Archer forced power into his legs and stumbled to the narrow shelf in the corner. A quick pull of a book activated a hidden switch and opened a door into a tiny bathroom. He washed up and brought a wet cloth to Warren, who barely moved as Archer cleaned him.
Archer stowed the cloth and closed the door. He pulled Warren to his feet and together they stumbled to the sofa. They lay down, Warren nestled in Archer’s arms. “She will belong to us.”
Archer stroked his fingers across Warren’s nape. “How can you be so certain? What if she is like the others?” He wasn’t sure if he could bear to bury their dream of safety and family again. “If she can’t take it, we’re moving. There are plenty of orphans all over the world. We can build our own family.”
Warren kissed his neck. “We won’t have to.”
Archer remained silent. He hoped Warren was right, but he would make some inquiries into property on the continent.
It never hurt to be prepared.
* * * * *
For the rest of the day Sarah struggled to push the happenings of the morning out of her mind. When planning on how to make ends meet until her father’s next paycheck and a strong cup of tea didn’t stop the images of Archer and Warren flittering before her inner eye, she turned to her usual escape.
She strode through the house and into her small sitting room. On the table was the latest copy of The Daily Telegraph’s travel edition. A young man was following in Sir Richard Francis Burton’s footsteps, recreating Burton’s journey exploring the South African lakes.
Sarah sank into the descriptions and details of the environment, the animals and the people the young journalist had met. With each word her longing to see these things with her own eyes grew deeper and deeper. As she reached the final word she sank back in her chair and dropped the periodical across her chest.
Her eyes closed and she imagined herself in South Africa. She would be alone. Just a guide and a couple of porters. They wouldn’t know her or have any contact with the people here in London, so she would not have to wear the same constricting clothes she had to in polite society. Instead she would be in light trousers, sturdy boots and a shirt. No corset, nothing to constrain her.
Both Archer and Warren would be dressed in a simil—Sarah shot up out of her chair. Damnation, now the two men even invaded her daydreams. She exhaled and picked up an earlier edition of The Telegraph, this one talking about parts of southern India, but the words didn’t hold her attention.
Instead her imagination kept pulling her back to Africa, wearing scandalous clothes and accompanied by the two men who dominated her thoughts.
In her fantasy she didn’t wear a chemise and the cotton of her shirt rubbed against her nipples. With each step her heavy breasts swayed a little, hardening the sensitive peaks even more.
Warren walked beside her. He wore no shirt. His light skin shimmered in the sunlight peeking through the treetops. His strong muscles moved fluidly with every step. Even though he strode an arm’s length away, his look roamed over her like a touch. Moisture gathered between her legs.
Sarah came to an abrupt stop in front of Archer. He was also shirtless, his tanned skin dark and his muscles bulging as if under tension. Black hair decorated his chest and narrowed down to a thin line that disappeared in his trousers.
She swallowed. Warren moved beside Archer, the two men stood there before her like pieces of art. She wanted to touch, but worried her imagination would fail her. She’d never touched a man’s chest. Was his skin as soft as hers or was it rougher? Would the dusting of hair be wiry or silky?
The moisture between her legs increased. Sarah undid the fastenings on her dress and flattened her hand on her thigh. Her skin felt more sensitive than usual. Slowly she stroked up her body until her hand cupped the heavy weight of her breasts. She tugged at the fabric until she could lift her breasts above the top of the corset. Her thumb rubbed across one tight nipple.
A shiver ran down her body.
She increased the pressure and grasped the tip between two fingers. With care she rubbed them back and forth, her shivers growing more intense. Her legs squeezed together, an emptiness building inside her, a need she had no knowledge how to still.
She lifted her free hand to her other nipple and repeated her actions. Tension jerked through her and she thrust her breast deeper into her hand.
Her desire grew. It was as if she climbed a mountain, each step getting her closer to the peak. She pressed down harder on her nipples and rubbed her thighs together.
So close. So very close.
Sarah pinched her nipples.
For a second it was as if she would finally experience this crest she’d read about, but then the raised awareness drained out of her and she flopped back in her chair.
Angry and frustrated, she punched the arm of the chair. Tears filled her vision, which made her angrier still. Every time she tried to follow and explore these feelings she ended up like this.
With a growl she tidied her clothes, rose and marched over to her desk. She had some correspondence to take care of.
And any and all thought of Archer and Warren and these tingles across her body would be pushed into the furthest corner of her mind. She had a task to fulfill. Nothing and no one would distract her from saving her father and herself from complete ruin.
* * * * *
The next morning found Sarah grumpy and frustrated. She had not slept well. The tension had remained in her body throughout the night. A tension she had no idea how to dispel.
She had tossed and turned. Every time she dozed off images of Warren and Archer taunted her.
No matter if she was awake or asleep, she couldn’t get these two men out of her head. Never before in her life had she been unable to direct her thoughts. This lack of control infuriated and frightened her.
Sarah rubbed her gritty eyes, rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. Shoulders slumped, she dropped her face into her hands.
If one short—supposedly introductory—sitting had turned her life topsy-turvy, how on earth was she supposed to cope during a full session with Warren? And he wouldn’t be alone. Warren had made it clear that Archer would be present as well.
To support her.
What a joke. It was more likely that he would drive her around the bend.
For goodness sake, Sarah Emma Rigdon, will you pull yourself together?
The sharp voice reminded her of her gran. Cordelia Rigdon would be ashamed of her and the way she let two men rattle her composure.
Sarah sat up straighter and lifted her chin.
This was not like her. She wasn’t the sort to cower and allow someone else to dominate her thoughts.
She rose.
So what if Archer and Warren appealed to her femininity? She was old enough to make decisions herself. Marriage was not in her future. She had no dowry, nor connections.
But she could choose.
Sarah walked up to the full-length mirror beside her wardrobe and pulled off her cotton nightgown. There she was in all her flabby glory. Her heavy breasts tipped by light-brown nipples. Her skin pale with an odd dusting of freckles here and there. Her thighs big enough there was no space between them. The curve of her stomach, usually contained by a corset.
She had stopped looking at herself once she understood she would never follow the latest beauty trend that called for girls to be tall and slender.
But it appeared both Warren and Archer saw something in her.
Sarah frowned at herself. She honestly wasn’t sure what, but she was curious to find out. All her life she had put what other people said and thought about her and her father above everything else. She even hurt her best friend because she feared the response if she supported Beatrice after her outrageous, but necessary behavior.
And what for?
Her father would never grow up and take responsibility. She would never have a family of her own.
Why did she still care what people thought of her?
What if, for
once, she didn’t worry about all the possible consequences, all the things that might happen? What if she trusted the moment and actually enjoyed it?
Her shoulders slumped.
She couldn’t. If she did, something would happen. Something that would cause society to ostracize her, thereby costing them the little income her father received from tutoring.
They simply couldn’t afford it.
Sarah turned away from the mirror and stomped over to the bathroom.
She could not allow this…this engagement with Archer and Warren to go further than being a model.
Even if she wanted to.
Chapter Five
As soon as Sarah stepped through the door Archer knew something had happened. He’d only caught a glimpse of her yesterday after the session, but there had been a softness to her, a weakening of the hard wall she protected herself with.
But right now the wall was fully intact and higher than ever.
Beside him, Warren muttered, “Fuck it!”
Indeed.
Whatever progress they’d made, they were now back to the beginning.
Jennings took her coat. She turned to them, her expression cool.
Her passion had been shoved so deep it was barely a flicker. Her movements were jerky, like those of an automaton in need of oil.
Archer sighed and held back when Warren greeted her with one of his rogue smiles and took her hands. “Sarah, so lovely to see you again. Would you like some tea before we start?”
If he hadn’t watched her as closely as he had, Archer wouldn’t have noticed the infinitesimal softening of her features. Maybe Warren could pull down or at least weaken the barricade.
She pulled her hands from Warren’s and stepped back. “No tea, thank you.” She turned and walked past him toward Warren’s studio. “Let’s get this started.”
So much for her warming up to them.
Maybe raising her temper would break down the wall? She was gorgeous when she was mad and it could pull her out of herself.
Archer met Warren’s gaze as they fell in behind her. Warren shook his head. Archer swallowed what he had been about to say.
“Certainly, Sarah. Whatever you wish.”
She didn’t look back at them, but Archer imagined her expression.
They marched into Warren’s workshop, a cold and silent parade.
Sarah’s footsteps grew lighter, more hesitant. Pressure built in Archer’s chest, bringing home his involvement. She halted beside the Japanese screen and turned to face the men again. Vulnerability and a dash of fear flared across her features. He was just about to speak up, to tell her he would pay the money when Warren stepped on his foot. At the same time her lips firmed and pressed together. Her chin rose and she strode behind the silk screen.
“Archer, please close the blinds.”
Archer froze. Warren always painted in natural light. His lover caught his eyes and nodded to the shadow moving around behind the screen.
Of course. It made sense that Sarah wouldn’t want the windows open, no matter how private their garden. He followed the request and moved into the shadows beside the sofa.
Sarah stepped out from behind the covering, her hand pressed to her chest, holding up her gaping dress.
Archer gritted his teeth against the need to walk toward her and tear off the flimsy covering.
“I would prefer not to look like most of Rubens’ ladies. Can we cover—” She waved a hand before her. “Cover the more obvious areas.”
He swallowed his growl. He didn’t want her concealed by anything, but this was not his call. And pushing too hard, too quickly, wouldn’t help.
This would play havoc with his control, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Warren moved to her and took her free hand. “Sarah, we can cover whatever you feel most comfortable with.” He lifted the hand and kissed the back. “If I were a gentleman I would say to heck with it, I will paint you as you are. But the artist in me is enamored with you. You are a challenge I cannot wait to dive into.” He cupped her cheek. “Having you mostly unclothed will show me that much more of who you are, of the woman inside you.”
Sarah made no attempt to move away from his touch. She studied him. Warren didn’t know what she found, but some of the tension left her. “All right.”
Warren stroked his thumb over her cheek. A slight flush spread across it, the heat of it burning his palm, fanning the flames spreading through his body. He smiled and let her go.
She cleared her throat. “What do I use?”
He shook himself, dragging his wandering thoughts back to the here and now. He walked over to the shelves and pulled out a wide piece of silk cloth that matched her eye color. “We can use this as cover.”
Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. Instead she took the cloth and disappeared behind the folding screen again.
Warren looked at Archer. The desire burning behind his brown eyes matched the need inside himself. He wanted to walk over there, tear off Archer’s shirt and touch him while Sarah was in the same room.
Instead he took a deep breath and turned away.
He had painted nudes before, both male and female. But they had either been lovers or experienced models.
The blue silk disappeared from where she had put it over the screen. Moments later Sarah stepped out. She was pale as a ghost and had wrapped the silk around her like a toga, with a knot over her shoulder.
Sarah paused and lifted her foot, showing him she still wore her stockings. “I am sorry, the floor was rather cold. If necessary I can take them off.”
Warren threw his hands up in the air. “Oh my Lord, I am so sorry.” He rushed across the room and cranked up the steam radiator Archer had made him for just such an occasion. It clunked to life. “The room will warm up quickly.”
He took her hand and guided her to the center of the room. He desperately wanted to pull the pins out of her hair and have it frame her face naturally, but she was back to imitating an automaton. Warren didn’t imagine that she wanted to undress something else.
“Stand here, as comfortably as you can.”
She did, but her whole body was as tense as wood. No way would she be able to hold a position for any length of time. “Sarah, please relax. As I mentioned yesterday, posing can be very strenuous, and tense muscles ache that much faster.”
She gulped and lowered one hand, leaving only the other to press the fabric over her breasts. She had to relax the fit of the cloth slightly to be able to move and Warren caught a flash of her smooth thigh.
He forced himself to refocus his attention. “Would you like help?”
She shook her head, but when she tried to realign the cloth the knot came undone. The silk slipped down her chest. She’d wound the fabric so tightly that it refused to be hoisted back upward.
“Sarah.” Warren rushed over and grabbed one of her shaking hands. He caught the slipping fabric around her hips. Her breasts were beautiful. Full and firm, tipped with light-brown nipples. The cool air in the room hardened them.
The gentle curve of her stomach, the strong lines of her hips mesmerized him.
Warren let the rest of the silk drop.
She whimpered, but he stroked her hip to calm her.
Below the curve of her stomach her pubic hair was a shade darker than the hair on her head. Her legs were pressed together, the full flesh rubbing against each other. Her stockings covered her knees and drew the eye back up to the soft and pale flesh of her thighs.
She was Venus come to life.
Without looking away, he patted around until he found his pad and a piece of charcoal.
Sarah made a move as if to pick up the cloth surrounding her feet, but he hissed. “Don’t move.”
She froze.
His pen flew across the page, desperately trying to capture every curve, every line, all at the same time. At the back of his mind he vaguely noticed her breathing was shallow and uneven and her muscles were clenched. He wanted to reassure h
er, ease her tension, but the artist had taken over.
All that was important was to capture the goddess before him on paper.
She wanted to hurry back behind the protection of the screen, but every muscle had frozen in humiliation.
Here she was, on display, the supposed covering draped across her feet. Much good it did her there. Everything that she kept hidden was out there for the world to see. Every lump and bump, every flabby piece of flesh.
Visible not only to Warren, who appeared to be completely lost in his artist’s process, utterly unaware to the world around him. His gaze had sharpened into spotlights. Unlike yesterday, his hands moved with blinding speed. He went through paper as if it would go out of fashion any moment now.
She swallowed.
There had been no disgust in his expression. Not yesterday when her underwear had covered her, nor today with her whole body revealed. His sensuous lips were pressed together, but there was none of the curl she’d sometimes capture out of the corner of her eyes on other faces when she walked past.
Did he really mean his words? Was she beautiful to him?
Something deep inside her opened the tiniest bit. Sarah had never understood why everyone was so obsessed with looking a certain way. A way that had been decided by only a few. Sarah had always tried to tell herself people were individuals with their own kind of beauty.
But every time someone made a snide comment or gave her that look, advising her to eat less or to exercise more, telling her how Rubenesque she was with the smirk that made it obvious it wasn’t a compliment, it shook her confidence. With every remark the people around her told her nothing was as important as her appearance. After years of this, Sarah’s self-worth had become linked to her weight.
For the first time in ages she looked at herself with her own eyes and not those of society.
The tight grip inside her eased a little more.
The dark-brown look burning into her side from the dim corner of the room supported her epiphany. She couldn’t see Archer completely, but even from the shadows his eyes blazed with fire. He didn’t appear to disapprove of her appearance either.
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