She was only sketching his hands so far, he reminded himself. There was no need to panic yet.
"What happened after you received the inheritance?" she asked.
"I left my family, came to London, bought a small, run-down building. By myself I fixed it up, and then I sold it for a profit. That's when I discovered I have a knack."
"For buying and selling property?"
"For making money," he said with a grin.
He couldn't help himself. He rarely talked about this with anyone, and he was rather proud of himself, after all. The seventh deadly sin, his father would have reminded him had he been alive to see how far his son had come. But Sean would have laughed, because he believed a man was entitled to find satisfaction in a job well-done.
As was a lady, he thought, watching her sketch. "I bought a larger building and did it again," he explained. "And again. Eventually I had enough funds to hire other people to fix up the buildings, so I could concentrate on finding and buying them faster, and after that, I realized it might be more profitable to keep some of the buildings—select ones, based on criteria—and make money leasing them out."
"Deirdre said you own more than buildings. Businesses. Manufactories. And ships, too, she told me."
His sister had a big mouth. No wonder Corinna had been so curious. "Well, now, one of the tenants I leased to had a business that was about to fail, and I realized I could fix that, too. So I bought it and made it profitable. And then I bought other businesses. And started some. Some of the businesses required supplies that came from outside the country, and I realized I could make more profit by importing such supplies myself. And importing supplies for other people. And exporting some of the things I was manufacturing, and some other things other people were manufacturing— " He cut himself off and shrugged. "I seem to have a knack for making money all sorts of ways."
She froze midsketch, stunned. And admiring. All the men she knew were wealthy, of course, but their wealth came from owning land. Mostly from owning land for generations—the same land, for hundreds of years. None of them had started with nothing, or even ten thousand pounds, and built their wealth all by themselves.
No other men she knew had a knack for making money. Or a knack for much of anything else, come to think of it. Except maybe sitting a horse or tying a perfect cravat.
"How is it coming?" he asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The hands."
"Oh. They're…they're fine."
"You need to see more than hands, Corinna, if you're going to fix Lincolnshire's portrait."
She nodded, knowing he was right.
Apparently taking that as agreement, he rose and finished unbuttoning his shirt. In one single, fluid movement, he pulled it off over his head. Then he draped it over the arm of the sofa and…just stood there.
He was magnificent.
He looked better than the Elgin gods. Human, not marble, and very, very male. His chest rippled with muscles and ridges, and he looked warm and smooth and altogether enticing. It was all she could do to keep from reaching out to touch him.
She'd never seen another man without his shirt. Did they all look like this? Somehow, she thought not. All the gentlemen of her acquaintance led lives of leisure. It seemed fixing buildings had toned Sean's body in a way that made him different.
And much, much better.
His hands moved to the buttons on his trousers.
"No." She swallowed hard. "That's enough for now." She wouldn't be able to concentrate if presented with anything beyond that splendid torso. "You need a book."
"A book?"
"In the painting, Lord Lincolnshire is holding a book."
He reached for one of the sketchbooks Mr. Hamilton had left behind. Another fluid movement that made something flip-flop in her stomach. "Will this do?"
"What? Oh, yes. Have a seat. Like Lord Lincolnshire did, if you'll remember."
He sat and held the book, looking nothing like Lord Lincolnshire, even though the pose was similar. She sketched a few lines. Shaky lines, since she couldn't seem to take her eyes off him.
"I fear you don't really look like Lord Lincolnshire."
"Close enough, I imagine. You're painting him younger, aren't you?"
"I thought the portrait would be more compelling that way. And please Lord Lincolnshire more as well. But I seriously doubt he ever looked like you. That he looked so…"
Hard and hot. Strong and overwhelming. Just looking at Sean robbed her of words. She was growing more confident, though. Her fingers flew across the page, capturing every detail while she had the chance.
She'd remember this evening always.
"So…what?" he asked.
"Hmm?"
He smiled and settled back. "How many sessions do you expect you'll need?"
A thousand. Maybe more. "I've time for only two," she said regretfully. "After that I'll really need to paint. I hope Mr. Hamilton won't return and expect to use this studio before then."
"Don't worry yourself about that." Disgust filled his voice. "I got another letter from him yesterday. He's staying longer. Claims he's seeing fairies in the falls or some such blarney," he added with a snort. "But of course he's really lingering with his lover."
His lover. Corinna felt her skin heat just hearing those two words. Her eyes skimmed Sean's form, her pencil traced the lines on the paper, and she imagined him kissing her.
Her lips tingled.
She blew out a tense breath.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"I'm just concentrating."
Sean shifted, reclining a little to one side, raising an arm to lay it along the back edge of the sofa. He was looking more relaxed—and not at all like Lord Lincolnshire had posed. She considered asking him to move back, but she didn't want him to.
In the flickering candlelight, he looked absolutely delicious. So delicious she wanted a bite. It was a shocking thought, but she wanted to do it. She wanted to
