When New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens created the Cynsters, a phenomenon was born. Bold, passionate, and possessive, the Cynster men let nothing stand in their way when it comes to claiming the women of their hearts. Now, Stephanie Laurens has written her most romantic and powerful novel to date, one that dares tell The Truth About Love.
Gerrard Debbington is one of the chosen few -- the gentlemen who've learned their social and amorous skills at the feet of the masters. Handsome and wealthy, protégé and brother-in-law of Vane Cynster, Gerrard is part of the charmed Cynster family circle. One of the most eligible gentlemen in the ton, Gerrard is constantly besieged by offers from London's most sought-after beauties, but as the ton's foremost artistic lion, there's only one offer he wants to accept -- the chance to paint the fantastical but seldom-seen gardens of reclusive Lord Tregonning's Hellebore Hall.
That chance is dangled before Gerrard, but to grasp it he must fulfill Lord Tregonning's demand that he also create an open and honest portrait of the man's daughter. Gerrard loathes the idea of wasting his time and talents on some simpering miss, but with no alternative, he agrees ...
Only to discover that Jacqueline Tregonning inspires him as no other lady has. Certainly she is beautiful, but Gerrard is stunned by the deep emotions she stirs and is captivated by her passionate nature and innate goodness. He is soon convinced that Jacqueline is the soul mate he needs as his wife.
But something is horribly wrong at Hellebore Hall. Evil lurks in the beautiful gardens and along the rambling pathways. And that evil reaches out to ensnare Jacqueline, trapping her in a web of insidious whispers -- whispers that paint her as a double murderess.
The rumors are false, but someone is actively spreading them. Convinced that Jacqueline is innocent of all wrongdoing, Gerrard is confident his portrait will open others' eyes to the truth he sees, but when a long-dead body is discovered in the gardens, the campaign to blame Jacqueline escalates -- Gerrard and she are running out of time. The days they spend together lead to nights of sweeping passion -- and Gerrard vows to move heaven and earth to protect the woman who, for him, personifies the truth about love.
"Mr. Cunningham, as I've already made clear, I have no interest whatever in painting a portrait of Lord Tregonning's daughter." Gerrard Reginald Debbington lounged elegantly in an armchair in the smoking room of his select gentleman's club. Concealing his mounting frustration, he held Lord Tregonning's agent's gaze. "I agreed to this meeting in the hope that Lord Tregonning, having been informed of my refusal of the commission to paint the portrait, had agreed to allow me access to the Hellebore Hall gardens."
He was, after all, the ton's foremost landscape painter; Lord Tregonning's famous gardens were long overdue a visit from such as he.
Cunningham blanched. Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the papers spread on the small table between them.
Around them, a discreet hum held sway; Gerrard was peripherally aware of occasional glances thrown their way. Other members saw him, but on noticing Cunningham, they checked; recognizing that business was being conducted, they refrained from intruding.
<>Cunningham was in his mid-twenties, some years younger than Gerrard's twenty-nine. Attired in sober, rusty black over serviceable linen and a biscuit-colored waistcoat, his round face, faint frown, and the intent attention he gave to his papers marked him clearly as someone's business agent.
By the time Cunningham deigned to speak, Gerrard had a sketch assembled in his head, titled "Business Agent at Work."
"Lord Tregonning has instructed me to convey that while he appreciates your reservations over committing to a portrait of a subject you haven't yet seen, such reservations only strengthen his conviction that you are indeed the painter he needs for this work. His lordship fully comprehends that you will paint his daughter as you see her, without any obfuscation. That is precisely what he wishes -- he wants the portrait to be a faithful rendition, to accurately portray Miss Tregonning as she truly is."
Gerrard's lips thinned; this was going nowhere.
Without looking up, Cunningham went on, "In addition to the fee offered, you may take as many months short of a year as you deem necessary to complete the portrait, and over that time you will have unfettered access and unrestricted permission to sketch and paint the gardens of Hellebore Hall. Should you wish, you may bring a friend or companion; you would both be accommodated at Hellebore Hall for the duration of your stay."
Gerrard stifled his exasperation. He hadn't needed to hear that offer again, no matter how sweetly laced; he'd turned it down two weeks ago, when Cunningham had first sought him out.
Stirring, he caught Cunningham's eye. "Your employer misunderstands -- I do not, indeed, have never painted on commission. Painting is an abiding interest, one I'm wealthy enough to indulge. Painting portraits, however, is no more than an incidental pastime, successful perhaps, but not in the main of serious attraction to me, to my painterly soul if you will."
Not strictly true, but in the present circumstance, apt enough. "While I would be delighted to have the opportunity to paint the Hellebore Hall gardens, not even that is sufficient incentive to tempt me to agree to a portrait I have no inclination, or need, to paint."
Cunningham held his gaze. He drew in a tight breath, glanced briefly down, then looked up again, his gaze fixing over Gerrard's left shoulder. "His lordship instructed me to inform you that this will be his final offer ... and that should you refuse it, he will be forced to find some other painter to undertake the portrait, and that other painter will be accorded the same license in respect of the gardens as was offered to you.
