The Master & the Muses (31 page)

 

The next morning I returned to Woolner's flat, sharing with him what had happened, and as I'd promised, I asked Frank to tell Thomas where he could find Mr. Rhys.

I pulled out the portrait of me Thomas had started, hoping to replace the image of Deidre's dying expression with another picture in my mind. Frank kept quiet for a time, then put the painting away as I stared at it.

“What are you doing?” I glanced up at him.

“Come to dinner at the studio, tonight, Grace. The boys would love to see you. It's been too long. Besides, Thomas says he wants us all together. He has a surprise. He asked for you to be there, specifically.”

“He asked about me?” The smallest glimmer of hope lifted my heart.

“Well, he knew that you'd been staying here. I told him about your friend and he thought it would be good for you to join us.”

Frank riffled through my sparse wardrobe. “I wish you'd kept some of those exquisite gowns, Grace. These things are so tattered.” Frank tsked.

“I wanted no reminders of Hoffemeyer, Frank.”

“Of course, sweeting. It's just that you looked like a queen in them. Here.” He handed me my best gown. “Wear this. Thomas always loved you in this.”

“Frank, Thomas has a new muse. What did you say her name was?”

“The bitch? I mean, Sara—the lovely young thing with raven-black hair and a heart to match. Mark my words, she'll be gone before spring.” Frank smiled as he started to close the door. “Carriage arrives in the hour. Chop-chop, sweeting.”

 

It was good to be among the core members of the brotherhood, the boys I'd known since Thomas and I met. Whenever
they were together, the conversation was lively and it made you feel that—at least for a few moments—life made sense, if only in our world.

Our chairs were drawn in a circle so we could easily see each other when we spoke. I hadn't laughed in such a long time. Most of these men were at least ten years younger, but when we were together, it was as friends—without age, gender, or social status. We all anxiously tried to guess what Thomas's surprise would be. I hoped it would be inviting Mr. Rhys to be his protégé.

Frank had described Sara's physical beauty perfectly; as to her personality, I had yet to form an opinion. The real test would be how she acted when she was around Thomas. She did have a knack for taking a quiet gathering of friends and making it an affair to remember.

No wineglass went very long without someone pouring it full. She had prepared oysters on the half shell, tiny sandwiches cut in perfect triangles and bite-size cubes of cake, covered in a stiff icing she called
fondant.
It was the only thing that impressed Frank. For some reason, he had an issue with this muse, more than he had with Helen.

My first impression, beyond her raven locks and crystal blue eyes, was much the same as Frank's. “Ambitious, that one,” he said. “Let's see if she's worth her salt.”

He and Watts proceeded to place bets on whether they could goad her into admitting an interest in having her nipples pierced, as was all the rage at the clubs frequented by the affluent these days. I had my doubts if she would play along, but to my surprise, she did. In fact, she grew quite brazen, stating that she might well have it done if it were safe. At which point I challenged her good-naturedly, offering that I would have mine pierced if she would do the honors. Perhaps I felt challenged that she seemed so comfortable in Thomas's studio. I knew that she lived there and suspected that she and Thomas were lovers. He never had a muse who wasn't a lover. It was a relationship that Thomas understood perfectly, but the poor women he bedded never understood com
pletely. Sara, I feared, was no different. Only time would tell whether I was right or wrong.

Putting a decided halt to our fun, Thomas entered the studio and told me in no uncertain terms that the critics didn't need another thing to toss at the brotherhood just now. He cupped my cheek and smiled, then turned to the rest of the group.

“Now, if my two favorite women are done with this nonsense, I suggest that if anything should be allowed to touch either of you lovely creatures it should be me.” He gave us a charming grin and quickly moved to Sara, drawing her into his embrace, whispering something in her ear. She looked over his shoulder directly at me, her blue eyes challenging.

“Everyone, I'd like you to meet Mr. Edward Rhys, newest member of our little den of creativity.”

I averted my eyes from hers, secretly blossoming inside with pride that Thomas valued my opinion of Edward Rhys. I was not living there, but my presence was of value.

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, FRANK AND I WERE HAVING
dinner and I was telling him about my experiences with Lord Hoffemeyer. He hadn't heard the full story of what happened in the garden.

“But it's not turned you away from the idea of men altogether, has it, Grace?”

“Are you asking for yourself or a friend?” I teased. We both knew who he was alluding to.

He blushed and then narrowed his gaze on mine.

“You know what I mean, sweeting.”

“If this is about Thomas again…” I shook my head. “I don't think you quite understand the relationship that Thomas and I share. We have an understanding, you see.”

“So you say,” Frank commented drily. “But I know my Thomas. Be patient, Grace. He'll come around.”

I smiled and went on with my supper, refraining from engaging in an argument over which one of us knew Thomas best.

Frank's expression suddenly brightened. “I've got it!
You
—a fictionalized version, of course—are going to be my next submission to the brotherhood's newsletter. If Thomas wants to point
out the pitfalls of our society, your story of that monster Hoffemeyer trying to blackmail you is just the ticket!”

“I feel fairly certain, Frank, that Thomas would prefer we put the incident behind us.”

“You can help me, Grace. We'll stand this Hoffemeyer chap right on his nose, maybe slap him around a bit in the process.” He wiggled his eyebrows, his grin full of wicked intent.

“Me? Help you with your writing?” I laughed.

“Think of it, Grace, you might be helping to teach other un-suspecting women to be wary of a wolf in sheep's clothing.”

I thought a moment on that and nodded. “When do we start?”

 

It did not take long for Thomas to show up at Woolner's flat, and when he did he was bloody furious.

“What in Christ's name are you doing?” He tossed the manuscript we'd sent to him on the table and looked at me, his turquoise eyes ablaze.

I was in the process of setting the table for Frank and myself. “It's nice to see you, too, Thomas,” I responded, and before he could answer, Frank appeared from the kitchen, carrying a pot of steaming potato soup with ham.

“Thomas! I see you finally accepted my invitation to drop by.” Frank placed the pot on a folded towel. He glanced at the papers strewn on the table. “I see you received my submission. Can you stay for supper?”

My gaze swerved to Frank, silently asking him what the hell he was doing.

Frank shrugged and the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “He has to eat.”

Thomas yanked out a chair and sat, and then his eyes rolled up to mine and he leaped to his feet, waiting until I slid into my chair. I hid my smile, absurdly delighted that even in his fury, he thought of the gentlemanly gesture. I tried not to read too much into his agitation, but the fact that he was here and staying for supper instead of being at home with his muse
made me wonder if there was trouble brewing again on the home front.

“This article, Frank. It's about what happened to Grace.”

Frank frowned. “As I am aware, Thomas, and for the record, it's some of my best work, don't you agree?”

Thomas picked up the papers and skimmed over the article. He shook his head. “It's far too dangerous. If Hoffemeyer saw this, or any of his power-hungry partners did, there would be hell to pay and Grace would be right in the midst of it.”

“I gave my permission to write it, Thomas. At least perhaps someone else won't fall into the trap that I did.”

“It's not wise.” Thomas spoke slowly, steadying his voice.

I could see his point, and yet between what had happened to me and to Deidre, I wanted someone to know what an easy target for criminals women on the street were. “It's a growing problem, Thomas, one that, if it isn't addressed, will one day result in much greater tragedy.”

“Perhaps, then, you could write of your affairs, Thomas,” Frank challenged. “
That
would make for far more interesting reading.” He rose from his chair in a huff and went into the kitchen.

“Did you have to tell him everything?” Thomas asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

“I told him the truth, Thomas. Isn't that what you've always preached to the brotherhood? Wasn't that the reason you started your news sheet?”

He raked his hand through his hair. It was then that I noticed the streak of silver near his temple. “You're right, I suppose.” He rubbed his knuckle over his lips, deep in his thoughts. “I'll think about it, Grace.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I just don't want to see you hurt anymore.”

I patted his hand, grateful for his concern. “And I don't want to see other women hurt. Do you?”

He frowned, and though I could see that he did not entirely agree on our method, he did agree with me. Changing the topic,
I tried to solicit a smile from him. “Is the new muse working out well?”

“Are you sleeping with Woolner?” he countered.

Beyond surprised by his remark, I dropped my spoon in my bowl. “
That
is a ridiculous notion, and further, it is none of your business even if you didn't already know that I am not Frank's type. Are
you
sleeping with Sara?” I asked, pinning him with a look that meant I was not about to be bullied.

He hesitated. “That's my affair and not what we're talking about,” he shot back, folding his arms over his chest.

I chuckled and picked up my spoon to resume eating. We were at an impasse. I wasn't sure if it was me who had changed or Thomas, but something had occurred. I was tired of being his part-time lover. I'd had a taste of wealth and seen the dark side of the affluent. I'd seen the face of a dear friend murdered by God knows who and God knows why, because she'd had no choice but to do what she did to survive. I realized how easily it could have been me. Both incidents had forced me to face some harsh facts about myself. I was no longer content with letting life control me. I wanted to have more of a voice. I wanted to feel I had the same rights as other men and women.

He pushed from his chair, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and began to pace the dining room. “Things aren't going well at the studio,” he said finally. I let him continue. “I'm having problems with Sara.”

I didn't look at him and continued to eat in silence. Being his sounding board was also getting to be tiresome.

“Well? Don't you have something to say?” he asked.

“Didn't you just tell me that it was none of my affair?” I took a sip of my wine.

“That was before,” he stated, walking to the other end of the table.

“Before what, exactly, Thomas?”

“Before I asked you for help, Grace. Christ, do I have to spell it out? I'm asking your opinion on how to handle this.”

“Why do you want my opinion, Thomas?”

“Grace, next to William, you know me the best of anyone and you can see how I botched that.”

“So you're trying
not
to botch this, is that what you're saying?”

“No, I feel that she shouldn't have any misconceptions that I'm going to marry her.”

“Because you've slept with her?”

He held his hands out and shrugged.

“How noble of you,” I stated drily. I wondered if Thomas had ever had the same concerns about me. My ire rankled knowing the thought had likely never crossed his mind. I was, after all, just a former streetwalker, not exactly the type of woman men clamored to marry.

“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 con
tent, 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.”