The Master and The Muses. Amanda McIntyre

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СКАЧАТЬ fact that no man had ever paid so much attention to me before. Yet he seemed genuinely interested.

      “I wondered if you’d had a chance yet to consider my proposal.”

      I appreciate your patience, Mr. Rodin, and your tenacity.” My fingers tightened around my parasol’s handle.

      “My brother says that I am like a dog with a bone once my mind is made up on a matter.”

      His enchanting grin bolstered my confidence. “I am happy that you have not given up.”

      He stood before me looking quite dapper in his dark trousers and tan jacket. His wavy hair was brushed back behind his ears, accentuating his chiseled jaw. In his eyes, I saw a palatable hunger.

      Although I knew fully that it was not proper for a young woman to accept such a proposal, I had no reason to fear Mr. Rodin. My fear was that his resolve might weaken if I answered no again.

      He pulled a long-stemmed rose from behind his back and handed it to me.

      Charmed, I took it from him, touching the delicate petals to my mouth as I breathed in its lovely fragrance. Twice, no, three times now, he had given me flowers.

      “You received my flowers?” he asked, tipping his head.

      I hesitated, trying to find the best way to explain what had happened. “I did, thank you. However, I regret to have to tell you that I gave them away. I am not allowed to accept gifts at the store.”

      “Duly noted. I could see where a woman of your beauty could cause problems in that area.”

      I averted my eyes. “Please, Mr. Rodin.”

      “I mean every word, Miss Bridgeton,” he stated.

      He studied me for a long moment, tapping his hat against his leg and then smiled.

      “Well, it remains whether I can persuade you to visit the studio.”

      I could not have told him no had my life depended upon it. “Very well. Though you realize it is inappropriate for me to accept your invitation without a chaperone.” His eyes raked over me and I admit I quite enjoyed it. There was something daring in the line I was about to cross.

      “I believe you have a good head on your shoulders, Miss Bridgeton. I give you my oath, I will be a gentleman.”

      I took his proffered arm, hoping he would not be too much of one. I had dreamed for the past few nights of what it would be like to have his mouth on mine. I looked away, feeling my face flush again.

      Mr. Rodin and I walked leisurely through the park to the line of carriages awaiting passengers. He assisted me into a two-seater, settling in close beside me.

      “Cheyne Walk,” he told the driver.

      The open-air carriage jerked forward and I popped up my parasol to stave off the afternoon sun.

      “Will your brother be at the studio?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. I dared not look at him. Already I felt brazen at accompanying him without a proper chaperone.

      “If he isn’t, he will be shortly. He did mention meeting with some of the brotherhood this afternoon.”

      “Do you live at the studio with your brother?” I gave him a brief side look. He had a handsome profile, and I noted a cleft in his chin that I had not seen before.

      “When I’m in London, yes, I stay with Thomas. It was a little hard at first getting used to his quirks.” He chuckled. “Thomas paints when the mood strikes him—night or day.”

      I smiled pleasantly. I had apparently much to learn about the eccentric Thomas Rodin.

      The carriage jostled down the cobblestone street, the sun overhead causing me to grow warm. I had bathed and dressed in one of my best gowns, donning a hand-me-down corset I had received as a gift from one of the girls at work. Still, the heat beneath the layers of clothing was suffocating.

      At last, the carriage came to a stop in front of a tall, narrow, two-story stone flat. A small balcony looked out over the street from a set of French doors. It was simple, clean and neat, and appeared to be in a good district, putting my mind at ease in that regard.

      Mr. Rodin helped me from the carriage and ushered me up a few steps to a painted red door.

      “Here we are.”

      Inside, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the murky foyer. The entry was narrow, with a small room off to the right. I peeked inside, finding the room void of furnishings, but its floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with books.

      “The brotherhood are voracious readers,” Mr. Rodin said, leaning over my shoulder. “Come, I’ll show you the studio. It’s upstairs.”

      He placed his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me to the dark mahogany stairwell. Allowing me to go first, we walked up a short flight to a landing and took a sharp right turn to proceed up another set of stairs.

      I brushed my palm over the ruby-red wallpaper. It had a raised, velvety texture that I had never seen before. “This design is lovely.”

      From behind, his hand reached up to rest beside mine. “Do you like it?” he asked.

      I tried to ignore his close proximity, how the sound of his rich voice reverberated inside me. “The color is so elegant, like a red wine.” I looked over my shoulder and caught his pleased smile.

      “That was my inspiration.”

      “Your inspiration?” I asked, surveying the beautiful wall covering.

      “This was one of the first designs I sold to a manufacturer right here in London. Granted, it’s for a very limited clientele, but it’s a start.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “Doubtful my designs will ever hang in the academy.”

      “There are more homes in this world than museums or galleries, Mr. Rodin,” I responded without hesitation. He lowered his hand, brushing it against mine in the process.

      “Thank you, I’ve never thought of it that way.”

      I moved onward, more aware than ever of his presence behind me. At the top of the stairs was a wide hallway. Directly across from me was an open archway leading to a large room. To my right the corridor stretched past four more doors to the end of the hallway and a window festooned with delicate lace curtains. A putrid smell came from the larger room ahead and I lifted my hand to my nose. “Oh, goodness, what is that smell?”

      Mr. Rodin laughed. “Thomas would tell you that’s the smell of money.”

      He lightly touched my back, urging me forward.

      “You’ll get used to it. It’s the linseed oil and cleaner for the brushes,” he said over my shoulder. “You certainly smell far better.”

      “Mr. Rodin.” A giggle escaped my lips. He eased around me, his chest brushing my side. I held my breath, unnerved at my body’s reaction to him.

      “Come in.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ