Her Muse, Her David (Muses Book 3)

by Jane Charles

  “Will you be attending the masquerade this year?”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “That didn’t stop you before.”

  Anna glimpsed up in time to see Mr. Thorn wink at her.

  Drat, she’d never be able to sketch him correctly if her hands kept shaking like this. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t been nervous before. Of course, she wasn’t hiding behind a mask and a fake Italian accent now. Last year had been about the adventure. She’d originally intended just to catch the party goers and costumes in her sketch book until she saw him. Unable to help herself, Anna had ignored everyone else and asked him to sit for her.

  This was different. He knew who she was now. What if he told his friends about this encounter? Would they tell others until it eventually made the rounds back to Uncle Walter?

  She could always deny the rumors, of course, but she detested lying more than anything. So just in case, no matter what she sketched today, they would go into the hidden compartment beneath the floorboards with the rest of her drawings.

  “I promise, Miss Southward, you will receive an invitation.”

  That didn’t mean she could go. “That probably wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Why?”

  “My uncle! He would never allow me to attend.”

  “As with the other circumstance, that didn’t seem to stop you before.”

  Nor did she intend to let it stop her this time.

  Chapter 6

  Watching the play of emotions across Anna Southward’s face was almost as enjoyable as speaking with her and making her blush. What a delightful young woman, David couldn’t be happier that he’d decided to look for her once again. Not that he’d been given a choice. She’d practically haunted his dreams after he left Marisdùn, as if one of the ghosts had decided to follow him to London, and beyond. She’s the reason none of the ladies had held any interest for him the past year. Not even a mistress, whom he’d released shortly upon returning home.

  He’d told himself he was ridiculous to be drawn to a woman he didn’t even know, and so he’d set out to find a respectable lady to court. Although, if he were being honest, it had been a half-hearted effort, and only because he thought to eradicate the Italian fairy from his mind.

  “Have you chosen a costume?” He wanted to make sure he recognized her the moment she stepped into Marisdùn.

  “I thought I’d wear the same as last year.”

  There was that blush again. “Perfect.”

  “Really?” her eyes were alit with hope.

  “It’ll take the guess work out of finding you. I’d much rather spend the evening dancing with you instead of searching for you.”

  Once again her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. All he’d done was flirt a bit. She’d be a flaming crimson if she had any idea of the other thoughts that had crossed his mind over the past year. Though he’d be better off not thinking about at this moment.

  She was sketching him, paying far too close attention to his body and these wet trousers were not likely to hide a single twitch of a muscle, or any other part of him that might happen to stiffen. Thank God his body was still cold or this could turn out to be a rather uncomfortable predicament for both of them.

  “Tell me, Miss Southward, are your talents limited to sketching and watercolors?”

  “No. I also enjoy working with oils, and…” Miss Southward stopped and bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes tightly.

  What could be so uncomfortable to say? “And?”

  “Clay,” she blurted out. “I want to sculpt. A statue.”

  Her face did indeed turn crimson at that. “There are a number of statues in the gardens of Marisdùn. Have you had a chance to view them?”

  With a sigh, she tilted her head and continued drawing. “I’ve spent more hours than I can count in those gardens, painting and sketching everything. What I lack, Mr. Thorn, is my own model.”

  At those words, his mouth went dry. Surely, she did not mean to actually sculpt a human, dressed in near nothing, or worse, completely nude. That was almost more scandalous than some of the things he’d done in the past.

  “Have you ever been to Florence, Mr. Thorn?”

  “Italy?” Why the change of subject?

  “Yes, Florence, Italy?”

  “No, I have not had the pleasure.”

  With another sigh, Miss Southward did a thorough study of him, though her eyes were not on his face. No female had ever appraised him in this manner. Well, women had, but not innocent women. He cleared his throat. “What is in Florence?”

  “David.”

  “David?” Was there a gentlemen in her life that she’d been separated from? Had he lived here and moved away? Though he hardly knew Miss Southward, the thought that her heart belonged to another was rather distressing.

  Perhaps Garrick was right. Perhaps he was losing his touch.

  Her eyes meet his. “Michelangelo’s David. He’s magnificent.”

  That David. His mood lightened instantly. While he hadn’t seen the piece of work, he’d seen a drawing of it. He could certainly compete with a man made of stone. Or was it marble? Not that it mattered, he wasn’t flesh and certainly not warm, and David was growing warmer by the moment under her study of him.

  “I could sculpt my own statue on what I think a man should look like, or copy one of the statues at Marisdùn, but it isn’t the same as having my own model to study.”

  This miss really wished for a man to pose for her? That David was nude. Surely she wasn’t suggesting…

  “You must think me terribly wicked.”

  David couldn’t help laugh. Yet, he didn’t answer. It was terribly wicked what she was suggesting and why was he, of all people shocked? Why wasn’t he stripping down to his skin and granting her wish. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

  * * *

  She couldn’t believe she’d told Mr. Thorn what she wished for, more than anything. Goodness, what had come over her to admit such a thing?

  Oh, she knew the blasted answer. It was in her sketch, in the very lines of his body. From the slight laughter lines at the corner of his brown eyes, to the strong jaw, taut neck, fine dark hair peeking out from the neck of his shirt, to the definition of muscles of his chest and abdomen. Though, in truth, she couldn’t see those nearly as well now that his shirt was beginning to dry.

  With each swipe of her pencils she’d wished it was her fingers, molding the clay. He’d be magnificent once she finished. She would have her own David, and he’d return to London and undoubtedly forget about her.

  It was ridiculous of course. What woman kept a sculpture of a man? She certainly couldn’t display it even if she were able to realize her dream. Uncle Walter would destroy it, but only after he recovered from his apoplexy. If he recovered.

  “I am sure I must have shocked you terribly.”

  “I’m certainly intrigued, Miss Southward.”

  He was only being kind. The man would probably avoid her from this day forward. She could put attending the masquerade from her mind, and certainly forget about dancing with him. He probably thought her no better than a bawdy actress. Or a lady of ill repute, even!

  As much as she wished to have his attention, Anna now feared it wouldn’t be with honorable intentions. Oh, why hadn’t she kept her own counsel?

  Mr. Thorn’s horse whinnied and caused him to sit straighter as Anna turned. Another rider approached, whom she soon recognized at Blake Chetwey.

  “Ah, here you are,” he finally said as he stopped before them and dismounted. “Brighid was becoming concerned when you did not return.” He turned and bowed to her. “Good day, Miss Southward. I hope you are having an enjoyable day.”

  That she was, until a few moments ago. “Yes, I am. How is Brighid?”

  “Doing well, though concerned.”

  “Oh?”

  “Thorn rode out hours ago and when he didn’t return, she sent me after him. She wanted to make sure her, um, premonition was corre
ct.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to argue with Mr. Chetwey about his wife’s premonition, but she held it instead.

  Had Mr. Chetwey said hours? Anna fished the small watch from her satchel and checked the time. Goodness, it was well past noon. She’d been gone six hours. Her uncle may have allowed her to come to the coast today, but she was certain he had not intended for her to be gone this long, no matter how much she wanted to be away for the entire day.

  “I must go.”

  She gathered her belongings and shoved them into the satchel, then folded her easel into its case. She place her things on the small stone wall and attempted to lift herself up.

  “Allow me, Miss Southward.”

  Before she could object, Mr. Thorn placed his hands about her waist and lifted her in the same manner he’d helped her down. His hands burning her skin through her gown.

  Goodness, she was much too aware of this man. He affected her unlike no one else she’d ever met. Not only did his touch affect her in the most inappropriate manner, he’d managed to make her spill her deepest secret.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thorn.”

  Anna bent and gathered her items again to begin her trek home when she realized the canvas of the sunrise was still sitting on the beach.

  “Oh dear, could you please hand me the painting?”

  “With pleasure.” In a few strides, Mr. Thorn was at the painting and plucked it up off the sand. He then stopped to study it. “Are you very much attached to this painting, Miss Southward?”

  “Not particularly. Why, Mr. Thorn?”

  “Because I’d very much like to keep it.”

  He wanted her painting?

  “Not only is it quite good, but I’d like it as a reminder of the most pleasant day ever spent in Ravenglass.”

  Her heart skipped a bit. He really wanted the painting? He had complimented it? “Of course.” It was all she could manage, too flustered to say anything further. “Well, good day, Mr. Thorn, Mr. Chetwey.”

  Before he could say anything further, she rushed up the hill, not sure she wished to decipher her emotions at the moment and afraid of what she’d discover once she did.

  Chapter 7

  Though not exactly dry, David slipped into his waistcoat and jacket and then mounted is horse.

  What an odd young woman. Lovely, without a doubt, but shocking, and perhaps a bit wicked as well.

  “Are you happy, now that you’ve found your artist from last year?”

  David wasn’t sure. Yes, he was glad she was no longer a mystery, but she wasn’t exactly who he hoped she be. “At least now I can move forward.”

  They led their horses to the road and turned back toward Torrington.

  “Move forward? I thought that once you met her, you’d wish to come to know her even better.”

  “It was the oddest meeting, and I’m not sure what to make of it.” He wasn’t even sure how to explain. “All was going well, and of course when she asked, I allowed her to sketch me again.”

  “It was only the right thing to do,” Chetwey said with a grin.

  “Then she announced that she wished to sculpt a man.”

  Chetwey jerked toward him.

  “Like Michelangelo’s David, and that she lacked a model.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a different approach.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Women have never been shy about wanting you out of your clothing before.” Chetwey laughed.

  “Yes, but those women were not innocent misses like Miss Southward.” A part of him was a bit affronted. “She looked at me like my former mistresses used to. Except, behind their calculated eyes were visions of baubles to match a necklace I’d given them.”

  “What was behind Miss Southward’s?”

  “Appreciation with a mixture of desire and innocence.” It was the oddest thing and had stirred his blood. “It was like she was undressing me with her eyes and it was quite uncomfortable.”

  This time Chetwey belted out laughter.

  “I’m not sure if I’m not offended by the entire matter. Shocked, for certain.”

  “This is rich,” Chetwey said as he continued to chuckle.

  “How so?”

  “As though you haven’t undressed hundreds of women with your eyes before.”

  “That’s entirely different.” And he was rather affronted Chetwey would say such a thing to him. “I am who I am, and she is…Well, an innocent and niece of a vicar, by God.”

  “So, a mistress appraising your body with appreciation is fine, but nobody else.”

  “Exactly! We both got something out of the agreement and they were supposed to look at me the way Miss Southward did.”

  “All that aside…are you going to let Miss Southward sculpt you?”

  Blast Chetwey, he was still laughing and there was nothing humorous in this situation. “I don’t believe so. She is a bit forward and bold.”

  “I would think you would appreciate that in a woman.”

  “Not one I would consider for a wife.” Clearly his friend did not understand. “And, as she is an innocent young woman, I cannot give her further attention. People will start to wonder; there will be expectations.” He let out a sigh. “Besides, I need to think about my future.”

  “Future?”

  “When my grandfather passed last fall, my uncle inherited the title. He only has daughters. Heaven forbid, if something were to happen to my uncle and father, the task would fall to me. That’s when I realized that as much I wish to remain free and carrying on without a care, I need a wife, just in case. And, that woman must be above reproach.”

  They turned onto the drive to Torrington after taking a shortcut that David had been unaware of, not that he’d remember it. His mind was still caught up with images of Miss Southward and the deep appreciation he saw her in green eyes while she studied and sketched him. He wanted her, there was no doubt about how strongly attracted he was to the miss, but they would not suit.

  Chetwey was still chuckling when they entered the sitting room and found Brighid. “I do believe Anna has shocked Thorn here.”

  “How so?”

  Damn! His face was on fire. He certainly couldn’t tell Brighid of the discussion. “It’s nothing I wish to discuss.”

  Brighid simply smiled bigger. “Anna has a tendency to shock. Not as much as when she first arrived however.”

  “Arrived?”

  “Yes, her parents died when she was sixteen. That’s when she came to live with the vicar. Until that time, she had an unusual upbringing.”

  Curiosity got the better of him. While he should be putting the young woman from his mind, Thorn accepted a glass of brandy from Chetwey instead and settled into the opposite seat. “How so?”

  “Her father enjoyed traveling. He and his wife flitted from one part of the world to another, Anna always with them. I don’t believe she set a foot in England until she came to live with her uncle. As soon as she could hold a pencil she began sketching everything from the pyramids to the Coliseum. Her parents encouraged her in the arts and exposed her to everything.”

  Including a certain nude statue.

  “She’s been quite bored living here after the life she lived before.”

  That, David did not doubt, and it certainly explained quite a bit about her. It also confirmed that he truly must put her from his mind.

  If she weren’t innocent, he’d gladly offer to be her model and possibly pursue other pleasures, but it was not to be. Spending time with Anna Southward would be above enjoyable, but she just wasn’t the type of woman he could take as a wife.

  Bloody hell, when had he become a prig?

  When his grandfather died and he realized that one day he would be responsible for young ladies. Knowing the gentlemen of London as he did, they needed a lady to guide them, not a world traveling artist who saw nothing wrong with suggesting a gentleman strip out of his clothes, regardless of her reasons for doing so.

  Yet, de
spite his shock, he was still drawn to her.

  “Well, thank you for the brandy and hospitality, Chetwey, Brighid, but it’s time I headed to Marisdùn. Quent will be expecting me.” He set his glass on the table and stood.

  “Tell them I’ll stop in at the masquerade, but not to expect me there for long,” Chetwey called out.

  Despite his decision to put Miss Southward from his mind, she was all he thought about on his ride to the castle. At last he’d found his fairy and learned her name. That certainly wouldn’t be plaguing him any longer, but now he must forget her, which was proving to be quite impossible.

  So, Miss Southward wished to sculpt? It was certainly an interesting pastime. Far more intriguing than needlework and watercolors, though he very much liked the painting she had not quite finished today.

  It was a shame society would not allow her such a pursuit, and if Miss Southward determined to sculpt her own statue she’d need to do so in hiding. It was doubtful such an undertaking could happen in the home of Vicar Southward.

  Yet, should that keep Miss Southward from pursuing her desire?

  He’d spent all of his adulthood thumbing his nose at Society’s rules, within limits of course. The only ones he followed to the letter were the ones that, if broken, would have seen him legshackeled to some young miss. It was also the very reason he could not be her model. Doing so would see them both ruined and they would certainly not suit.

  Upon his arrival at Marisdùn, he learned that his host and sisters were away. It was for the best. He still hadn’t succeed in eradicating that miss from his mind, and found himself wandering the castle without any clear idea or reason of where he was going or why. He was just coming from the great hall when he heard Quent’s voice.

  “And Mr. Thorn?” Quent asked the butler. “Where did you put him?”

  “No one puts me anywhere.” Thorn smirked. Behind Quent stood Garrick. Bradenham and Wolfe were due at any time, he believed. Not that Bradenham would be staying here. After Callie, his now-wife was taken to the other side last year, she refused to be in the castle any more than absolutely necessary. Not that he blamed her, of course. Had the same thing happened to him, he’d probably never darken the doorway again.