that McGivney’s is having an oyster special tonight. What do you say we go down and toss back a few with some pints? I’ve just sold another of my paintings to John.”
“That’s wonderful, Thomas,” William replied, dropping the crates to the floor. “First, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I stood transfixed, motionless at the threshold of the balcony’s doors, trying to process all that had happened. A surreal sticky substance trickled down my leg, reminding me of what I had done. William held out his hand to me, motioning me to his side. Unable to arrange my hair properly, I quickly pulled it over my shoulder, twisting it in a loose braid. I did not take William’s hand.
He smiled, dropped his hand to his side and turned to his brother. “This is the woman I spoke to you about. Helen Bridgeton, I would like you to meet my brother, the extraordinary and gifted artist, Thomas Rodin.”
I was mesmerized by how accurate William’s assessment of his brother was. It was, I determined, the reason I could not find my tongue. His manner and his odd clothing made him seem larger than life. The air fairly crackled in his presence. I found myself curtsying as if about to dance.
His eyes came alive and, as though I was the only one in the room, he walked toward me, silently assessing me from head to toe. He wore the trousers of a proper gentleman, and so, too, the shoes. That, however, is where all semblance of the current era stopped. His coat, dark blue velvet and showing wear on the shoulder, was festooned with ornate blue seed pearls and stiff piping, reminding me of the old-fashioned, aristocratic clothes I’d seen in the paintings at the gallery. He wore a shirt, too, adorned with lace cuffs, and on his fingers beautiful rings of gold, one bearing a black stone the size of a small bird’s egg. The eclectic array of clothing and color enhanced his exotic olive skin, making him look like a painting come to life. Were it not for the shadow of his beard, the swagger of his walk and the obvious gleam of sensuality in his eye, I would have taken him for a dandy. Instead, I found myself curiously drawn to him.
Yes, I had gravely underestimated the impact of his brother’s effect on me. I felt like a ripe apple being eyed for its tart sweetness.
“Turn,” he stated bluntly.
I blinked, pressing my lips together in uncertainty that I would pass muster. My eyes met William’s unreadable gaze. He nodded and I turned slowly, my fingers locked together, holding on to my braid.
Thomas reached for my hands and I relinquished my grasp as he inspected them closely, turning them back and forth. I grew uncomfortable at how long he studied them, praying he would not care how unkempt my nails were, how dry my skin was.
At last, Thomas drew my hands to his lips and kissed them with lingering reverence. His lip curled provocatively, highlighting the slight cleft in his chin, giving character to his handsome face. His hair, an unruly mop, produced a shock of chestnut curls that dipped low over his forehead. I noticed a thin white scar slicing across the outer edge of one eyebrow.
“My brother is to blame for that,” he said, cocking his eyebrow as though reading my mind. His eyes narrowed, joining his easy, predatory grin. “Your hair is glorious. That deep russet—those mahogany undertones are positively scandalous! Dante’s delight, you are a lovely gift to be certain. By all that is decadent, woman, your eyes alone have utterly captured me.” He strode over to William, grabbing him in a fierce embrace. “Well done, William, you have found us a ‘stunner.’”
“Now we must celebrate. Our cups—as our dear mother would say most devotedly—do runneth over, and so shall ours, down at McGivney’s.”
In two steps, he had returned, grabbing me around the waist, holding me close as he spun me around. The delight on his face reminded me of a child on Christmas morning. I clung to his broad shoulders, looking down at a face so closely resembling William’s, but with eyes that sparked mischievously. I caught William’s guarded expression as Thomas placed my feet to the floor.
“Shall I call you my muse?” He narrowed his eyes, studying me. I admit I was so smitten immediately by his zest for life that I quite forgot the obstacles facing me with taking on this position.
“My apologies, Mr. Rodin, but I have not yet accepted this position.”
He drew back in surprise and laughed aloud. “I like her, Will. She has a feisty spirit. Perhaps, we should consider paying her more?”
“I would prefer that you stop talking about me as if I cannot hear,” I said with a boldness that surprised me.
Thomas took my chin between his fingers. His grin was positively wicked. “Yes, you and I will get on quite well. I like a woman who knows her mind, who knows what she wants and has no fear in obtaining it.”
I glanced at William, who had busied himself with stacking the crates against the wall. My mind flashed with the image of our bodies entwined, braced against that very wall…
“The details,” he stated bluntly. “You’ll get a half shilling a week. I will need you here every day—”
“I’m sorry sir, but I am employed during the day.”
“But I cannot paint without light.” He shrugged. “We shall have to see what can be done. Now—” he clapped his hands together “—what’s next?” He searched the room and spotted William finishing with the crates. “Oh, thank you, Will.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Rodin, you should call me a carriage. It is getting late and my family will be wondering where I am.”
Thomas pursed his lips together, a scowl darkening his face. “No. No, my dear. You will dine with us this evening. Besides, I want you to meet a few of our close friends in the brotherhood. I will send word to your family that you are spending the night in town. Besides, it is far too dangerous for a woman to be traveling across the roads at this hour. I’m sure they will understand and appreciate the wisdom of it.”
He obviously had never met my papa. “I am hesitant to agree, Mr. Rodin. My papa can be quite set in his ways in, well, most matters concerning his daughters.” I checked William’s face for his reaction. He found interest in his shoes suddenly.
“A bit forward, interesting for one who appears so innocent. Quite a provocative blend,” Thomas responded, offering his brother a quick side glance. “Yet never let it be said that I don’t like a good challenge.”
He gave me a wink
“Your papa will have to understand. I am about to make his daughter part of artistic history—surely he would not deny you that. Besides, and you should know this about me before we begin any sort of affair together, I usually get what I want. Now, is it my understanding, or was I mistaken, that you are interested in this position?”
My eyes darted from Thomas to William. “Of course, but I need to make arrangements—”
“Good. I hope you do not have an aversion to oysters?” He raised his dark eyebrows, awaiting my answer.
His arrogance, I suppose, was part of his charm. I wondered if all artists were like him, or if he was a rare breed unto himself. “I’ve never had them, Mr. Rodin.”
He leaned down, his fingers grasping my upper arm, and placed his unshaven cheek against mine.
“I insist you call me Thomas. Mr. Rodin is the name given to a gentleman and my father. I am neither. Do we
