“I should think so after all this time, but frankly, Thomas, there are days when I don’t feel I know who you are at all.” I swung my gaze back outside and thought of the ticket in my bag, unable to imagine leaving London, leaving him. I was grateful for the friends we shared, for having seen the passion of his art fulfilled. But what, then, was my passion?
“Grace?”
“My mind was wandering, sorry.” I looked at him and, though I noted he was aging, he was still as fit and handsome as the day we met. That seemed a lifetime ago. The question of my passion continued to niggle at my brain.
“What is it, Thomas? You have that gleam in your eye. The one that makes me think you’d like to undress me.”
A slow, wicked grin curled up the side of his delectable mouth. The shadow of his unshaven face made him look more roguish than ever. Without contest, he was a breathtaking man. I realized then what made my body hum, what caused my heart to race—what made me believe that anything was possible. My passion—my deepest desire and dream—was Thomas.
He crooked his dark eyebrow. A gesture so small, and yet it unraveled my heart.
“I will want more from you this time, Thomas. I grow too old to continue playing these games.”
He lifted an errant strand of hair from my forehead and brushed it back from my face. His featherlight touch traced the contours of my cheek, drifting over the pearl buttons on the front of my dress.
“You are still as beautiful as the day we met, Grace.” He hesitated, searching my eyes.
“And you are as much of a rogue now as then,” I added. “Handsome and charming as ever.” I covered his hand, which was resting on my lap, and summoned the courage to look into his eyes. “But I do not wish to corral you, Thomas. I enjoy, far too much for my own good, I fear, your unbridled zeal—your passion.”
His mouth quirked into a crooked smile, but his eyes narrowed. “Leaving no room for you to find your own passion. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”
My eyes tingled with unshed tears. I turned my face to the window.
“I truly have neglected you, haven’t I?”
He raised my hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. I glanced at his untamed curls beginning to pepper with silver. “Do not patronize me, Thomas. I am not one of your new girls, easily charmed.”
“Aren’t you?” he teased, turning my wrist to kiss the sensitive flesh on the inside. “I felt your pulse quicken, just now.”
My gaze bored into his, furious that he could manipulate my desire with such little effort. My whole life had revolved around men, what they required. I was only just beginning to understand what it was that I needed. I slipped my hand from his.
“Grace, I’m not sure I know if I am any good at…relationships. Affairs, yes, but…”
I offered him a dubious look.
“Yes, I have a reputation. I am aware of that.”
He looked at the floor, his hands clasped.
“So, the idea of being content with one woman in your bed for a lifetime doesn’t appeal to you? You enjoy the variety, is that what you’re trying to say?” I stared out the window.
His callused fingers touched my chin, turning my face to his. He leaned forward, paused, then gave me a soft, chaste kiss. I kept my eyes shut, absorbing the truth of the point he’d evaded. There would likely be more muses and I could either choose to be his mistress, or not.
“I was wrong, Grace, in my belief of what passion is. I have been reckless.”
I nodded and opened my eyes. “You have that reputation, as well.”
He frowned and sighed deeply. “I always thought passion was something to be achieved. Grace, I will be honest, I do not regret my past.”
“Nor do I judge you for your past, any more than you judge me.”
He pressed his fingers to my mouth. “Let me finish, please.”
I nodded.
“I do not regret my past, except for not having spent more of it in your company.”
I bit my lip, my eyes welling.
“I saw how Sara looked at Edward. How desire ignited the spark between them, but it is love that keeps the fire burning. That’s what you tried to tell me the day I left to come here, wasn’t it? You were asking me to see that love was standing right in front of me. A love I was too blinded by my misguided emotion to see.”
“You are slightly dim in that regard.” I offered a wobbly smile, tears streaking down my cheeks.
He shook his head, blinking as he sniffed and looked back at me. “I am. God help me, perhaps a knock on the head would have helped.”
“I doubt it would have been enough,” I replied.
“All I have ever done has been fueled by my passion. What else do I know, Grace? I have spent my life’s work searching for the perfect element to appease the critics. Somewhere along the way, the quest became my obsession. But when Edward returned to tell me that he’d do whatever Sara wanted to make her happy, I saw the depth of his love for her.”
I nodded. “I know. Edward came to me and told me he’d do whatever she wanted, even if that meant sharing her with you.”
“She didn’t want me, Grace. She only needed attention. Once Edward realized that, he became the only thing she wanted.”
“And what about you, Thomas? What is it you want?” I asked.
He leaned forward, drying my tears with his thumb before placing a tender kiss on my forehead, my cheek and then my lips. His mouth hovered over mine.
“What I desire more than my next breath is to spend the rest of my days making a life with you,” he whispered against my mouth. “I don’t deserve you.” He pressed his cheek to mine and I leaned against him, praying this was not a dream.
“There is something you need to know first, Thomas, if we are to share our life together.” I pulled the note with the academy’s seal from my pocket.
He blinked, taking the envelope, and turned it over in his hand. “I don’t understand.”
“You will. Open it.”
He moved my bag and came to sit at my side. Offering me a glance, he slid open the note. After reading it through, he looked at me with a puzzled expression. “It’s about the nude, it’s been accepted for the Spring Exhibition. But, it wasn’t finished.”
“Perhaps some of your skill has rubbed off on a most unlikely student,” I offered with a shrug.
He chuckled and it grew into the rich laughter that I’d not heard in a very long time.
“You’re not angry that they accepted, then?” I asked.
He folded the note and tucked it in his breast pocket. “Not in the least, but it would appear that I am your willing and loyal protégé—in life, love and art.”
“You seem teachable,” I teased.
“Then teach me, Grace. Be my mentor, my lover, my companion.” He traced his knuckle under my jaw.
“Is that all?” I challenged, determined to have it all.
He kissed me softly. “And be my wife.”
I savored his mouth on mine. “Perhaps you should draw the shade, Mr. Rodin. It is a long ride home.”
He grinned, leaning past me to close the fringed shades. “What now?” His eyes glittered with desire.
“Undress me, Thomas.” I took his hand in mine. “And make it last a lifetime.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank my editor, Lara Hyde, and the rest of the Spice team at Harlequin, who encourage me to explore outside of the box in my writing. I have grown immensely as a writer under their guidance. I would also like to thank Renee Bernard for her friendship, help with Victorian culture and sharing resources. To Amy and Genella, for the numerous read-throughs, changes and suggestions—you guys rock! To Jo C., my port in the storm who is great at perspective issues. And finally, to Daniel Gabriel Rossetti, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and their muses—one and all—who by their unconventionality inspired not only this book, but also my view in believing in one’s passion.
THE MASTER & THE MUSES
ISBN:
978-1-4268-5613-6
Copyright © 2010 by Pamela Johnson.
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