An Artful Seduction Read Free Page B

words. “How dare you! I’m not for sale, my lord.”
    “Ah, but you are, Mrs. Somerton. You are very much for sale, and I—”
    She came to her senses and reached up to slap him. But he was too quick, grasping her wrist before she made contact with his cheek.
    His eyes narrowed. “The Jan Wildens oil is a forgery, albeit a meticulous and frighteningly good one,” he said, his voice cold and exact.
    A cold knot formed in her stomach. “I don’t know what you’re—”
    “You’re very good. At first I thought it was your father’s work, but the brushwork is slightly different, the signature not a perfect match. You were taught well. I’m not surprised since you’re Jonathan Miller’s daughter.”
    He knows!
    She felt as if her breath was cut off. He thought she had created the forgery. She’d go to her grave before she confessed it was Amelia’s work.
    Her voice wavered. “You can’t prove it.”
    “I am an expert.”
    “You were wrong before, as I recall,” she said sharply.
    She could have bit her tongue the moment the words left her lips. His face hardened like granite at the mention of the past when he had been fooled by her father.
    His fingers tensed on her wrist. “I lost my credibility as a critic at the Royal Academy because of your father. It took me years to earn back my reputation. Jonathan Miller was never found and tried for his crimes.”
    She was right; Huntington thirsted for revenge. She’d come here to prevent disaster, but had caused it instead. She suppressed the panic rising in her chest. She couldn’t give in to it now, not when she needed all her wits about her to survive.
    He released her wrist suddenly. “Your choice of artwork to forge is interesting. The Flemish painter Jan Wildens—an artist who often painted backgrounds for the popular Peter Paul Rubens.”
    “I’m duly impressed by your artistic knowledge.”
    He ignored her sarcasm. “Wildens is someone your father would have chosen. Miller never copied the masters, but less acknowledged artists, oftentimes a master’s students or assistants. That way the history of a painting’s ownership was much more ambiguous and could be concocted by a crafty and shrewd art broker.”
    It was true. Amelia had followed her father’s reasoning when she’d chosen to forge Jan Wildens.
    Despite her inner turmoil, Eliza lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze. “Since you’re certain of your opinion, I shall see myself out—”
    “Oh no, you won’t. You’ve come to bargain, remember?”
    “I have nothing you want.”
    He gave her body a raking gaze. “To the contrary, I like what I see.”
    An alarming heat curled low in her belly. Could she do it? Trade her body for the painting…for their survival?
    Yes, if it means protecting Amelia and Chloe.
    She swallowed hard and looked into his eyes. “Just what are you proposing?”
    His mouth twisted wryly. “As tempting as I find the offer, Mrs. Somerton. I’ve never forced a woman into my bed. I’ve never had the need.”
    She felt her face grow hot with humiliation. Had she misinterpreted so badly? “Then what do you want?”
    “A painting has been stolen. Rembrandt’s 1624 early self-portrait, Artist in his Studio. The owner has requested my aid.”
    A Rembrandt! It would be priceless! “I don’t know anything about it. I swear to you,” she said.
    “I’m not accusing you of the theft.”
    “Then what?”
    “Where is your father?”
    Her father? He believed her father had stolen the Rembrandt? “He’s gone.”
    “He’s dead, then?”
    “No. Just gone. He left five years ago after…after he was accused.” She wanted to say by him , but she held her tongue this time.
    “He left you alone? And your two sisters?”
    She shouldn’t be surprised that he knew about Amelia and Chloe. He was too intelligent and ruthless not to have done his research. “We opened the print shop.”
    He watched her intently, his brow furrowing. “He left you without funds and