The Master & the Muses (11 page)

“What is that?”

Thomas's voice startled me. “Oh, just a note that Mama stuck in my pocket, reminding me to take my stomach medicine.” It was a bald-faced lie. My stomach had not bothered me in weeks.

I noted a new canvas on his easel. “You're painting again?” I'd not seen him pick up a brush in a long time. He stood, staring into the fireplace, as he sipped his port.

“Merely dabbling, mostly.”

He continued to stare into the fire. “Has Grace been posing for you?” I asked as delicately as I could, hoping it would not set off any of his tirades. I heard his frustrated sigh from across the room.

“Does it matter, Helen? Even if she were, which she isn't, would it matter?
I
am an artist,
she
is a model.
You
were not here.”

I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck, feeling the tension rise. “I suppose it shouldn't, Thomas, but you must admit, after being gone for nearly a month, it was rather awkward to come home and find another woman seated before my husband with barely a stitch on.”

“She was nearly raped tonight, Helen. You have no idea what a monster this man turned out to be. Her dress was torn. I gave her some clothes to wear.” He leaned on the mantel.

“It's fortunate that you were there,” I said, my voice steady.

He glanced at me, shoved his shirtsleeves up his forearms and knelt in front of the fire, sifting the embers with the iron poker.

“I wanted to apologize.” I took a deep breath. “I may have misinterpreted what I saw earlier.”

“Thank you, Helen. While I appreciate your apology, there is something I feel you may have forgotten, or perhaps have never fully understood. I am a connoisseur of women. The variety of them astounds me, excites me—it is the very essence of my artistic success,” he said as he shoved at the burning coals. “You had to have known this before you agreed to marry me. Why
would you think that I would, by virtue of a piece of paper, suddenly cast aside all that I am, all that I need to inspire me?”

An awkward silence stretched between us. A million different responses resided on the tip of my tongue, but I could not speak.

“There's a new era coming, Helen. We're on the cusp of it, even now. An era when artists and poets will embrace the decadent and deviant, harnessing its beauty, creating an art form so unique it will shame those who have tried to suppress freethinking for so long. And we who understand this raw beauty must embrace it, encourage it, live it ourselves in order to let our voices be heard above the din of mediocrity. The movement is young, in its tender beginnings, but it's coming,” he said, poking at the logs. “It's coming as sure as a glorious climax! You mark my words!”

“Well, thank you for enlightening me.” I stared at him, the eyes of my heart wide-open. He was on one of his tirades again. The critics were no doubt being particularly vicious to him right now and I fought the guilt of asking too much of him.

My chest felt tight; I had to breathe. I stepped out onto the balcony and gulped in the night air. The air was stale, far different from the country, with a lingering odor of sewage from the Thames.

I thought about what Thomas had said—that I had to have known what he was like when I agreed to marry him. And in truth, wasn't his persona—his rakish, devil-may-care attitude—what drew me to him in the first place? The realization surprised me. Yet I had never felt a part of the brotherhood, never understood their rebellious mission to make the world see things their way.

I jumped, startled as Thomas's hands curved over my shoulders. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing his unshaven cheek to mine.

“I have missed you, my muse,” he whispered softly, nuzzling the side of my neck. “I don't like it when we squabble. I much
prefer to have you in my bed or in front of a canvas where you spark my inspiration.”

He knew he'd gone too far. He knew
this
was the Thomas that I craved—attentive, loving, devoted. My body responded from habit, desirous as always for his magnificent body. I brought my hand to his cheek and he turned his face, kissing my palm.

His hands drifted upward, moving over my breasts, rubbing the rough lace of my corset over them, building a tormenting need between my legs. Desperate for his touch, I grabbed his hand and pushed it between my legs, needing to appease my yearning. He required no further encouragement and, grasping my skirts in one hand, he slipped his hand down the front of my drawers and plunged his finger into my warmth, stroking until I was drenched.

“Tell me, Helen. Let me hear you say that you want me to fuck you.”

His face pressed against the shell of my ear, his blunt desire was like a delectable aphrodisiac. I leaned my head to his shoulder and nodded. He knew me well. He knew I wanted to feel his body close, connected to mine. Yet, I knew that to accept him fully, I must also accept the brotherhood's ideals, if not Thomas's own, that were susceptible to change at whim. Once more, I tried to make him understand. “Thomas. I am not like the rest of the brotherhood. I need more than decadent and deviant behavior in our—”

The momentum of his fingers intensified. A gasp escaped my lips as my body trembled on the verge of release.

“You are more like them than you know, my muse. You are decadence come to life, Helen. You were born to inspire.”

The scent of port on his breath wafted over me. I allowed his intrusion into my body, surrendering to his hand, and lost in a euphoric haze, I believed I was something more—a goddess, a muse.

I slid my hands around his neck; his hardened length pressed against my skirts, his hand between my legs, performing exquisite magic.

“Yes, my muse.” He kissed my cheek. “You remember now, how perfectly we fit together, don't you?” he whispered.

Aroused to near delirium, I drew one hand over my covered breast, my hips meeting with his rhythmic motion. “I want us to be everything to each other,” I said, turning my face to his, seeking his mouth. He clamped his arm across my chest, his chin digging almost painfully into my shoulder. He drove two fingers deep and I squirmed against his hold. “I love you, Thomas,” I said in a strangled plea, my body mastered by him.

“Come for me, Helen,” he growled with a menacing tone in his voice. “I want you slick for me.”

The thought that our marriage was about his needs and not mine became clear in my mind. I struggled from his grasp, shoving away his hand as I pushed down my skirts. My body quaked between arousal and revelation. I turned to face him, steadying myself against the balcony railing.

His expression was dark, his steely blue eyes holding steady on mine. He was the epitome of smooth-talking seduction and reckless lust.

“What the hell are you doing?” He stared at me a moment longer and then a devilish grin emerged on his handsome face. “I think I could begin to like this game, my muse,” he said, taking a step toward me.

I held up my hand to stop his advance. “This is no game, Thomas.”

He sighed heavily, casting a gaze heavenward. “What, Helen? What is it
now?
”

I searched his face, watching the free-spirited love that was there moments earlier dissipate into impatient tolerance. And at that moment, I realized that no matter what I agreed to, no matter how much I tried to love and please him, it would never be enough for him to reciprocate. My touch, my love, would never be as special to him as his was to me. “I don't think you'd understand, Thomas. It is me. I'm only just beginning to understand who I am, what I need.”

His face contorted with a mocking frown. “What you need? Haven't I given you everything you need? Perhaps you're right. Yes, perhaps the problem is with
you,
Helen.” He jabbed his finger at me. “You aren't the same woman I married. Maybe you need more time to think about what you have, instead of what you haven't.” He turned on his heel and left the room. “I'm going to the pub. Don't bother waiting up.”

I slumped against the balcony rail and listened as he slammed the front door, the tap-tap of his walking stick echoing in the empty street.

As I watched him disappear into the shadows, it occurred to me that he was right. I was not the same woman. I was the woman—for better or for worse—that he had created. I reached in my pocket for the note William had given me and stared at it. Here was my future, my independence. And I realized that there was only one man I had to thank for that—the only man who could have sent in that poem.

After a moment, I walked back inside and closed the balcony door behind me, preparing to face the man who had always been there for me.

MY HEART WAS AT BATTLE WITH MY HEAD.
I thought too much, it had always been a problem with me.

I had made the decision to speak to William, to thank him for his kindness in submitting the poem, for having faith in my work, for being there at nearly every low point in my life, supporting me in his own quiet way. However, lingering cobwebs of doubt hung in my mind, guilt that perhaps I'd acted too rashly, that I hadn't given Thomas enough time to come around. Was he right? Was I being selfish by wanting more from him? Deep down, I knew that to stay with him was going to bring me more heartache than I could tolerate. My health, my heart, my pride would not allow it. I now had the opportunity to stand on my own, not compromising myself for anyone else's life, but living my own, as I wanted, under my terms.

Then there was William—as loyal a brother as there ever could be. A true friend, he'd served as my guardian angel, watching out for me. How could I ask William, whose kisses had reduced my bones to ash, to turn against his brother—for me?

A small laugh bubbled from my throat and I considered how utterly presumptuous I sounded. I paced the studio, nervous as the
day I had arrived at this place, sensing the anticipation and excitement of the unknown. Here I was again, standing at the same crossroads, but this time I was not as innocent. I unfolded the note and reread it. I knew now I could survive on my own, that I had a future and I did not have to rely on any man
to care for
me. But I desperately needed to find out if there was a man who still cared
about
me.

There was a dim light shining from beneath William's door. I swallowed, trying to quell the rapid beat of my heart as I raised my fist to knock.

I hesitated at first, changing my mind and changing it again as I turned on my heel, summoned my courage and returned to the door. I was coming to thank him. I was coming to let him know what had happened between his brother and me. Not for any other reason, I told myself. Just because Thomas and I were about to go our separate ways did not guarantee that William would be any less loyal to his brother, despite what he'd said to me in the heat of passion.

I pressed my knuckles to my lips, contemplating the wisdom of what I was about to do, not knowing where it might lead. However, I could not leave without thanking him. I tapped on the door and fingered the note in my hand as I waited.

“One moment,” William called from inside.

I brushed my skirts and patted my hair, waiting for him to open the door, my gaze diverting to the stairwell out of guilt. The note slipped from my grasp and fell to my feet. I stooped to pick it up and the door opened.

“Helen?”

I saw his bare feet first. “Oh, William…um, hello.” My brain slowed as I straightened, my gaze following the fit of his trousers to the exposed muscles of the undershirt he wore. His suspenders hung loose on his hips.

His mouth curled up at one corner. “Hello.”

My mouth had suddenly gone dry and I licked my lips to try to moisten them.

“Oh, beg pardon,” he said, quickly drawing his suspenders over his shoulders as if it would make a difference to his state of undress. “I wasn't expecting company.”

He braced his arm on the door casually, waiting for me to speak. When I didn't, he leaned out and looked down the hallway.

“Where's Thomas?” he asked.

“He…went to the pub,” I said, trying to force my gaze from how the thin cotton shirt molded to his chest.

He studied me a moment. “Did you want me to go fetch him?”

“Oh, no…it's actually you I wanted to speak to, if I may?”

“Of course, uh…just let me get a shirt on and I'll meet you—”

“Here is fine.” I walked past him into the room, taking in the exotic decor. I'd always given him his privacy, never venturing into his room. I was entranced.

“Certainly, come in,” he said and started to close the door, then smiled over his shoulder and eased it back open.

I looked around for a place to sit.

William stepped around me and picked up his jacket and dress shirt from the back of his reading chair. A lamp on the table beside it burned bright, lending a soft glow to the room. “What did you need to speak to me about?”

“This.” I held out the note to him. “Have you read it?”

“No.” He shrugged. “It was addressed to you.”

I smiled, quickly unfolding the paper. “Here, read it.”

He took the paper from me and moved closer to the light. A book lay on the arm of the chair and I leaned over to see if I could read the title.

“Romanesque design,” he offered, not looking up from the note.

“Oh,” I stated, feeling a bit like I had intruded. I straightened, clasping my hands behind my back as I glanced around the room. His bed was nothing more than a large square mattress lying on the floor, but it was covered with a rich brown coverlet with a
gold pattern and piled high with exotic-looking pillows of reds, gold and greens. To one side was a dark dressing screen made of intricately carved wood and beside that, a table topped with an array of miniature wood carvings. I saw the well-traveled man and his tastes that he rarely showed in front of Thomas or the brotherhood, and my admiration for him grew. He was quietly forging his own way in this world.

“Helen, this is wonderful news!” He looked up with a genuine smile. “Of course you plan to send them more.”

I covered my mouth, quelling a wobbly grin. My heart leaped with his jubilant reaction. “Perhaps,” I said, sniffing, keeping my tears at bay. “I don't know. I'm still trying to believe they got the right person.”

“Come here, sit down.” He moved the book and held my hand as I perched on the end of the chair. He knelt in front of me and, with a soft smile, leaned forward and used his thumb to brush away an errant tear.

“Of course they got the right person,” he said. “Tell me, what did Thomas say?”

I hesitated and took a breath before I spoke. “He doesn't know.”

“Why not?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.

“It wouldn't matter to him.”

“Helen, I don't think—”

I pressed my fingers to his lips, my heart thudding in my chest. “William, you know I'm right about this. You once told me that you and I could not pursue a relationship because Thomas didn't want me to have a divided focus. Do you think it would be any different if he had to share me with the further pursuit of my poetry?”

His tranquil eyes were steady on mine and I pressed on.

“We had a talk tonight, your brother and I.” I looked down at my lap. “Well, I tried to talk with him. He was not as willing.” I squeezed his hand, hoping to make William understand. “He told me I'd changed and I realized he was right—I have changed, for the better, I think. I have come to see that the very things Thomas
and I don't see eye to eye on are the very things that make him the creative genius that he is. Nevertheless, I cannot be viewed as his statue on a pedestal anymore, William, and ignore my own needs. I have to know that I am loved for who
I am,
not for someone else's belief of who I am.”

William sat back, bracing his hands on his knees. “Helen—”

“Please, William.” I stood and walked toward the door. “I'm not asking you to change how you feel about Thomas. I understand, really, I do. But I can no longer be his idea of a goddess, limitless in my giving without need of receiving something back.”

William rose to his feet, walked over and took my hands. “He's a fool, then.” He regarded me with gentle eyes. “Because he doesn't realize the treasure he's let slip through his hands.”

I shook my head, tears clogging my throat. It was difficult to leave Thomas, but twice as hard in some ways to leave William, because he had always been there when I needed him most.

“I thought that being his muse would be enough, then I thought the idea of having our child would be enough, and then…that losing that child would be enough to make him see…to make him want me enough.”

He drew me close and I put my arms around him, clinging to him, never wanting to let go. But there was no way I could stay. “I'll be leaving, William, just as soon as I can arrange for a place to live. I don't want anything from Thomas. And I wish him well, but I cannot stay with him.”

His hand stroked my back soothingly, the reliable William I had come to know.

“You cannot leave, not like this,” he said.

I leaned back to look up at his face. “I cannot stay, I've told you why. Thomas was more in love with the idea of a muse than having a wife. He never even said he loved me. Doesn't a wife deserve to hear that?”

“No, Helen, you don't understand.”

“I've tried to understand him, William, and I appreciate why you love him so—”

William's mouth came down hard on mine, obliterating my words, and then my thoughts. He held my face, his kisses desperate, hungry, stealing every last bit of reason in my head. He leaned back, searching my eyes, and when I did not move, he reached around me and slammed the door shut, causing me to jump.

He slid his hands around my neck, lifting my chin to look at him. “My brother may not have said the words, Helen, but I will.” His gentle blue eyes held mine.

“I love you.
I love you.
I have from the first day and have tried to be noble, tried to stay away, tried not to think about you every day.”

He touched my face, rubbing the pad of his thumb across my lower lip.

“How many times have I lain on this bed and thought of you?” He shut his eyes. “You were right about that night. I chose to leave, I had to, I couldn't be here. I thought if I could be away from you, I'd forget.”

“William,” I said softly, letting the uncertainty of coming to see him tonight fall away. I drew him into my embrace, holding him close. “Love me, William,” I said, turning my face to kiss the warmth of his exposed flesh.

In a frenzy of kisses and sighs, we helped each other undress until our clothes were strewn across the floor. I sat on the bed, inching back until I lay propped on the pillows. He unfastened his trousers, dropping them to his feet. I took him in fully, my flesh heating as I gazed upon the wonder of his body. His skin was dark from his travels, his muscles firm and sculpted. My heart raced at seeing his impressive cock jutting between his thighs. But what stole my breath was the look in his eyes. There was the unbridled hunger that I'd longed to see.

William knelt on the bed, the warmth of his breath soft on my calves, causing gooseflesh to rise on my skin. He nudged apart my thighs, brushing his thumb across my delicate folds, and dipped his head, his masterful tongue causing me to lift my hips off the bed. I watched through a euphoric haze, propped up by pillows as he nibbled and teased, driving me to a desperate need.

“William,” I sighed. My body was on fire.

“Not yet, my love,” he whispered, trailing warm, wet kisses over my stomach. The feel of his exquisitely callused hands jogged my memory of how much I loved them caressing my flesh. I held his head as he suckled each breast and I leaned down to kiss his disheveled hair. Rising to his knees and lifting my hips, he slowly pushed into me, a low-timbre growl rolling deep from his throat as he quickened his thrusts.

Encased in his arms, I kept my eyes to his, wanting to see his face when he came inside me. We were companions in deceit, lovers lost in ecstasy.

My body shattered, unraveling in delicious waves as my legs tightened around him. He buried his face in my shoulder, finishing his own release. I kissed his shoulder, tasting the salty sheen on his muscled flesh.

The erotic haze in my brain lifted and my eyes opened to the view of the door. There stood Thomas, his hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, God,” I whispered, gently pushing William from me while trying to cover my nakedness. William's gaze followed mine, seeing his brother's stricken look.

“Stay with me, Helen,” William whispered as he got up from the bed and dressed casually as if nothing had happened. He faced his brother, who continued to stare at me. I was leaving him, I knew, but I didn't want it to end like this.

Thomas gave a sarcastic chuckle. “How ironic.”

My cheeks burned with shame.

“I suppose you'd like an explanation?” William offered.

Thomas's livid gaze raked over me, then his brother.

“If you think that you possibly have one,” he said. The door slammed behind him and we heard the sound of glass breaking and objects being thrown against the wall.

I leaped from the bed and drew on my chemise as William stuffed his arms into his shirt. “I'm going to talk to him.” He paused at the door and came back to me, taking my face, giving
me a soul-searing kiss. “I don't want you to regret anything. I don't, nor do I believe that what I feel for you is a sin, Helen. I love my brother, but he is no more a husband to you than I have been, and it's time one of us happily accepts that responsibility, that honor—if you'll have me when all is said and done?”

Tears trailed from the corners of my eyes as I looked up at him. “Yes, William, I want that more than anything.”

“Get dressed, then, and meet me in the studio.”

 

I paused at the door, hearing my name.

“It's not as though I didn't know that things weren't good between Helen and me. We've both sensed it and it wasn't just losing the child, William, though I swear, I don't know if a man ever fully recovers from such an ordeal.”

I swallowed the tears threatening to break lose again.

“The god-awful truth, William, is that I am afraid I married Helen because I wanted to save her. Lord help me, I do care for her. I swear I do, but, it's not the way she wants, nor is it the kind of love a woman like Helen deserves. I leap into things that I shouldn't, I become obsessed with my work and I loathe interruption. When I want to go out, I go out. When I decide to travel, I do it.”