The artist’s name was Renzo. I don’t think I mentioned this before, but he is a handsome man, tall, with a mane of black hair. We had a most enjoyable dinner; I made sure not to eat too much, since I find s****l exercise on a full stomach not comfortable. But, being slightly nervous, I did drink two or three glasses of the Count’s excellent wine.
When the table had been cleared and the servants retired, the Count ushered us upstairs to his bedroom. He and Renzo sat down in armchairs, leaving me standing in the centre of the room. I was very aware of both men’s eyes on me.
“I should like you to disrobe for us, Jane,” the Count said. “I think Renzo will be interested to cast a professional eye over your body. Perhaps he might like to paint you.”
I said nothing but began to undress. When
