Page 37 of All Duke and Bothered

Then she came to stand next to Penelope. Together, they made a rough sketch. Miss de Luca taught her that it was first about seeing the general forms—circles, triangles, squares.

“See how his body is a triangle,” she mumbled as she corrected Penelope’s sketch on her canvas. “His shoulders are broad. His waist and hips are narrow. Look at his chest, it’s more like a large rectangle.”

“Yes, I see,” said Penelope as she continued to draw the shapes outlined by Miss de Luca. She was right. There, underneath those clothes, Penelope could almost see the powerful muscles of his chest, like two rectangles. There must be a dip between his pectoral muscles, going down to his narrow waist. His stomach, if it was as hard as she remembered from when he had her pressed against him, must be all muscles, too. He was like one of those Greek statues, with six squares for muscles…and then down—

She pressed too hard against the canvas, and the graphite of her pencil broke. She gasped and Miss de Luca giggled, seeing at what place in the sketch it had broken.

She handed Penelope a fresh pencil. “Do not press hard, Duchess. Especially not in that area.”

Penelope’s face burned. “I didn’t—”

“Glide your pencil over the lines of his body like a lover,” said Miss de Luca. “Love him with your pencil as you would with your hand.”

Heat burned Penelope’s whole face, right to her hairline. She nodded, and when she caught Preston’s eyes again, it felt like he didn’t see anyone or anything else in the world but her.

She kept drawing, gentler this time. It felt like she was caressing his body with every touch of the pencil.

When Penelope started drawing his facial features, Miss de Luca came to stand behind her shoulder. “Very nice. Look into his eyes. The glint of light against the dark. The little dips and hills that form his eyelids, his eyebrows. Eyes are the windows into a person’s soul. He’s letting you in. What is it behind those eyes?”

Penelope’s pencil moved, and what came from it was magnificent.

He was magnificent.

Despite his hatred, despite his actions towards her and her father, now, looking at him, she saw none of that. What she saw behind those eyes was a man with a beautiful, wounded soul.

And in his eyes, she didn’t see animosity anymore. She didn’t see her enemy.

She saw a grieving brother, helpless in his rage. She saw a kind man. She saw a man who loved his family. She saw an incredible strength of character.

And then she was done, and the sketch on her canvas looked like him.

Like the true him—not the one hiding behind a mask.

Even though in her drawing he wore clothes, the depiction made him seem bare and vulnerable. Defenseless.

“Congratulations,” said Miss de Luca quietly behind her back. “You captured him better than anyone could. Better than I could.”

Penelope chuckled and looked at her. “Thank you. I’m sure that’s not true, but—”

“You are talented, Duchess,” said Miss de Luca with a warm smile. “I see the potential of a great artist in you. Next time, I’d like to show you how to paint with oils, if you let me.”

“Oh, I would absolutely love that!” said Penelope warmly.

Miss de Luca nodded. Penelope glanced at the sketch that the artist herself had done of Preston, and she was right. Perhaps hers was more technically perfect and bore more physical resemblance, but Penelope’s was full of light and love.

“May I see?” came his voice, and Penelope suppressed an urge to cover her work, like she had every time her papa came near.

But she didn’t need to anymore.

“Yes, of course,” she said, stepping back. “But it’s not finished.”

Preston stood in front of the easel and studied her drawing for a long time. Miss de Luca and her footman busied themselves with packing her things. But instead of congratulating her or being pleased, Preston’s face became somber.

“It’s beautiful. Clearly, you’re very talented,” he said and met her gaze. “But I don’t deserve to be portrayed so well.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, taking a step towards him.

“I don’t deserve a portrait like that because I’m not a good man. And you know that, too. More than anyone. That is why I’m surprised that this is the way you drew me.”