Page 59 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“Well, then.” He dragged her toward a small table in the corner of the room, over which hung every work of art created so far at the party. Theo’s were easy to spot in the chaotic mix. They were the only ones with bold black sweeps across charcoal-smudged white paper. Odd to see herself continually in each of his works. Odder still that he always made her look so alone, that he caught something in her she did not share with anyone. Ever. How did he see it? Likely because she’d cornered him in his room and insisted she sleep inside it. The actions of a desperate woman, they were.
She slipped from his light embrace and poured her tea. “What is today’s challenge, then?”
Theo helped himself to his own tea, pouring in enough milk to turn the deep-brown liquid a creamy color. “No idea. Pentshire’s not here yet.” He picked up a scone from a plate piled high. “Eat this.”
She accepted it and nibbled around the edges.
“Good morning!” Pentshire strode into the room, arms held high and wide, his voice booming. “Are you ready for today’s challenge?”
A tepid chorus greeted him.
“It appears you’re not the only one lacking cheer this morning.” Theo flicked her cup, and the nail dinged against the fine china.
“I’m not lacking cheer. I’mfocused. There’s a distinct difference.” She narrowed her eyes. “You seem to have more than your usual fair share of cheer this morning. More than the rest of the guests combined, perhaps.” She took a large bite of the scone and washed it down a long sip of tea. Inelegant, but efficient. “What has you so jovial?”
“Jovial?” Theo snorted. “You know me better than that.” But his eyes sparkled just a bit, and that brought his face to life. And the tip of his tongue darted out to outline his full bottom lip in a way that made her heart flutter and her cheeks heat. “I am merely… well-sated. I might conjure up some joviality if”—his hand snuck around her waist—“you considered helping me find a quite deserted corner to…” His words trailed off as his lips lowered toward hers.
“No, Theo.” She jerked away from the all-too-public kiss. No one would mind, of course. Not these people. But now that they kissed in private, public kisses felt fake. And they must stay on task. That was the more important reason. Naturally. “We’re focusing today, remember?”
He glared. “Lacking cheer, I say.Humph. But I can focus, too. Quite well, in fact. I’m still not convinced I’ve found all there is to find regarding our host and his lady love.” Theo’s gaze trailed the other man across the room.
Pentshire stopped to speak with each guest with an authentic friendliness, and she felt a bit bad for him. How would he feel after Theo sold his sketches to the printshops? She’d seen nothing objectionable from him so far. Except, of course, treating his mistress like the lady of the house, outside of his public demonstrations of affection for her. A bit cruel of him perhaps, though his affection for her seemed easy and true.
While there seemed to be an easy acceptance of such things from all the guests here, no one ever went terribly beyond the bounds of propriety. She’d thought they’d all be half naked all the time. She’d imagined orgies in the halls. She’d found instead a group of friendly individuals more obsessed with art than with debauchery. In fact, if asked, they might take offense at the mere mention of debauchery, as it could steal away hours they’d rather spend on their next masterpieces.
She did not believe Pentshire deserved what Theo planned to gift him with.
Unaware of his impending doom, the earl stopped near the windows and chuckled. “You’ll all perk up when you hear what the next challenge is.”
“Well,” Armquist demanded, “don’t string us along.”
“We’re switching muses.” Pentshire crossed his arms over his chest, clearly pleased with himself.
Cordelia nuzzled her face into Theo’s warm side and whispered, “Do you think there’s some trouble between him and Miss Mires?”
Theo’s eyes flashed. “Not that I’ve seen, but a lovers’ quarrel is always welcome news to the ton.”
She pulled away from him. Whenever the cynical glint sparked in his eye, a discomfort bloomed in her belly. He thought his work good, but to her it felt more like revealing people’s weaknesses to give the ton a good laugh. And surely he saw the hypocrisy in their position. Five nights in his bed had made a hypocrite of him, made him into a man who certainly should not throw stones.
“Do we get to choose?” a man across the room—Lord Ellsby, possibly—asked.
“I’m not sure I like this,” Theo grumbled.
“No,” Pentshire said, “youdo not get to choose. Our muses do.”
“Choose Mr. Castle. He’ll not mistreat you.”
“No.” She knew exactly whom she should choose. The one man she least wished to talk to but the one she must. Or lose hope of winning any more donations for her school. And she always had hope, especially with a scone and a bracing cup of tea in her belly. “I’m choosing Mr. Bradley.” A brief but sincere conversation with the man would put things to rights.
The jerk of Theo’s body sloshed a bit of his tea over the rim of his cup. “No.”
“Iget to choose.”
“Not him. There’re a dozen others you can choose from. Mr. Castle—”
“Is not a problem for me. Mr. Bradley is. He’s turned over half the guests against me. They will not speak to me, and if they do not speak to me, I cannot convince them to donate toyourschool.” The words tasted bitter. She hated the necessary lie that the school belonged to Theo. Even pretend reliance made her feel what his brother had called her—a leech.
Theo’s hand crept into hers, and he squeezed, a minute touch that demanded her attention. “Who is not speaking to you? I’ll deal with it.”
