Jewel of My Heart by Rosemary Rogers released on Nov 24, 2004 is available now for purchase.

Jewel Of My Heart

By Rosemary Rogers

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-7783-2101-0

Chapter One

London, England Boxwood Manor September 1888

"Madison," Lady Westcott shrieked. "Madison Ann Westcott, unlock this door at once!"

Ignoring her mother, Madison concentrated, the tip of her tongue held between her teeth, as she drew her horse-hair paintbrush through the red ochre on the palette in her hand. With a broad, confident gesture, she stroked the color over the canvas in a sweeping, dark curve that was the man's shoulder.

She gazed up at the model, then back at her painting, and smiled, at last satisfied. She'd been laboring for two days on the hue of the male model's ebony skin, and, at last, she felt she had it.

"Madison, what are you doing in there? Unlock this door at once or I'll have Edward remove the hinges again," Lady Westcott threatened.

Cundo's intense, black-eyed gaze shifted past Madison to the secured double paneled walnut doors, but he did not move a muscle. "Honorable Miss, perhaps -" he began in a deep, melodious rumble.

"She'll admit defeat and withdraw, Cundo. She always does." Madison touched the streak of muscle on the black man's shoulder in her painting, shading it a bit more. "Do you need to relax a moment?" she asked, her gaze darting in his direction again. "Because, heaven knows I do. We've been at this for hours."

"Madison, I won't stand for this behavior any longer, do you hear me?" There was a knock on the door, then a bang, which was quite out of character for her mother.

"Your aunt has arrived and I demand that you come out of there! I insist that you go to your room, have Aubrey bathe you and then dress you fittingly, and that you come to the drawing room without delay."

Madison wiped her brush down the front of the white floor-length smock she wore over her nightdress, smearing paint but cleaning the bristles quite efficiently. Though it was near to four in the afternoon, she hadn't yet found time to dress. Not that she cared, but if her mother found her way into the studio, there would be hell to pay. All the more reason why she could not, presently, leave the studio.

"Tell Lady Moran I'm working," she called over her shoulder in the direction of the locked double doors. "Perhaps I'll see her tomorrow when she's rested from her journey."

Madison was, in fact, anxious to welcome the aunt she'd never met but had heard romantic tales of. But Lady Moran hadn't been due in until tomorrow, and an artist had to work when the muse bid, didn't she?

The doorknobs rattled one more time and then were silent. Her mother had capitulated and gone away, just as Madison had predicted.

"Please, Cundo," Madison said, setting her palette and brush on a small table beside her easel. "Let go of those frightful chains and come have some fruit juice with me." She waved to the only person she'd seen face-to-face in three days. When she was at work, she preferred not to be disturbed in any way, even for necessities. She'd commanded the servants to pass meager meals and liquid refreshment through a window that opened into the garden.

"Truly, I won't take no for an answer."

Reluctantly the man released the heavy, rusted chains wrapped around his wrists and let them fall to the floor, then stepped gracefully off the pedestal where Madison had him posed in front of a dark drape of fabric.

"It's freshly squeezed orange from our orangery," she cajoled, pouring two glasses. "I know you'll like it."

"C'mon, jus' like that?" the young housemaid from next door whispered. "She brought that creature in?"

Aubrey, Madison's personal maid, patted the young girl's hand. "Shh, Lettie. Else the miss will 'ear us and roast us both." She indicated the ebony-skinned man with a dip of her dimpled chin. "Sneaked 'im in, she did. Was barely dawn when she come in through the back servants' quarters door. I been tellin' yer fer months she in't got no decency."

The two young maids lay on their bellies beneath a table at the far side of the art studio, concealed by a large canvas drop cloth and stacks of Aubrey's mistress's canvases.

Lettie stared at the viscount's only daughter in astonishment. "Lady Westcott got ter be shocked."

"Garn!" Aubrey whispered harshly. "I daresay the lady don't know her daughter got a naked African in the studio! Poor Lady Westcott, she'd fall over dead if she knew."

Pushing back one corner of the drape that hid them, Lettie studied the powerfully built black man with fascination as he strode across the studio. She licked her dry lips. "'E ain't naked. 'E got that nappy thing goin' 'cross' is possibles."

"Garn, everything but!" Aubrey swore, eyeing the young man's muscular buttocks as he turned to accept a glass of juice from her mistress. "I told yer it would be well worth yers five pence to see 'im up-close like."

"Scand'lous. And 'er 'bout to be introduced to 'ciety." Lettie shook her mobcap-covered head.

"Hmm," Aubrey snorted. "Maybe she is and maybe she ain't."

Lettie's milky-blue eyes widened even further. "No! Do tell."

"That's why Lady Westcott's in such a tear. Not only has the young miss been livin' day and night in this studio, but she say she ain't attendin' her comin'-out ball come Saturday a fortnight."

"No," Lettie breathed.

"Would I lie ter yer, Lettuce Hogg?" Aubrey demanded in a heated whisper.

"'Course not."

"'Course not," Aubrey repeated. "Miss Madison say she ain't bein' introduced ter proper 'ciety, and she ain't marryin'."

"What is she doin'?"

"She say she's goin' to Paris ter paint with some man. Somebody called Master." Aubrey lifted one shoulder.

"Now, Miss Madison's comin'-out gown arrived yesterday," she continued. "The most beautiful gown yer ever seen in yer life. Fer two hours Lady Westcott tried to carrot 'er daughter out of 'ere. 'Course, she didn't know what was keepin' 'er." She nodded deliberately in the direction of the African.

Lettie gazed over her shoulder in the direction of the open window they'd climbed through to secretly gain entrance into the studio. "Why didn't Lady Westcott -"

Aubrey frowned, silencing her companion with a squeeze to her plump arm. "Yer don't think Lady Westcott would stoop to climbin' through windows?"

"'Course not," Lettie breathed.

"'Course not," Aubrey repeated, eyeing her mistress, who was now in conversation with the black man. "And if Miss Madison don't go to 'er comin'-out ball, you know wot that means."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Jewel Of My Heartby Rosemary Rogers Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
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