An Experienced Mistress by Bryn Donovan Read Free Book Online Page A

artist,” he told her. “You are la musa .”
    “What...the muse? What does that mean?”
    The man stood. “Come,” he said. He led them down the hall to what was clearly his study, lined with leather-bound, gilt-titled books. “ Ecco Venus,” he declared.
    Genevieve’s gaze followed the sweeping gesture of his arm. There, hanging over his desk, was a small painting for which, several years ago, she’d modeled.
    Genevieve felt her body go cold. The painting was one that Adam Forsythe, her long-ago lover, entitled “Venus, the Ruler of the World.” She hadn’t seen it in years, and it shocked her to look at it again.
    The last of only a few paintings she modeled for, this was the only full-length nude. Not that the body looked exactly like hers. Like all nudes, the picture omitted the triangle of fleece above the juncture of the thighs, and the figure was thinner than she was, though now that she thought of it, perhaps she’d been thinner, too.
    And how foolish she’d been. Right after Adam completed this painting he’d convinced her to come to his bed.
    Why, he said, need they wait until they married? Of course they’d get married soon, but who knew what tomorrow would bring? Their love was real; no reason to delay until the day a priest sanctioned it. They were enlightened artists, not bound by the outdated rules of Society.
    Not even a month after he’d taken her virginity, he tumbled into bed with another one of his models, a seamstress with no artistic ambitions. She’d posed as his next Venus.
    Genevieve looked away from the painting, from the younger version of herself staring back at her.
    “I thought a gentleman in Scotland owned that painting,” she said to Mr. Valerio.
    “Now it is mine. I am a man who must have many beautiful things around him.” He cast a satisfied glance toward the dark-haired girl. “That is happiness, no?”
    But Genevieve wasn’t there to discuss the nature of happiness. “I have modeled before, but I am a painter. As I said before, the Three Graces hanging in your front hall is mine.”
    The man shook his head. “You heard that Mr. Visser declined the job, and you want it now.”
    “Declined the job?”
    “He visited two days ago,” the girl told Genevieve. “He said he was too occupied to do it right now.”
    Damn him! She wasn’t surprised that he’d do something so devious. She was only surprised that he remained clear-thinking enough to do it.
    Outwardly, she kept her composure. “That is only because I told him he could no longer represent my work as his own.”
    Mr. Valerio flipped up his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “You paint a little, perhaps. But you are not an artist.” He pointed to the Venus again. “You inspire art. That is your place in art.”
    He looked complacent and smug, as though he just explained the unalterable laws of gravity. His companion frowned and toyed with the tasseled end of the belt on her dressing gown.
    “So you refuse to believe me,” Genevieve said.
    “I am not a fool. That painting in my hall is very fine. It is no woman’s painting.”
    “Come to my studio, and you shall see more that are just as fine.” She attempted to appeal to his vanity. “You know enough about painting that you will be able to recognize my style.”
    “Your cousin gave you some paintings?” Mr. Valerio clucked his tongue, as if she attempted a childish trick. “I have no time for this.”
    She was out of arguments. Clearly the man didn’t want to believe that he’d unwittingly bought a woman’s painting. To believe that would mean that his taste wasn’t quite so exquisite, for how could a woman paint anything great?
    “Since you will not hear the truth, I’ll show myself out,” she said, and then added with some bravado: “But I believe the day will come when you will change your opinion.”
    “I do not believe so,” he said, vexing her with his tone of condescension.
    Genevieve mustered all the dignity she could. “Time