The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  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.”

  “You pompous ass,” William hurled at his brother.

  “Excuse me?” Thomas launched back with as much vinegar in his tone.

  “You’ve used her, just like you’ve done with all your models. But Helen is different, Thomas. She is more delicate than the women you are used to. She deserves better.”

  “And you think you’re better?”

  I stepped into the room then. “Yes, Thomas, he is. From the very beginning, William was my friend first, my confidant.” I walked over and took William’s hand.

  “How long has this affair between you been going on?”

  “Only today,” I replied.

  “Two years,” William stated, and kissed my hand. “No, from the first day I saw you, Helen, you captured my heart.” He looked back at Thomas. “But I knew you wouldn’t take her as a model if you knew how I felt.”

  Thomas plopped into his chair, wringing his hands in thought, then rested his chin on his fists.

  “And did you harbor these same feelings for William, Helen? All this time?”

  I glanced from one brother to the other. “I thought I loved you once, Thomas. I hoped that when you asked me to marry you, things would change. I thought you would want to settle down and start a family—have a home.”

  Thomas stared at the floor.

  “William loves me, Thomas,” I said, kneeling at his side. “I knew there was an attraction, but not until today did I know how he truly felt. He has always been loyal to you, in spite of those feelings.”

  Thomas studied my face with an inquisitive look, as if some new light had illuminated his mind. He looked up at William. “I understand his loyalty, Helen.”

  “I don’t want that to change because of me,” I said.

  Thomas leaned back in his chair, staring straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. When he finally spoke, he sounded like the old Thomas.

  “Thank you, Helen. I know being married to me has not been easy.” He looked at his brother. “For either of you.”

  “Thomas, I need you to know that what happened would not have, had I not already—” I paused, summoning the courage to say the words to his face. “Had I not already said goodbye to you in my heart.”

  He looked at me for a moment and nodded.

  “Thomas, I need to understand something. The other night…with Grace…”

  “It was nothing, Helen. Not like what you think. Grace and I, well, I can tell her anything. We have a very special bond.”

  He was wrong—it was definitely more than that. But I would not be the one to tell him. I had, however, seen the look on her face as he knelt before her.

  I could not read the look on his face. He seemed neither angry nor sad. I took William’s hand in mine. “I know that we have committed a terrible sin, but I assure you that what I feel for William is pure and true.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that, but I am not your judge, Helen. I have no wish to create a scandal for any of us. Although I hope you understand why I would think it best if both of you were to leave.”

  He went to his supply cupboard and fished out an envelope from an old crockery jar. He handed the envelope to William. “There is plenty there to begin a new life together.”

  “No, Thomas, I can’t take this.” William held out the envelope, giving it back to his brother.

  He refused to take it. “Think of it as an early wedding gift. You have lived in my shadow far too long, Will. It’s high time you started putting those dreams of yours together. It’s time to show this world the talent of another Rodin.”

  I clasped my hands in my lap. “Thomas, I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Not today…not with the baby.”

  He looked out of the window as though gathering his thoughts. “Nor did I intend to be such a piss-poor excuse for a husband. My brother is quite right about you, Helen. You were not what I am used to. I don’t frankly know if there is a single woman on this earth made for me. Perhaps it is my fate to be a perpetual bachelor.” Thomas shrugged. “The truth of the matter is that I know William is going to make you happy, Helen. He will be the man you deserve. God knows he has hung around here too long taking care of me.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” I rounded the table and embraced him.

  Thomas hugged me tight then held me at arm’s length. “I will miss you both. I hope one day we may sit down together again as family.” He steadied his gaze on William. “You’ll be all right, then?”

  William wiped his hand over his face and nodded.

  “I hope you know, Will, there is no need of forgiveness, either of you, and I wish you both nothing but happiness. Please take care of Helen where I failed to do so.”

  He pulled William into a quick embrace. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment I must be ready for.”

  The carriage was waiting downstairs. William had taken our large bags down to pack them. I had not seen Thomas the rest of the day as we readied to leave. I walked through the rooms one last time, checking for anything I may have forgotten. When at last all the bags were packed, I stood in the studio alone, brushing my hand over Thomas’s easel, taking in the piles of sketches stacked atop boxes and the silly crates. I spotted a sketch Thomas had done of me while I was reading, and I pondered whether to tuck it amongst my belongings.

  “He won’t miss one. I have several that he doesn’t know about.”

  I turned to find Grace watching me. “It was too much responsibility for me, I think…being his muse,” I said as I rolled up the small piece of parchment. “May I ask you something?”

  She shrugged.

  “You’ve known Thomas for some time—”

  “Some days it seems like a lifetime, others, I am not sure I know him at all,” she said.

  “At what point did you know you loved him?”

  She looked at me with a puzzled expression, and then laughed. She dropped her hat on the hall table beneath the mirror.

  “You have a misguided notion, Helen.”

  “Do I?”

  Her gaze narrowed on me. “A man like Thomas has many models—many women he calls ‘muse.’ I was never your rival, nor were any of the other women who model for him. His mistress is the ever-changing, ever-demanding passionate affair he has with his art, his work.”

  I frowned. To me, it sounded like an excuse. I saw her smile as though she knew what I was thinking.

  “I have spent a lifetime in the company of men—many, many men. I see the same problem over and over. Women struggle to compete with a man’s passion, instead of allowing him the freedom to explore his mistress. The secret is being available when he grows tired of her and turns his eye your way.”

  “Is that enough for you, Grace? Don’t you want more from someone than that?” I asked, feeling a bit sorry for her and yet, here she was dressed in the finest clothes, traveling in a beautiful coach, able to do what she wanted. I thought of the men who adored her, and couldn’t understand why I should feel sorry for her.

  “To be utterly worshipped, treated like a goddess for a few moments with no strings, no fals
e promises. Who would want more than that?”

  Perhaps she and Thomas were better suited to one another than I realized.

  William came into the study and nodded at Grace. He took my arm gently and kissed my temple. “The carriage is ready. How about you?”

  I was taking him home to meet my family. “Yes, I’m ready. Goodbye, Grace.”

  After William helped me climb into the carriage, he kissed my hand and said, “I’ve got to check on one last thing, love.”

  I watched him rush back inside the studio. It was hard to believe two years of my life had passed behind these brick walls.

  A few moments later, I glanced up and saw Grace come out on the balcony. She shook out a small rug as she watched us.

  My gaze followed hers a short distance down the street where a polished black carriage was parked. Thomas, dressed in his finest dark blue velvet jacket and black beaver top hat, stood next to the carriage engaged in conversation with a beautiful dark-haired young woman. No doubt his next muse. He glanced up and tipped his hat as we drove by.

  William took my hand, wrapping it securely in his.

  Book 2

  SARA

  Chapter 1

  Oxford, London, May 1863

  “I AM THE GRAND DUCHESS,” I USED TO CRY WHEN I was young. My cousin Amelia and I would sit in one of the grand carriages needing repair in my uncle’s stable and pretend we were of affluence and wealth. That we had the freedom to do whatever we wished and to travel anywhere we wanted.

  Dreaming is easy when you’re young. Nearly ten years later, life had taken on a sobering truth.

  “Sara!” My uncle Marcus stepped from the barn and called for me. “Step light and help with the stables this morning. Poor Deven has all he can handle with the new foal about to come.” Reality brought me back to my twenty years of age, still helping to muck the stables and spread dung around my aunt’s roses.

  I covered my eyes, shading them from the brilliant morning sun attempting to break the haze of morning. “Coming,” I replied, trying to hold my breath from the stench. I wrenched off my gloves, grateful to leave the putrid scent behind. Uncle Marcus called it the salt of the earth. Horse dung, of all things!

  I lifted my hem and tiptoed through the grass still wet with dew. This was my favorite time of day, with the silence of the mist-covered pasture. I imagined that this was my country estate, setting aside for a moment that it was a small cottage with a barn. My uncle had bought it from a man going to America, using the meager inheritance left to me at the time of my parents’ death.

  I nodded to Deven as I stepped into the cool shade of the barn. He was not more than a few years older than me, and a handsome lad, with sandy-brown hair and a wicked smile that had me thinking things I ought not. “Good day, Mr. Mooreland.” I smiled, noting how he watched me walk by. I was still a virgin, though Mr. Mooreland was determined to change that status. I did not fear him. I knew he would never do anything that I was not prepared to offer freely…and had on one or two occasions.

  “Miss Cartwright—” he tipped his worn tweed cap “—lovely morning, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Perfect for mucking horse dung, Mr. Mooreland,” I replied, grabbing one of the pitchforks off the nail on the whitewashed wall. I heard his chuckle as I walked to the far end of the barn.

  “Or a dip in the pond later on?” he called after me.

  I looked over my shoulder. “I have plans this evening, Mr. Mooreland. I don’t wish to ruin my hair. Perhaps another day.” I stepped into the stall and began my task. The truth was I would need a bath before my cousin and I attended the theater tonight. I’d made a promise to the stock boy at the farmers’ market that I would go riding with him one afternoon in exchange for two tickets he stole from his uncle who works the box office window. I heard a sigh and turned to find Deven Mooreland stepping into the stall behind me. I’d do just about anything to gain seats to the theater.

  “To the theater again, Miss Cartwright? I suppose that means you’ll need a rig and a driver?”

  I stopped sifting through the hay and met the gleam in his eye. “I suppose I shall. Would you be offering your services, then?”

  He smiled and leaned against the archway. A lazy smile crept up his face. I had met few men that I had much interest in. Deven Mooreland and, more recently, the stock boy, were the extent of my social education with the male gender.

  For the moment, Deven Mooreland, with his sparkling green Irish eyes and his wicked smile, was my tutor to the passions of the flesh. He had broad shoulders and could, with ease, toss two bales of hay at one time. Yet he had a gentle side, especially with me. Being the age given to musing upon such things, I’d on occasion snuck down to the pond and spied on him as he bathed. And I must admit that what I saw sent peculiar sensations over me. More than once whilst in bed at night, I’d dreamed of joining him in the pond.

  “Oh, now, Miss Cartwright, you know my services dunna come for free.”

  “You mean, of course, our agreement not to tell my uncle that Amelia has come with me to the theater.”

  He raised a sandy eyebrow and shrugged.

  “I doubt he’d be pleased ta hear his young daughter—she’s what, a mere seventeen?—is sneaking off under false pretences with his lovely, not-as-innocent-as-she-looks niece.”

  I stabbed the pitchfork into the hay, squaring my shoulders, and watched as his gaze dropped a few inches below my chin. “What is it you want, Mr. Mooreland? And please remember that I am a lady.”

  “A lady now you are?” He took a step inside the stall. “I see a young girl in front of me. But I am well aware of the potential.”

  “What will it take to retain your confidence, Mr. Mooreland?” I could be stubborn when I wanted. Being on my own after my parents’ death, I’d learned quickly how to get what I wanted. He took another step toward me, checking over his shoulder for my uncle. “I thought you were watching over the mare in her time?” I smiled, certain that he would retreat at my reminder.

  “She’s resting now, and your uncle has gone inside for his mid-morning coffee and a bit of making hay with your aunt.” He grinned.

  Deven was close enough now that I could smell the odd mix of leather and hay on him. His earthy presence did strange things to my lower belly. He traced a finger down my cheek, smoothing the tip of his callused thumb over my lower lip. Heat darkened his gaze as he looked down at me.

  “I dunna want anything, Sara girl, that you are not willing and happy to give.”

  He lowered his face, his eyes searching mine, watching for some resistance. His palm came around my waist, resting on the small of my back.

  “Dunna tease me so, Sara,” he whispered, leaning to my ear to speak. “Surely you remember that night just last week? When you said we’d continue our…visit another time?”

  His breath fanned over my temple and the pitchfork fell from my hand. I had only to glance up at him before his mouth found mine in a frenzied rush. My senses heightened with the warmth of his mouth upon my neck, traveling lower still over the curve of my shoulder.

  Frightened, but more curious, I cautiously slid my hand between our bodies. My hand trembled as I found the firm elongation beneath his trousers.

  “We…must be cautious, Mr. M-Mooreland,” I sighed. He quickly undid the buttons on the front of my blouse, shoving aside the flimsy fabric. My day corset, a hand-me-down and ill fitting, hung loose, providing easy access for his determined hands to tug on the binding until my breasts lay exposed.

  I swallowed, finding my breath and glancing at how expertly his fingers caressed and squeezed my soft globes. My mind grew hazy, drifting into the delicious sensation.

  “You’ve grown into a fine woman, Sara, one that could bring a man to his knees.” He knelt before me, drawing me close, his mouth moving over my flesh, warm and wet, teasing.

  A hot, throbbing urgency, one I had felt before with Deven, began again between my thighs. I grew precariously close to begging him to do whatever it
would take to relieve me of the torture.

  His hands clamped over my bottom, his fingers pressing the skirt between my legs, stroking me through the fabric, causing me to grasp his shoulders to keep my knees from buckling.

  There would be a strap in my future were we found out, and likely Deven’s, too, before he was let go. I was not yet prepared to take such a risk, no matter how much I wanted him to finish, no matter how much he wanted to appease me.

  “Stop,” I muttered weakly, tossing his silly tweed cap aside to thread my fingers through his haphazard curls.

  A low groan rumbled from deep in his throat as he drew one pert nipple between his teeth and tugged on it.

  About to lose my senses entirely, I twisted my fingers in his hair, forcing him to look at me. I swallowed, captivated by the passion I saw in those eyes. “We must not go further. My uncle could return at any moment.”

  His breathing labored, he stared at me, as if debating whether to heed my request.

  “You owe me, Sara” he finally said. There was anger laced in his disappointment.

  He stood, chewing at the corner of his lip as he watched me right my clothes. In a swift movement, he grabbed my waist and hauled me to his chest. “Next time, I will not stop. Not for the hounds of hell.”

  He released me and grabbed my pitchfork, shoving it into my hand before he strode out of the stall. Weak in the knees, I wondered if this was a normal reaction or if I truly had some sort of true affection for Deven Mooreland. The feeling of being desired by such a man, a man so powerfully sure of what he wanted, was overwhelming. How any sensible woman would choose to remain untouched before she married was a puzzling thing to me.

  I stared at where he’d stood, letting my hand brush over my still-sensitive breasts, remembering how they’d fit in his palm, how he’d teased them with his teeth and tongue. The thought alone was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I licked my lips. If what had transpired just now had such a profound effect on my body, what in heaven, if heaven did indeed exist, would happen if I allowed Deven the freedom he so tenaciously sought? Something damp trickled down the inside of my thigh as I forced my thoughts back to my task. I was not at all sure how or if I wanted to deny him any longer.