Thomas kissed my forehead and drew back, his eyes resting for a heartbeat on my mouth before he returned his eyes to mine.
“Welcome to the brotherhood, Miss Bridgeton.”
“Do call me Helen,” I said bravely.
“As you wish.” He grinned.
I was living a lie, but to whose benefit? For two months, I had been telling Madame Tozier that my stomach was the cause of the many afternoons that I had asked to leave the shop early. However, as my acting skills grew weaker, the actual pains in my stomach increased. I found myself losing track of the days, and on more than one occasion I had nearly taken too much of my medicine, forgetting when I last took it. I could not sleep.
William’s aloof behavior pervaded my mind. Since our liaison, he had not attempted to speak with me except in passing and was usually absent when I was at the studio. At night my mind would creep back to that summer afternoon, how the soft warm breeze had wafted over our fevered bodies. I lay on my bed, mesmerized by the flickering flame of the oil lamp beside my bed. I remembered his tongue, the roughness of his hands gliding over me, plucking my nipples until I begged for more. Desperate to recapture that euphoric feeling, I used my hands to imitate his, brushing my fingers through my soft curls and spreading my sweet crevice, mimicking the exquisite pleasure he’d given me. I licked my dry lips, arching my back to the memory of him heavy inside me, his body pressed to mine. In my mind, I saw the sweet determination in his gentle eyes, our bodies fused in delicious, slick friction. Then my body broke free, my muscles caressing, squeezing around him.
I stared at the flame, drawing my hand over my stomach, my physical need now satiated. Nevertheless, I held on to the desperate longing for his affection, realizing with chilling clarity that perhaps he did not feel the same. I’d even written a poem for us called, Another Time, Another Place, and slipped it into William’s coat pocket hoping he might respond, but if he found it, he made no mention of it.
It was of little surprise to me when William entered the studio one afternoon and announced his departure.
“Well, I’m off soon. My train leaves within the hour.”
“You’re leaving?” I rubbed the back of my neck, stiff and sore from sitting too long. I bowed my head so he would not see the disappointment in my eyes. “Thomas didn’t mention it.”
“It’s just a short trip to Rome. I plan to tour a few cathedrals and perhaps a garden or two in search of inspiration.”
“Be cautious of those beautiful gardens, Will. Some of their caretakers do not appreciate foreigners plucking them,” Thomas said with a smirk.
It was evident he was speaking metaphorically of women. I brushed his comment from my mind, rubbing my arms under the sleeves of the itchy damask gown that Thomas insisted I wear. The two brothers embraced and William gave me a tight smile. “Miss Bridgeton.” He nodded.
“Mr. Rodin.” I continued the appearance that we’d never been intimate with each other. If he could perform the task so well, I could, too. After William left, I followed Thomas out to the balcony. We stood watching his carriage amble down the cobblestone street.
“I miss him like the devil when he’s gone,” Thomas said quietly.
He sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on my head.
“It’s just you and me now, Helen. He’s gone and left us behind while he trots off on a new adventure.”
“Does he take these trips often?” I asked. The warmth of Thomas’s arms made me feel secure. It was his nature to be physical—he was prone to giving hugs and pecks on the cheek, even to the other men in the brotherhood.
He lifted aside my unbridled hair and nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
“When the spirit moves him. I prefer to find my inspiration closer to home.” The smell of wine wafted beneath my nose as his palm moved over my right breast, squeezing gently.
“Are you inspired, my muse?” he whispered against the curve of my neck.
I slipped from his grasp. “The light is waning, Mr. Rodin.”
“I have asked that you call me Thomas,” he said with quiet firmness.
“All right, Thomas. Still, if you wish to do more this afternoon before I leave—”
“Oh, yes, my muse. I would love to do more.”
“I’ve no doubt you would, Thomas. Do you think I am so innocent that I do not know your reputation?”
He looked at me curiously. “I think you pretend not to know how you affect me, Helen.”
“I do think, Thomas, that you have found your inspiration much too easily in the past.”
His smile grew wide. “Aha! My innocent little muse has a cunning side, as well.”
“I am not worldly, it is true, but I do know a rogue when I see one.”
“A rogue?” He held his hand to his heart. “Woman, you wound me with your words far too romantic for a man like me. A man, as you say, of my reputation.”
“Perhaps I should take my leave for the afternoon.” I turned away and he grabbed my arm.
“My apologies, Helen. I had no idea that my affections would be repulsive to you.”
“You are not repulsive to me, Thomas, nor are your affections. But do not think that because I am here, you may take advantage of the situation.”
“I see. You are a woman who prefers to be wooed, is that it?” He stepped around me, blocking my escape back into the studio.
“I am a woman with needs, innocent though you think me to be.” I faced him.
His gaze narrowed and he took my chin between his fingers.
“Those dark circles—your complexion is pale. Helen, what is the matter? What ails you?”
His immediate change in topic and manner scattered my thoughts.
“I am not sleeping well,” I admitted.
He pulled me into his embrace and laid his cheek on the top of my head.
“You must learn to trust me, Helen. When you are unhappy, I am unhappy.”
“I don’t see myself through your eyes, Thomas.”
“Then I will have to do better at showing you how important you are to me.”
He smoothed his hands up and down my spine, and I welcomed this tender gesture. “You have been good to me, Thomas.”
“I could be much more, Helen, if you’d allow.”
His concern for my health prompted me to admit my worry regarding my employer. “I cannot keep lying, Thomas. I fear I will lose my job, or worse, Madame Tozier will go to my mother and ask her about my health.”
He frowned. “Neither she nor your family realize that you’ve been posing for me?”
I sighed. “Not everyone is as enamored of the brotherhood as you may like to think.”
He chuckled. “You needn’t remind me.” His eyes drifted over my shoulder as if deep in thought. “Then we shall go see this Madame Tozier and teach her to adore the brotherhood,” he said finally.
I laughed softly. “Do you honestly think that you can make a difference?”
“Go get dressed. I’ll order us a carriage.” He smiled. “Oh, wait, do you need any help?” he called after me.
“I can manage getting dressed on my own, Thomas, thank you,” I tossed back, but the smoky color of his eyes, the intimate way that he had touched me, lingered in my mind. As I dressed in his bedroom, I looked around,