The Master & the Muses (5 page)

“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!”

FROM THE MOMENT I AGREED TO MODEL FOR
Thomas, my life began to move at a rapid pace. I was thrilled that he assumed responsibility for contacting my family, yet concerned at the same time about what he would tell them.

The carriage that Thomas secured rolled up in front of McGivney's pub. The loud din of voices, some raised in song, filtered through to the outside. I'd never been in a real pub before.

Thomas helped me from the carriage and nodded to William, who took me by the elbow and escorted me to the establishment's front door.

“What will he tell my family?” I asked William. He'd already begun to distance himself in a cordial manner.

“Hard to say, but Thomas is quick on his feet,” William responded, not looking at me.

I did not understand how William could so easily dismiss what had happened between us. It was not how I believed it should be. I wanted to speak more to him about it, but it would have to wait—Thomas, smiling triumphantly, walked toward us.

“There we go. I've taken care of that.” He gave me a wink.

“May I ask what you stated in your message, Mr. Rodin?”

He tucked his arm around my waist and leaned in close. Again, I was assaulted by his exotic, earthy scent.

“Call me Thomas,” he whispered, and placed a hasty kiss on my temple. “I insist.” He wagged his finger at me.

“Very well…Thomas. Again, may I ask what message you sent?” For all of his charismatic charm, I needed to know what he had told my family so I could uphold the lie when I returned home. It was not something I was looking forward to.

He shrugged. “Simple, really. I told them you were staying in town to help a friend.”

“A friend?” I repeated, seeing my father's face in my mind as he read the note.

He opened the pub door and the boisterous sound from inside came spilling out onto the street.

“Yes, you do have friends, don't you, Helen?” he called to me above the din, ushering William and me ahead of him.

“Yes, of course—” I started, but the noise drowned out my words. The thick smoky haze caused me to squint. The acrid scent of ale and sweat permeated the air. I held my hand to my nose as I was pushed forward, the crowd catching me in its current. I lost sight of both William and Thomas. I tried not to panic as I stood in the midst of the sea of men, most of them drunk. A hand snaked around my waist and instinctively I batted at it.

“It's only me, Helen.” Thomas pressed his mouth near my ear. “Hold tight and stay close. I'll get us to our table.” He did not let go as we weaved through the crowd. Ahead I saw one of the barmaids, gripping two tankards in one hand. She bumped into Thomas, causing him to stop. He acted surprised at first, then threw his head back and laughed.

“Annie, you little trollop. How are you?” He released my hand and grabbed her face, kissing her hard on the mouth. With a sly smile, he discreetly tucked a shilling down the front of her low-cut bodice, then he tugged me to his side, clamping his arm around my waist.

“Annie.” He grinned with pride. “I want you to meet my newest pupil, Helen.”

The woman looked me over from head to toe, her dark brown eyes snapping in challenge.

“‘Pupil' is what you call it now? Be mindful, Helen. Thomas surely enjoys his role as teacher.” She kissed his cheek and eyed me again.

“Do you think she has what it takes, Thomas, to be one of us?” she said, as if I did not hear what she was saying, or didn't care if I did. Regardless, if she was the example of an artist's model, I did not intend to become like her. Although it seemed my new employer found her most agreeable.

Thomas's laughter melded into the roar of the crowd. “Bring us a round, Annie, and some of those oysters. Come, Helen. Pay this wicked wench no mind. She'll be lucky if she ever sits for me again,” he shouted, but his smile revealed he was teasing.

“Watch out for that one, Helen,” Annie called over her shoulder as she handed the pitchers to the barkeep. “Be sure you know what Thomas will have you sittin' on!” Thomas reached over and smacked her bum. Her surprise turned to glee as she faced him, plucked her fingers down her cleavage and retrieved his monetary gift. She gave him a sly wink and kept her eye on me as Thomas pulled me toward the back of the pub.

“Thomas! Will here says we've got us a new stunner,” exclaimed a ruddy-faced man with spectacles perched on his rose-tipped nose. He stood as I squeezed between two large chaps, lost my footing and careened headlong toward the floor.

William appeared seemingly from nowhere and caught me before I landed flat on my face.

“Don't be frightened, Helen. The boys are friendly.”

“Thank you,” I responded, quickly releasing myself from his grasp.

The man with the glasses offered me his seat. William ushered me to the chair. I tried to offer the men a friendly smile, wondering if I would have to spend much time with them collectively.
I had a sudden change of heart and turned to find William to ask him to take me home, but he had disappeared and apparently so, too, had Thomas.

Annie sauntered up to the table and slammed two pitchers of ale on the table, sending the contents splashing over the side.

“Let's see what she's got,” she called out to the men around the table.

My heart stopped.
What on earth?
I frantically scanned the faces of the men, whose eyes had all turned to me. I was grateful to spot Thomas making his way over to my side. He held out his hand.

“They're perfectly harmless, I assure you.” He looked down at me, his cerulean-blue eyes sparkling wickedly.

“I—I don't understand.” I looked again at the men seated around the table. They did not seem as friendly anymore. One of them, a stately looking chap with a shaggy blond beard, smacked the table once with his hand. He looked at his peers, giving them a grin, and they, too, began to slap the table.

“These are my brothers, Helen. Their approval is vital. It would not bode well to keep them waiting,” Thomas said. “Besides, it's all in good fun.”

I cautiously took his hand and stood. The drumming grew louder. My gaze landed on Annie, who'd precipitated this demonstration. She gave me a smug look, amusement dancing in her eyes. “What am I to do?” I asked Thomas, averting my eyes from hers.

“Get up on the table,” he responded with an easy grin.

“You want me to stand on the table in front of all these people?” I stared at him with wide eyes.

“Your face is going to be seen by far greater numbers, my muse. Come on now, up you go.”

“But I—” I started, but my protests dissolved when his hands circled my waist and he lifted me to the tabletop.

Raucous laughter and applause followed as I looked down at the gallery of approving male faces. Thomas held my hand, displaying a sense of ownership that I found comforting.

The brotherhood men nodded, waving their hands, motioning for me to turn. A couple of them lifted my skirt to view my ankles. Thomas slapped away their hands but laughed good-naturedly. After a moment or two, I offered a smile, dipping in a short curtsy. I no longer felt like that ugly duckling. I looked down at Thomas, his fingers locked with mine, his smile encouraging, and I believed I'd become a beautiful swan. The catcalls and whistles continued, drawing curious onlookers into the private circle.

“Very well, gentlemen, that's enough,” Thomas ordered, reaching up for me.

I inched to the edge of the table and leaned forward. He grabbed me around the waist, his hands sliding precariously close to my breasts as he lifted me to the ground. He held my gaze possessively, letting my body slide slowly down the front of his.

My feet touched the floor, but he continued to hold me close, his arm encircling my waist.

“You've got your balance, then?”

Pressed against his solid frame, I could barely think, my heart still beating from the rush of my initiation. Balance? Doubtful.

“I do, Mr.—Thomas,” I answered, pleased when I saw Annie scowl and turn back into the crowd.

Thomas kissed my forehead and drew back, his eyes resting for a heartbeat on my mouth before he returned his eyes to mine.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, Miss Bridgeton.”

“Do call me Helen,” I said bravely.

“As you wish.” He grinned.

 

I was living a lie, but to whose benefit? For two months, I had been telling Madame Tozier that my stomach was the cause of the many afternoons that I had asked to leave the shop early. However, as my acting skills grew weaker, the actual pains in my stomach increased. I found myself losing track of the days, and on more than one occasion I had nearly taken too much of my medicine, forgetting when I last took it. I could not sleep.

William's aloof behavior pervaded my mind. Since our liaison, he had not attempted to speak with me except in passing and was usually absent when I was at the studio. At night my mind would creep back to that summer afternoon, how the soft warm breeze had wafted over our fevered bodies. I lay on my bed, mesmerized by the flickering flame of the oil lamp beside my bed. I remembered his tongue, the roughness of his hands gliding over me, plucking my nipples until I begged for more. Desperate to recapture that euphoric feeling, I used my hands to imitate his, brushing my fingers through my soft curls and spreading my sweet crevice, mimicking the exquisite pleasure he'd given me. I licked my dry lips, arching my back to the memory of him heavy inside me, his body pressed to mine. In my mind, I saw the sweet determination in his gentle eyes, our bodies fused in delicious, slick friction. Then my body broke free, my muscles caressing, squeezing around him.

I stared at the flame, drawing my hand over my stomach, my physical need now satiated. Nevertheless, I held on to the desperate longing for his affection, realizing with chilling clarity that perhaps he did not feel the same. I'd even written a poem for us called,
Another Time, Another Place,
and slipped it into William's coat pocket hoping he might respond, but if he found it, he made no mention of it.

 

It was of little surprise to me when William entered the studio one afternoon and announced his departure.

“Well, I'm off soon. My train leaves within the hour.”

“You're leaving?” I rubbed the back of my neck, stiff and sore from sitting too long. I bowed my head so he would not see the disappointment in my eyes. “Thomas didn't mention it.”

“It's just a short trip to Rome. I plan to tour a few cathedrals and perhaps a garden or two in search of inspiration.”

“Be cautious of those beautiful gardens, Will. Some of their caretakers do not appreciate foreigners plucking them,” Thomas said with a smirk.

It was evident he was speaking metaphorically of women. I
brushed his comment from my mind, rubbing my arms under the sleeves of the itchy damask gown that Thomas insisted I wear. The two brothers embraced and William gave me a tight smile. “Miss Bridgeton.” He nodded.

“Mr. Rodin.” I continued the appearance that we'd never been intimate with each other. If he could perform the task so well, I could, too. After William left, I followed Thomas out to the balcony. We stood watching his carriage amble down the cobblestone street.

“I miss him like the devil when he's gone,” Thomas said quietly.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on my head.

“It's just you and me now, Helen. He's gone and left us behind while he trots off on a new adventure.”

“Does he take these trips often?” I asked. The warmth of Thomas's arms made me feel secure. It was his nature to be physical—he was prone to giving hugs and pecks on the cheek, even to the other men in the brotherhood.

He lifted aside my unbridled hair and nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

“When the spirit moves him. I prefer to find my inspiration closer to home.” The smell of wine wafted beneath my nose as his palm moved over my right breast, squeezing gently.

“Are you inspired, my muse?” he whispered against the curve of my neck.

I slipped from his grasp. “The light is waning, Mr. Rodin.”

“I have asked that you call me Thomas,” he said with quiet firmness.

“All right, Thomas. Still, if you wish to do more this afternoon before I leave—”

“Oh, yes, my muse. I would
love
to do more.”

“I've no doubt you would, Thomas. Do you think I am so innocent that I do not know your reputation?”

He looked at me curiously. “I think you pretend not to know how you affect me, Helen.”

“I do think, Thomas, that you have found your inspiration much too easily in the past.”

His smile grew wide. “Aha! My innocent little muse has a cunning side, as well.”

“I am not worldly, it is true, but I do know a rogue when I see one.”

“A rogue?” He held his hand to his heart. “Woman, you wound me with your words far too romantic for a man like me. A man, as you say, of my reputation.”

“Perhaps I should take my leave for the afternoon.” I turned away and he grabbed my arm.

“My apologies, Helen. I had no idea that my affections would be repulsive to you.”

“You are not repulsive to me, Thomas, nor are your affections. But do not think that because I am here, you may take advantage of the situation.”

“I see. You are a woman who prefers to be wooed, is that it?” He stepped around me, blocking my escape back into the studio.

“I am a woman with needs, innocent though you think me to be.” I faced him.

His gaze narrowed and he took my chin between his fingers.

“Those dark circles—your complexion is pale. Helen, what is the matter? What ails you?”

His immediate change in topic and manner scattered my thoughts.

“I am not sleeping well,” I admitted.

He pulled me into his embrace and laid his cheek on the top of my head.