The Beautiful One Read Online Free PDF Page B

miles away, but she couldn’t imagine why his carriage was outside her home. The coach door had opened and the man himself had emerged, tall and grandly dressed, with a grand waistline to match.
    His pink face had cracked in an enormous grin, and he’d said what a pleasure it was to see her again.
    She’d politely pointed out that she’d never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. Gleefully, he’d reached behind him into the coach and produced a big, black book of the kind Anna used for sketching.
    The Beautiful One was written on it in what appeared to be red sealing wax. Puzzled by a visit that was growing more bizarre by the moment, she’d looked down when he’d opened the book with a flourish, and felt as if she’d been kicked.
    The first sheet of paper showed a scene she could not mistake: her own room. The artist was quite talented. There was her old wooden chair, the side of the bathtub, her window with the curtains drawn. The artist had caught her at the moment of pinning up her hair before stepping into the waiting water. With her arms raised to her head, her small breasts appeared prominent and the curve of her waist like a marker leading the eye downward toward the shadows between her legs, just as if she’d been a model posing for a study.
    â€œThere are more?” she’d managed to say, aware that the coachman could hear their conversation from his seat at the front of the coach. There were many sheets of paper underneath the first one, and more than anything, she didn’t want to see what was on them.
    â€œOf course.” The marquess had sounded puzzled. “You posed for Mr. Rawlins. He sold them to me.” He’d chuckled. “Or have you posed for so many artists that you’ve forgotten what you’ve done for whom?”
    â€œNo!”
    Rawlins had, she’d realized as a sick chill spread through her body, obviously spied on her. She hadn’t even known he was an artist. And a talented one, however unscrupulous.
    A thought had come unbidden then, a shameful thought, because the pictures were so wrong and she was furious about them. But along with those strong feelings had come this: Someone had found her beautiful? Her, Dr. Bristol’s unfeminine daughter?
    â€œI did not pose for these,” she’d said forcefully. “I’ve never seen this book before.”
    â€œOf course you haven’t,” he’d said, and winked. “My dear girl, I’ve come to offer you a handsome fee to pose for a large painting Rawlins is doing of me. You are to be Aphrodite to my Ares. Nude, of course.”
    Anna had stood speechless before she’d gathered her wits. “You have no right to those drawings. Rawlins spied on me. I beg you to burn that book and never speak of it again.”
    â€œDo spare me the injured maiden act. It’s obvious you posed for them. I’ve shown them to my friends, and I intend to display them.”
    â€œYou can’t! I’ll be ruined!”
    He’d flicked a glance at the modest cottage where she’d lived all her life. The whitewash on the front door was peeling, and one of the windows was cracked.
    â€œYou are thinking much too small. Why, even now you’re quite hiding yourself with that ugly coiffure and that pathetic gown. With what I will pay you for the painting, you can fix yourself up, become the toast of the art world. Your looks are unusual, and it’s easy to imagine you draped across some moss, your legs bare, like a nymph…”
    â€œStop,” she’d whispered.
    â€œThough I do plan to keep your name secret, Miss Bristol, until after I unveil the painting, to safeguard the mystery behind The Beautiful One . And I will pay you fifty pounds to be my Aphrodite.”
    He’d left, telling her he would be back in a month, when Mr. Rawlins would have completed the Ares portion of the painting. Even before his carriage had rolled