Phaze Fantasies, Vol. 5

by L. E. Bryce, Emma Wildes, Kate Burns

  "You cannot, Madame de la Duchesse, for I have done my part and painted the portrait your husband commissioned. It can't be undone and you owe me this time."

  Why the devil did I think I could go through with this? Vanessa fought the urge to jump up and run out of the room in an undignified rush.

  Pose with her legs open, like a woman anticipating sex?

  He picked up a piece of charcoal and quirked a brow. “Think of it this way, Your Grace, you will be immortalized. Alas, only anonymously, as we agreed. I have no intention of naming you as the model because you insisted. Though some might think you are my Venus, they will never know for sure, you have my word. Your face will be slightly averted, your eyes closed in the expectation of ecstasy, and I fervently believe this painting will be something to be proud of when it is finished. Now then, please, lift your arms and spread your legs like I instructed. I think you will find it isn't so difficult after all."

  * * * *

  It was no wonder Caerleon carried that air of an underlying frustrated proprietary male. The woman was a goddess, so lovely it was going to be difficult to look away, if even to glance at the canvas in front of him. During her sittings for the formal—and in his opinion—dull ducal portrait, Vanessa Augustine had been both demure and diffident, a sapphire blue gown enhancing the color of her beautiful eyes, just a hint of her creamy shoulders and full bosom revealed.

  But this glorious female, all voluptuous curves and intriguing hollows, was another creature entirely, thought Nathaniel as he studied her supine form. She was so tense, she was drawn tight as a bowstring and he was going to have to do something about that, but she was also exactly what he was looking for in a model. Titian's red-haired depiction was no longer going to be the standard against which to measure female beauty.

  "Each day I will have to arrange you.” He said the words casually, for she was obviously uncomfortable enough already. “Do not take it amiss when I touch you, Duchess. I require the same tilt of your head, bend of the knee, position of the arms. As with the portrait, please tell me if you become too uncomfortable, for I tend to become absorbed in my work and time passes swiftly."

  She nodded and her glorious breasts quivered a little. Golden hair spilled over the side of the small couch to pool on the floor, the effect exactly what he wanted. He cupped her chin, averting her face so her delicate profile was as he wanted it, and though he knew it would be met with some resistance, placed his hands on the inner sides of her knees.

  "Relax.” He spoke as soothingly as possible as he urged her legs apart to the desired distance. “Close your eyes now and imagine you are waiting for your husband to make love to you."

  "I would never lie in front of Robert like this,” she whispered as her lashes drifted lower, but she stayed obediently in place, the position of her arms giving her a vulnerable yet wanton look that was exactly what he wanted.

  Nathaniel stepped back and studied each detail with satisfaction that was partially artist and partially pure male appreciation. There was no flaw in her ivory complexion, her limbs were supple and beautifully formed, and even the triangle of dark gold hair at the apex of her thighs was symmetrical and dainty. “Why would you not allow your husband to admire your incomparable beauty?"

  "I ... I suppose I do not think of myself that way. Besides, I hardly wish he think of me as some sort of brazen harlot."

  Nathaniel got a glimmer of the underlying problem he already knew existed. He crossed to the easel by the tall window overlooking the street and picked up his brush. “I am going to guess you've been told it isn't appropriate for a woman—especially a titled lady like yourself—to enjoy sexual relations, much less initiate them. What rubbish."

  "I don't think this is a subject we need to discuss.” It was impossible for her to look prim sprawled in naked abandon on the small couch, but her voice certainly reflected it.

  "On the contrary, this painting is about desire and sensuality, Your Grace. It is the perfect topic. You are here in front of me, completely undressed, and it isn't as if we are strangers. Why don't you take this opportunity to ask me any questions you might wish answered on the subject I am assuming you won't discuss with your husband. It is natural to be curious about sex."

  She blushed very easily, he'd discovered that already and her cheeks were bright pink over his outrageous suggestion. “I am sure you think you are quite an expert, but—"

  He dipped the tip of the brush in some blue paint and applied the first stroke to the canvas. “I have had my share of women, probably more than my share. Tell me, Your Grace, are you in love with the duke, or did you marry him for his position and wealth?"

  Her eyes opened for a moment, the remarkable shimmering blue color a contrast to her long lashes. “Do you ever take into consideration the possibility, Mr. St. Claire, that your bluntness can be offensive?"

  "I am a simple man.” He gave an unrepentant shrug. “I have no time for useless politesse and no use for impractical fencing around what others might think indelicate topics. You would not be the first female to use her beauty to snare a title and fortune."

  She sat up a little in affront. “I most certainly did no such thing. In fact, I avoided Robert after our initial introduction because of his intimidating status in contrast to my humble background. However, he sought me out and eventually proposed."

  "Please lie back down, Your Grace. So it's a love match then?"

  "On my part, yes.” Some of the color faded from her smooth cheeks but she reclined back into the correct position. “He has never actually said so, but I assume since he could have anyone, that is why he selected me."

  Or, Nathaniel thought with a more cynical view of the world, because Caerleon wanted a glorious ornament on his arm. However, he had seen the way the man looked at his beautiful wife and his guess was she was correct and he was at least infatuated. When a worldly man like the duke fell for a young ingénue who had extraordinary sexual shyness, it was no wonder there was misunderstanding between them. Innocent young ladies were not the kind of women rich, titled gentlemen took to bed, not unless they wanted to be forced into marriage. It was an educated assumption that, before he married, Caerleon was used only to experienced women more than eager to spread their legs and please him in any way possible. In short, he was as out of his depth as his gorgeous, shy wife.

  Normally, he wouldn't interfere in the private lives of any of his patrons, but Nathaniel overtly promised Vanessa's husband an improvement in at least her level of self-consciousness to get him to agree to the nude. He also very much wanted to see the aura of her sensual awakening and apply it to the work.

  In fact, it was damned important to him that she discover sexual pleasure and embrace it.

  His brush moved in swift, deft strokes on the canvas and he asked, “Would you like some advice, Your Grace, on how to please your husband?"

  The corner of her mouth twitched and her tone was dry. “I somehow doubt I could stop you if you decide to give it. You have a most unsettling way of saying whatever you want."

  He grinned without any trace of apology. “We are getting to know each other I see, Your Grace."

  * * * *

  The carriage bumped over a rough spot in the cobbled street and Vanessa absently grabbed the strap to steady herself.

  She simply couldn't.

  St. Claire was the single most shameless young man in the world and his suggestions were absolutely impossible.

  Weren't they?

  Yes, they were, she told herself with dismal self-doubt, but then again, no one needed the counsel more than she did. It did not help that her mother had died when she was very young, and she'd been raised by a man more devoted to his church than his children. Her father's notion of parenting was quoting scripture and a prohibitive disapproval of anything less than perfection in their behavior.

  She shuddered to even think of his reaction if he ever heard of the painting. Luckily, it was unlikely, for he would consider the work itself immoral so
he would never go see anything like it, and besides, as St. Claire pointed out, she had insisted her name not be mentioned as the model.

  The vehicle rolled to a halt and she got out, nodding at the young footman who rushed forward to assist her.

  "His Grace is out, but he wished for me to tell you he'd like you to join him for a glass of wine in the informal parlor before dinner, Duchess.” The butler, an austere man with a perpetually disapproving look on his face, came forward to take her cloak as she came in the door.

  "Thank you, Woods,” she murmured. “I believe I will go upstairs and rest until then."

  "Very good, Your Grace."

  As if she could nap, she thought as she climbed the palatial staircase of the huge Mayfair mansion, not with Nathaniel's outrageous instructions in the back of her mind. Her surroundings were a testament to the wealth of the Augustine family, with expensive art, lavish furniture, and frescoed ceilings. Her bedroom—well, suite of rooms—was no less ostentatious with velvet hangings on the enormous carved bed, thick, expensive carpeting underfoot, and a gorgeous Italian marble fireplace. Her maid hovered and Vanessa repressed a sigh, the lack of privacy something she also had yet to get used to. She glanced at the clock and gave the girl a small smile.

  "I won't need you for an hour or so, Mary. Please have them bring up hot water for my bath then, will you?"

  With dark bouncing curls and an ingenuous face, the young woman bobbed a curtsey and left. Vanessa went over to the door and turned the key in the lock. The other door into her bedroom was from Robert's bedroom, but he was out, so she needn't fear an interruption from that quarter. Besides, he never came to her except late in the evening, after they both had retired.

  Too bad it was always such a disaster.

  Tugging off her gloves, Vanessa went over and sat on the stool by her dressing table and stared in the gilt mirror, noting the unhappiness in her own eyes. It wasn't that he wasn't gentle. He was, but the actual act of intercourse was uncomfortable, and the first time had been downright painful. After her wedding night she worried there was something wrong with her, and the fear hadn't exactly lessened in the time that had passed. Robert assured her if she would just relax, she would enjoy it, but in truth, she didn't believe him.

  St. Claire had bluntly explained the problem, though she hadn't even confided in him there was one. She certainly hoped the entire world couldn't take one look at her and realize she was a failure as a wife.

  Maybe she had nothing to lose by listening to the outrageous young artist. It wasn't like anyone would ever know, even him, if she followed his advice.

  Vanessa reached up and tugged loose the pins from the simple chignon she'd fashioned before she left the studio. Her hair fell in loose ringlets to her waist and she stood and unbuttoned her gown, letting it slide off, and then took off her chemise, slippers and stockings. Naked, she looked at her own reflection, not something she'd really ever done. The late afternoon sun slanted in the tall windows and she wanted to blush, even though she was all alone.

  Then she went over to the bed and lay down on top of the silken coverlet.

  Could she even do this?

  He assured her it would help and maybe he was right. She had managed to pose nude that afternoon, so that was some measure of success. After a moment of hesitation, she touched her breasts, cupping the flesh in her hands, feeling the size and shape of the resilient warm fullness. When she rubbed her nipples, she was surprised to feel them harden, the physical reaction a new one, even though Robert had touched her through her nightdress that way.

  It felt, well, pleasant, but then again, she was all alone and though still embarrassed, not worried about whether or not she would please her husband.

  It took some courage to put her hand between her legs but she was emboldened by the events of the afternoon. She explored her most intimate place, parting the soft folds, even going as far as to push one finger into the opening designed to accommodate male penetration.

  Understand your own body, St. Claire had urged her and he was right in one way, she didn't, not before now. Her vaginal passage was soft but tight, and it was no wonder Robert's entry felt as if he was tearing her in half. However, she'd been told—finally someone was speaking to her about it, even if it was an audacious painter who had no business mentioning it whatsoever—in very frank terms, that if she was lubricated by desire, it would feel good to have her husband inside her.

  Robert hadn't come to her in over two weeks now and she had the feeling he was growing irritated with her resistant reservations in bed, though he was too much the gentleman to say so.

  She so desperately wanted to change things.

  Chapter Three

  The cocky young bastard was right, and something was different after just one afternoon.

  Well, that was damned interesting, but Robert still couldn't see how posing for a painting in the nude could make a woman with as many sexual inhibitions as Vanessa change so quickly, even if it was subtle.

  Of course, there was always the possibility he was imagining the difference because he wanted it to be true.

  Because he wanted her.

  Not the way things were now, with her slender, voluptuous body tense beneath his, and her trembling acquiescence to his lovemaking. He'd bedded plenty of other women but they had been eager for it and mutual satisfaction was something he had just taken for granted. He was an experienced lover, but not with fearful virgins. That first night he expected she would be nervous—all brides were—and afterwards, when he knew it had been a disaster, he told himself plenty of wedding nights turned out that way and it was now past them.

  He'd been infernally wrong. Wrong enough he'd actually agreed to let another man paint a nude picture of his beautiful young wife in the desperate and illogical hope it would help, on the word of the eccentric artist.

  "How was the sitting?” he asked as casually as possible, handing Vanessa a glass of sherry. She was stunning in a gown of rose silk, her lustrous hair upswept in the simple way she preferred. She looked delicate and refined, and unfortunately for him, very desirable.

  Her slender fingers shook just a fraction as she accepted the glass. “It was ... well, I suppose, interesting."

  He was surprised as hell she could even manage to go through with it. “St. Claire is a very persuasive man."

  She made a face, and then gave a forced laugh, glancing at him from under lush lashes. “That is an understatement, Robert. I think audacious would be a better term. I have never met someone who has absolutely no regard for propriety. On the other hand, his casual attitude does help when one is lying naked on a couch in front of a virtual stranger."

  It made him feel a stab of jealousy she'd done it, but then again, overcoming her shyness was the only reason he'd ever agreed to the outrageous suggestion in the first place.

  He lifted his brows and sank into an opposite chair, doing his best to look bland. “I admit, my dear, I wasn't sure you wouldn't back out."

  "I tried. He wouldn't let me, reminding me of our agreement.” She took a dainty sip of wine.

  "With your dazzling beauty, I'm sure it will be a masterpiece."

  "Thank you. What a gallant thing to say.” Her sapphire eyes gazed at him, their long-lashed beauty mesmerizing. “May I ask you something?"

  She could ask for the stars and moon and everything in between and he would give it to her if it was in his power. “Of course. You are my wife. You can ask me anything, Vanessa."

  "Why did you marry me?"

  The soft question was not what he expected, and he didn't answer at once, his glass of claret dangling from his fingers. Finally, he said with caution, “I suppose because I am drawn to you in many ways. I admire your beauty, of course, but also your intellect and lack of affectation."

  "I see."

  He'd disappointed her, that was easy enough to sense, but he was unsure just what she wanted to hear. “Why would even ask me that question?"

  She looked away. “Please d
on't pretend you haven't noticed I am not exactly assuming my wifely role with ease. I suppose I hope you won't lose patience with me too quickly."

  At last they were finally talking about it. When he'd broached the subject before, he'd been met with silence and because he sensed her mortification, he had left it alone, not wanting to make things even more awkward. “I want your happiness and well-being at all times, my dear."

  Soft lips twitched into a rueful smile. “You are being polite, not honest. Maybe we should be less like a duke and duchess and more like a man and a woman."

  Good God, the blasted nude painting might be worth it if this is the effect. Robert set aside his glass with a soft click. He gave her a very direct look. “That is more than acceptable to me, Madame."

  He wanted her right at that moment.

  "I do wish for us to start over when it comes to ... the intimate part of our marriage.” Vanessa looked endearingly sincere, though the simple word “intimate” had made her blush.

  A capital idea to his way of thinking, the most brilliant suggestion he'd ever bloody heard. “We could start right now."

  "Now?” She looked startled and her eyes widened.

  Robert got up and crossed to where she sat on a settee embroidered with flowers and butterflies. The décor didn't matter to him in the least as he lifted his wife in his arms and settled down so she sat on his lap, her silken skirts spilling over his legs.

  She gave a startled gasp but one arm came up naturally around his neck, her other hand clutching her glass so the contents didn't spill. “Robert."

  "I just want to kiss you.” He grazed his mouth across her smooth temple in a tender gesture as he plucked the glass from her fingers and set aside on a polished table. “Nothing more, so do not worry."

  "I—"

  He cut off her reply by lowering his mouth to take hers, at first keeping the pressure gentle and persuasive. Though he always restrained his ardor in deference for her lack of experience, it had never gotten him anywhere to do so. When he felt her relax a fraction against him, he took advantage right away and brushed his tongue deeply into her mouth.