To Love A Duke

Muse

Song Recommendation: Sure thing by Miguel

A gentleman’s secrets may just so outrageously outnumber a lady’s petticoats!

“What game are you playing your grace” she asked, what this some sort of pay back for fleeing the library last time? He didn’t strike as the petty type.

“No game, Artemis mine” he began buttoning his shirt like he was done with the conversation and realizing the absence of the buttons he gave up the action, she took pride in removing the damned buttons. He had this principle of order and it irked her. He probably didn’t realize but she had watched him and she knew, she had watched him when they sat in his study together as he put everything in order and almost to perfection. His desk arrangement precise, not a single think was out of place in his room too and now he had no buttons on his shirt, she gloried in this little imperfection she caused him. for a moment she looked at him distracted, taking in his fit form and hairy firm chest then he cleared his throat. Her eyes jerked up to meet his.

“ if you want me to f**k you, Artemis mine, you’re going to have to ask, Nicely might I add.” He smiled to her and pivoted on his heels, walking graciously out of her room and into his through the link doors. She gasped, of all the absurd and aristocratic orders! She was not in the least perturbed at his vulgar use of language, that she was getting quite used to, but rather at the statement in itself. She wanted to stamp her foot at him but that would simply be childish, to ask to be bedded by one’s own husband, To ask. Nicely. was he serious? she leaned on the door and half laughed. Damn him.

Orion had never exercised such level of self control in his entire life. She was teaching him a great deal of that these days, He had locked the connecting door cause he knew if she walked through those doors he would reach for her and by God he was not going to stop this time. He hadn’t planned on kissing her when he had gone in to her room, but then he had seen her in his jacket and he had lost it. He had ignored her so-called rules and he didn’t regret a b****y moment. He meant it though when he said he wouldn’t f**k her until she asked, he knew she wanted this, but he needed her to know it too. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it going to his closet for a fresh shirt. Anorld his valet must be somewhere about trying to blend into walls and pick up every every gossip making the rounds. He shook his head as he buttoned the fresh shirt. He walked further to a door hidden by a panel near his dresser and producing the key from his pocket he unlocked the door and walked in. He hadn’t been here in a while so he got to cleaning, he tidied up himself as no one came in here, this place was his sanctum, the house staff weren’t let in, even Arnold who slept in the valet space of his closet was never permitted entry in. He was the only one who had access. The room wasn’t overly big and held no extra decorations or windows. there was a palet at the center and a rather large table to the corner. On the table lay colors of all kinds and mixtures, water paints, oil paints, spray paints, and a box housed possibly a 100 pencils. And other drawing materials. He took out his sketchpad from one of the table drawers, in it were several new drawings of Artemis. Artemis with her blonde glorious hair down and tangled, looking dazed from his embrace in the library. Artemis smiling and wet from their little swim in the lake. Artemis stretching to reach for a book five feet above her. Artemis with her firmly knotted bonnet, walking in the village. Artermis clad in his jacket looking wistfully into the night sky. Artemis dripping from the lake as she emerged like a goddess, hair plastered to her flawless skin. God she was perfect. He smiled and picked up a brush to get to work on his canvas. He was currently completing a paintwork of her in the sunlight, blue eyes twinkling with delight, her pink frock swaying in the wind, her hair in her face as she laughed her delight at a bee on his shirt. That had been one of the good days. To his right lay a finished work of her from the view of his partio as she sat on the bench by the rose bush in a yellow day dress, her hair braided on the top of her head, her hands stretched forward to caress a rose in full bloom. At the corner of the room sat another finished work. In this one she sat curled at a corner of the library asleep in a chair, the book In her hands almost falling to the ground. These was what he spent his nights doing when he wasn’t in her room watching her sleep. He got to sketching the image of her in his head from tonight’s ball. The magical moment where she descended the steps and made an entrance to the ball as Duchess of shewsburry in her black and silver ball gown, she had pilled her hair in layers of golden curls, her baby hairs set in a style swept up prettily into the crown of her head. God she was beautiful. This woman, his Artemis, she was what he breathed and what he lived on. There was a finished portrait of her sleeping, her hair tossed with wanton abandon on the silk pillows, the bed covers had fallen exposing the soft curves of her breast almost visible through her sheer night rail, the n*****s peaked and vividly outlined. This was one of his Favorites, it captured her at her lowest guard and almost in the nude. Speaking of nude He had ordered in a big new plain canvas with plans to draw her explicitly n***d for his selfish keeping, except he hadn’t seen her in the nude. Yet.

This was his little secret. Her face splattered on every canvas in this room. She was his muse. She was his art.