The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  “You say that like you don’t care.”

  I pinned him with a stern look. “Perhaps because I don’t.”

  He searched my face. “Truly, you don’t give a damn who I sleep with?”

  “What do you want from me, Thomas? Why do you need my blessing for every woman you’ve ever slept with?”

  He sat back in his chair and studied me.

  “That is a very good question, Grace, one that I shall ponder long and hard while I am in Rome over the holidays. Another reason I came by. I’m leaving tomorrow and wanted to ask if you would check in from time to time on the studio. Edward and Sara will be staying there over the holidays. Edward is working on a new project for exhibition.”

  “Thomas Rodin, what are you doing?” I narrowed my gaze. “You are purposely going off and leaving those two alone, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “Grace, she’s pushing me. You know how I am. I’m not marriage material. Now, Edward—” he pointed at me “—there’s a man made for marriage.”

  “Thomas, people’s hearts are not things to be toyed with.”

  He looked down at the table, then leaned forward and took my hand, rubbing his fingers over my knuckles.

  “Trust me, Grace. There is a method to my madness.”

  “Oh, really?” I tugged at my hand and he held it tight. “I didn’t think you needed to have a method.”

  “Woolner!” he yelled aloud, keeping his green-blue eyes on mine.

  “What?” came the response from within the kitchen. “I’m working on the dessert.”

  “Do you need us for a while?” He leaned back in his chair and smiled, waiting for Woolner’s response.

  “Bloody hell, the damn thing deflated. What did you say, Thomas?”

  “Make another, Woolner, we’ll wait.”

  Thomas stood and drew me to my feet. I tried feebly to tug away, but, what the hell, the truth was I needed him tonight.

  He scooped me over his shoulder and smacked my bum.

  “Has the thought occurred to you that I might not want to go to bed with you?” I asked.

  “No, I could see it in your eyes. I know how you are, Grace, when you get mad at me. It’s a cover-up for being aroused.”

  “You pompous bastard,” I said, squirming on his shoulder.

  “Do you deny it?” he asked, his hand sliding beneath my skirts to caress my calf.

  “You’re incorrigible.” I shut my eyes, fighting the wicked thoughts developing in my mind.

  “I love it when you’re mad at me, Grace.”

  “Get to the bedroom, Thomas,” I stated through my ragged breathing.

  “What is going on?” Frank appeared at the breezeway between the dining room and kitchen. “Where are you two…oh, Jupiter’s balls.” He turned around. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  All of my noble thoughts of changing my ways, of wanting more stability went right out the window as Thomas dropped my feet to the floor and reached back, slamming the door with his hand. He shrugged from his jacket, slipped off his cravat and started to unbutton his shirt.

  I knew I was going to regret this later, but it had been so long. “Your divorce is final, then, with Helen?”

  His fingers stilled and he looked at me. “Yes, Grace.”

  He was leaving tomorrow, and in all likelihood he would return from Rome with yet another muse. Oh, God, what was wrong with me? As always, it seemed, we found ourselves connecting for a brief interlude of passion, a few moments of sanity in a chaotic world, before fate repelled us apart. How long could I keep doing this to myself?

  There was an odd familiarity to going to bed with Thomas. It was comfortable, it felt right and if I was deluding myself, then I confess to happily doing so. I lifted my hair, turning my back so he could unfasten the buttons of my dress. With each turn, his knuckles brushed lightly over my back, increasing my anticipation. My dress slid over my shoulders and he placed tender kisses where my flesh was exposed. Unhurried, he turned me in his arms, holding my face as he teased my lips, sampling, coaxing. His kisses were slow and his tongue gently demanding. I surrendered after the first moment his mouth touched mine, giving myself to him freely.

  We kissed, urging one another on, teasing, satisfying, giving and taking in equal amounts. There was no need to speak, we’d said everything before. His mouth caressed my throat as he lifted my chemise over my head and tossed it aside, then held my breasts, laving the tight buds with his teeth and tongue.

  The restrictions of our clothing fell away, and each kiss, each caress, fueled the slow heat building between us. He knew the places to touch, knew how to bring a gasp or a sigh from me.

  Since the night he told me he was going to marry Helen, I had promised myself not to let Thomas have more of me than my body. Then along came Sara and now she, too, seemed but a whim. I had to ask myself, what did that make me? The one he kept coming back to.

  Thomas drew me onto his lap, wrapping me in his embrace, offering me the passion of the flesh he knew so well. I was content, safe in his arms, my body joined with his, our mouths tender one minute, frenzied the next.

  “Grace,” he said quietly.

  His hands caressed my lower back, pulling my body close. I rested my forehead to his, feeling a delicious possessiveness that I didn’t want to spoil.

  “Let’s not talk, Thomas,” I replied, rolling my hips to remind him of why we were here. I held his neck and bowed backward. His hand glided with soft reverence over my breasts.

  “Sweet God, Grace,” he whispered. “Why is it always like this for us?”

  My body grew tight, molten desire consuming me. “No regrets, remember, Thomas?” I said, bringing myself upright to face him. I ran the tip of my finger over his tempting mouth. “You are strikingly handsome, Mr. Rodin. Are you aware of that?” I whispered.

  He slid his hand around my neck and drew me into a fiery kiss. “Come to Rome with me, Grace. We could explore the sights, make love every night, drink good wine. It would be glorious.”

  “You’ll be busy with the boys.” My breath caught as his mouth left mine and moved to my shoulder. His hands caressed my body, knowing just where to touch, how to touch me.

  “I won’t ask you twice, Grace.” He planted nibbling kisses along my jaw, beneath the sensitive spot below my ear. His fingers slipped between us, teasing where his body joined mine. My body trembled on the edge of my release. His hard gaze, filled with lust, held mine. “Don’t ask me, Thomas. Don’t make me deny you.”

  I cupped his unshaven face and kissed him, sensing his frustration, and slowly gave way to his desire. He flopped back on the bed, his hands covering my breasts as I rode him furiously.

  “Yes, Grace,” he hissed, his hips bucking as he thrust upward deep into my core. “Yes, my love.”

  I did not let the words linger in my brain. I gave them no time to touch my heart. My climax overtook me in a blinding rush, causing me to scream his name out loud. His eyes, glittering with lust, never left mine as he drove into me, spilling his seed.

  He pulled me to his side and tucked me beneath his arm. “Stay with me tonight, Grace.”

  “You’re in my bed.” I smiled, sliding my hand over the sheen of his firm stomach.

  “Then ask me to stay.”

  I fought the urge to ask him why he wanted me to go with him, now—at the last minute—instead of asking me when his plans were made.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not tonight.”

  He looked at me in surprise. “Aren’t you going to miss me?”

  “Did I say that?” I tugged the hair on his chest.

  “Ow, wench.” He frowned, but mischief sparkled in his eyes.

  “Moody rake,” I tossed back.

  “I am not moody.”

  “Oh, please.” I rose on my elbow and looked down at him. “Concede at least to that, Thomas. There is no doubt you are, on occasion, unbearably moody.”

  “It is, I suppose, a creative hazard.”

  “Whic
h you have elevated to an art form,” I teased, offering him a grin.

  He turned onto his side and I wished there was a way that I could have captured the expression on his face. I saw in his glittering green-blue eyes delight that I had not seen for a long time. It made my heart swell with unwarranted pride that I might have something to do with it.

  “Come with me to Rome,” he said again, teasing me with a kiss.

  “Thomas, you said you would not ask me twice.”

  “I lied.” He grinned. “Please Grace, think of the fun we’d have.”

  I was afraid if I went with him that whatever we’d created here might end forever there. I had to leave him wanting to come back…hopefully, to me. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I can’t.”

  He looked flustered. “Why not? What’s keeping you here?”

  You. Us. “I just can’t go,” I stated flatly.

  He swung his feet to the floor and sat with his back to me. I reached over to trace his lower spine. He stood up.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I don’t understand it myself, Thomas. “I don’t know how to explain it.” I pushed from the bed and put my arms around his back. “I will be here when you get home.”

  I sensed the tension in his body dissolve and he pulled me into his embrace. We stood holding each other until a knock sounded on the door.

  “Cake’s done,” Woolner hollered through the closed door.

  Thomas’s laugh rumbled against my cheek.

  “Happy Christmas, Thomas,” I said quietly, pressing my ear to his chest, memorizing the beat of his heart.

  “Happy Christmas, Grace.”

  Chapter 10

  FRANK WENT NORTH TO SEE HIS FAMILY OVER THE holidays, graciously inviting me along. He did not feel that I should spend the holidays alone, watching over both his apartment and the studio.

  He kissed my forehead and eyed me. “Are you certain you don’t want to come meet my family? God knows my mother would be pleased if I brought a woman home.”

  “Thank you, Frank, but I told Thomas I’d keep an eye on the studio.”

  “And what else are you planning to do with your time?” His eyes did not mask his curiosity.

  “Well, I won’t be pining away after Thomas, if that is your meaning.”

  “Good girl. He’s a scallywag, Grace. Honestly, I don’t know what you see in him.”

  “I thought you were the one who told me to be patient with him?”

  “That was before he left you and went to Rome,” Frank huffed.

  I hadn’t told Frank that Thomas wanted me to go with him. I had my reasons and it was better to let things play out as fate saw fit.

  “Let it go, Frank. It’s Christmas,” I said. I had plans to pull out the painting of me that Thomas had nearly finished and see what needed to be done to complete it. I didn’t want any negative thoughts muddying that process.

  “You’re right, sweeting.” He hugged me. “I’ll be back in a week, unless things get excruciatingly boring! Happy Christmas, darling.”

  As it was, Frank did return earlier than expected and we spent New Year’s Eve on the town celebrating in true Frank Woolner style. On more than one occasion since the holidays, I’d gone by the studio, finding it undisturbed and void of either Sara or Edward. Though I found it a bit strange, I thought little of it. Perhaps Thomas’s plan was working and Edward and Sara were spending more time with each other away from the studio, or perhaps she’d changed her mind and gone back home.

  The weeks passed and before I knew it, it was nearly the end of January. Frank and I had received only one letter from Thomas since he’d left. My trips to the studio had grown less frequent as I spent more time studying and soliciting Frank’s help with touching up Thomas’s painting of me.

  “You have a keen eye,” Frank stated, looking over my shoulder as I dabbed light on the high point of my shoulder. I’d been careful not to change the foundation of the painting.

  “Do you think he’ll appreciate that I’ve tried to finish it?” I asked, glancing up at Frank.

  “Oh, heavens, he’ll have a fit, but after he looks at it—really looks at it—I don’t see how he could possibly be angry.” Frank kissed the top of my head. “What do you plan to do with it?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought. Just show it to Thomas and see what he says.”

  “Hmm,” Frank patted my shoulder. “I’ll get us some tea.”

  Watts stopped in unannounced while Frank and I enjoyed our afternoon tea and a new recipe for biscuits that he’d brought back from his family’s cook. Watts’s amber eyes glittered with keen interest as he helped himself to a biscuit and spread it with orange marmalade. “So, I assume the two of you have heard about Edward and Sara?”

  I finished swallowing my tea. “Um…no. We haven’t seen anyone from the brotherhood recently. What happened?”

  “Seems they were married in Wales over Christmas.”

  I stared at him. “Married?” I repeated to make sure I’d heard him correctly. “That is awfully sudden, isn’t it?” That explained why no one had been around when I went to the studio.

  Watts waved his biscuit at me. “Not to my way of thinking. I saw how that woman eyed him the first night Thomas brought him to the studio.

  “Have you heard from Thomas?” I asked. “Does he know?”

  Watts shook his head. “I haven’t had a chance to go by and see him yet. He just asked me to see to it that the next issue of The Germ gets out.”

  “You mean he’s back from Rome?” The news startled me and my gaze swerved to Frank, who seemed to be studying his teacup intently.

  Watts glanced from me to Frank. “He got back about a week ago. I thought you knew. When I saw Frank the other day, I told him—” He clamped his mouth shut, realizing the tension he’d unintentionally created.

  “Frank?” I asked. “Did you know he was back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Frank stabbed Watts with a furious look and sighed, turning his attention to me. “I thought…hell, I hoped that he would have contacted you himself by now, sweeting.”

  I sat back and dropped my biscuit on my plate, no longer having an appetite. Why should things be any different? “Well, you know our Thomas. He’s probably deep into a new project.” Or has a new muse. “But what about Edward and Sara? Did they stay in Wales?”

  Watts perked up, happy to have the topic steered away from me. “Here’s the strange part. They’ve been living in the farmhouse that Thomas owned. The one he was saving for a communal brotherhood studio, someday. Guess that’s no longer the case,” he stated, popping the last bit of his biscuit into his mouth. He licked his fingers and rose, taking a sip of tea to wash down his food. “I’ve got to run. Just came by to pick up your article, Frank.”

  Frank went to his desk, found his script and handed it to Watts.

  “Let me know what you two hear about Thomas,” Watts said.

  Frank walked him to the door and had a sheepish look on his face when he returned to the dining room.

  “I’m sorry, sweeting,” he said softly.

  “Thomas’s acreage? Why would he give that up…and to Edward?”

  Frank shrugged. “The studio was his and William’s dream. I think after what happened between him and Will, his heart wasn’t in it anymore. Edward was his protégé and has nothing. Maybe he decided to give it to Edward out of charity, or he just didn’t care. I don’t know any better than you why Thomas makes the choices he does.”

  “You’re probably right, Frank, and I would be wise to stay out of it and mind my own business, right? But I’m concerned why he wouldn’t have contacted any of the people closest to him.”

  Frank considered my words. “You know how the critics have been riding him. Thomas doesn’t respond well to criticism.”

  “I want to go check on him. Will you come with me?”

  “Let me clean this up and we’ll head over to the studio straight away.”

  The pungent stench of stale li
quor hit Frank and me when I opened the door.

  “Thomas?” I called, easing the door fully open. The door brushed an empty bottle of port, sending it rolling across the wood floor, smacking the wall.

  “Oh, dear,” Frank muttered under his breath.

  We found Thomas seated at his writing desk. Hundreds of pieces of wadded pieces of paper were flung around the room. His cupboard storing his port hung open and it was empty, the bottles strewn about the room with used glasses perched next to them.

  “Ah, there you are! My last two friends in all of London and quite possibly the planet.” Thomas tried to stand, but his boot caught on the table leg and he fell back in his chair with a rousing thud.

  “It’s a bit early for port, isn’t it?” I moved about the room, gathering up the bottles. Frank took a trash receptacle and silently began picking up the garbage scattered around the room.

  “Don’t start with me, Grace. God knows I don’t need another woman harping on me, telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

  I continued to carry used dishes to the kitchen, stopping long enough to put on a kettle for some strong tea. “You have me mixed up with your critics, Thomas,” I said.

  “Oh, no, Grace. The critics, now there is another matter entirely. I’m talking about my muses, Grace.”

  I glanced at Frank, who just shook his head.

  “They’re all the same. Luring me to them like sultry sirens.” He grabbed at the air as if mimicking being pulled in. “Their beautiful smiles, porcelain faces, swanlike necks…sucking me under until I surrender to their passion.”

  “Good God,” Frank muttered, tossing another paper wad in the trash.

  “Then, bam!” He smacked his fist to the table, bringing my head up. I exchanged looks with Frank.

  “I’m suddenly not around enough, or doing more of this, not enough of that. ‘Take me here, Thomas. Let’s stay in, Thomas. Isn’t it too early for port, Thomas?’” he bellowed, swerving his bleary-eyed face to mine.

  “You are nasty when you’re drunk,” I stated calmly.

  He lifted his hand and looked at Frank. “You see? I cannot please them. What is a man to do, Woolner?”