The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Get up on the table,” he responded with an easy grin.

  “You want me to stand on the table in front of all these people?” I stared at him with wide eyes.

  “Your face is going to be seen by far greater numbers, my muse. Come on now, up you go.”

  “But I—” I started, but my protests dissolved when his hands circled my waist and he lifted me to the tabletop.

  Raucous laughter and applause followed as I looked down at the gallery of approving male faces. Thomas held my hand, displaying a sense of ownership that I found comforting.

  The brotherhood men nodded, waving their hands, motioning for me to turn. A couple of them lifted my skirt to view my ankles. Thomas slapped away their hands but laughed good-naturedly. After a moment or two, I offered a smile, dipping in a short curtsy. I no longer felt like that ugly duckling. I looked down at Thomas, his fingers locked with mine, his smile encouraging, and I believed I’d become a beautiful swan. The catcalls and whistles continued, drawing curious onlookers into the private circle.

  “Very well, gentlemen, that’s enough,” Thomas ordered, reaching up for me.

  I inched to the edge of the table and leaned forward. He grabbed me around the waist, his hands sliding precariously close to my breasts as he lifted me to the ground. He held my gaze possessively, letting my body slide slowly down the front of his.

  My feet touched the floor, but he continued to hold me close, his arm encircling my waist.

  “You’ve got your balance, then?”

  Pressed against his solid frame, I could barely think, my heart still beating from the rush of my initiation. Balance? Doubtful.

  “I do, Mr.—Thomas,” I answered, pleased when I saw Annie scowl and turn back into the crowd.

  Thomas kissed my forehead and drew back, his eyes resting for a heartbeat on my mouth before he returned his eyes to mine.

  “Welcome to the brotherhood, Miss Bridgeton.”

  “Do call me Helen,” I said bravely.

  “As you wish.” He grinned.

  I was living a lie, but to whose benefit? For two months, I had been telling Madame Tozier that my stomach was the cause of the many afternoons that I had asked to leave the shop early. However, as my acting skills grew weaker, the actual pains in my stomach increased. I found myself losing track of the days, and on more than one occasion I had nearly taken too much of my medicine, forgetting when I last took it. I could not sleep.

  William’s aloof behavior pervaded my mind. Since our liaison, he had not attempted to speak with me except in passing and was usually absent when I was at the studio. At night my mind would creep back to that summer afternoon, how the soft warm breeze had wafted over our fevered bodies. I lay on my bed, mesmerized by the flickering flame of the oil lamp beside my bed. I remembered his tongue, the roughness of his hands gliding over me, plucking my nipples until I begged for more. Desperate to recapture that euphoric feeling, I used my hands to imitate his, brushing my fingers through my soft curls and spreading my sweet crevice, mimicking the exquisite pleasure he’d given me. I licked my dry lips, arching my back to the memory of him heavy inside me, his body pressed to mine. In my mind, I saw the sweet determination in his gentle eyes, our bodies fused in delicious, slick friction. Then my body broke free, my muscles caressing, squeezing around him.

  I stared at the flame, drawing my hand over my stomach, my physical need now satiated. Nevertheless, I held on to the desperate longing for his affection, realizing with chilling clarity that perhaps he did not feel the same. I’d even written a poem for us called, Another Time, Another Place, and slipped it into William’s coat pocket hoping he might respond, but if he found it, he made no mention of it.

  It was of little surprise to me when William entered the studio one afternoon and announced his departure.

  “Well, I’m off soon. My train leaves within the hour.”

  “You’re leaving?” I rubbed the back of my neck, stiff and sore from sitting too long. I bowed my head so he would not see the disappointment in my eyes. “Thomas didn’t mention it.”

  “It’s just a short trip to Rome. I plan to tour a few cathedrals and perhaps a garden or two in search of inspiration.”

  “Be cautious of those beautiful gardens, Will. Some of their caretakers do not appreciate foreigners plucking them,” Thomas said with a smirk.

  It was evident he was speaking metaphorically of women. I brushed his comment from my mind, rubbing my arms under the sleeves of the itchy damask gown that Thomas insisted I wear. The two brothers embraced and William gave me a tight smile. “Miss Bridgeton.” He nodded.

  “Mr. Rodin.” I continued the appearance that we’d never been intimate with each other. If he could perform the task so well, I could, too. After William left, I followed Thomas out to the balcony. We stood watching his carriage amble down the cobblestone street.

  “I miss him like the devil when he’s gone,” Thomas said quietly.

  He sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on my head.

  “It’s just you and me now, Helen. He’s gone and left us behind while he trots off on a new adventure.”

  “Does he take these trips often?” I asked. The warmth of Thomas’s arms made me feel secure. It was his nature to be physical—he was prone to giving hugs and pecks on the cheek, even to the other men in the brotherhood.

  He lifted aside my unbridled hair and nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

  “When the spirit moves him. I prefer to find my inspiration closer to home.” The smell of wine wafted beneath my nose as his palm moved over my right breast, squeezing gently.

  “Are you inspired, my muse?” he whispered against the curve of my neck.

  I slipped from his grasp. “The light is waning, Mr. Rodin.”

  “I have asked that you call me Thomas,” he said with quiet firmness.

  “All right, Thomas. Still, if you wish to do more this afternoon before I leave—”

  “Oh, yes, my muse. I would love to do more.”

  “I’ve no doubt you would, Thomas. Do you think I am so innocent that I do not know your reputation?”

  He looked at me curiously. “I think you pretend not to know how you affect me, Helen.”

  “I do think, Thomas, that you have found your inspiration much too easily in the past.”

  His smile grew wide. “Aha! My innocent little muse has a cunning side, as well.”

  “I am not worldly, it is true, but I do know a rogue when I see one.”

  “A rogue?” He held his hand to his heart. “Woman, you wound me with your words far too romantic for a man like me. A man, as you say, of my reputation.”

  “Perhaps I should take my leave for the afternoon.” I turned away and he grabbed my arm.

  “My apologies, Helen. I had no idea that my affections would be repulsive to you.”

  “You are not repulsive to me, Thomas, nor are your affections. But do not think that because I am here, you may take advantage of the situation.”

  “I see. You are a woman who prefers to be wooed, is that it?” He stepped around me, blocking my escape back into the studio.

  “I am a woman with needs, innocent though you think me to be.” I faced him.

  His gaze narrowed and he took my chin between his fingers.

  “Those dark circles—your complexion is pale. Helen, what is the matter? What ails you?”

  His immediate change in topic and manner scattered my thoughts.

  “I am not sleeping well,” I admitted.

  He pulled me into his embrace and laid his cheek on the top of my head.

  “You must learn to trust me, Helen. When you are unhappy, I am unhappy.”

  “I don’t see myself through your eyes, Thomas.”

  “Then I will have to do better at showing you how important you are to me.”

  He smoothed his hands up and down my spine, and I welcomed this tender gesture. “You have been good to me, Thomas.”

  “I
could be much more, Helen, if you’d allow.”

  His concern for my health prompted me to admit my worry regarding my employer. “I cannot keep lying, Thomas. I fear I will lose my job, or worse, Madame Tozier will go to my mother and ask her about my health.”

  He frowned. “Neither she nor your family realize that you’ve been posing for me?”

  I sighed. “Not everyone is as enamored of the brotherhood as you may like to think.”

  He chuckled. “You needn’t remind me.” His eyes drifted over my shoulder as if deep in thought. “Then we shall go see this Madame Tozier and teach her to adore the brotherhood,” he said finally.

  I laughed softly. “Do you honestly think that you can make a difference?”

  “Go get dressed. I’ll order us a carriage.” He smiled. “Oh, wait, do you need any help?” he called after me.

  “I can manage getting dressed on my own, Thomas, thank you,” I tossed back, but the smoky color of his eyes, the intimate way that he had touched me, lingered in my mind. As I dressed in his bedroom, I looked around, trying to get a clearer picture of my mysterious employer. He lived in an unkempt state and I often wondered if he hired a maid to come in and tidy up after him, but I had never seen one when I was there. I assumed that he ate out, as I’d not seen a cook either. He seemed, however, to have an endless supply of tea, wine and raspberry scones on hand. His bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, and my mind flashed with the image of Thomas sprawled across it, his nude body draped with a careless covering. Need welled inside me. Having once tasted the precious honeyed bliss, my body craved it. I hurried to finish dressing and remove myself from the temptation of my imagination.

  “Thank you, Madame Tozier, for your contribution to the arts,” Thomas said. “We’ll be certain to credit the lovely hat that Helen holds in the painting to your generosity.”

  As he had predicted, Thomas had managed to charm my employer, reducing her to a blushing admirer.

  Thomas placed his delicate teacup on the plate he held.

  “I will be visiting Miss Bridgeton’s family as soon as we have a painting to give them. I must say it is refreshing to find a noted person in the community who appreciates the importance of the arts. Art is what differentiates us from the animals, don’t you agree, Madame Tozier?”

  “Oh, yes, I do agree, Mr. Rodeen.” Her smile was demure. “We must educate the unfortunate souls who do not understand such things.”

  I glanced away, covering my smile with my napkin. Thomas was openly charming, a shrewd businessman and, as he made no qualms in saying, he usually got what he wanted. A shiver ran through me, remembering his hand on my breast. What more did Thomas want from me? I chose to set those questions aside for the moment and simply be grateful that some of my guilt had been lifted from my shoulders. I had him to thank for that.

  “Thomas, did you mean what you said about giving my family a portrait of me?” I asked later as we rode back to the ferry where I would catch my ride home.

  He took my hand, patted it and rested it on the top of his thigh. “I needed to gain Madame Tozier’s trust, Helen. I had to make certain she would not trot off to tell your family all about us herself. By entrusting her to keep it our little surprise, she will keep our confidence.”

  “So, in short, you lied?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as stretching the truth, quite harmlessly. Perhaps we can take them a portrait someday. Would that be so awful?”

  The image of my papa raising his gun to the sky and giving a single warning shot emerged in my head. “Perhaps we should wait a little longer before we tell my family,” I said, as my stomach began to bother me again.

  “Tilt your chin down. Now lift your eyes…good…there. Hold that look—perfect.”

  I held my gaze steady on a spot of light shimmering over Thomas’s shoulder. Being his muse was a much more daunting task than I had imagined. When he noticed my stress, he would break into song and dance me about the studio until I was in better spirits. On occasion, he would take me to the pub to dine with others in the brotherhood, but although I tried to fit in, I found myself preferring to be alone with Thomas at the studio.

  Several letters had arrived from William, always addressed to Thomas. He indicated that he was having a splendid time in Rome and hoped all was well back home. Never once did he ask about me, specifically. That single afternoon with William began to fade, replaced by the colorful moments I spent with his brother.

  “Do you wish to discuss something with me, Helen?” Thomas asked, wiping his fingers on his paint rag.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas, I’ll do better.” I shifted, straightening my spine.

  “Is it your monthly?”

  I suppose that by now, I should have been more used to his frank manner, but today it surprised me. I’d never spoken to anyone other than my mother on that subject. “No,” I uttered in haste, averting my eyes and feeling foolish.

  Thomas knelt before me, taking my hands in his. The warmth of his concern flowed through me. There was kindness in his eyes that put me at ease.

  “It is natural, Helen. What kind of man would I be if I were not sensitive to these things? Many women have posed for me. I would be a thickheaded boob if I did not understand.”

  “I have not been sleeping well. I have bouts of insomnia, but it will pass.”

  He studied me and then slapped his knee. “You need the fresh air and sunshine of the country.”

  He smiled up at me, his eyes twinkling. I thought that he meant we should visit my family at last, and now, faced with the reality of it, I wasn’t sure if I was ready just yet. “Oh, I could not face my family today, Thomas. Perhaps next week when I’m better rested.”

  He nodded. “Very well, we won’t go to see your family, as you wish. We’ll take a ride. I know! We’ll have a picnic! It’s a lovely day for it. We need to get some color in your face.”

  He pulled me to my feet.

  “Go change and meet me out front.”

  Although I considered asking whether I might instead lie down for a while, I knew that once Thomas made up his mind he was not easily deterred.

  The carriage ride was indeed relaxing. We spoke little, enjoying the view, silent in our private thoughts. Once or twice I caught Thomas looking at me and we would share a friendly smile. Since our conversation on the balcony, he’d not made any further advances. I often wondered, knowing the healthiness of his sexual appetite, how he was satisfying his cravings.

  Thomas tapped the driver with his cane and we came to a stop by a small grove of willow and oak trees.

  “You’re welcome to go up to the house, good man. You’ll find a well there to water your horses. I’ll fetch you when we’re ready.”

  He grabbed a small basket and stepped down, holding his hand out to me. “Come on, I want to show you the grounds.”

  “Will the owners mind us traipsing around the property?” I asked, noting a small cottage in the distance.

  “It belongs to the brotherhood.” He offered his hand to help me down.

  Thomas continued to hold my hand, guiding me through the knee-length grass. Overhead, the sun shone in a brilliant blue sky. I breathed deeply. The setting was beautiful and it reminded me of the places I had played as a child. “The brotherhood? What would the brotherhood need with all of this land?” I asked, ducking beneath the low-hanging branches of the willow trees as best I could. One snagged my bonnet, pulling it away from my head.

  Thomas laughed and reached up, loosening my coppery hair and causing it to spill over my shoulders. He stopped, holding my hat in his hand, and fingered my hair. “Breathtaking,” he said, taking a strand and brushing it over his cheek. “You have a natural beauty that few women can boast of, Helen. You should embrace it with great confidence.”

  We sat beneath a willow, lunching on fresh peaches and cheese, bread and wine. He tore a loaf of bread and offered me a taste.

  “We’ve talked about building a communal studio.” He st
ood and shook off his coat.

  “What?” I asked, swallowing the bread without properly chewing it. I washed it down with a large gulp of wine. “Why would you want to leave the studio? Would you all live here together?”

  Thomas stretched out on his side, crossing his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s the perfect solution, really. Sharing props, easels, paints—”

  “Models?” I asked, feeling a tinge of jealousy.

  He leveled his gaze on me. “That has always been the way of it. From the formation of the brotherhood—we share and share alike.”

  “I do not think I like the idea, Thomas.” I tipped back my glass and finished off the wine. I sensed it warring with my medicine, causing my tongue to loosen.

  “Because you are uncomfortable around the brotherhood?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t think they like me, Thomas. I hear their whispers when I don’t laugh at their lewd jokes.”

  “Lewd? Why, Helen, I never took you for a stick-in-the-mud.”

  I paused from filling my cup, my ire rankled. “I am no such thing, I assure you. I simply prefer different company.” I took another sip of wine and bit into a ripe peach. The juice dribbled past my lips and trickled down my chin before I could catch it with my fingers. Tiny droplets landed on the flesh exposed above my bodice.

  I watched his eyes follow the liquid. A slow throbbing tugged betwixt my legs.

  “And whose company do you prefer, Helen, if not that of the brotherhood?”

  His gaze flicked up to mine and I swallowed. Beyond the sound of my breathing was the din of nature—the buzzing, the chirping and the chattering.

  “I prefer when it is only you and me, Thomas,” I confessed, unable to take my eyes from his.

  “And why on earth would you have the desire to be alone with the likes of me?” His grin was tempting, as he intended it to be, I am certain.

  “Do not think I am like Annie, Thomas,” I warned, pointing my finger at him.

  He caught my hand, turning it so that the peach dropped to the ground. Then one by one, he drew my fingertips into his mouth, sucking off the juice.