The Master and The Muses. Amanda McIntyre

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      Although I considered asking whether I might instead lie down for a while, I knew that once Thomas made up his mind he was not easily deterred.

      The carriage ride was indeed relaxing. We spoke little, enjoying the view, silent in our private thoughts. Once or twice I caught Thomas looking at me and we would share a friendly smile. Since our conversation on the balcony, he’d not made any further advances. I often wondered, knowing the healthiness of his sexual appetite, how he was satisfying his cravings.

      Thomas tapped the driver with his cane and we came to a stop by a small grove of willow and oak trees.

      “You’re welcome to go up to the house, good man. You’ll find a well there to water your horses. I’ll fetch you when we’re ready.”

      He grabbed a small basket and stepped down, holding his hand out to me. “Come on, I want to show you the grounds.”

      “Will the owners mind us traipsing around the property?” I asked, noting a small cottage in the distance.

      “It belongs to the brotherhood.” He offered his hand to help me down.

      Thomas continued to hold my hand, guiding me through the knee-length grass. Overhead, the sun shone in a brilliant blue sky. I breathed deeply. The setting was beautiful and it reminded me of the places I had played as a child. “The brotherhood? What would the brotherhood need with all of this land?” I asked, ducking beneath the low-hanging branches of the willow trees as best I could. One snagged my bonnet, pulling it away from my head.

      Thomas laughed and reached up, loosening my coppery hair and causing it to spill over my shoulders. He stopped, holding my hat in his hand, and fingered my hair. “Breathtaking,” he said, taking a strand and brushing it over his cheek. “You have a natural beauty that few women can boast of, Helen. You should embrace it with great confidence.”

      We sat beneath a willow, lunching on fresh peaches and cheese, bread and wine. He tore a loaf of bread and offered me a taste.

      “We’ve talked about building a communal studio.” He stood and shook off his coat.

      “What?” I asked, swallowing the bread without properly chewing it. I washed it down with a large gulp of wine. “Why would you want to leave the studio? Would you all live here together?”

      Thomas stretched out on his side, crossing his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s the perfect solution, really. Sharing props, easels, paints—”

      “Models?” I asked, feeling a tinge of jealousy.

      He leveled his gaze on me. “That has always been the way of it. From the formation of the brotherhood—we share and share alike.”

      “I do not think I like the idea, Thomas.” I tipped back my glass and finished off the wine. I sensed it warring with my medicine, causing my tongue to loosen.

      “Because you are uncomfortable around the brotherhood?” he asked quietly.

      “I don’t think they like me, Thomas. I hear their whispers when I don’t laugh at their lewd jokes.”

      “Lewd? Why, Helen, I never took you for a stick-in-the-mud.”

      I paused from filling my cup, my ire rankled. “I am no such thing, I assure you. I simply prefer different company.” I took another sip of wine and bit into a ripe peach. The juice dribbled past my lips and trickled down my chin before I could catch it with my fingers. Tiny droplets landed on the flesh exposed above my bodice.

      I watched his eyes follow the liquid. A slow throbbing tugged betwixt my legs.

      “And whose company do you prefer, Helen, if not that of the brotherhood?”

      His gaze flicked up to mine and I swallowed. Beyond the sound of my breathing was the din of nature—the buzzing, the chirping and the chattering.

      “I prefer when it is only you and me, Thomas,” I confessed, unable to take my eyes from his.

      “And why on earth would you have the desire to be alone with the likes of me?” His grin was tempting, as he intended it to be, I am certain.

      “Do not think I am like Annie, Thomas,” I warned, pointing my finger at him.

      He caught my hand, turning it so that the peach dropped to the ground. Then one by one, he drew my fingertips into his mouth, sucking off the juice.

      “Believe me, Helen. You and Annie are nothing alike.”

      “Do not mock, me, Thomas. True, I am not as free and easy as Annie is. I have not perfected the art of flirting with a man.” I pushed to my feet, humiliated…no, insulted that he did not know me well enough to understand. I pressed my hands against the tree, shielding my face from his view. He touched my shoulder.

      “Helen, I wasn’t mocking you,” he said. “Turn around and talk to me.”

      I faced him, my heart pounding with my wounded pride, determined that I would speak my mind. “I admit that in many ways I am innocent. Surely by comparison to your other muses, you must think me but a country nitwit.”

      “Helen, of course not.” He smoothed his hand over my cheek. “You misunderstood what I said.” He smiled down at me. “No, my sweet Helen. You—”

      He kissed my forehead.

      “—are so much more—”

      His mouth drifted to my eyelid, to my cheek, and hovered over my mouth.

      “—fascinating.” He brushed my lips, teasing, until I leaned forward to meet his mouth. I tasted the wine on his lips, his tongue, as they melded with mine.

      I was glad for the firm support of the tree against my spine. My fingers dug into the bark as he left a trail of warm, wet kisses down my throat.

      “On the contrary, Helen—” his hot breath seared my flesh “—I find you utterly beguiling.”

      My eyes floated shut and William briefly crossed my mind. But Thomas’s kisses, deep and thorough, left me breathless, dissolving what was left of his brother in my heart.

      “William was right in choosing you,” he whispered. “He knew I would be infatuated.”

      He held my face, his thumbs stroking the tender spot beneath my jaw.

      “Is it wrong for me to feel this wicked, Thomas?” I reveled in how it felt to have someone desire me, to know that I was capable of giving back pleasure.

      “Do you wish to feel wicked, Helen?” he asked.

      “Yes, Thomas. Teach me.” I surrendered to his arduous attention, tired of carrying around my burdensome concerns. He reached around me, working at the buttons of my gown. I smoothed my hands along his strong forearms, my fingers sliding through his as I drew his hands between us. I looked up at him. “Teach me how to please you.”

      He searched my eyes. “Very well, muse. As you wish.”

      He held my curious, hungry gaze, as he peeled СКАЧАТЬ