The Muse

by Raine Miller

  "Mmm, I was hoping you would come to see me.”

  “Really? So my visit is a welcome one then?”

  “Your visits are always welcome.”

  “Now you are feeding my ego, chérie. I wonder if you know what you do to me,” he asked glumly. “I am powerless against your charms.”

  “I know,” she purred. His eyes met hers, sparkling in all their rich brown brilliance. They communicated silently with just their eyes, both imagining what they might be doing in the next moments.

  “Are you ready to leave your bath?”

  She nodded and held out her hand. Graham reached for a towel and assisted her out of the tub, wrapped it around her slick body and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he smiled slowly but determinedly while stripping out of his clothes. When he was as bare as she was, he pulled her towel away and joined her on the bed, holding her close for a while. He adored the feel of her next to him with no barriers, nothing to separate the touch of his skin against hers.

  He trailed his mouth over her in a slow languorous sweep of kisses that started with her neck and moved on down. He kept going, in a pathway down her ribs, over her belly and lower still to the top of her thigh. His mouth moved toward the inside of her thigh. He heard the intake of breath at her understanding of his intended destination. “Imogene…I want to taste you… pleasure you. Please, chérie? Let me.” He pressed her legs apart gently before feeling her give way, allowing him to do that which he desired…

  He licked at her nub and buried his tongue inside her soft quim, learning her taste and relishing the tightening of her muscles in response to his actions. He pleasured her to the brink, and then over the other side on sobbing moans. All of it music to his ears—as was the shuddering of her thighs against the sides of his face when she climaxed, shouting out his name.

  Imogene rolled onto her side, pulling her knees up and panting through the pangs that lingered. Graham sidled up behind her. Kissing along her neck now and resting a hand over her pounding heart, caressing her nipple. “You are so beautiful when you take your pleasure. I love giving it to you. Spiced plum, you tasted like a spiced plum.”

  His words provoked her, and she gave a little cry, burying her face into the pillows. “Oh Graham,” she moaned. “What you do to me!”

  He laughed softly, trying to roll her so he could see her eyes, but she resisted, keeping her face buried in the pillows. “Oh, chérie, do not be shy with me,” he teased. “Have I shocked and embarrassed you?”

  “Utterly!” She continued to resist his efforts to turn her.

  “What? Are you not going to look at me now?”

  “I doubt if I shall ever be able to look at you again,” she cried, still speaking into the pillow.

  He spoke confidently. “So, it was dreadful? You do not wish for me to repeat that, ever again, then? Pity, I thought you were enjoying yourself. It seemed like you were…”

  With a squeal she flipped herself over and pushed him back down into the bed. She hovered over him with a challenging smile. “Lord Rothvale, you are most shocking, and outrageous and scandalous and—”

  Snaking his hand behind her head, he brought her down, cutting her off with a hard kiss. “Let me guess. You have thought about it, and have decided that you might like me to do it again after all?”

  “Perhaps. But you are still wicked, and very, very—” Imogene paused, looking down at him thoughtfully. Teasing put aside, her mind appearing to be working. “I shall have to punish you now. You know, an eye for an eye?” She smiled at what had to be his look of complete astonishment as understanding of her intent dawned on him.

  Oh, fuck yes.

  Dropping her head down quickly, she settled herself right over his cock, taking the base in her small hand and stroking it a few times slowly. She studied him for a moment before opening her pretty mouth and covering his cock with her warm wet tongue. She explored him, learning how far she was able to take him down, sliding his shaft up and down. She licked up the sides and tip and simulated the act of a fuck.

  The sight of his cock piercing and then retreating from within her pink lips sent him up to the heavens and back again.

  His beautiful princess did for him what he had done for her. She took his prick into her sweet mouth and sucked until he couldn’t hold back a second longer and spilled his seed down her warm throat. As he rode out the intense feelings of pleasure he had pause to observe his wife. If he had to assess her feelings about what she’d just done for him he’d say Imogene seemed fascinated by the experience, in a kind of wonderment at the whole thing. She looked up shyly at him and licked her glossy lips…

  It was a long time before he was able to say anything.

  “So you turn tables on me yet again, chérie. I am no match for you, of that I am sure.”

  “I told you. An eye for an eye. It is only fair.” She said saucily, “Please say if I was too shocking or if you do not want me to do that to you again. I will abide by your wishes.”

  He rewarded her teasing with a thorough tickling to which she shrieked and laughed. “You may have my complete cooperation should you wish to repeat that particular performance, chérie. I assure you, I can accommodate you, any time.” He kissed her slowly until their mood changed back to relaxed and languid. “Now, when you must tolerate Byron this evening in his trouncing of convention, and his boorish attentions, I want you to remember this afternoon and know that nothing he does can touch us…what we have together, Imogene.”

  She looked up at him in amazement. “Is there a purpose behind everything you do?”

  “Not at all. This interlude was, most assuredly, a complete surprise for me as it was for you. But I will admit that in everything I do, my purpose is to show you how much I love you.”

  “Did you ever think you’d be doing any of this in your old rooms?” She looked around the room decisively.

  “Now who is being naughty?” he clucked at her. “Who would have thought that underneath all that innocent beauty is quite an intrepid seductress?”

  “You can definitely take all credit for my transformation, husband. For I know I was not like this before you!” She gently pushed at his chest with her hands.

  He grasped her hands, pinning her playfully onto her back as he loomed over. “Credit I will gladly accept, but still, I want you to think of our encounter today and know that nothing Byron says or does can shock you anymore.” He gave her a smirk that broke into a wide grin. “The expression on your face is priceless, chérie.”

  “I won’t forget, Graham.” And she wouldn’t forget their encounter this afternoon for a long, long time. If ever.

  IMOGENE dressed carefully for dinner with Hester’s expert assistance. She wanted to equip herself with as much armor as possible to help her survive the evening with Byron. She even devoted part of her afternoon to reading the rest of ‘Childe Harold’s Progress’ in an effort to have topics of conversation to draw from. She chose a long sleeved, low-cut, blue silk gown. She wore the heart pendant from Graham with its sparkling sapphire border and selected sapphire earrings to complement it. Her presentation was simple and elegant, and she intended to portray herself as confident and composed, at all costs.

  Graham arrived to escort her down and paused in a courtly bow, sweeping his eyes over her with a dramatic flourish. “You are far too beautiful for your own good, chérie.” He offered his arm. “I was hoping you’d have dressed yourself in a sack and have dirt on your face,” he admonished. “I fear it is my fate to be forever fending off the throngs of avaricious fools who admire you and seek your favour. You know you do not help me when you look so beauteous.”

  She smiled at him gratefully. “I know you are up to the task. I have every confidence in you, my darling.”

  They settled in the parlor to await their guests. Graham was reminded of the letter that had arrived earlier from Everfell and realized Imogene had not yet had an opportunity to read it. “We have been invited to Everfell. Jules and Mina insist we h
ave been left on our own for long enough, and must grace them with an extended stay. They are having a ball in our honor, celebrating our marriage since they were not able to attend.”

  “How generous.”

  “I don’t see how we’ll be able to do less than a fortnight with them,” he said tentatively.

  She nodded and then at seeing his quizzical expression, “What? Are you asking if I want to go?”

  “Yes, chérie.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Of course I’ll go.” His hesitation surprised her. “Graham, forgive me for saying so, but it seems as if it is you that maybe does not want to go to Everfell. Am I right?”

  He shrugged. “No. I do want to go. I want to take you to Everfell. It is so fine and grand, architecturally significant. I think you will enjoy it, and you should definitely see it. And I wish to see my family. It’s just—”

  “What is it, my darling?” She rested her hand on his forearm.

  He sounded melancholy again. “It’s just that I wish I could take you away. Just us. Away from everyone, away from duties, and responsibilities, and requirements. I really want to take you to Ireland, to Donadea, but it is not fitting to return there so soon after being away from England for a year.”

  Imogene put her hands up to his face. “I love you. I know you will get your wish sometime, and I am sure it will be all that you hope for. It gives us something lovely to look forward to. In the meantime you can tell me all about Donadea and I will cherish hearing your stories of what must be a most magical place if you love it so much.”

  He did not speak, but rather nodded his acceptance. It did give Imogene some comfort to see her sensible words had earned her one of his rare, but shining smiles.

  Their guests were announced at that moment by a footman, and they moved greet them.

  Imogene observed Graham in his role as congenial host, able to accommodate the tastes and interests of his guests. He welcomed Byron warmly and proceeded to engage him in conversation about his travels to Greece and Arabia. To her surprise, Byron’s manners were irreproachable in Graham’s presence, and she was pleased to know he could follow decorum when it suited him. Maybe Tristan had schooled him before their arrival.

  Imogene sat back, content to observe and listen to Byron regale them with stories about his travels. Over dinner, the topic turned to Greece and the Parthenon was mentioned. Graham remarked that he and Imogene had toured the British Museum and had opportunity to see the Parthenon Marbles.

  “Lady Rothvale, you are very quiet tonight. What have you to say about the marbles?” Byron inquired.

  “You wish a woman’s opinion on the whims of government?”

  “Yes, I do,” he challenged.

  “Well, the carvings themselves are remarkable, one of a kind. Most of them are friezes so they are not carved in all of their dimensions, but flat on the back where they were attached to the Parthenon. I will confess, that seeing them cut apart and lying on the floors was bothersome. I dearly hope the final presentation of the marbles will be done with dignity as befitting works of such importance. They should be mounted on the walls in their display, I think.” She paused to gauge reactions to her definite opinions. “But all of this is just superfluous to the fact they are here in England and most likely will stay here.” Bestowing a tentative glance at Byron, she guessed, “I think you are asking me, did I agree with their removal from their place of origin?” She saw his slight nod of agreement. “While I can comprehend the argument for preserving priceless artifacts from within a country whose political situation is unstable and that the risk of losing said artifacts is possible. Even so, I am not sure I can condone Lord Elgin’s transference of the marbles to England.”

  Graham beamed at her from across the table with a look of pride as they awaited her view on the matter. He encouraged her with a quick wink. She forged on, “My reason is that the Parthenon is a temple, an ancient place of worship, a shrine. The manifestation of the gods themselves preserved in exquisite sculpture encircling it. ’Twould seem profane to desecrate a shrine by dismantling it, even if the religion is an ancient and pagan one. I cannot deem it was righteous to take them. Even if the Greeks have fallen upon hard times, and cannot preserve what is theirs, the fact remains that the Parthenon friezes are the property of the nation of Greece. I wonder at the concept of them being available for sale at all. I can only imagine what the ancient Greek philosophers would have to say about England, in her presumption to rob away from Athens, her history, her art, her sacred temple gods.”

  The three men stared at her after she finished her argument, but Byron was the first to chime in. “Lady Rothvale, my dear cousin, it is refreshing to meet a woman who is not only endowed with beauty, but a working brain as well. You make an eloquent argument, but I agree with you in that nothing so sensible will likely come into the minds of those in government. They must feel obligated to dither and argue, and in their way of delaying action, so wrestle control and permanent possession of their loot.” I am sure it is as you have suggested, and that the marbles are unquestionably here to stay.”

  “I thank you for the compliment, your lordship. I do not know you well enough yet to gauge your sincerity in claiming kinship with me. Do you really and truly believe us to share family blood, or are you merely bestowing flattery?”

  “Yes,” was his maddening reply, “and I insist that you call me George, Cousin Imogene.”

  He turned his attention on Graham then. “Rothvale, how did you ever secure her? The gods surely favoured you with providence in finding and winning such a wife,” Byron said admiringly.

  “I asked her to dance at a ball, and she, in her benevolence, agreed to it.” Graham looked reminiscent. “Your comment about the gods showing favour is accurate, Byron, because I can remember that exact sentiment flying through my mind when Imogene graced me with that first stunning smile.”

  “I wish I had spied her first.”

  Imogene thought Graham was generously tolerant in his response. “Oh come now, Byron, you do not strike me as a man quite yet content to settle into marriage. Your prodigious fame and celebrity must make great demands on you. How could a wife possibly fit into all of that?”

  “You are probably right, but still, maybe I would have considered it just the same if my cousin had been known to me,” he sulked.

  “Now gentlemen, I should say I do not care for you speaking of me as if I am not right here with my ears attuned to every word you say.” Imogene ended the topic for them.

  “Please forgive us, chérie, it is very boorish behaviour on our parts. Our society is sorely lacking of ladies tonight and all eyes are turned on you I am afraid.” Graham smiled down to her.

  Imogene inclined her head in acceptance of his apology and returned his smile. They shared an intimate glance for just a moment. Both of them remembering how they had spent the afternoon, and the pact they had made to be impervious to Byron’s gauche attentions. Tristan had to grin at Byron’s arched brows, his annoyance at Imogene’s obvious devotion to her husband clearly readable.

  In an effort to change the topic of conversation, Tristan broached a new subject. “Byron, how do you weigh on the notion of a gallery of portraits, for the nation, for England? Graham and I have discussed it often, and keep abreast of any news of action toward that goal. The idea has been much weighed about since the government let slip away that treasure trove of paintings that eventually went to the Hermitage and the Russians. I dare to say it was a tragic loss of opportunity to found such a worthy institution as well as a loss to the nation,” he said regretfully.

  “Hmmm, a national gallery you say? What kind of portraits would go into it?”

  “Famous individuals, historical figures, landscapes, anything really as long as it was quality, and worthy of representing England to her citizens,” Graham interjected.

  “Mayhap a portrait of me could be included,” Byron suggested with a smirk.

  “Ah, I know you are jesting, Byron, but your portrait is
exactly the kind of work that should be included. You are an English poet of note and your likeness should be preserved and gifted to the nation for prosperity. Some day you will not be here on this good earth, and there should be a record of your likeness, so future generations can feel that they knew you in some small way.”

  “Such the philosopher you are, Rothvale.”

  “I am serious, Byron. I would gladly commission a portrait of you.” He turned to Tristan. “Tristan, if you are of a mind, and he is willing, please consider my offer sincere and paint a portrait of him, by all means.”

  “This talk of portraits reminds me I should still wish to watch Mallerton at work. When will you next sit for him, Cousin?” Byron directed the question at her quite firmly.

  Imogene could see his mind working, knowing he had no intentions of letting the matter go. He wanted to coerce her because he was keeping her secret about the other portrait. She wracked her brain for a solution, knowing that Graham would never allow Byron to observe an intimate portrait sitting. You are a devil of gargantuan proportions, Byron!

  “Ah, George,” she said charmingly, “I have a proposition in regards to that. Will you hear it?”