Read Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) for Free Online

known full well and dressed her accordingly.
    “If I acted thoughtlessly, then please accept my unreserved apology.” His dark eyes unreadable, but he seemed in earnest and it was difficult to stay angry whilst feeling so breathless.
    “Very well, apology accepted. Perhaps I was a little hasty.”
     
     
    The landau negotiated the sharp turn at the end of the land and, threading through a maze of narrow streets, emerged onto a wide thoroughfare lined by towering limestone buildings. Beneath a crisp blue sky, they hadn’t gone far when they ground to a halt, caught up in an endless stream of carriages, carts and hackney cabs. Jack settled back against the leather upholstery.
    “Always busy at this time of day, I’m afraid. It’s not far but it will take a while.” The corners of his intriguing mouth lifted in the semblance of a smile.
    “Oh.” Eulogy’s chest constricted and her toes curled in her slippers. “So how do you earn a living?”
    “You are curious?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t see me as a clergyman then?”
    “Hardly.” The image of smitten female parishioners swooning in the aisles made her grin.
    “I deal in art. Spot early promise in an artist and use my connections to get commissions. I own The Gallery in Bond Street.”
    “Is that how you know Mrs. Parker? She is a client? Those were beautiful watercolors in the parlor.” Eulogy was becoming accustomed to erratic tripping of her heart.
    Mr. Huntley toyed with the silver handle of his cane. “In a manner of speaking, you see, in her day Mrs. Parker was quite a beauty and made her name as an artist’s model.”
    Eulogy gasped. Perhaps it was the jolting stop start of the carriage, but suddenly she felt sick. “Sir, you took me to the home of a woman whose morals are little better than…than…a woman of the street.”
    Mr. Huntley regarded her archly.
    “Now Miss Foster, your attitude disappoints me. Just because Mrs. Parker posed for artists, doesn’t make her any less respectable than you or I.”
    “But,” she stuttered. “Modeling is not a fitting occupation for gentlewomen. The impropriety of it!”
    Mr. Huntley’s lips set in a taut line, accentuating the latent power of his presence. “What then of the Queen, of the princesses and ladies that have sat for portraits? Does that make their morals questionable?”
    Eulogy’s cheeks grew pink. “Of course not. The artist is commissioned to paint them. They are chaperoned and money passes in the opposite direction. It is quite different.” Gripping the carriage handle, she wished for all the world she had never encountered Jack Huntley. He confused her and his suffocating presence was becoming intolerable.
    “Indeed? So if a woman of impeccable character finds herself fallen on hard times? What if she is kept off the streets because she inspires great works of art and in so doing keeps her virtue intact? By your standards instead she should starve…or worse…because of ill-conceived prejudice.”
    Eulogy let his words sank in. Mrs. Parker had been very kind, not at all how she imagined a lady of ill repute. Slowly, her indignation cooled.
    “Besides, Mrs. Parker has inspired the likes of Romney. Without her some of the towering works of this age would not have been created. Would you deprive mankind of art that makes the soul soar?”
    Eulogy swallowed her pride.
    “I’m afraid my experience of the world is limited. Until two days ago I lived exclusively in the country. I did not mean to slur Mrs. Parker’s reputation.”
    “Bravely said, Miss Foster. It takes courage to admit when one is wrong.” His half smile made Eulogy’s chest constrict. His voice grew quiet. “And it would be my pleasure to show you London, if you would allow it.”
    Had she heard correctly? For a fleeting moment she glimpsed softness behind the frosty façade. She blinked, struck by the sudden impression that Jack Huntley was not as hard and unfeeling as he would have her think. She chewed her