder of his walk home.

  Will I ever manage to capture her true beauty on canvas?

  Chapter 7

  After their walk in the park, Anna and Bridget had parted ways, each returning to her own home for the afternoon. They would see each other the following day at rehearsal, and Anna had some things that she needed to do at home.

  As she walked back to the boarding house, Anna considered what Bridget had said about Camilla. She wondered if she had been too harsh in her assessment of her fellow dancer. Anna understood that it was not easy to be a single woman in the world, and perhaps this was the only way that Camilla knew to survive.

  On the other hand, Anna could not forget the way that so many of the patrons who visited the greenroom leered at her. Some of them were gentlemen in name, but whether they were high born or not, they all acted like common rascals around the ballerinas.

  Anna resented their assumptions about her—they thought they need only ask and she would happily become their mistress. Nothing could be further from the truth, but because of women like Camilla, they believed it to be true of all ballerinas.

  It had not always been easy for Anna to make ends meet since moving to London, but she had managed it without depending on a wealthy patron. She had needed to be frugal, and exceptionally cautious, but it was possible. Now that she was the prima ballerina, she no longer needed to worry about money.

  Anna knew that her anger ought to be directed at the men who treated her like some common trollop. In large part it was directed at them, but she could not stop herself from feeling some resentment toward Camilla as well.

  Perhaps if Camilla had been kind to her in other ways, Anna would be more forgiving of her loose morals. Instead, Camilla seemed intent on turning the rest of the company against Anna, and she could not understand why.

  She arrived back at the boarding house still feeling frustrated with Camilla, but resolved not to think of her anymore. She would see her at rehearsal tomor
row, and she could see no point in ruining the rest of her day with thoughts of someone so set on hurting her.

  Instead, Anna chatted to Mrs. Hughes, who was hard at work in the kitchen kneading bread dough.

  “Hello, Anna,” Mrs. Hughes called, her hands sinking deep into the soft dough as she worked.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hughes,” Anna said, with a smile. “Can I help with anything?”

  “Well, aren’t you a dear,” Mrs. Hughes said, smiling at her. Anna liked helping in the kitchen, and often offered to do cooking or cleaning chores along with her landlady. Nevertheless, Mrs. Hughes always called her a “dear” and thanked her profusely.

  Mrs. Hughes picked up the well-kneaded dough, and placed it in a large bowl. “Will you hand me that towel?” she asked, pointing to a towel sitting on the kitchen table.