The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  He placed his arm on mine to stop me. “If you are receptive to the idea of modeling again, Grace, I would like to ask if you’d pose for my commission.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about posing again, but if the money was better than what the pub paid, I was willing to listen. “Do you have an artist in mind?”

  “I have commissioned one of the brotherhood artists to paint a very special portrait.”

  “A special portrait? And what do you mean by that, Lord Hoffemeyer?”

  He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “It is for my den, Grace. I have a very private collection, painted by some of the most renowned artists of our time.”

  “And you want to include a portrait of me?”

  “Yes, very much. Grace, ever since our meeting that night, I have not been able to get the vision of you in that dress out of my mind.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Lord Hoffemeyer, pardon me for saying, but you are a very eccentric man.”

  He shrugged and took my hand, kissing it. “I have been called worse. Still, when I want something, I do not stop until I get it.” He smiled.

  I had seen that look enough times in my life, usually from the shadows of an alleyway with a gent showing me a pouch, fat with coins. “If you don’t mind me asking, milord, what is it you want from me, exactly?”

  “A portrait, Grace. One with very specific details.”

  “Nothing more included in this arrangement?”

  “Of course not, Grace. Nothing more than what you are comfortable with.” He tipped his hat slightly.

  “These details? What are they?” I asked, still leery, suspecting that this wasn’t entirely a coincidence.

  He smiled sheepishly. “I want a nude, Grace.”

  “A nude?”

  “Yes, I know you might find that odd, perhaps, but my collection—”

  I stopped him. “You’ve no need to explain your position, Lord Hoffemeyer.” I needed the money if I was going to be able to find a place big enough for Deidre and me to live for the winter. “A nude portrait?” I asked. “That’s all?”

  “That’s it, my dear.” He patted my arm. “Oh, and I’ve made arrangements with the artist to split the fee fifty-fifty.”

  My eyes widened as I struggled with whether I’d heard him correctly. “Half for me and half for the artist? He agreed to that?”

  Lord Hoffemeyer shrugged his burly shoulders. “He seemed fine with the arrangement.”

  “You must truly want this portrait.”

  “You’ve no idea what it means to me, Grace. In addition, while the painting is being completed, I don’t want you to have to travel so far to the studio each day. So I’m asking you to move into a small flat nearby the studio I’ve secured.”

  “The artist doesn’t have his own studio?” I asked, puzzled as to who in the brotherhood wouldn’t have his own studio or simply ask Thomas to use his.

  “I wanted a place where he wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone.”

  The man obviously had enough money that he could have his pick of beautiful women to pose for him. Why me? “It seems you’ve thought this out very carefully, Lord Hoffemeyer. Forgive my curiosity, but what is in this for you?”

  He smiled and the sparkle went straight to his deep brown eyes. “Now and again when I’m in town for business, I ask that you might consider letting me take you to dinner, perhaps a show. There are times a man simply enjoys the company of a lady.”

  “And Lady Hoffemeyer would not take offense?” I asked.

  “My wife and I have an understanding, Grace.”

  I nodded. I knew about men and their mistresses. I tipped my head, regarding him. He must have sensed my discomfort as he hurried on.

  “Just for companionship, Grace. A friend and nothing more, unless you choose it.”

  Though I was hesitant to accept his proposal, the truth was that Deidre would have a warm place to stay and meals provided for her if she was willing to work at the pub a few nights in my stead. And I needed the money. With my reputation of being a model now public knowledge, men were hesitant to be seen with me. I reasoned that if I felt things were becoming a problem, I could always leave.

  I placed my arm through his. “A nude, then?”

  “Tastefully done. I assure you.”

  “I never doubted it, Lord Hoffemeyer,” I replied.

  “May I buy you a drink to celebrate our agreement, Grace?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Deidre was thrilled to have a warm bed and I introduced her to Barnaby, the pub manager, who started her immediately on serving tables. “You’ll call me if you need anything,” I said as I hugged her close.

  “Don’t you worry ’bout me, Grace. I can handle meself.” She waved as the carriage Lord Hoffemeyer had sent for me rambled away.

  Lord Hoffemeyer insisted on seeing that I was settled into my new apartment before my first day of work. We’d just finished lunch at the apartment, made by the resident cook and housekeeper. The apartment consisted of two bedrooms, a bath with indoor plumbing, a parlor, small kitchen and a pantry. It was filled with furnishings far better than I’d ever had. There was a simple elegance to the flat and I wondered what purpose the nest usually served for Lord Hoffemeyer.

  “Do you stay here when in London, Lord Hoffemeyer?” I asked, noting there were indeed two bedrooms. His eyes darted to mine and a smile crept up his face.

  “I haven’t been here in some time. Lady Hoffemeyer always liked staying here in the past.” He looked around at the mementos on the walls and shelves. “But I want you to feel free to make it your own.”

  He dabbed his napkin to his mouth. “Now, Grace, about your hair. I want it wrapped around your head.” He pushed from his chair and stood behind me, working his hands in my hair until it was loosely piled on top of my head.

  “I want it exactly as you wore it that night. Wound up around your head like a halo.” His hands rested on my shoulders.

  “Oh, Baron, surely you have the wrong woman.” I laughed.

  He chuckled and squeezed my shoulders. “Oh, no, Grace. I have found the only woman who can give me what I want.”

  I touched my napkin to my mouth and turned to look up at him.

  “Are you certain that we’ve not met before that night at the opera?”

  He sat back in his chair and lifted his water glass. “I am quite sure you’d have remembered a big oaf like me.”

  “You are not a big oaf, milord. I find you more of a snuggly bear,” I teased good-naturedly. A man of his power and wealth would be good to have on my side, and besides, he and the baroness were friends of Thomas’s.

  He held his glass up by way of a toast and smiled. “You flatter me, Grace. I am humbled you think of me in such kind terms. I want us to be friends.” He regarded me for a moment. “I trust you have everything you need. If not, ask the cook or the driver and they will see to your needs.”

  “You’re not going with me tomorrow to the studio?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately I have some business out of town to attend to. I will, however, notify you when I am back in London.”

  He rose and kissed my cheek before summoning the driver to take him to meet his ship. I admit it was an odd arrangement, but he had kept his word thus far, with no surprises or uncomfortable requests. I looked around the room and took a deep breath. I needed to get a good night’s sleep, so I would look favorable for the first day of my new job.

  I was appointed a personal driver and hansom coach. Both were waiting when I emerged from the flat the next morning, prepared to walk the distance. The driver said it was going to rain and said that I should ride, instead.

  “Thank you…what shall I call you?” I asked, taking his hand. I was not used to this kind of attentiveness.

  “The name’s Dobbs, miss. I’ll wait for you until you’re finished with the studio, as Lord Hoffemeyer has insisted.” He bowed. I stared at the man for a moment, wondering when I would awaken from this dream.

 
; There was no one in the hotel-room-turned-studio when I arrived, but there was a note from Lord Hoffemeyer, lying on a lovely deep-rose-colored fainting couch. I sat down and opened the note.

  Dearest Grace,

  I am most fortunate that fate smiled down upon me that night at the opera. I feel it was destiny that we met again and look forward to cultivating a long and satisfying relationship with you while we partner in this most exciting endeavor.

  I have the utmost faith in the artist that I’ve commissioned. He’s a good chap, although he possesses a bit of arrogance, which I think we both realize from experience comes with the mind of a creative genius. Though he has no idea of who I have chosen to model for this piece, I am quite certain that you will handle yourself professionally in your manner and dealings with him. However, should you have any trouble at all, send for me immediately, and as always, I have Dobbs at the ready. I do not anticipate trouble, mind you; do not be alarmed. It is only that with my being out of town, I want your safety and happiness above all.

  I will be in touch to see how the portrait is progressing upon my next visit to London. In my absence, I have taken the liberty of setting up accounts in my name for you at the locations listed at the bottom of this note. Until later, my dear, beautiful Grace.

  Lord H.

  I began to undress behind the dressing screen provided in the corner of the room. My head came up as I heard the door open and someone enter the room. “Hello?” I called out. A silence followed. “Did Lord Hoffemeyer send you? Are you the brotherhood artist he commissioned?”

  “Um…yes, madam. I was just checking the lighting in here. He indicated that this was a very special project. He has left me detailed instructions as to his wishes. I assume you have also received similar notification.”

  Though raspy, his voice was familiar. I wrapped the wide sheath of deep-blue satin fabric around me, as were Lord Hoffemeyer’s instructions, and stepped from behind the screen. It fell from my grasp as my eyes slammed into a pair of teal-colored eyes. “Thomas?”

  His gaze darted up from his reading of the note. “Bloody hell…Grace?” He stared at me in mutual surprise. “What in the bloody hell…” He looked down at the note.

  I took the opportunity to cover myself and hurried behind the screen. It was absurd, of course, to feel so exposed in front of my former lover, but it felt strange. “There must be some sort of mistake, Thomas. Have you or have you not been commissioned by Lord Hoffemeyer to paint a nude of me?”

  “Clearly, Hoffemeyer was not of sound mind when he made arrangements for this project.”

  I frowned. “He is one of the most sound-minded, kind men that I know,” I called over the screen.

  “Ah, I see, the two of you are on intimate terms, then?” he asked.

  I stepped from behind the screen. “Is it any of your business?”

  “Then that is a yes?” He tipped his head. I shifted the cloth tighter around me, aware of how his gaze slowly assessed me.

  The man was infuriating, if not all the more arrogant than I remembered. “He is a friend, Thomas…a good friend.”

  I took the time to look at him. He wore a jacket similar to the style he so loved, coming across as some sort of Italian libertine with his ruffled cuffs. “I see you’ve managed to obtain a new jacket. The other was particularly shabby.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t look shabby.” His expression clouded and then he let out a pronounced sigh. “Well, Grace, it looks like we’ll have to make do. The money, as I’m sure you’ve been apprised, is far too good to pass up. He told you of the arrangement?”

  “Fifty-fifty,” I repeated Lord Hoffemeyer’s instructions.

  “Yes, an absurd amount,” he muttered. “No offense.”

  “None taken. It will be worth every shilling for every moment I have to spend here.”

  He raised his eyebrows and began to set up his table. “I suspect he mentioned that I have a new model working for me?”

  “I’ve heard she has glorious red hair. And so, a new muse to titillate you, Thomas?”

  He placed his paint box on the table next to the easel. “You say that as if I have an unsavory reputation with women.”

  I offered a quiet snort. “Oh, no, not unsavory, but definitely a reputation. So she is a red-haired beauty?” I sat down on the edge of the couch, keeping the cloth wrapped tightly around me.

  Thomas glanced up at me as he began to arrange his brushes. “She is innocent. Perfect, really, for my current project. She has a fresh face and that look of inexperience in her eyes.”

  “I see you haven’t lost your way with words, Thomas.”

  He ignored the jab and so did I.

  “How is William?”

  Thomas shrugged off his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. “He was the one to find Helen, truth be told. He knew I was looking for a redhead.”

  “An innocent? How old is she?” I asked, memories of my past creeping into my mind, though I knew Thomas wasn’t the depraved sort.

  “Not innocent in age, Grace. She is plenty old enough, if that is your meaning.”

  “Such a nice contrast, an angelic face with hair that the devil calls his own. I’m quite certain that whatever you’re planning has to do with creating a controversy for the academy,” I commented drily.

  “I won’t deny that,” he responded. After a moment he added, “My schedule these days is erratic at best. I may have to work nights as I’m in the throes of finishing another project. Are evenings going to prove inconvenient for you, Grace?”

  I smiled. “There is no need to be cruel, Thomas. Let’s lay our cards on the table, shall we? You have moved on with your life and so have I. Evenings are fine with me, daytime, as well, if that is your preference.”

  “A lady of leisure you’ve become, then?” He smiled demurely.

  “A lady of learning,” I replied calmly.

  His eyes glittered with curiosity. “So he takes good care of you?”

  “Let’s understand something, Thomas. I’m doing this for Lord Hoffemeyer.” I dropped the cloth and lay on my stomach, drawing the blue cloth over my bum.

  “And here I thought you were doing it for the money.”

  “Arse,” I muttered, propping my chin on my crossed arms.

  He chuckled quietly.

  “Will this suffice? It is what I envisioned when I read Lord Hoffemeyer’s instructions.” I was used to showing men my body. I simply had to remind myself that Thomas was just another man. Not the man who had broken my heart.

  He walked over to me, his expression unreadable, and I felt him tug on the fabric. I glanced over my shoulder as he arranged the cloth to expose one of my legs. He tucked—perhaps with too much care—the remaining cloth, smoothing it down over my inner thigh.

  “Are you quite finished?” My tone was droll.

  He stepped back as if assessing his work.

  “Turn a bit toward me. I think we need more of your breasts exposed…for Lord Hoffemeyer, of course.”

  I gave him a brief smile, wondering if fifty percent was enough.

  He studied the effect.

  “Just a tweak…” He reached out and, with his thumb and forefinger, tweaked the pink nub of my breast. It puckered instantly.

  “There, I wanted a look of arousal.”

  I shook my head. “Of course you did,” I muttered.

  “Listen to me. Place one hand beneath you. You know, as though you are pleasuring yourself.”

  “I don’t recall that being in the instructions, Thomas.”

  His eyes narrowed and his mouth lifted in a smirk.

  “He and I spoke in vivid detail, trust me.”

  “Just how vivid, if you don’t mind?” I asked, sliding my hand between my stomach and the couch, my fingers covering my triangle of soft curls.

  “I need you to look aroused, Grace. And given the present situation, I find it awkward to help you achieve the look myself.”

  “What a gentleman. I’d quite for
gotten.”

  He sighed and chewed the tip of his brush, looking deep in thought.

  “Don’t even think about touching me, Thomas,” I warned.

  “Well, then.” He shrugged, walking back to his easel. “You have to achieve it as best you can. I need that look of being pleasured by your lover reflected in your eyes.”

  “But don’t you have to sketch me first? Is how my eyes look all that important?”

  “Are you telling me how I should do my job?” he sputtered. “For God’s sake, passion, Grace, that expression of being satisfied. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

  Perhaps his innocent muse was causing poor Thomas more frustration than he realized. I lay there for a moment and watched him roll up his shirtsleeves, pick up his piece of charcoal and begin to sketch furiously. He did not look up. Pride and loathing warred inside of me. I wanted to treat him with the same blasé attitude that he was treating me with.

  With a pronounced sigh of frustration, I flopped to my back and placed my hand between my thighs, massaging furiously, finding no pleasure whatsoever in the action.

  “That is not working for you, Grace,” Thomas interjected.

  “Be quiet.” I turned, pinning him with a frustrated look, took a deep breath and looked back at the ceiling. Focused now, I emitted a sigh that would have caused an astute cock to come to attention. Softly, I touched myself with gentle strokes, summoning a familiar smoky curl deep in my core. I rolled my palm over my breast, capturing a stiff nipple between my fingers. With each stroke, my concerns drifted away and the image of Thomas lavishing me with his tongue that rainy morning so long ago, emerged in my head. I heard the sound of my sighs in the silence and I remembered implicitly how he mastered my body, drawing me to the edge again and again, until I begged him to take me.

  A soft moan escaped my lips as I thought of him on his knees, his arms wrapped around my legs, thrusting into me with fervent, slow determination. I remembered the look on his face, the emotion in his eyes as he stared down at me.