Mr. Rodin stood across the room, but his presence surrounded me. I bit my lip before I faced him and reminded myself that this was for benefit of my mistress. Mrs. Farrington has instructed me with the intensity of a general, that I am not to speak, unless addressed, and then to choose my words carefully. I am to be brief and give no opinion.
As if rules had ever added a single day to my life. “You wish to know about me?” My voice wavered slightly. My gaze was drawn to how precise he was in pulling the silk ascot from his neck followed by the methodical way he unfastened the buttons of his shirt. The material lay aside freely exposing a portion of his chest, lightly covered with dark chest hair.
I shut my eyes and swallowed against the dryness in my throat.
“I knew, Cozette, from the first moment we met, that you are a most passionate woman.”
I wanted to leave, but curiosity coaxed me to open my eyes. Mr. Rodin stood a few inches in front of me, a gleam in his eye.
“See how you blush, my dear Miss Cozette. Your cheeks are no less beautiful than a fully bloomed rose, and I venture as soft.”
He did not lay a finger upon me but I felt his gaze raking over me, making my body burn with the need to be touched.
“I can only imagine what soft beauty lies beneath the multitude of clothing you’ve chosen to wear. How many layers does it take to bridle your passion, Cozette?”
A small gasp escaped my mouth as his grin widened, white and even. How could he know what precautions I’d taken to assure that I would not be tempted by his charms?
I lifted my chin and kept my eyes averted as he walked slowly around me, his gaze burning through my clothing.
“Do I frighten you?”
Indeed he did, not for what he might do, but for what I wanted him to do. Was he teasing then? Simply to see how far to play this hand?
He came around to face me again, his gaze lingering at the position of my breasts.
“You are quite beautiful in an earthy manner. However…”
He reached out and touched my shoulder, turning me to face away from him. “You will need to be comfortable for our sessions and so, this must go.”
I sensed a tug at my waist as he undid my apron strings. The apron was a requirement of my uniform, a strict code with Mrs. Farrington and my mistress.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Rodin, but do you not wish to paint me as I am?” Though my curiosity rather enjoyed the little game he and I played, my duty as housemaid interfered, cautioning to not be cheeky with my mistress’s guest.
“Oh, very much, Cozette. It is fully my intent. But it is imperative that artist and subject first trust one another implicitly.”
I looked over my shoulder and met his gaze. He tugged at my apron, forcing me to face him as he drew it over my arms and tossed it over a bust of Master Archibald perched on the drum table in the library. At least I would not have my master’s empty gaze to contend with.
“You were telling me about yourself. Where are you from?”
“Was I?” I kept my smile from being too evident. I suspected he cared less about me, than what unseen treasure lay beneath my skirts.
His eyes assessed my hair, swept up and secured loose at my neck. As though hearing my silent plea of loneliness, his hands brushed the slope of my neck, unfastening the comb that held my hair in place. My tresses tumbled into his hands and he furrowed his fingers through it, positioning it to his liking over my shoulders. I had not touched a blade to it since having to cut it while living in London and it had grown back thick and a darker shade than its original light-brown wheat color.
His hands brushed over my scalp, his fingers combing through the strands, teasing my senses.
“Your hair is exceptional, but for your age, I would have expected it to be much longer.”
“I cut it once,” I admitted softly under the spell of his hands running through my mane.
“Why on earth would you perform such a travesty?”
He leaned in close, placing his face against a shock of my hair as he inhaled.
“Lavender? Am I correct?”
I could only nod. This man was different from any man I’d met. He seemed more aware of those things which a woman would find important, and yet he was every bit as virile, as far as I could tell.
I blinked, realizing his fingers had worked open the first few buttons of the back of my blouse. A knock on the library door alerted my senses to my mistress’s return and concern filled me that she should see me in half dress.
Mr. Rodin answered the door, opening one side only as he spoke with great delight.
“Ah, that is excellent, Madam Archibald, this will work wonderfully. Oh, there we go…now I have it, thank you very much. Please see to it that lunch is served promptly in two hours’ time. That should give us a good chance to get started. Until then, please see to it that I am not disturbed.”
I could hear, but not see, my mistress, but I sensed her shock at not being allowed back in the room. It was most irregular to allow servants to be alone with their own guests, much less guests of their employers.
“Are you quite sure, I shouldn’t stay in the event you have need of my services?”
“Miss Cozette has been most cordial, milady. I shall require nothing further from you at this time. However, I insist you join me for tea in the gazebo later this afternoon. Now, promise, I won’t take no for an answer. There now, see how sweetly your cheeks color. Run along now, oh and madam if I could trouble you to inquire if your cook has some of her exquisite scones left from yesterday?”
“Indeed, Mr. Rodin, if you need anything, simply ring and I’ll be in the kitchen with Miss Farrington, going over the menus.”
“Lovely, milady. You are most kind.”
He was as proficient at tossing dung as was Mr. Coven.
He shut the door and whether intended for my knowledge or not, I watched him turn the lock soundly. A shock of anticipation quivered low in my belly.
“Ah, now here is where the real creativity begins.” He wiggled his brows as he carried the mirror across the room. “Now, Cozette. I tell all of my subjects—”
“How many of those have been women, Mr. Rodin?” I watched in fascination as he busily removed the canvas from the easel and replaced it with the ornate gold mirror.
He shrugged, glancing once over his shoulder with a sly grin.
“You are a clever young woman. Come here, I won’t bite, well, not just yet anyway.”
He offered me a wicked grin. I had no cause to fear him and despite this preliminary game of cat and mouse that we play, I was most intrigued to see what he had in mind.
I walked to him and he positioned me in front of the mirror.
“Remember when I asked if you’d ever looked upon your reflection?”
I nodded, my gaze fixed on the drab color of my black uniform. My complexion appeared pale in contrast, my dark hair loose and of no real vibrancy as my mistress. My eyes, a deep blue, appeared lifeless, large and sad in a way that gave me pity for the wretched creature standing before me. I seemed rather pitiful at that. Had my anger at François and concern for my mistress taken its toll, making me look old and withered?
“What do you see?”
His enthusiastic face appeared over my shoulder, pulling me from the downward spiral of my assessment. I swore in silence that I would never look upon another mirror for the rest of my days. I faced him, most aware of my deplorable state. “Must I, Mr. Rodin? I have far better an imagination.”
He turned my chin to face the mirror.
“No, this is of the utmost importance. Trust me, my dear. Look at your clothing, stare deep into your eyes, see the beauty of the soul inside.”
“It is futile, Mr. Rodin. I am as I am, and I cannot be the beauty you wish me to be.”
He smiled then.
“I do not wish you to see what you cannot, I wish you to see the beauty that I see. Beauty, my dear, is not limited to what you see. It lies here…within.”
&nbs
p; He placed his palm over my heart and though fully clothed, the heat from his warm hand seared my flesh.
“You possess great courage. Look how you hold your chin, so proud.”
I forced myself from his gaze in the mirror and met mine. I’d often thought of myself as rebellious, even to a fault, but never once considered myself as a person of great courage.
“And yet there is gentleness as well, a soft, feminine side that is alluring to the astute male. You don’t parade it as some women, because of your courage. You have no need to.”
I studied my reflection with keener observation, listening carefully to each word he uttered. I do not pretend to understand his skill in seeing through to my very center, but he did.
“Even so, Mr. Rodin, it has been my most unfortunate experience that there are far fewer astute men in this world.”
“Ah.” He shook his head. “I see that your experiences have left a bitter taste in your mouth?”
His fingers brushed softly over the side of my cheek and I fought not to lean into them.
“Perhaps we can see if we can change all of that.”
He deftly undid the remaining buttons of my blouse and slipped the fabric over my arms until it hung at my waist, baring my shoulders. I wore a thin cotton camisole that pulled taut with the tightening of my breasts in the cool air. I could see the rosy brown hue softly muted beneath the material.
“Take note the gentle slope of your shoulders…come, don’t be afraid, look. Your beauty, Cozette, goes much deeper than what the eye can see.”
He stood behind me, his hands perched lightly on my bare shoulders as our images focused on what was in the mirror.
“Do you see it yet?”
My gaze narrowed as I truly attempted to see what he saw.
“Art is an awakening to your sensual side. To become familiar with it as much as you would come to know your lover’s body. It is indeed very similar to a sexual awakening.”
His eyes darkened as they held mine in the mirror.
“I needn’t bother with trivial explanations, must I, Cozette?”
I could only stare at him; my body hummed at his nearness.
The corner of his tempting mouth quirked.
“As I suspected,” he said quietly. “And yet, there remains an innocence, which is most alluring, most beautiful…very carnal, if I may be so bold.”
My brow rose, holding his gaze.
“Carnal, Miss Cozette. That hunger which glistens in your eyes, and I daresay, the sensation of that exquisite, delectable moistness, that even now seeps between your milky white thighs.” He sighed. “Ah, yes, a paradise awaiting exploration of a new lover.”
I glanced at my reflection, noting my cheeks tinged pink, my eyes bright with arousal.
“Am I correct, Miss Cozette?”
Whatever courage he claimed I possessed wavered at that moment. I said nothing.
He smiled and it was genuine, or so I believed. “Your secret is safe with me, Cozette. Indeed sexual freedom is one of God’s greatest gifts, though I doubt the parson would advocate it. It is sad that in our society such expressions of freedom are permitted solely to men. Do you not agree?”
I blinked, realizing he’d spoken the very words I’d so often thought in silence.
“Yes, I can see that you agree.”
I knew it bold of me to utter a single word, but his manner compelled me to speak. “I have never understood the standard set for one gender being quite so different for the other.”
A slow grin graced his handsome face.
“Someone has trained you well in the fine art of protocol, Miss Cozette. However, let me assure you that whatever occurs or is said today will remain between us. You have the honor of my word.”
He waited for my response, and after a moment, carried on.
“It is as though women are not meant to take pleasure in such things as sex. Nevertheless, I can see that you are a woman of thought, Miss Cozette and of deep, inner beauty as well. Tell me then, do you agree that a woman, say for example a woman such as you, might have needs every bit as potent as a man?”
His golden gaze held mine in the mirror, and my pert tips tented the cloth covering them. Without preamble, he closed his hands softly over my breasts, weighing them in his palms, caressing his thumbs over my tight buds until they ached.
“Sweet and succulent as a piece of forbidden fruit,” he whispered, his mouth closing over the heated flesh beneath my ear. His hands fumbled with my skirt, finding the hook that held it at my waist. As his hot breath tasted my naked shoulders, I saw in the mirror my skirt fall in a pool at my feet. It was odd to watch his hands caressing my body and dip between my legs to rub over the damp juncture of my thighs. The image of the young woman in the mirror taking pleasure at the hand of another was indeed far different from the one I’d viewed but a few moments before.
My body, not as curvaceous as Mrs. Farrington or my mistress, was yet appealing in a way unanticipated. The years had changed me, true enough internally, but physically as well. No longer was I the skinny scarecrow of a girl with the figure of a board, but my legs were long, my hips curved, but slight, and I had a waist. My breasts had changed, to some degree of favorability if Mr. Rodin’s ministrations prove adequate measurement.
“See the transformation, my dear?” he whispered as he stroked the length of my arms. “See the beauty that I see, the beauty I need to capture, to be at one with.”
His hands snaked around my waist, drawing the string that held up my drawers and, without effort, they followed my skirt to the floor. I wore no more than my thin top, my black stockings and my slippers. Between his mesmerizing whispers and what I saw in the mirror I sensed my body coming alive with a wonder of all of my senses. There was concern, though admittedly I shoved it in the farthest recess of my mind that the possibility of being caught existed and so my services immediately revoked. Yet as he drew his finger over my moist, aching petal, I could think of nothing else except the pleasure engulfing me in flames.
His hands smoothed over my buttocks, caressing as a sculptor molds his clay, rounding to the front of my thighs. He stood close, pressing his crotch against my bare backside.
“Embrace your needs, Cozette. I am here to serve you, to be your guide to discovering the beauty inside you. See now how your face is radiant, your body glistening with fever from the passion seeping through your very pores, yearning for release.”
I leaned against him, watching as his hand trailed over my pale skin, drifting lower, teasing my moist garden. The sheer pleasure of his touch caused my eyes to drift shut.
“No,” he growled soft in my ear, “you must see the trans formation as it happens.”
I opened my eyes following his instruction, my gaze and my body captured by his gentle coaxing, his finger glistening with my juices each time he withdrew.
“Look now at your face lost in your freedom, how sweet and natural it is. This is the very image I wish to capture on canvas. This is your essence, Cozette. How a woman who enjoys her freedom should look when she is satiated.”
He brushed his cheek over my naked shoulder like a cat rubbing against his master and at once, I could not ignore what he offered most plainly. I straightened, speaking boldly my thoughts, driven by my need. Closer perhaps to the hysteria I’d heard Mrs. Farrington speak of. “Then sir, satiate me well, for I am about to burst from need.”
“Indeed, mademoiselle.”
He grinned as he peeled off his shirt and as he began to unbutton his breeches, I stopped him with my hand.
His engorged cock bulged with appreciable size through his breeches and I wanted nothing more than to ride him freely to exhaustion.
I knelt before him, glancing up to take pleasure in his determination to hold himself as I drew his trousers over his hips and flicked the tip of my tongue over his smooth, glistening crown. I drew my palm down the length of him, imagining the pleasure about to occur…for the both of us.
His strangled gasp c
aused me to glance up just as he grabbed my hand and waddled, with his pants secure around his ankles, to the closest chair.
He sat and patted his thighs and I straddled his hips to face him.
“Oh, my dear, if only for this one time, you must see the beauty of your pleasure.”
He drew my shirt over my head and urged me then to face the mirror, as he drew me to his lap. His lips pressed between my shoulder blades as his hands parted my thighs.
“See how beautiful you are, Cozette? You have more power between these delicate folds of rose-petal softness than you are aware. You can bring a man to his knees.”
His finger brushed over my petal as our eyes met in the mirror. The sensation caused a rush of tingles over my flesh.
“Sweet Cozette,” he whispered as he placed a kiss on my shoulder. “I am at your mercy, dear woman. Save me, I beg you from this torturous rapture.”
Seeing the desire on his hot gaze, I braced my hands on his knees and lifted on tiptoe to accommodate the ease of taking his formidable member fully inside me. A sigh escaped my lips at the glorious sensation. I had not had such pleasure in so long. It was pleasing in a manner far different from François, perhaps because there is nothing of my heart involved in our coupling, or perhaps it was residual anger that drove me to find my own pleasure. Selfish or not, whatever the reason, the pleasure is true and very real.
“You have bewitched me, young woman,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against my shoulder.
He grabbed my breasts, this time with less gentility, as I shifted to find the rhythm I knew would bring me pleasure. Heat coiled low in my belly and my hands joined with his over my breasts. The sweet bounce reminded me of an early morning canter and I smiled to think what Mr. Coven would say if he knew.
“Sweet, sweet heaven,” he choked.
His fingers dug into the flesh of my bottom. I viewed our coupling in the mirror and noticed for the first time a sense of raw power in my eyes. I have long believed my determination in life, wrought of my experience, was fierce, but I had never before faced that ferocity in my own reflection.
My gaze was sharp, my eyes shining with a brightness of purpose. I leaned forward and studied my reflection, watching my breasts sway with each bounce on Mr. Rodin’s lap. I braced against his knees, stretching wide as I rode his cock long and hard, a fire burning for release driving him deep into my core.
The Diary of Cozette Page 24
