“Relax, Brandt. This is about work, not romance. I receive what I need to finish my poem, and she receives what she needs to further her ambitions for her ladies’ college.”
“Are you sayin’ you’re not attracted to her? Because the woman I saw was real pretty.”
“Of course, I’m attracted to her, but I’m also capable of exercising self-restraint. She’s Hudsyn’s cousin. That’s reason enough for me never to lay a finger on her.” Jack slipped his feet into his boots. “I thought you’d be happy I have something to focus on besides my bloody uncle. Because if I don’t think about something else, I won’t be able to stop myself from—”
“You’re right.” Brandt held up both hands. “You’re right.” He nodded. “Better a pretty distraction than the hangman’s noose.”
“I should think so.” Jack rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and smoothed back his hair.
Chapter Ten
And the sunlight clasps theearth
And the moonbeams kiss thesea:
What is all this sweet workworth
If thou kiss notme?
—Percy Bysshe Shelley,“Love’s Philosophy”
“What shall Ido now that I am here?” Ottilie sat on the buttoned-leather settee in Mr. Bastin’s parlor. “Are there any rules to being a muse? Is it like sitting for a portrait?”
“The first rule is that you must stop calling me Mr. Bastin. It’s simply too formal, and I see the muse/poet relationship as something more intimate.”
“Is that right? What do you prefer I call you?”
“Bastin will do. That’s what my friends call me.”
“What about Jack?”
“If you prefer it, I have no objection.”
Ottilie smiled. She liked the idea of using his Christian name.
“Other than that,” Jack continued, “you can do whatever you wish. I suggest reading a book or doing some writing of your own. Perhaps, you’d like to draw or work on some equations. Anything that pleases you.”
“Except leave the room.”
“You’re not my prisoner.”
Ottilie stood up and walked to the bookshelf. “I think I’d like to learn more about Artemis. Do you have anything?”
“Ovid’sMetamorphosis.” Jack came up behind Ottilie and peered at the bookshelf. He leaned forward, pressing his chest against her back and sending a delicious shiver down her spine as he reached for the volume.
“I’m afraid I only have the original version.” He handed her the text.
“In Latin?” She took the book from him.
“I’m afraid so.”
Ottilie shrugged. “I know a little Latin.”
“Of course, you teach at a ladies’ college,” Jack teased, but his eyebrows arched upwards as she returned to the settee still holding the book.
“There’s a bowl of chestnuts on the table if you care for something to nibble on, or I can ring for Mrs. Wilson if you want something more substantial.”
“Chestnuts will do well, thank you.” Ottilie took the bowl, positioned it on her lap, and burrowed down into her seat.
