wait outside,” he said.
I gave Mama a brief hug, not knowing when or if I would see her again.
“Be well, Helen. Take your medicine.” She stroked my cheek, and I burned her leathery skin into my memory. As I walked to the carriage, I saw the light was on in the barn, which meant Papa was inside brushing the mare. It was what he always did when he wanted to think. I debated whether I should tell him goodbye.
Thomas seemed to read my mind.
“Do you need a moment?” he asked, holding open the carriage door.
I took one last look over my shoulder, drinking in the tiny cottage with its slanted roof and peeling paint, the sagging porch that Papa kept meaning to fix. “No, let’s go,” I said, getting into the carriage.
I leaned back against the soft, cushioned seat and stared out the window at the familiar rolling landscape. I hoped against hope that my parents would have a change of heart, knowing I would not make a decision of such consequence without careful thought. However, in my family’s world, women were still considered inferior in many ways, expected to be content serving the men in their lives, and I knew deep down that they would never understand.
Thomas took my hand and brought it to his lips. “I will take care of you, my muse. I don’t want you to worry. We are your family now, the brotherhood and me.”
I looked at him and wondered if I was really gaining my freedom or simply trading the men that I served.
Thomas took me to his bed that night, soothing my pain with his tenderness, turning my concerns to pleasured sighs. I surrendered myself body and soul to him, something I’d been reticent to do before. If this was servitude, then I welcomed it for the luxurious power that I felt in my decadence.
My fingers curled around the bedrail and I welcomed the pain of my knuckles tapping against the wall with the increased motion of Thomas’s fervent thrusts. His long hair swayed, brushing over my flesh, and his eyes penetrated my soul, claiming my body, making me want to give back, to meet his challenge. I arched toward him and he caught my mouth in a searing, possessive kiss, demanding my climax—my loyalty. Crying out his name, I gave him everything and, in return, he gave me all that he could give. It was enough…for now.
In the days that followed, we existed in a state of marital bliss, without benefit of the legal and moral paperwork. We lived with the smug belief that conventionality was misguided, and my security was founded on the idea that what we had was pure and true.
It was early morning; the heavy fog of London still blanketed the rooftops. After awakening me with a frenzied bout of lovemaking, Thomas was in the mood to paint.
He had dragged me into the studio, him in his shirt and me wearing nothing but a blue silk drape that he handed me in haste.
“On the lounge,” he ordered as he set to the task of arranging colors on his palette. I had grown used to his impulsive bursts of inspiration, quite often occurring in the afterglow of passion.
We nibbled on fruit and a little cheese. It was all that we had in the kitchen.
Thomas stood over me, eyeing the drape. He held out his apple for me to take a bite, as he experimented with the cloth, trying to find what pleased him.
I squealed when his hand playfully squeezed one of my breasts.
“Forgive me. I thought that was the drape.” He grinned.
“You insatiable rogue,” I teased.
“Merely appreciative of your beauty, madam, and if I may say, your breasts are a true gift of nature.” He bent his head, pushing back the cloth to reveal my breast, and left a tender kiss on my flesh.
“As plump as a succulent peach.” He glided his paintbrush across my skin, circling it deliciously slowly around my nipple.
“I grow hungry just to look at you,” he whispered, leaning forward, his soft lips touching mine. “How will I ever get this painting done, you naughty muse?”
“Perhaps you need my inspiration?” I held his smoky gaze, feeling brazen. He had a way of making me feel my body was a work of art, created for his pleasure alone.
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, sweeping the brush along the underside of my breast, the soft bristles teasing my senses. I discovered to what degree Thomas was skilled with a paintbrush as he delicately stroked the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.
The corners of his mouth lifted when he parted me like a flower and tickled me with his brush, causing me to squirm with need.
“So exquisitely beautiful it is, my muse, to see your arousal.”
I covered my face with my hands, lost in his taunting stroke. Thomas was an exquisite lover, showing me pleasure in ways I’d never dreamed. I’d come to ignore the niggling in my head that he’d never once used the word love in any of our conversations—never once whispered it when he took me to his bed. I also ignored the fact that his friends rarely stopped by anymore since I’d moved in.
My thoughts dissipated as his tongue replaced the brush, his creative mastery summoning a shuddering, toe-curling climax from me.
A sound from behind brought Thomas’s head up and he casually pulled the drape over my naked body.
“Will, you’re back. You should have sent word. I’d have met you at the station.” Thomas rose to greet his brother.
I sat upright, holding the drape over me as best I could, bolstering the courage to look at William, wondering how long he had been standing there before Thomas noticed him.
“William,” I stated quickly, slanting a quick glance at him.
“Helen,” he responded evenly.
“We’ve got news to share, Will. Helen has moved into the studio on a permanent basis.”
If William was shocked by the news, he kept it concealed well.
“Then you two are…together now, I surmise,” he said, averting his eyes from mine.
Thomas chuckled and slapped his brother’s shoulder. “As if that wasn’t evident, eh, Will?”
My face burned and, finding a large throw, I quickly wrapped it around me. “I’ll go get dressed and fix us some tea.” I hurried from the room, wondering how after all this time I should be uncomfortable in William’s presence.
The two brothers could not be more opposite. They possessed equal charm, but while Thomas seemed content in his bold approach to life, William was quiet, as though he was still searching for what it was he wanted.
Since Thomas had taken me under his wing, he’d become so much more than just my lover—he was also my friend and my teacher. He was on time with my weekly sum for posing, took me to museums, plays and to grand mansions where we dined with writers and other artists. He’d made me a part of his life, embracing me in every way that a suitor intending marriage would. He created a desire in me, encouraged my passion and nurtured it. No one had ever treated me like this. I felt like a goddess when I was with him.
I brought tea into the studio,
