The Master & the Muses (20 page)

I sighed. “Good, I'm glad.”

“She asked me to thank you.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek.

I gave him a dubious look. “She told you to kiss my cheek?”

He stared at me a moment, stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and strode to his easel setting to the task of mounting a new canvas.

“I've got a new project in mind.”

There were times when I sensed there was much more to Edward Rhys than he let on. Perhaps I was simply fearful of getting too close to him, afraid of what I might find. He exuded an odd blend of masculinity and compassion, which I found intriguing. As he worked at mixing his paints, I sauntered to the corner where the props were stored. The brotherhood—Thomas in particular—took pride in their ability to bring a theatrical element to their work. Thomas had managed to acquire many interesting items while speaking to stage players over a drink, after a show.

“Is it mythological?” I looked over my shoulder and held up a gold urn, twice the size of a good melon.

He shook his head.

“Someone from the holy book, then? Rebecca, perhaps? Her story is a good one.”

“Could you face me, Sara?”

The insistence in his voice surprised me. I turned around. “You needn't get nasty, Edward.”

His hand worked feverishly over the canvas and he swore under his breath every time a piece of his charcoal snapped off. This was his elusive side—serious, focused and obsessed. He was admittedly a handsome man, even with the scowl he had on his face at this moment. The thought caused gooseflesh to rise on my arms. We'd been cooped up too long in this studio. Part of my problem was that I was still angry with Thomas for going to Rome without me, and my only consolation was that Grace hadn't gone with them.

“Edward, I think you and I should treat ourselves to a night out. Perhaps go to the theater. It is almost Christmas and we have not been out in weeks. We could go down to McGivney's and see who's there.”

He attacked his work with greater intensity. I waited patiently for his response, folding my hands in front of me. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” he replied, not looking up. “They're all in Rome.”

“Maybe Grace will be there.”

“I have a deadline, Sara. Please be patient.”

The reprimand, however gentle, took me aback. “Fine. Do I need to stand?” I huffed.

“No, you can sit.” He peered over the edge of the canvas. “I didn't think you liked Grace.”

I had pulled over a chair and started to sit, when Edward pointed to the couch. “I would prefer you sit over there.”

The memories of Thomas and that couch were too painful to dismiss. “I would rather not,” I said.

He peered over the edge of the canvas, his eyes steady on me.

“I'll just sit here. It would be helpful if I had
some
idea of what your project involved.”

“Dammit to hell,” he muttered, clamping his hand over the edge of the canvas. “You,” he stated with a final bluntness.

“Yes, I know, and I'll do my best, Edward. Just tell me what you want.” I was growing exasperated with his elusiveness.

“I…” He sighed and raked his hands through his wavy hair.

“Edward, calm down. Let's just start at the beginning. What is your concept? What is it you wish to convey?” I folded my hands in my lap.

“Sex,” he bellowed.

“I see,” I stated quietly, and reached for the buttons on the front of my dress.

“No.” He tapped the top of the frame and looked out the French doors.

I waited for him to make up his mind. “Do you wish me to undress, Edward?”

“Yes.”

I undid a few more buttons.

“No.”

I stopped.

“I can't do this, Sara. I can't paint you. I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

I was inclined, at the moment, to agree. Then again, I'd just given away over half my savings and where would that leave me if I quit now? I'd be without an income and with no prospects of one in sight over a very long and cold winter. I searched how best to encourage him. “It's only temporary, Edward. All artists have their moments.”

“Dammit, this isn't going to go away so easily, Sara.”

He grabbed the canvas and flung it across the room. I watched in surprise as it flew across the room, sailing over the writing desk and sending a crystal vase shattering to the floor. He paced back and forth, like a tiger I'd once seen at the zoo. I'd never seen him behave so violently. My heart pounded as I cautiously walked over and began to pick up the shards of glass.

“I'm sorry, Sara,” he said. “I don't mean to frighten you.”

I found my tongue. “Well, I'm afraid you're not going about it very well, Edward,” I said. “Maybe you could find me a dustpan?” He stalked to the kitchen and returned with one.

I started to sweep up the mess. “You're a fine artist, Edward. I'm sure we can find you another model, better suited—”

“Where did you get that idea?”

I continued to sweep up the glass, dumping it in the wastebasket.

“You said you didn't want me,” I tossed back.

“As…my…model,” he enunciated each word.

“Yes, I understand. I think I should go see if I can find something for us to eat, perhaps that would help.” I'd only taken two steps before he caught my arm and backed me up against the desk.
“What are you doing?” He held my wrist, his stormy eyes piercing.

“I know you miss Thomas,” he said.

I grappled with the truth. “No, not that much, really.” I swallowed, my skin feeling flushed.

His gaze fell to my mouth “You're certain of that?”

I licked my lips. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I am going to kiss you, Sara. It's been eating me alive.”

“How do you know
I
want
you
to kiss me?” I swallowed.

The corner of his tempting mouth curled into a half smile. “I don't, lass. But I'm willing to find out.”

I curled my fingers on the edge of the desk in anticipation.

“Sara, I am no good with flowery words. I had to be sure you were over Thomas, that nothing would come between us. I wouldn't want to hurt either of you.”

His meaning now became clear. Good Lord, was I over Thomas? I looked into Edward's eyes, thrilled by the hunger I saw, knowing it was for me. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I searched his face, needing to understand whether he imagined a quick affair or something else. Though in my present state, an affair would have sufficed.

“I'm trying to say that I don't want you as my model anymore. I want
you
and quite desperately, but I won't come between you and Thomas.”

His hand cupped my cheek and his fingers slid around my neck, drawing me to his mouth. “I have been in love with you for weeks—painting you, watching you day after day. I've rejoiced when you smiled and ached inside from your pain. You are a good woman, Sara—kind and generous. Is it any wonder that I would fall in love with you?” His thumb softly brushed the underside of my jaw.

His mouth followed the path of his thumb, causing my blood to course through my veins as he nibbled the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

“You can tell me to stop, Sara,” he whispered, heating my flesh.

He traced the low collar of my gown, his fingers skimming the swells of my breasts. My eyes drifted shut and I tipped my head to allow his tender exploration, my pulse pounding furiously.

His hands covered mine as he leaned forward to meld his mouth to mine in a slow and thorough kiss that caused my head to spin.

“God in heaven, don't ask me to stop,” he said quietly. “This gown has got to go, Sara, I've got to have my hands on you.”

I lifted my arms and he drew the dress over my head. His eyes glittered with wicked hunger, seeing that I wore only my chemise beneath. He captured my mouth in a searing kiss, pressing against me to preview what I could have if I so desired.

“I mean to take you, Sara. Unless you have no desire for me.” He lowered his head and latched his mouth over my right breast, sucking hard and sending a current of pleasure to my center. I couldn't believe this was Edward. He reached around me, shoving away everything on the desk, sending it flying in all directions as he hoisted me to the table. He eased me onto my back, gliding his large hand down my body, and lifted the hem of my chemise as he nudged apart my legs. The smooth wood was cool against the pads of my bare feet, braced on the edge of the table.

His breath played against my inner thigh as he parted my quim with his gentle fingers. A lusty sigh escaped my mouth and I lifted my hips to meet the insistence of his velvet tongue doing wicked things to my drenched clit. It had been so long since I'd felt these decadent sensations.

My hands roamed over my body, delighting at the luxurious pleasure. Between the delicious stroke of his finger and his ardent tongue, my body was driven to a frantic need. I heard the sound of my own cry as my body broke free. Edward yanked me upright, kissing me hard and rolled me to my stomach against the table.

“My turn,” he whispered, bending down to tease my ear with his tongue. He brushed my gown high over my hips and pushed
into my slick heat with a guttural sigh. My breath caught as he began his slow and steady thrusts.

The hard tabletop caressed my breasts with each lunge, causing my body to grow tight. My reason grew dim as I surrendered to the euphoric bliss. He stopped suddenly, filling me to the hilt as he placed tender kisses at my neck.

His tenderness, combined with the fierce thrusts that followed brought my body to a dizzying need. “P-please, Edward.”

“That's what I wanted to hear, Sara.”

His large hands were warm. I leaned my cheek against the desk, relinquishing my body to the pleasure building inside me. The low-timbre sounds he made heightened my arousal. His magnificent cock made me want to forget about Thomas and how he'd hurt me by not asking me to Rome. If I'd gone with him, I may have never experienced this. In a blinding moment, a strangled gasp tore from my throat and I felt my muscles clench around him. With a deep growl, he finished in a wild driving force, his fingertips digging into my flesh as his body jerked against me, emptying his hot seed.

He pulled me into his warm embrace, softly whispering words in a language I didn't understand. His hands rubbed my back, gently caressing as I listened to the steady thrum of his heart against my cheek. There was a sense of security, something I was not sure I'd ever felt with Thomas and would never have expected with Edward.

“Marry me, Sara,” he said quietly. “I'll see to it that we go all the places you've always wanted to go.”

I molded my body to his, holding him tight, wanting to believe him, wanting to believe that it was possible to have a man to care for me and encourage my dreams, as well.

“I don't want to wait, Sara. There's a little chapel just over the border in my country. We can be married right away.”

“I don't know what to say, Edward.” I leaned back in his arms and searched his face. Had I suddenly found the man who was everything I needed? It would be a surprise to many if I accepted
his offer, especially to Thomas—and I realized I did love Edward in many ways. Companionship, trust and loyalty were as good as any building blocks to any happy marriage, weren't they?

“How far away is the chapel?” I asked, feeling reckless.

He grinned with a confident, sensuous smile that promised a lifetime of carnal delights.

“We can leave tonight and be there by morning.” He picked me up and kissed me again. “Do you wish to wait until you've had a chance to speak to Thomas?” he asked, searching my eyes.

“I think he will be pleased for us, Edward. I shan't worry about him, nor should you. The decision is mine.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him lightly, the kiss quickly turning heated.

“Sara, you've made me a very happy man,” Edward said against my lips between kisses.

I smiled and hugged his neck. “Do you mean to take me again, Mr. Rhys?”

He offered a roguish grin as he stepped free of his trousers and scooped me into his arms. “Aye, lass, and this time in my bed.”

I curled into his chest, hoping this feeling would never end.

EDWARD BUILT ME A HOUSE. A COZY COTTAGE
filled with plenty of light for his studio, out in the country, so I could have my own garden. He told me that Thomas had given him the land and the old farmhouse, and that it was to be used for the brotherhood. However, the way things were going within the brotherhood, Thomas had decided it would never be used for a studio. So he gave it to Edward, telling him to consider it a wedding gift and maybe allow him to come take walks in the woods out back from time to time.

Edward was determined to make us a beautiful home, but it was costing more than we had, and soon worries over finances began to take their toll on our marriage.

My husband was a proud man and his concerns over how to complete his vision for the house and take me on the travels he'd promised caused his creativity to suffer, rendering him unable to paint, unable to regain his passion. Eventually his despondency affected our intimate life.

Our lovemaking turned stilted, less spontaneous. It made me feel less attractive. I tried everything to encourage him. “It's only temporary, Edward. You'll get your spark back soon enough.”

“How do you know, Sara?” he asked me one night. “Maybe I'll never get that spark back. I don't know where things have gone wrong.”

“You have me.” I smiled, curling my hand over his naked thigh.

He brushed my hand away. “Do not mock me, Sara, this is serious. If I cannot paint soon we may lose everything. There'll be no money left. Then what kind of husband would I be?”

“It will be all right, Edward.” I snuggled close to his back, but lay awake wondering if I should try to find employment. I could not speak to Edward about such things. It would wound his pride. Despite my efforts, he grew more distant each day.

One morning as we ate breakfast in the sunroom, he announced that he'd been invited to go to India with a few members of the brotherhood.

“Well, I suppose that would be fun. Perhaps we should try to have someone stay here while we're away,” I said, silently wondering where we would find the funds to pay for such an exotic venture.

“It's just me going, Sara. They agreed to pay my way as long as I agree to pay them back after my next sale.”

“Oh, I see.”

He continued. “I think this is what I need. It will help me to be amongst other artists right now. I am hopeful I will gain back my creativity, my perspective.”

“Of course. And what shall I do while you're off searching for your perspective?” I asked, staring at the garden.

“I have thought of that.” He gently put his teacup down.

“I'm listening.” I kept my eyes on the garden.

“Look at me, Sara,” he said quietly.

I looked at him, seeing a man that stress had aged.

“I don't like the idea of you out here alone while I'm away.” He hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “I've heard from some of the brothers that Thomas is despondent. Grace says that—”

“You've seen Grace?” I asked, wondering when…or, God forbid, how long he'd been seeing her. “Edward, I don't understand any of this—”

“I went to see Thomas at the studio, to see how he was faring in view of the backlash from the critics. Grace happened to be there, cleaning. She's been cooking for him. He doesn't look good, Sara.”

“Thomas will find a way,” I said. “There are few obstacles that stop him when he wants something badly enough.”

Edward stared at me briefly before he continued. “I invited Thomas to come stay here while I'm away. It would provide you with companionship and, maybe out here, he could get the rest he needs, go for his walks—maybe he could get
his
inspiration back.”

“Why doesn't he just go to India with you?” I asked, finding this whole conversation strangely surreal.

“The newer members don't want him along this time. They say he's gotten too rebellious, even for the brotherhood.” Edward buttered his toast. “I owe him a great deal, Sara. I don't have much, but I can offer him clean air and sunshine. You know how he loves to stomp about in the woods.”

I stared at him. “So, you've already invited him?”

He smiled and took my hand.

“I've not been a very good husband to you, Sara. I realize this. But it doesn't mean that I wouldn't do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

“What are you saying, Edward? That I would be happier with Thomas?”

He shook his head, brushing his thumb back and forth across my knuckles.

“No, my love. But I know that you were happy when you were posing for him. Perhaps he can offer you right now what I can't.”

“Can't, Edward? Or won't?” I stood and pulled my hand away.

His eyes remained on his plate. “You cannot give, Sara, what you do not have. That is what I am hoping to recapture.” He
touched his napkin to his mouth. “It's settled. Thomas will be here tomorrow. Now I must go and get my things packed.”

The next morning, I stood in the foyer as Edward arranged his bags and waited for the carriage that the brotherhood had sent to fetch him.

“Are you certain about this?” I asked. “You could stay. We could take walks, maybe go to town and take in the theater. You'd find your inspiration, surely.”

He offered me a smile but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I'll miss you very much, Sara. However, I think it's best for both of us. Something is off-kilter, and I suspect it is me, and not you. You are as curious and insatiable as ever. I'm not entirely sure I have given as much in this marriage as you have given to me.”

I hugged his neck as the carriage came up the lane. “Don't say that, Edward. I love you, I do.”

He eased me away from him, opened the door and bent to pick up his bags, only to set them down again.

On the other side of the door stood Thomas. I barely recognized him. His face was gaunt, and dark shadows rimmed his eyes. Nevertheless, he offered us a weary grin. “Splendid, I was afraid I'd miss saying goodbye.” The two men embraced. We'd not seen Thomas since we settled the deed on the property just after his return from Rome.

“Thomas, my old friend,” Edward said, reaching out to him. “I'm glad you came. You'll be a good man and watch out for Sara while I'm away?” He picked up his bags and carried them to the waiting coach. “Get a lot of painting done. The exhibition looms, as you know.”

Thomas raised his hand briefly. “You have a wonderful time and don't worry about Sara.”

I ran to the coach and held my husband's hand. “Edward, are you sure?” I pleaded once more.

“Take care, Sara. I'll be home before you know it.”

I watched his smile, the one I'd come to cherish, disappear as the carriage took him away.

“So,” Thomas said, coming to stand beside me.

“So,” I replied, staring after Edward's coach. A pointed and uncomfortable silence followed. I had not been keen on the idea of inviting Thomas to the house for reasons I was too uncomfortable to face. “Tell me what have you been working on?” I smiled brightly. I realized the absurdity of my query. Was he not invited here to rekindle his passion for painting? I cleared my throat. “Forgive me, Thomas, I have not spoken to you in some time.”

He studied the ground. “I haven't spoken to anyone in the brotherhood these past few months. Watts and Woolner are busy with their work. Grace tolerates me as much as possible, helping me with cooking and cleaning, but I'm not good company of late. In fact, before I came here we had yet another squabble, damn if I can remember now what it was about.”

I smiled. Despite his appearance, his voice was calm, self-assured as always. “Of course, Thomas. We'll get you back to your old self again, and maybe it will inspire you to paint.”

I glanced at the speck on the horizon that was my husband. I knew how Thomas could be when he painted and I was keenly aware of my vulnerability just now. Edward's loyalty to Thomas was a bond that reached perhaps beyond our marriage.

“Are you well, Sara?” Thomas's hand lightly touched my shoulder, startling me. He pulled it away and my eyes snapped to his.

“You seemed so far away just now.”

“I miss my husband.”
I miss the sex between us.
I reprimanded myself silently and started inside. He followed me into the house.

Thomas stood in the foyer of the cottage, his brown curls cropped shorter than I remembered. His face was unshaven and he appeared a bit older, a bit thinner, but at that moment, with how I felt inside, he looked wonderful.

“Do you prefer Mrs. Rhys or Sara?” he asked, shifting his bags to his other hand.

I searched his eyes, looking for some semblance of the passion I'd once seen in them, but they held no gleam of wickedness, of vivid imagination. It was as if his fire had been snuffed out.

“Call me Sara, as you always have, Thomas. Now, Edward mentioned the exhibition. Is that what I'll be sitting for?”

He offered a mediocre laugh. “You don't really expect me to answer that now, do you? I've only just arrived and I want to hear how married life is treating the two of you. Imagine my shock at returning from Rome to find you already married!”

I smiled. “Very well, Thomas. I'll have Bertie bring us tea in the library. In the meantime, you can take your bags to your room. It's up those stairs, the second door to the right.”

He regarded me for a moment. “You are still as beautiful as the day I met you.”

I clasped my hands tightly and smiled, choosing not to respond to his comment. “I'll see you in the library.”

 

I sat as far from him as space in the library would allow, trying not to think of the fact that we were alone in this house for the next few weeks. Thomas took his cup and leaned against the windowsill.

“How is Grace? You mentioned a disagreement.” It was a mindless conversation. I sipped my tea and stared out the window, reminiscing about the rainy afternoons when Thomas and I would break for tea. Then he would sit beside, nudging and teasing me until tea turned into a passionate tryst. “It eases my tension,” Thomas would say, “and I daresay it puts color in your face, Miss Sara.” He would laugh and then paint like a mad man.

“I'm afraid Grace acts rather overprotective of me at times. Probably because we've known each other for so long.” He shrugged. “She'll be angry with me for a while, but eventually she'll forgive me.”

“I hope the tension with her hasn't affected your creativity.”

“No, it's not Grace. I haven't painted in weeks.” He glanced outside.

“What do you suppose the problem is?” I asked. As I watched him leaning against the windowsill, my marriage vows warred with my loneliness. God help me, I could still remember the first time that Thomas touched me….

His eyes met mine. Here was a man who made his living putting souls on canvas for all to see. I pondered not being able to use the gift God gave you, the torment he must feel.

“I suppose I'm getting older. I cannot lie though, Sara, the critics hound me incessantly. They seem to revel in slamming everything that I do. It has become exhausting. I fear I am losing the fight.”

It hurt me to see his confidence reduced to average. He'd once been so passionate about his calling, ready to set the world on its heels. Thomas Rodin was anything but average.

“You've always had critics, Thomas. They've not bothered you as much before.” I stood and filled his teacup. He touched my arm.

“Come sit here beside me, Sara. I have missed these conversations between us. You always helped me put things into perspective. We are still friends, aren't we? That hasn't changed because of your marriage.” He patted the cushion.

I was reticent but conceded. Holding my teacup primly in front of me, I perched on the edge of the seat. He still smelled of sandalwood and soap, which I found comforting. “Yes, we are friends, Thomas.” I smiled at him and went back to my tea.

He quietly cleared his throat as if about to approach a sensitive subject, or perhaps my nerves were simply on end. “You and Edward seem quite content.” He looked around the room. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you, Thomas. It wouldn't be possible without you.”

“It sounds like it wouldn't be possible without your husband's backbreaking work.” He smiled.

“True, I am a very lucky woman.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't able to help with the design. I've been struggling with my creativity, battling with the critics as always.”

“Edward got on well on his own.” I prattled on telling him that my husband had graciously sacrificed a full month of painting to finish the cottage so we could move in. “Then he focused on the details inside and, unfortunately, he became absorbed with that instead of balancing his painting with the construction. I hope that this trip will rejuvenate his creativity.”

“Always the perfectionist, that Edward,” Thomas commented. “Careful eye to detail…at least in most things,” he added, glancing at me over the rim of his cup.

Edward's attention to detail was something I'd long admired about him, but today Thomas's comment made it sound more personal. My cup rattled as I set it on the plate. I didn't realize how my hand trembled, nor did I understand why I felt the need to defend Edward, especially to Thomas.

“So you are happy, then?” he asked, walking to the window once more.

“Yes, Thomas, we are.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “No, I asked if
you
were happy, Sara.”

I stared at him, knowing to lie was pointless. By now, Thomas had to understand how strange it all looked. “My husband has just left for a four-week trip to a foreign country.”

“And he didn't ask you to join him, did he?”

The direction of his questioning left me feeling unsettled. “I'd rather talk about your painting, Thomas. Did you bring your supplies? Your easel?”