Charlotte abruptly stood from her chair and went to stand in front of his panel. “Sometimes that is necessary,” she said quietly. “If you recall, you addressed me as Mr. Beaumont for a good while.”

Flynn shook his head. “You misunderstand me. You have only ever been you, even if you’ve dressed as a boy. You once told me that who we are and the experiences that go with that are what gives our work life. You were right.” The words were tumbling out in a rush in his need to make her understand.

Charlotte turned to look at him, a strange expression on her face. “Flynn, there is something that I should—”

“Please, let me finish,” he implored, afraid that, if he didn’t say this all now, he never would.

Charlotte fell silent.

“When I met Lady Cecelia, I was blinded with her beauty and infatuated with the ease in which she moved through a world that I thought I needed to conquer. She promised me that with her by my side, I would gain both recognition and respect from the members of the Royal Academy and their wealthy, titled patrons. And she made me believe that she loved me, right up until the day that I proposed to her.”

“You asked her to marry you?” She sounded stricken.

Flynn flinched. “Very publicly. And just as publicly, she laughed at me, as did every one of her titled friends. The subsequent scandal sheets and gossip rags reminded everyone that the sons of whores do not marry ladies. That any exposure I had gained as Lady Cecelia’s lover should simply be considered compensation for services rendered. The son of a whore should know how that worked better than anyone.”

He heard her suck in a breath.

“In the blink of an eye, I went from being considered a serious artist to a plaything for the Lady Cecelias of the world. I was forced to seek commissions outside of London where bored, titled ladies did not propose contracts of a more carnal sort.”

“Flynn—”

“I should have known better from the very beginning,” he said with a sigh. “Because in all the time that I was with Cecelia, she never let me forget where I came from. She maintained that my past was something that I needed to overcome if I ever wanted to be an individual of importance.” He took a deep breath. “But growing up, there was goodness beside the awfulness, love beside the hate, and the sum total of all of that is a part of me. I refuse to sacrifice my sense of self on society’s altar of smug self-importance. I don’t want to forget where I come from.”

“Nor should you ever.” She pivoted away from him again. “I feel sorry for her.”

“For who? Cecelia?”