The Master & the Muses (18 page)

I heard Thomas's raucous laughter below and took another quick look at the mysterious coach. Determined not to let my imagination ruin Thomas's surprise, I focused on the carriage. A man stood to the side as Thomas paid the driver. “It's about time you arrived,” I called down to him. “We've been waiting for you.”

He looked up and grinned. “How very much like Shakespeare's Juliet you appear as you lean over the balcony. There is someone I am anxious for you to meet. We'll be up in a few moments.”

“I think Sara was considering the idea…wait a minute, let's ask her.”

I heard my name and stepped back inside, walking to where the group sat around the fire, lounging with their drinks in hand.

“You wanted to ask me what?” I asked, taking a sip of my port. I did not fear the questions the brotherhood could dredge up, especially under the influence of a good port. Quite often, they included me in their conversations, drawing me in to ask my opinion as a woman.

Watts leaped up and offered me his chair, but I declined, preferring to stand. He returned to his seat and gave me a wicked smile as he patted his lap. “Here then, perhaps?” He wiggled his brows. I shot him a look of friendly warning.

Woolner spoke up, addressing me. “Wasn't it you, Sara, who was so fascinated by the nipple piercing of the woman at the club a few weeks back?”

Everyone's attention turned, awaiting my response. Grace sat on the arm of a chair, sipping from her glass. Her luminous blue eyes drifted up to look at me. “I found them interesting, I sup
pose,” I answered cautiously as I suspected there was more to this topic than mere conversation. I scanned their faces. “Why do you ask, gentlemen?”

“We were curious, if you'd ever consider doing it.” Hunt leaned forward in his chair, his dark brown eyes alive with interest. A hush had come over the room. I glanced at Grace, whom I barely knew, but the crook of her eyebrow conveyed a private challenge.

“Is it dangerous, do you think, for your health?” I asked, delaying any sort of commitment to an answer.

Woolner chuckled, raising his glass. “It seems every woman at the club has them and, by God, they all look in splendid health to me!” Rousing laughter followed on the heels of his comment.

I took a long swallow on my second glass of port for the evening and set the empty glass on the table. Summoning my courage, I slanted Grace a side look. “Well, gentlemen, I suppose it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility,” I answered with a careless shrug.

Woolner let out a whoop and slapped his leg. He held out his palm to Watts and grinned as money was exchanged between them.

“See there, I told you that you underestimate our little Sara!” Woolner said.

I was aware, then, that it had been a ruse, a mere bet between brothers about how open-minded I was. I laughed along with them but wished that Thomas would hurry upstairs. I started for the door to see the reason for his delay.

“I will do it,” Grace stated boldly.

That got the attention of every man in the room, as it did mine.

“That's right. I'll do it right now, if Sara agrees to perform the task.”

My eyes widened. Had she really suggested such an absurd idea?

“Ouch,” I heard one of the men mutter under his breath.

She shrugged. “How bad can it be? Come on, Sara, I understand you're good with a needle and thread.”

“That won't be necessary, Grace, and you might want to watch how much more of that port you have tonight.” Thomas stepped into the room behind me, his hand patting the small of my back.

“Good God, Grace, as if we don't have enough tongues wagging against us as it is! Can you imagine if something went awry and you wound up in the infirmary, what those bastard critics would do to us in the papers?” He walked to her, smoothed his hand over her cheek and looked at me.

“Now if my two favorite women are done with this nonsense, I suggest that if anything should be allowed to touch either of you lovely creatures it should be me.”

He smiled as he drew me into his arms and kissed my cheek.

“Let it go, my muse,” he whispered in my ear. “Now give me that beautiful smile of yours and meet our new brother.”

“EVERYONE, I'D LIKE YOU TO MEET MR. EDWARD
Rhys, the newest member of our little den of creativity.”

I looked behind me, having quite forgotten that Thomas said he had someone with him. The gentleman stepped from the shadows into the glow of the firelight. He was on the thin side, and his face showed more than a week's beard, not allowing for any possibility of seeing what his face truly looked like. He wore his hair long, and it appeared he'd not bathed in a few days. His eyes were his most striking feature, a pale gray-green that held your gaze. I knew immediately that Thomas saw in them great potential.

“Mr. Rhys comes from Wales. He's been traveling, doing research, selling his paintings in the manner most artists do, doing portraits for hire down at the Cremorne. I finally convinced him to join us and soak up some of our creative genius.”

“Mr. Rhys, welcome. I'm Sara.”

He held out his hand, taking mine in a gentle grasp and offering a smile that was just as charming. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

He followed Thomas around the room, greeting each of the brothers. Grace stood, offering her hand to him. “Mr. Rhys, it's nice to see Thomas took my advice.”

“Thank you, Grace.” Rhys took Grace's hand and kissed it.

“As if you wouldn't shove your advice down my throat, woman, if I didn't,” Thomas laughed. “Still, I'm grateful to you this time. This one has real talent.”

“Yes, I'm very aware that Mr. Rhys is something special,” she remarked, slanting him a smile.

An uncomfortable silence followed and Grace chuckled quietly. She boldly walked up to Thomas and started to give him a kiss. He turned, offering his cheek instead. They grinned at each other and Grace smacked him on the shoulder then went back to her seat.

The rest of the group didn't seem to notice the interaction nor the fact that Mr. Rhys seemed lost. It looked like the poor man hadn't eaten in days. “Come, Mr. Rhys, get yourself a plate. We have all this food and barely anyone has touched a bite.” I took Mr. Rhys's arm, guided him to the banquet table and offered him a plate.

It did not take him long to fill his plate, with no hand to carry his drink.

“Let me bring your drink,” I said, pouring a glass of red table wine. He glanced up at me, nodded and scanned the room, choosing the spot at the end of the large table apart from the cluster of chairs near the fire.

“There you go,” I placed the glass in front of him, waiting a moment for a response. There was something different about him. He seemed more down-to-earth in his manner.

I looked up at Thomas as he joined his new protégé at the table. He reached for my hand and drew me to his side.

“Thank you, my dear, for preparing such a grand feast and for making Mr. Rhys feel welcome here.” He reached over and slapped Rhys on the back. “You'll not find a woman any better than Sara.” Our guest looked up, his eyes lingering on mine until at last I looked away.

I caught Thomas's expression of concern, the compassion in his eyes for Mr. Rhys. He shook his head as if to tell me it would be well.

“We'll get you a nice place to lay your head, Edward. After a stout breakfast, we'll get started setting up a spot for you here in the studio.” Thomas smiled.

While Thomas and the others visited, I snuck out of the studio and readied Mr. Rhys's bedroom. The room had formerly belonged to Thomas's flesh-and-blood brother. I'd never met him, but Thomas had nothing but praise for him. It was in passing conversation with one of the other artists one day that I found out that the woman Thomas's brother left to marry was Thomas's first wife. That alone explained why Thomas was not yet ready to commit to a relationship, perhaps. Lately he'd taken to spending several nights a week in my bed, but I wondered if his nightly visits would slow with a new guest in the house? I was unsure that I truly wanted to be tied down to Thomas, anyway. I was making good money and had been building a nice nest egg to further my adventures. I was supplied with everything that I needed and I had great admiration and a healthy respect for my employer. What more did I need than that? The goals that I'd set out for myself were slowly coming to fruition. Still, while I was open to the possibilities with Thomas, I had to consider, too, the other influences in his life—one of them being his mysterious bond with Grace Farmer.

I'd just laid out fresh towels on the end of the bed and turned to leave when I abruptly ran into Mr. Rhys's chest. A gasp flew from my throat as he grasped my arms to prevent me from toppling backward. His light green eyes held my gaze intently. I cleared my throat, looking for my voice. “I left toiletries by your basin,” I stated, unsure how to read his expression. “And the loo is right next door.”

He let his arms fall to his sides as he stepped around me and picked up a fresh towel, burying his face in the fabric.

I paused at the door, looking back over my shoulder, and watched as he leaned down and slowly rubbed his hand over the bedcovering. I wondered what he'd been through before Grace found him. I suspected I would learn the answer with time. “If you need anything, Mr. Rhys, I'll just be in the studio.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rodin. You've been more than kind, both you and your husband.”

I opened my mouth to correct his misjudgment, instead offering him a smile. “Please call me, Sara.”

“Aye, then…thank you, Sara,” he said.

The sound of my name rolled off his tongue like a sweet confection. It was lovely, his voice and his manner. A vast change from the brotherhood, who were always so loud and boisterous, constantly teasing and joking about.

“Good night then, Mr. Rhys,” I said, closing the door behind me.

 

“You were very kind to our guest tonight, thank you.” Thomas lay on his side, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger.

“I don't mind, Thomas. I find it interesting that Mr. Rhys thought we were husband and wife.” I tossed the idea out to see what his response would be.

“Our relationship is a healthy one, don't you agree?” He leaned down to give me a tender kiss. “What Mr. Rhys thinks of our relationship is of no concern to us, now is it?”

It was clear he didn't wish to discuss his marriage with me. Instead, he'd led me to think that bachelorhood was his preference. And whatever his reason, perhaps it was. That suited me just fine, so long as I was the only one he was sleeping with.

“Is
Grace's
view of our relationship of any importance to you, Thomas?” I asked, needing to know what underlying bond they shared.

“Sara, you shouldn't fret over Grace. She and I have known each other a long time.”

“Yes, it seems she makes that point clear every time she sees me. Perhaps she's jealous?”

The moonlight from beyond the window streamed in across the bedsheets. I curled in close to Thomas, feeling a sudden chill. His arm came around me, holding me to his chest.

“Grace? Jealous? I think you misjudge the woman. Grace is a free spirit. We've always had an understanding, she and I. I don't try to hold her down and she is free to come and go as she pleases. I think what you see is her natural protectiveness of me.”

“Free as in she is able to sleep with whomever she pleases?” I asked, wanting to ask if he shared the same free-spirited ideals.

A long silence stretched out before he answered. “Is she sleeping with one of the brothers?” he asked.

His question in answer to mine caused me to lean back, searching his handsome face. I understood that there were likely some residual wounds left from his first marriage, in light of the fact he did not speak of his wife, yet he seemed even more defensive about Grace. “I have no idea, Thomas, who she might be sleeping with, nor do I care.” I kissed the warm, firm plane of his chest, feeling his body come alive at my touch. “With the exception of you, of course.” I smiled, leaving a trail of kisses down the midline of his torso. I suppose it was egotistical to think that could be all it took to awaken his passion. Still, I didn't want him to think about Grace, even as a friend.

A sound in the hall startled us both, neither of us being used to anyone else staying overnight in the two-story flat. He chuckled low and drew my face up to meet his.

“There's a favor I want to ask of you, Sara,” he said, turning to his side to face me.

I tucked a shock of his hair over his ear and kissed him slowly. “What is it, my love?” It was a term of endearment, nothing more. We both knew it.

“I would like you to pose for Edward. I'm not working on anything at the moment.”

I slid my hand down between us, encircling the warmth of his hardening shaft. “I wouldn't say that's entirely true, Master Rodin.”

Thomas chuckled. “You are a wicked little muse.”

He playfully smacked my bottom and I buried my face in his chest, joining his quiet laughter.

“Yes, you are,” he whispered turning me to my back. “But I think you rather like it.” He nudged my knees apart and, on one swift movement, entered me with a pleased sigh.

He rolled his hips, rocking gently until I arched against him in a silent plea.

“Wicked muse,” he laughed quietly, withdrawing partway and lifting one of my legs over his shoulder. He pushed in again, emitting a groan that caused me to unravel beneath him.

An explosive climax overtook me and I shoved the sheeting against my mouth as he continued his insistent thrusts, prolonging my pleasure. He bent my knee, changing his angle, setting off another climax. This time he joined me, uttering a sensuous groan deep in his throat.

Lifting my calf, he kissed my ankle, gliding his hand over my heated flesh. I did not want to ask where he had acquired his lovemaking skills, but I was grateful for them just the same.

“I need my sleep now, you wanton woman.” He let out a short laugh as he stretched out at my side, covering us both with the sheets. “Then it's settled?” Thomas yawned, jabbing at his pillow to fluff it.

“You mean sitting for Mr. Rhys?”

“Mmm-hmm, yes.” His voice was drifting.

“If you want me to, Thomas, I will.”

He reached for me, patting my hip.

“I cannot hold you forever, Sara, can I? You all leave me, you always do.”

I turned on my side to face him, tucking my hand under my cheek as I watched him sleep. “I wouldn't leave, Thomas,” I barely whispered, too afraid to admit to the words. “Not if you asked me to stay.”

 

I awoke to the sun warming my face. I turned with a smile to wake Thomas and found the bed beside me empty. In his stead, a note lay on the pillow.

It did not bother me to pose for Mr. Rhys, but what unnerved me was Thomas leaving me to settle in our new guest. His silent demeanor was difficult to read.

I drew on my dressing robe to go to the loo, not wishing to run into Mr. Rhys in my altogether. I opened the door and the lavatory door opened at the same time, revealing a fine-looking sculpted torso and trousers that hung on lean hips. A towel covered Mr. Rhys's face. “Good day to you, Mr. Rhys,” I chirped, setting aside the fact that I found myself staring at his body.

He dropped the towel and my eyes were immediately drawn upward to his handsome, rugged face. He had shaved off the beard, leaving behind a smooth, chiseled jaw. His dark golden hair hung to his ample shoulders in enticing wet ringlets. He flashed me a smile that had me reaching for the door frame.

“G'day, I am sorry if you had to wait. I thought I should try to make myself a bit more presentable.”

“Indeed,” I said, staring blatantly at him, the sound of his voice like an instrument.

“You have a lovely accent, Mr. Rhys.” I hadn't moved from my spot in the doorway.

He grinned shyly and looked down, raking his hand through his hair. “I'm sorry. My brogue gets a bit thick, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, no, it's…
lovely.
Interesting,” I remarked, pulling my robe closer around me. His shoulders were well toned, his skin bronzed from being outdoors. I hurried inside the loo before he could see the warmth staining my cheeks.

“Let me get dressed and I'll make us some tea,” I said.

He nodded with a brief smile and headed to his room.

“Oh, I was wondering if you might have time to do a wee bit of posing for me, Mrs. Rodin.”

“Yes, Thomas asked me to help you get your things set up in the studio. I'd be happy to pose if you'd like to get started.”

“Wonderful, thank you, Mrs. Rodin.”

I paused, trying to find the right words to convey that Thomas and I were not married. “Mr. Rhys, it is sufficient to call me Sara, since we are, after all, going to be working together.”

“Very well, Sara,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “If you're sure that Thomas won't mind the familiarity.”

“Mr. Rodin and I…well, we aren't…” I stammered, looking for the right words.

“Ah, I see, now,” he said, “you're lovers, then?”

I stared at him, surprised by his bluntness. When I did not respond, he stopped and looked at me, his eyebrows lifted in question.

“I'm not sure that is any of your affair, Mr. Rhys.”

A smile curled up the side of his face.

“I'll take that as a yes, then, Sara, and no, it probably isn't my affair…but it surely makes life interesting.”

 

For the better part of the next month, I sat on a wood box, dressed in a long, sufferingly hot vestment of dark blue, a sheet draped over my head to resemble a wimple. My duty was to hold my hands up in prayerful pose, as if speaking to God. The days were long and tedious. Unlike Thomas, who often spoke aloud and paced when he worked, Mr. Rhys uttered few words and rarely strayed from his task.