Читать книгу The Master and The Muses - Amanda Mcintyre - Страница 11

HIS FINGERS WERE WARM AS HE LACED THEM through mine. It would have been wiser for me to run. There was danger that he would snatch my virtue; perhaps more that I would allow it. I closed my eyes to the divine sensation of his thumb brushing back and forth over my wrist, aware of the desire rising inside me.

“What are you doing, Mr. Rodin?” I said breathlessly.

“How could my brother not find you absolutely perfect, Miss Bridgeton? He would have to be blind.”

My heart thudded as I turned to meet his smoldering eyes. Unable to move, I fought to collect my thoughts, searched for a reason to deny what my body craved. I had spent days thinking of nothing but William.

“My father cautioned me that men, especially men who want something, will stop at nothing to achieve their purpose. Is that what you’re doing, Mr. Rodin?” His eyes drifted to my mouth and I knew his curiosity matched mine.

“I confess, Miss Bridgeton, that since we first met, you have pervaded my thoughts.” His crystalline blue eyes met my gaze.

“I pray, do not tease me, sir.” I could not tell if my stomach was misbehaving or if more was happening to me. I had a dull ache deep inside—a yearning that I could not explain.

His grip tightened as he leaned toward me. The struggle for restraint was evident in his eyes and in the tick of his set jaw. A gust of hot air blew through the open balcony doors, sending a rustle of papers to join the pleasant buzz beginning in my head.

“And you, Miss Bridgeton, do you not know how you’ve bewitched me?”

He moved closer, afraid, I think, to frighten me. His warm, musky scent overtook my senses as he searched my eyes, asking silent permission. The mere brush of his lips to mine snatched my breath away, unleashing a primal need.

I boldly met his mouth, secretly thrilled by his deep-throated growl as he backed me against the wall. I curved my body to his hard muscled warmth, sensing his arousal through the layers of clothing between us.

Sweat trickled between my breasts, skittering over my heated flesh. The images conjured by the couple in the gardens leaped into my mind. I gave in to the lustful sounds in my memory, causing a ravenous fire to course through me.

I savored William’s mouth slanting over mine, seducing, pulling me deeper under his spell, and whimpered softly when his greedy tongue plunged between my lips. He smelled of the warm summer wind, tasted of honeyed tea and cinnamon.

“God, but you are lovely,” he said, his lips nibbling the sensitive flesh beneath my ear. “Tell me you’ve thought of this,” he whispered. “That you’ve wanted this as much as I have dreamt of it.”

His hand glided upward, over my waist, pushing higher until his palm closed gently over my covered breast. I squirmed beneath his fervent kisses, succumbing to the rapture of his intimate caress.

“I need to…I must touch you.”

He looked at me with those mesmerizing eyes, demanding more. Despite the warring factions in my head cautioning me to end this, I could not refuse him—I did not want to refuse him.

I turned my back to him, lifting my hair to allow ease in unbuttoning my dress. His lips pressed to my exposed flesh, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine and straight to my core. Half-dressed now, I laid my cheek against the cool plaster wall, enjoying the brush of his hands as he peeled the dress slowly down over my body.

He kissed my shoulder, turning me to face him and, for a moment, we stared at each other. Frozen, I stood still as his eyes raked over me, assessing, deciding, it seemed, whether to continue. Before now, I’d never compared myself to another woman. I worried my lip, a nervous habit I deplored, but I feared he was having second thoughts.

My body trembled, alive with anticipation. He set to the task of unhooking the closures down the front of my corset, stopping intermittently to capture my face in a spine-tingling kiss. “Hurry,” I whispered, anxious to be rid of my confinements.

I braced against the wall, grateful when he slid the stiff corset from around me. My breasts bobbed free, straining against my whisper-thin camisole. He dipped his head, closing his mouth over the fabric, drawing the rosy tip of my breast between his lips, teasing, taunting me.

My fingers tangled in his hair, kneading with luxurious euphoria, desire pulsing hot inside me. Through hooded lids, I watched how his mouth mastered my body, summoning new sensations.

Between scalding kisses, he tugged the wispy fabric over my head, binding my hands in the cloth, holding them above as he captured my mouth in a fierce kiss. William pulled back, took a deep breath and leaned his forehead to mine.

“It is the last thing I want, Helen, to deceive you or to make you think that your father is right. I did not plan this, and if you tell me to stop, I will, without question. But I pray you do not.” He swallowed hard, searching my eyes.

I reached for his face, my fingertips—tentative, unsure—touching the roughness of his shadowy beard, fueling the fire already in my blood.

“I will not stop you, Mr. Rodin. I have thought of little else these past days.” I met his mouth, coaxing him back to me, my hands awkwardly working at the buttons of his shirt between my fervent need to taste his mouth.

He took my hands and kissed them, stepping away to peel off his shirt and drop it in haste to the floor. My breath caught at the breadth of his shoulders, the soft dusting of hair on his sculpted chest. He was every bit as well formed as the statues I had seen at the museum.

The intensity of my fleshly appetite surprised me. It was as though another woman had been awakened in me. The sheen of his hard muscled flesh left me languid, craving his touch.

He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of my drawers, his eyes locked to mine as he drew them over my hips and waited for me to step from them. I pressed my palms against the wall, wearing nothing now but my old high-top boots.

“I am about to burst looking at you,” he said. “See what you do to me.”

My eyes lowered to the raised definition in his trousers, then flickered back to his heated gaze. The fact that I had caused his arousal, something that I’d never done for a man, delighted me. Still, I was not sure precisely what to do next. I did not have to ask.

He dropped to his knees, circling my waist with his hands, drawing my body to his mouth. He lavished attention on one breast and then the other.

“You are a virgin, aren’t you?” he whispered.

His breath caused the gooseflesh to rise on my exposed skin. I nodded, my eyes fluttering shut as his kisses descended to my hip, his mouth kissing the tops of my thighs.

He lifted my leg over his shoulder, parting my feminine folds. I let out a small gasp as he slid his calloused thumb along my warm, wet maidenhood. My back arched forward and I covered my mouth to quell the soft sounds coming from my throat. His finger slid deeper and my hands flew to his head, in an effort to keep my weak knees from buckling.

“Don’t be afraid, Helen. I’ll take care of you,” he soothed.

Sweat formed on my upper lip; my throat was parched. I was a stranger to this bliss, following blindly, my mind spinning in carnal bliss.

“I want you to remember this, Helen. Remember that it was me.”

His hot breath on the inside of my thigh preceded the slow stroke of his tongue inside my drenched cleft. Brought entirely under this wanton turbulent need, I welcomed his intrusion and rocked my hips gently, inviting more from his rapturous tongue.

His tongue flicked a spot that brought me to my toes. I was like a glass teetering on the edge of a shelf, about to break. I held his face in my hands as he looked up at me.

“Tell me what you want, Helen,” he said. His breathing was shallow, his eyes glittering with desperate urgency. “Be certain.”

“Do not stop, not now.” I brushed my hand over his hair and he offered a wicked smile.

He stood and swiftly unfastened his trousers, shoving them to his feet. I stared in rapt fascination at his swollen member jutting toward me. Fear flashed in my mind, but I wanted this as I had never wanted anything before in my life. My eyes rose to his heated gaze.

I’d never felt so reckless, so deliciously wicked. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he cupped my bottom, lifting me around his waist. His eyes held mine as he braced his hands against the wall and slowly entered me, hesitating when a gasp tore from my throat. The short pain gave way to a greater bliss and I welcomed the slick friction of our fused bodies.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, raking his mouth across the top of my shoulder.

“Yes,” I sighed, beginning to move with his rhythmic thrusts. I held his face to my neck, pushing my mother’s scowling face from my mind, instead delighting in these new, wondrous sensations.

He straightened, repositioning himself, and thrust deeper, a possessive glint darkening his eyes.

“Look at me, Helen,” he said, his voice rasping from his throat. Sweat dripped from his brow, his breath hissing with each lunge. My body wound tight, my every sense sharpened. The thick scent of linseed and paint mingled with the drugging heat of the sultry summer evening. The flesh on my back stung where it rubbed against the plastered wall.

My control shattered and I gasped, quaking with unspeakable delight. I gripped his shoulders, hooking my legs firm around his waist. William panted hard with each thrust, driving impossibly deep—

He shifted, and the movement increased the wave of tremors rolling through my body, unraveling me. His muscles bunched beneath my clinging fingers.

My name wrenched from his lips as he pushed into me thrice more, and with a shuddering sigh dropped his forehead to my shoulder.

A breeze wafted through the balcony doors, cooling our sweat-drenched bodies. I turned my eyes to the waning light outside, surprised by how different things looked. How my body was satisfied, but my heart was still uncertain. I did not expect false promises, or a proposal of marriage to amend our wanton lust. However, I was not prepared for the stark emptiness inside of me at their absence. My eyes were blurred with unshed tears. He leaned back, his eyes soft with concern.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, kissing my forehead.

The juncture betwixt my thighs was sore. I offered a wobbly smile, memorizing the sensation of him still nestled deep inside me. “No,” I answered shyly. How could I tell him that I would marry him this instant if he asked?

He eased away, holding me like a delicate vase.

“Careful,” he said with a quiet dignity. “You’re all right, you’re sure?”

My flesh grew cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself, searching the floor for my clothes.

Without comment, he handed me my undergarments. I sensed his discomfiture through his formality.

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.” My words sounded strange. I smiled, afraid to allow my true emotions to show.

His eyes met mine, and where I had seconds earlier seen concern, I saw little more than guilt. We dressed silently as if embarrassed by our impetuous actions. This behavior was new to me, as I suspected it may have been to him. He’d called me Helen in the throes of passion, I realized. How should I address him now? The socially expected protocol of Mr. Rodin hardly seemed necessary now.

He was a quiet man—caring and attentive. A confident man, in my view, having no need for constant reassurance. Still, I could not understand his silence. Had my silly heart chosen to see only what it wanted, rather than what was real? Dear heavens, had my father been right all along?

William finished dressing and walked out to the balcony. I followed, pausing for a moment at the open double doors. He leaned against the railing looking out over the city, far away in his thoughts.

The stench of the Thames settled over the city at this late hour.

“He cannot know,” William said suddenly, his back still turned to me.

Certain that I had not heard him correctly, I moved to his side, curling my arm through the crook of his elbow. He picked up my hand and pressed it to his lips.

“Who do you mean?” I asked. “My papa? My family does not need to know.” I studied his stern profile.

“No, Helen, not your father. You are old enough to make your own choices.” His eyes raked over me briefly before he looked away.

“No, Thomas. It would make him furious if he knew we’d been together. If it had been anyone else but me, it would not matter. I do not know how best I can explain it, Helen. It’s…how it is between us.”

I stared at him, not believing what I had heard. Had he refused my immediate insistence to marry him, or even to make a true commitment only to me, that I would have understood. “Are you saying we must pretend that what happened between us did not? Why, William? Doesn’t he want you to be happy?” My words tumbled from my mouth before I could think.

He kissed my hand again, this time facing me. His expression was firm, determined.

“This is not about my happiness, Helen. It is about his life, his work, his way of doing things,” William stated, showing no emotion in those eyes that I’d just seen overflowing with passion. I saw instead the plea of a man begging me to understand, asking me to forget possibly the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. How could I ignore my feelings when my virtue was at stake?

“We cannot take this any further. I should have had more control.” He shook his head as if scolding himself.

“Then I won’t be his model, William,” I said, grabbing his hand. “That is all there is to it.”

“That would not be fair to you nor to Thomas.”

My mouth gaped open, unable to find a response to his absurd comment. I squeezed shut my eyes, concentrating on putting together the pieces of this jumbled mess. “You cannot deny what has happened. I—I don’t understand.” I reached for his face and he backed away. He turned, shoving his hand through his hair.

“I am nothing like him, Helen. You will see once you’ve met him, once you get to know him. His presence alone commands those around him. He dominates everyone in his world. Not in an abusive way, please do not misunderstand.” He braced his hands against the balcony railing as he stared out over the street. “He is a kind man and a good man.”

“As you are, William.” My arms ached to hold him again. I wanted him to tell me he was as happy as I was.

“You say that now.” He offered a short laugh and tossed me a side look.

“What do you mean? Do you find me that shallow? So easily won by any man’s charm?”

His eyes drifted shut and he offered a weary sigh. “It isn’t you, Helen.” He smiled. “It’s him. I have never known a man so suited to his own skin, so confident in his opinion, so sure of his skill and his future. He is nearly perfect in all he does.”

“You love him, of course.” I touched his arm. Beneath his shirtsleeve, I felt the muscle that I had grasped moments before grow tense, unyielding.

“I would rather die than disappoint him.” He stared straight ahead, his focus and his response unwavering.

“And so if I choose to model for the brotherhood, he would find it disappointing that we care for one another?” The idea that the sweetest freedom I had ever known was being snatched away boggled my mind.

“If he finds out what has happened between us, you will not be asked to model. That is exactly my point. Until he is finished, we cannot allow ourselves the luxury of having any sort of relationship, other than business.” He slapped his hand against the railing.

“You’re serious?” I asked. “Look at me, William. Tell me that you don’t care for me.” I stood firm, challenging him with a hard gaze.

Finally, he faced me, grabbing my shoulders. His eyes bored into mine, hard and cold.

“I owe him everything, Helen. He deserves my support and respect. His mind is brilliant, his gift rare. I would not usurp his goals in trade for mine.”

Dazed by his words, I stepped away and batted at his hands when he tried to hold them. My stomach roiled uneasily.

“Helen, if what you say is true, then these feelings you believe are real will be there when you are done with your work here. Know this above all else—I do not regret what has happened. It is just…ill timed, I’m afraid.”

His eyes implored me to take him at his word. I didn’t know what to believe.

“Until his paintings are finished, he must have your undivided attention. That is just the way it has to be.” He walked inside the door and held his hand out to me, waiting for my response.

Tears choked my throat and, despite his words, I pushed myself into his embrace. He held me close and I pressed my cheek to the warmth of his chest.

“I’m sorry, but if you agree to pose for the brotherhood, you become my brother’s muse and I, your most willing servant in every way, save one.”

The front door banged open and a loud voice called from below. “Will, are you up there? Come here, man, I need your help!”

William eased me away, searching my face before he gave me a brief nod. “It’s time to meet Thomas.” He smiled and walked across the studio.

A person holding a stack of wobbly wood crates appeared on the landing, his arms shaking as he struggled to balance the boxes.

“I’m about to make a god-awful mess, Will. Where the devil are you?” A deep, rich laugh followed, one filled with an energy that was infectious. Despite the ache in my heart, I found the camaraderie between the two brothers much like that between my sisters and me. I suddenly understood William’s standpoint, though I did not like it.

“You buffoon!” William called out loudly in response. “Why on earth do you insist on dragging these crates home?” he scolded, stepping forward to help his brother.

Without William at my side, I was suddenly the shy introvert he’d met that day in the hat shop.

“These are far cheaper than palettes, my brother. Say, while I was picking these up at the tavern, I saw that McGivney’s is having an oyster special tonight. What do you say we go down and toss back a few with some pints? I’ve just sold another of my paintings to John.”

“That’s wonderful, Thomas,” William replied, dropping the crates to the floor. “First, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I stood transfixed, motionless at the threshold of the balcony’s doors, trying to process all that had happened. A surreal sticky substance trickled down my leg, reminding me of what I had done. William held out his hand to me, motioning me to his side. Unable to arrange my hair properly, I quickly pulled it over my shoulder, twisting it in a loose braid. I did not take William’s hand.

He smiled, dropped his hand to his side and turned to his brother. “This is the woman I spoke to you about. Helen Bridgeton, I would like you to meet my brother, the extraordinary and gifted artist, Thomas Rodin.”

I was mesmerized by how accurate William’s assessment of his brother was. It was, I determined, the reason I could not find my tongue. His manner and his odd clothing made him seem larger than life. The air fairly crackled in his presence. I found myself curtsying as if about to dance.

His eyes came alive and, as though I was the only one in the room, he walked toward me, silently assessing me from head to toe. He wore the trousers of a proper gentleman, and so, too, the shoes. That, however, is where all semblance of the current era stopped. His coat, dark blue velvet and showing wear on the shoulder, was festooned with ornate blue seed pearls and stiff piping, reminding me of the old-fashioned, aristocratic clothes I’d seen in the paintings at the gallery. He wore a shirt, too, adorned with lace cuffs, and on his fingers beautiful rings of gold, one bearing a black stone the size of a small bird’s egg. The eclectic array of clothing and color enhanced his exotic olive skin, making him look like a painting come to life. Were it not for the shadow of his beard, the swagger of his walk and the obvious gleam of sensuality in his eye, I would have taken him for a dandy. Instead, I found myself curiously drawn to him.

Yes, I had gravely underestimated the impact of his brother’s effect on me. I felt like a ripe apple being eyed for its tart sweetness.

“Turn,” he stated bluntly.

I blinked, pressing my lips together in uncertainty that I would pass muster. My eyes met William’s unreadable gaze. He nodded and I turned slowly, my fingers locked together, holding on to my braid.

Thomas reached for my hands and I relinquished my grasp as he inspected them closely, turning them back and forth. I grew uncomfortable at how long he studied them, praying he would not care how unkempt my nails were, how dry my skin was.

At last, Thomas drew my hands to his lips and kissed them with lingering reverence. His lip curled provocatively, highlighting the slight cleft in his chin, giving character to his handsome face. His hair, an unruly mop, produced a shock of chestnut curls that dipped low over his forehead. I noticed a thin white scar slicing across the outer edge of one eyebrow.

“My brother is to blame for that,” he said, cocking his eyebrow as though reading my mind. His eyes narrowed, joining his easy, predatory grin. “Your hair is glorious. That deep russet—those mahogany undertones are positively scandalous! Dante’s delight, you are a lovely gift to be certain. By all that is decadent, woman, your eyes alone have utterly captured me.” He strode over to William, grabbing him in a fierce embrace. “Well done, William, you have found us a ‘stunner.’”

“Now we must celebrate. Our cups—as our dear mother would say most devotedly—do runneth over, and so shall ours, down at McGivney’s.”

In two steps, he had returned, grabbing me around the waist, holding me close as he spun me around. The delight on his face reminded me of a child on Christmas morning. I clung to his broad shoulders, looking down at a face so closely resembling William’s, but with eyes that sparked mischievously. I caught William’s guarded expression as Thomas placed my feet to the floor.

“Shall I call you my muse?” He narrowed his eyes, studying me. I admit I was so smitten immediately by his zest for life that I quite forgot the obstacles facing me with taking on this position.

“My apologies, Mr. Rodin, but I have not yet accepted this position.”

He drew back in surprise and laughed aloud. “I like her, Will. She has a feisty spirit. Perhaps, we should consider paying her more?”

“I would prefer that you stop talking about me as if I cannot hear,” I said with a boldness that surprised me.

Thomas took my chin between his fingers. His grin was positively wicked. “Yes, you and I will get on quite well. I like a woman who knows her mind, who knows what she wants and has no fear in obtaining it.”

I glanced at William, who had busied himself with stacking the crates against the wall. My mind flashed with the image of our bodies entwined, braced against that very wall…

“The details,” he stated bluntly. “You’ll get a half shilling a week. I will need you here every day—”

“I’m sorry sir, but I am employed during the day.”

“But I cannot paint without light.” He shrugged. “We shall have to see what can be done. Now—” he clapped his hands together “—what’s next?” He searched the room and spotted William finishing with the crates. “Oh, thank you, Will.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Rodin, you should call me a carriage. It is getting late and my family will be wondering where I am.”

Thomas pursed his lips together, a scowl darkening his face. “No. No, my dear. You will dine with us this evening. Besides, I want you to meet a few of our close friends in the brotherhood. I will send word to your family that you are spending the night in town. Besides, it is far too dangerous for a woman to be traveling across the roads at this hour. I’m sure they will understand and appreciate the wisdom of it.”

He obviously had never met my papa. “I am hesitant to agree, Mr. Rodin. My papa can be quite set in his ways in, well, most matters concerning his daughters.” I checked William’s face for his reaction. He found interest in his shoes suddenly.

“A bit forward, interesting for one who appears so innocent. Quite a provocative blend,” Thomas responded, offering his brother a quick side glance. “Yet never let it be said that I don’t like a good challenge.”

He gave me a wink

“Your papa will have to understand. I am about to make his daughter part of artistic history—surely he would not deny you that. Besides, and you should know this about me before we begin any sort of affair together, I usually get what I want. Now, is it my understanding, or was I mistaken, that you are interested in this position?”

My eyes darted from Thomas to William. “Of course, but I need to make arrangements—”

“Good. I hope you do not have an aversion to oysters?” He raised his dark eyebrows, awaiting my answer.

His arrogance, I suppose, was part of his charm. I wondered if all artists were like him, or if he was a rare breed unto himself. “I’ve never had them, Mr. Rodin.”

He leaned down, his fingers grasping my upper arm, and placed his unshaven cheek against mine.

“I insist you call me Thomas. Mr. Rodin is the name given to a gentleman and my father. I am neither. Do we understand each other, Helen?”

His breath tickled my ear. My gaze flickered to his. “Yes, Thomas.”

“Splendid!”

He laughed as he hooked one arm through mine and grabbed William with the other. “We’re starting afresh, with a new project! Yes, I can see it now. It will be a boot in the rear of the Royal Academy!” He laughed. “But tonight, I want to enjoy this moment with my two favorite people in the entire world!”