The Importance of Being Wicked Read Free

tones. She didn’t, of course. Caro was a diminutive redhead, pretty but no true beauty. Still, the Venus remained special to the Townsends, a souvenir of rapturous honeymoon days.
    When she first saw it, the pose was what caught her attention. She would imitate the goddess for Robert, dressing her red hair in the same way and arranging her undressed figure for his delectation and seduction. The child god had been a charming irrelevancy. Now she avoided looking at him for a different reason. He was a bittersweet reminder that she’d lost her own son as well as his father.
    She’d lied and cheated her creditors by holding on to the Titian, even when its sale would clear many of her debts. Caro couldn’t let go of the tangible proof that she had once meant something to her husband, before he’d been consumed by his passion for the dice. Before his short life had come to an inglorious end of a fever caught gaming for forty-eight hours straight in a low hell in Seven Dials. It was foolish, perhaps, but with Robert gone and no child, she felt if she lost the Venus her whole life would lose its meaning.
    She bid the Venus a silent farewell. Hearing her name called, she looked over the banister and saw a mop of fair curls at the foot of the stairs.
    â€œI saw him leave,” Oliver said.
    â€œI fobbed him off. For now.”
    â€œWell done! What did he think of my Venus?”
    â€œArtists! Do you honestly care what a man like Horner thinks? All he cares about is money.”
    â€œHe’s the first man to see it. Was he overcome by her beauty?”
    â€œHe was struck by her resemblance to me. How could you, Oliver? First you blab all over town that I own a picture that was supposed to have been sold ages ago. Now he’ll no doubt start a rumor that I posed naked for you.” In fact, Oliver had taken an unfinished canvas, abandoned when he could no longer afford to pay the model, and adapted it.
    His boyish features wore nothing but wounded innocence. “The whole point was that the hair is like yours.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to make it short! When Robert said the Titian reminded him of me, my hair was long.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I never thought of that.”
    As they talked, they’d returned to the drawing room and now stood before the nude. Caro shook her head in despair. “I do trust that isn’t my expression. She looks as though she is ready to welcome all comers. Horner had quite the wrong idea.”
    â€œNo, not you. I was inspired by someone else.”
    â€œOliver! Surely you don’t mean Anne! I swear, she’s never worn an expression like that in her life.”
    Oliver wore the fatuous grin provoked by Caro’s cousin and current houseguest, Anne Brotherton, the latest unattainable object of his desire. “In my dreams, she does. One day, I know, she’ll look at me like that.”
    Poor Oliver. He suffered hopeless passions, never with the slightest hint of reciprocation from their objects. His adoration of Cynthia, Lady Windermere, had lasted only a few days, but there was no point saying he’d be over Anne within the month. While in the throes of his fickle infatuations, he was convinced his love would last forever and eventually melt the lady-du-jour’s obdurate heart. Caro reminded herself that she was not feeling sympathetic toward Oliver’s absurdities today.
    â€œI’m still very angry at you.” Her voice broke with frustration. “How could you be so indiscreet, Oliver? I told you the Titian was a secret.”
    â€œI’m sorry I told Johnson. I’ve told him it was all nonsense. He won’t say anything else, I promise. You know what happens when I get foxed.”
    Caro always found it hard to stay annoyed at Oliver. “I was at fault too. I drank too much wine that night.”
    â€œI’m glad you still have her. She’s such an amazing work. How did Titian manage those