The Model Master

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  She ached for his touch, and the prospect of him pleasuring her with his incredibly sensual mouth was almost more than she could bear.

  "Stop that! Right now. I’m not keeping you here for this!" he said, turning his head away, though his eyes were another matter.

  "It’s not harming me, and might even be helping you. What’s wrong with that?" she said, continuing to unfasten the dress. "As we said last night, there’s no harm in looking. Or touching. You can hardly blame me for wanting a bit of comfort too."

  "Comfort! You’re under my protection now, that’s what. And only doing this because you feel sorry for me."

  "The boys can be under your protection. They’re only children. I’m a woman. And nothing bad is going to happen, now is it? It’s just a bit of harmless fondling, after all."

  Her shadowy cleavage hove more and more into view. She was about to part the top of the chemise as well when he covered his eyes with his hands.

  "Please, try to understand, Bryony," he gasped. "You are easily the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on. Generous to a fault, kind, and unflinchingly honest. And so sensual I feel sure you must have been raised in a seraglio. But this is wrong. I can’t. Not because I’m not able or don’t burn to.

  "You need to understand now that everything I’ve ever touched in my life, cared about, I’ve damaged. I don’t want to do that with you. What I did before was inexcusable. You know what I mean, so don’t even try to pretend you don’t. Can’t you see, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me! I don’t want you to show me your absolutely magnificent breasts out of charity. Can you understand that?"

  "What if I want to show them to you because I would enjoy seeing you pleased? And because it pleased me?" she asked, throwing the shawl lightly around her shoulders, eclipsing her breasts just as he was about to peek.

  He tried to quell his crushing disappointment. "It’s very kind of you, but—"

  She snorted with laughter. "You make it sound like I’m passing the salt. Very well. I shall just completely ignore you as a man from now on, the way you have evidently been doing. All I know is you’re wrong, Michael. You’ve shown that you’re perfectly capable, and just not choosing to even try to go back to a normal life."

  He raised his head and asked bitterly, "What’s the point? I’m doomed to failure."

  She met his burning gaze without flinching. "You will be if you never try. Just as I will be if I don’t try to live life on my own terms from now on, and that means making myself happy as a woman, instead of waiting for any man to do it for me."

  Setting her mouth into a triumphant smile, with one last defiant gesture she tugged down the chemise, flashed her glorious creamy breasts with dusky rose nipples, and strode from the room.

  Michael put his head in his hands and shook it, barely able to breathe for wanting her. Lord, but she was gorgeous. He wanted to kiss down between her thighs, perch her on the kitchen table and spread her like jam, lap her like sorbet. Drink from her as if she was a bottle of the finest wine. H

  e felt himself almost on the brink again, and allowed himself one more image of her in his lap, this time thrusting her sweet little bottom into his abdomen as he impaled her, and he tumbled over the brink once more.

  He held himself through his drawers, exploring the sensation, which was more than he had yet felt since he had nearly been killed.

  As the great spurts finally subsided, he was sure he had felt them right down to his toes. Was it possible the drug and wine he had taken last night had caused this? Or was Bryony truly a gift from the gods?

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Bryony came back down again a short time later, she was swathed from head to foot in a demure navy wool gown trimmed with cream lace. By that time Michael was calm, truly ready to sleep, and eager to get out of his sodden clothes.

  How the petite ebony-haired goddess had managed to unman him so easily twice in the space of an hour or so was more than he could fathom. It really had been too long. And perhaps he really was recovering?

  Drat. Now that she was going to be working for him he could hardly have lady-birds coming to visit him in his home, in front of the children...

  Well, she would have to take time off and...

  Who was he trying to fool? After meeting Bryony, touching her, feeling her nestle against him as if she belonged there, how was ever to even consider sharing a bed with anyone else?

  She pushed him into his chamber and with a business-like efficiency, got him a clean heavy flannel shirt and waistcoat, trousers, clean drawers and socks. She wheeled him behind the screen and got him some hot water and a wash cloth and soap, and a towel. She waited whilst he raised himself, and stripped off his lower garments, including his socks, before helping him slide onto the commode.

  "I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes?"

  He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

  She placed her long lean fingers under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You are not to be embarrassed, do you hear me? If you ever are, just think of how I disgraced myself in the kitchen."

  Before he could turn away she planted a light but thrilling kiss on his lips, turned and shut the door behind her.

  As if he could think of anything else...

  She returned to see if he needed her help about twenty minutes later. The boys were now settled back in the doctor’s study, and the house put back in order for the most part. It was snug and cosy, and she explored the fine rooms downstairs and looked out the window at the dreadful storm.

  "Everything is flooding and icy," she said to Michael a short time later when she went in to check on him.

  He was in his clean shirt, and she could see he had finished his ablutions. She wheeled him away from the screen to put on his drawers and trousers, and from there they went over to the bed and she got him into it with a minimum of fuss.

  "Very good, Bryony. Resort to the time honoured method of deflecting an awkward conversation with a discussion of the weather," he said.

  She heaved him over onto his face none too gently. "I’d be careful with that sarcasm if I were you. You’re not in much of a position to argue with me, now are you?"

  Her tone was light and bantering however, so he did not take umbrage as he might have done.

  Once she got him safely in bed and comfortably arranged, she pulled the covers up over him. With a kiss on the brow such as she had given to her sons, she left him.

  After she had finished helping Michael, Bryony returned to the kitchen to eat once more, glad to be away from his dark brooding presence that filled her with such longing. Away from those eyes, so like a hungry wolf's. Except that he looked as though her was going to devour her in quite a different way….

  She gave the boys a bite of toast and jam each. Once they had finished eating, she made sure the children were comfortable in the doctor’s study, on the padded examining table once more. Then she laid down on the large horsehair sofa and pulled the blanket draped over the back of it onto her.

  Bryony felt almost too keyed up to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between her and Michael. Really, what had ever possessed her to behave like such a shameless wanton? But then, no man had ever looked at her with such fierce, all-consuming desire before. It was a heady sensation, feeling like an alluring woman in her own right instead of a bank account or victim.

  But then Michael had been right. She felt herself to be safe with him because he seemed decent, and in his chair he would never be able to force her to do anything against her will. He was a kind man with a pitiable set of circumstances. He was so alone, needy and full of longing. It wasn’t his fault his body had betrayed him, or that the career he had no doubt been so good at was now gone.

  She didn’t know his financial circumstances, but she doubted he was as well-off as his friend the doctor, though he had said he had a large empty house. No family? He had indicated they were estranged. At least he had some friends, a doctor, more than helpful to ensure his well
-being.

  It would be presumptuous, she knew, and Dr. Sanderson might think ill of her, but perhaps if she asked about his progress...

  But no, it was none of her business. In any case she had enough to worry about for the moment nursing her own sons. He evidently resented needing her help. And she really had overstepped the bounds of propriety showing him her breasts.

  But then, what he had done had as well. She didn’t blame him; she knew men had certain needs. Some more than others. Her husband had been incessant to the point of mania. So much so that she would never have been able to satisfy him even if she had wanted to. Other men seemed content with celibacy. Michael probably fit somewhere in the normal range of the two extremes. She did a quick mental calculation. It must have been almost two years since he...

  But she had not come here for anything other than medical attention for the boys. As attractive as she found him, she knew any romance was doomed from the start. She came from a different world, and was now a pauper. She did not want to be viewed as a charity case. She had more pride than that. And she did not want him to think she was whoring herself just to stay in his home. No, if she had not done it before, she would not now.

  She determined to ignore his divine appearance, and simply treat him respectfully. Her emotions had been stretched to near-breaking point. She had been nearly hysterical. She would apologise for being overwrought and that would be the end of it. She would keep her distance...

  But Bryony’s resolutions were easier said than done, for as the day advanced and there was still no sign of anyone returning in the horrendous weather, it was as though they had been washed up on a desert island, just the four of them. And intimacy was thrust upon her when he began to dream again, waking her from her own slumbers.

  She flung back the covers and ran, and this time she grabbed his shoulders and shouted, "Michael, I’m here. Bryony. Come back to me."

  He struggled and thrashed for a time, then partly sat up and snatched at her. His eyes were open, but as he looked at her she was sure he could see nothing.

  "I’m sorry, sorry. Oh God. Please don’t."

  "It’s all right, Michael, I’m here. I won’t let you go. I’m here."

  He quieted somewhat, easing his grip upon Bryony’s shoulders, closing his eyes, his breathing beginning to even out at last. She stroked his brow and cheeks, and he relaxed back upon the pillow with a breathy sigh, taking her with him into the bed. She held him for a time longer, until his towering arousal told her a whole new emotion had replaced his fear.

  Then she knew it was time to leave, for she dare not risk him awakening to find her there. Their new-found friendship was a fragile thing, and she did not wish a matter of wounded pride or embarrassment to damage it any more than it already had.

  Still, she hated the thought of all the nights he had lain alone in the bed, comfortless, reliving his nightmares over and over again night after night before she had come.

  What did he dream of? she wondered. What could have happened that would have been so terrible he would have cut himself off from humanity so completely?

  It was not what had happened to him, she guessed. It was something he had done himself. Him staring at his hands, washing them obsessively as she had seen him doing when he had tended the boys, they were all symptomatic of guilt and some sort of obsession, a moment in time he was reliving repeatedly.

  Bryony lingered for a time longer, tidying the room, sweeping up the broken glass on the wooden floor by the window. She smelled the odd sweetish aroma once more and tried to remember what it reminded her of. She looked through his things to see how much spare clothing he had, and its state of repair, in order to decide if she should put on a tub of wash.

  She emptied the chamberpots and cleaned and replaced them. When she was sure all was in order she returned to check her sons. Still sleeping. Good. That was the best thing for them.

  Despite her resolution, she trailed back into Michael’s room. Sitting by the bedside, she took his hand. She could see the difference in him at once. All of his muscles relaxed, and she could see him falling into a deeper, less tense rest.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Bryony was not sure how long she sat with the slumbering Michael in case his nightmares returned. A sound toward the front of the house late in the afternoon alerted her to the fact that someone was coming.

  She ran out into the foyer and saw a handsome-looking couple, obviously married, come in shaking themselves like two wet dogs.

  "Hello," they both said, astonished at the appearance of the lovely stranger.

  "Can I help you?" the tall dark-haired man asked quickly.

  Bryony introduced herself and explained quickly why she was there.

  To Dr. Sanderson’s credit he immediately took his bag into the study to examined her sons, while Arabella went in to check on Michael and make sure he was all right.

  He was still sleeping peacefully, so she returned to where Bryony was standing.

  "I’m so sorry for borrowing your things, availing myself of your hospitality," she said shyly to the lovely woman she guessed to be about her own age.

  She had hair black as a raven’s wing, and the most remarkable violet eyes. She seemed reassuringly calm and competent.

  "Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do. You must have been so scared for the boys. How old are they?"

  "Darren is five, Gavin three."

  "And how is Michael?" she asked in a quiet tone.

  "He’s fine. A very good doctor."

  "And the servants? Did they get you all you needed?"

  "There’s no one else here."

  Arabella started in surprise. "I don’t understand. Sam was supposed to—"

  "There’s been no one. We’ve both fended for ourselves. Michael even checked me for lice and fleas."

  "Did he now?" Arabella said, her curiosity piqued.

  Bryony’s answering blush spoke volumes.

  "And he, well, has he had nightmares?"

  "Yes, but not so bad after a time. He did cut his finger, though."

  "Ah." Now it was Arabella’s one syllable which spoke volumes. "But come, child, we mustn’t keep you standing in the hall. You must be done in."

  "And you’re wet. Here, I can play abigail for you, help you out of those soaking things whilst your husband tends to the boys."

  "Yes, indeed. Thank you."

  She followed the other woman up the stairs and helped her off with her heavy saturated woollen gown, and then her layers of petticoats.

  She noticed Arabella was not modest in front of her, and in fact stripped down to her bare skin and pulled on a wrapper. "I’m going to have a nice long soak. I’ll get the underthings, and you can select a gown for me."

  Bryony picked a warm burgundy one.

  "Ah, one of Blake’s favourites. So I shall have to ask you in advance if you’ll forgive us if we’re bad hosts and vanish off to bed early," she said with a wink.

  Bryony blushed. "Not at all. You don’t have to entertain me, Mrs. Sanderson. I fear I’ll be poor company after the long night I had. But Michael—"

  "Arabella, please. Michael fends for himself for the most part. He and Blake play chess and discuss business and politics. He also likes to be alone with his own thoughts. It would be good if you could try to divert him, ensure that he’s less gloomy."

  She ducked her head shyly. "It is hardly my place, especially if he is to be my master."

  "Oh, so he’s offered you a job already?" Arabella said with a knowing inward smile. "What, pray?"

  "His secretary. He said we’re going to compile a multi-lingual dictionary."

  "How wonderful! He and our friend Alexander have spoken of it often in recent months. Now that the war is well and truly over, they had hoped to begin in earnest, but Michael has kept fobbing Alexander off. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to hear this news. Wait until I tell Blake."

  "So he wasn’t, um—"

  "Wasn’t what?" she asked with a shar
p look.

  Bryony hesitated, then said, "Just making the offer because he felt sorry for me?"

  Arabella smiled tightly and shook her head. "No, I’m sure not. Whatever his motives, Michael Avenel is not know for being a man of sentiment. He was one of the most decorated officers during the recent war. Michael got all his medals and ribbons from leading at the front. He had all the makings of a great general until Toulouse, or so they say.

  "Blake tells me he was the most ruthlessly efficient soldier and killer he had ever seen. His nickname was the Grim Reaper. It was reported by some French deserters that there was a huge reward on offer for anyone who could wound or kill him, to throw his men into disarray. His men were known as the Flowers of Toulouse, so many died on that field trying to take their objective.