The Master and The Muses. Amanda McIntyre

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      “But I—” I started, but my protests dissolved when his hands circled my waist and he lifted me to the tabletop.

      Raucous laughter and applause followed as I looked down at the gallery of approving male faces. Thomas held my hand, displaying a sense of ownership that I found comforting.

      The brotherhood men nodded, waving their hands, motioning for me to turn. A couple of them lifted my skirt to view my ankles. Thomas slapped away their hands but laughed good-naturedly. After a moment or two, I offered a smile, dipping in a short curtsy. I no longer felt like that ugly duckling. I looked down at Thomas, his fingers locked with mine, his smile encouraging, and I believed I’d become a beautiful swan. The catcalls and whistles continued, drawing curious onlookers into the private circle.

      “Very well, gentlemen, that’s enough,” Thomas ordered, reaching up for me.

      I inched to the edge of the table and leaned forward. He grabbed me around the waist, his hands sliding precariously close to my breasts as he lifted me to the ground. He held my gaze possessively, letting my body slide slowly down the front of his.

      My feet touched the floor, but he continued to hold me close, his arm encircling my waist.

      “You’ve got your balance, then?”

      Pressed against his solid frame, I could barely think, my heart still beating from the rush of my initiation. Balance? Doubtful.

      “I do, Mr.—Thomas,” I answered, pleased when I saw Annie scowl and turn back into the crowd.

      Thomas kissed my forehead and drew back, his eyes resting for a heartbeat on my mouth before he returned his eyes to mine.

      “Welcome to the brotherhood, Miss Bridgeton.”

      “Do call me Helen,” I said bravely.

      “As you wish.” He grinned.

      I was living a lie, but to whose benefit? For two months, I had been telling Madame Tozier that my stomach was the cause of the many afternoons that I had asked to leave the shop early. However, as my acting skills grew weaker, the actual pains in my stomach increased. I found myself losing track of the days, and on more than one occasion I had nearly taken too much of my medicine, forgetting when I last took it. I could not sleep.

      William’s aloof behavior pervaded my mind. Since our liaison, he had not attempted to speak with me except in passing and was usually absent when I was at the studio. At night my mind would creep back to that summer afternoon, how the soft warm breeze had wafted over our fevered bodies. I lay on my bed, mesmerized by the flickering flame of the oil lamp beside my bed. I remembered his tongue, the roughness of his hands gliding over me, plucking my nipples until I begged for more. Desperate to recapture that euphoric feeling, I used my hands to imitate his, brushing my fingers through my soft curls and spreading my sweet crevice, mimicking the exquisite pleasure he’d given me. I licked my dry lips, arching my back to the memory of him heavy inside me, his body pressed to mine. In my mind, I saw the sweet determination in his gentle eyes, our bodies fused in delicious, slick friction. Then my body broke free, my muscles caressing, squeezing around him.

      I stared at the flame, drawing my hand over my stomach, my physical need now satiated. Nevertheless, I held on to the desperate longing for his affection, realizing with chilling clarity that perhaps he did not feel the same. I’d even written a poem for us called, Another Time, Another Place, and slipped it into William’s coat pocket hoping he might respond, but if he found it, he made no mention of it.

      It was of little surprise to me when William entered the studio one afternoon and announced his departure.

      “Well, I’m off soon. My train leaves within the hour.”

      “You’re leaving?” I rubbed the back of my neck, stiff and sore from sitting too long. I bowed my head so he would not see the disappointment in my eyes. “Thomas didn’t mention it.”

      “It’s just a short trip to Rome. I plan to tour a few cathedrals and perhaps a garden or two in search of inspiration.”

      “Be cautious of those beautiful gardens, Will. Some of their caretakers do not appreciate foreigners plucking them,” Thomas said with a smirk.

      It was evident he was speaking metaphorically of women. I brushed his comment from my mind, rubbing my arms under the sleeves of the itchy damask gown that Thomas insisted I wear. The two brothers embraced and William gave me a tight smile. “Miss Bridgeton.” He nodded.

      “Mr. Rodin.” I continued the appearance that we’d never been intimate with each other. If he could perform the task so well, I could, too. After William left, I followed Thomas out to the balcony. We stood watching his carriage amble down the cobblestone street.

      “I miss him like the devil when he’s gone,” Thomas said quietly.

      He sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on my head.

      “It’s just you and me now, Helen. He’s gone and left us behind while he trots off on a new adventure.”

      “Does he take these trips often?” I asked. The warmth of Thomas’s arms made me feel secure. It was his nature to be physical—he was prone to giving hugs and pecks on the cheek, even to the other men in the brotherhood.

      He lifted aside my unbridled hair and nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

      “When the spirit moves him. I prefer to find my inspiration closer to home.” The smell of wine wafted beneath my nose as his palm moved over my right breast, squeezing gently.

      “Are you inspired, my muse?” he whispered against the curve of my neck.

      I slipped from his grasp. “The light is waning, Mr. Rodin.”

      “I have asked that you call me Thomas,” he said with quiet firmness.

      “All right, Thomas. Still, if you wish to do more this afternoon before I leave—”

      “Oh, yes, my muse. I would love to do more.”

      “I’ve no doubt you would, Thomas. Do you think I am so innocent that I do not know your reputation?”

      He looked at me curiously. “I think you pretend not to know how you affect me, Helen.”

      “I do think, Thomas, that you have found your inspiration much too easily in the past.”

      His smile grew wide. “Aha! My innocent little muse has a cunning side, as well.”

      “I am not worldly, it is true, but I do know a rogue when I see one.”

      “A rogue?” He held his hand to his heart. “Woman, you wound me with your words far too romantic for a man like me. A man, as you say, of my reputation.”

      “Perhaps I should take my leave for the afternoon.” I turned away and he grabbed my arm.

      “My apologies, Helen. I had no idea that my affections would be repulsive to you.”

      “You are not repulsive to me, Thomas, nor are your affections. But do not think that because I am here, you may take advantage of the СКАЧАТЬ