Chapter 2 #2
So this is the infamous mastermind of the Devil’s Masquerade, she mused silently, looking for any tell of who he might be.
She’d pictured him differently; a man perhaps so ugly or rotund that he needed the help of a mask or illustrious reputation to help him attract paramours.
This man was neither, and though she had no proof, she was sure his face matched the finery that was his physique.
“We move from place to place to keep a step ahead of those that wish to shut us down,” the man stated, drawing her out of her musings as he led her down the hall.
“So your work will need to be easy to transport.
That being said, I want large portraits.
No palm-sized scapes or something an envious member could tuck under their jacket.
“We move locations often, so you will need to be willing to travel. Sometimes it is in London itself. Other times, it is beyond the city limits. You will be given notice when that happens, but tonight officially marks the first night here. You will conduct your test portrait this evening and if you pass, you will have four nights to complete a four-portrait series.”
Four?!
“I was told you only wanted one,” Ophelia replied, her panic rising.
The time frame was incredibly small. Not just for the portraits she would be responsible for if hired, but for the test portrait.
Which in itself was something she’d never been asked to do before.
Usually she went to the home that hired her, was given a lecture’s worth of instructions, and was left to do create her art at her leisure.
“Then you were told wrong,” he countered. “Four portraits. One thousand pounds each.”
Ophelia stopped walking; shocked. Four thousand pounds? Her mind raced with the possibilities of what all that money could do for her father’s debts. Determination swept over her earlier panic, and she quickly moved to catch up to him.
“And how big will this ‘test’ portrait be?” She asked.
“I have the desired canvas set up already,” he replied. “You will see in a moment.”
“What exactly am I painting?” Ophelia asked as they stopped at a door; worried that such a timeline would be impossible.
The man turned to her, an amused smirk drawing across his chiseled lips.
“You know for a mute, you talk quite a bit,” the Devil remarked.
“And for a client, you are quite stubborn when it comes to giving details,” she bit back in her deep voice before she could help it.
She pressed her lips together, fearing her back talk had just cost her the much needed work. To her surprise though, the man’s smirk only widened as his blue eyes glittered with excitement, and without a word, he opened the door with a flourish.
Ophelia’s mouth dropped open. Not at the finery of the room, which was elegantly decorated in accents of red and gold, or at the size of the massive four poster bed in the center of it.
Not even at the canvas that she was to use, which was nearly as long as her torso and thrice as wide.
No, she was gaping at the four beautiful, half-naked masked women that rushed forward to surround the Devil.
Their hair was all unbound in varying colors.
Their masks, though all black, were different too.
The blonde had a black half-faced mask that revealed only her left cheek and lips.
The copper one had a cat-eye mask that only covered around her eye and the top of her pert nose; showing off her high cheek bones and pouty, full lips.
The brunette wore not a mask, but a black veil that covered everything but her brown eyes; which had been rimmed with kohl.
The raven-haired woman’s mask was naught but a wide strap of black lace, fastened over her eyes so that they were the only part of her face that could not be seen.
They were all slightly curvy; all incredibly gorgeous.
She watched with growing discomfort as they all ran their hands possessively over his chest, his back, and arms; as if they were starved for his touch.
“Where have you been?” the brunette beauty pouted as she pressed her bare chest to his back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“We have missed you,” the copper-haired Venus added, smoothing her hands down the Devil’s chest.
Ophelia watched, half-mesmerized, half-disgusted, as the Devil chuckled at them and gently removed their hands from his body.
“Now, my darlings, remember what tonight is for,” he said, chastising them as if they were children and not full grown women. “Pose now, play later.”
All four of them pouted and turned to Ophelia, glaring at her as if she were to blame for this new rule.
“This is the painter?” The blonde-haired woman asked, walking a slow circle around Ophelia.
“Looks a bit out of place, does he not?” The raven-haired woman asked, plucking an invisible thread from Ophelia’s jacket.
“Definitely has a frightened look about him,” the copper-haired woman noted, eyeing Ophelia up and down. “Tell me, boy, have you even seen a naked woman before?”
Ophelia’s mind scrambled for an answer, but before she could think of a reply, the masked Devil snapped his fingers, and like obedient pups, they all came back to him.
“Respect our artist, ladies,” he chastised. “It does not matter if he has seen a naked woman or not. What matters is if he can capture them in his art. Now to the bed and into the poses we discussed.”
He then turned to Ophelia, once more giving her that look that made her feel naked in her costume.
“You can paint them nude, can you not?” He asked, “Or is the work too compromising for you?”
“No,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice low and free of trembling. She was determined to win the project no matter what she thought. “I mean yes. I mean, I will paint whatever you like.”
The Devil let out a low chuckle, then gave her a subtle bow with his head.
“I hope you can paint with an audience,” he then said, walking behind her. “I need to watch your process.”
Ophelia’s nervousness heightened as the four women then completely undressed, and walked with utter confidence to the bed.
The raven-haired woman posed in the center of the bed, sitting up among the crimson pillows with both arms stretched across the top of them.
She laid her legs out straight, crossing her ankles.
The copper-haired woman joined her next.
She laid her head in the other woman’s lap, flipping her voluminous copper curls to the other side, exposing her back, shoulder, and plump derrière.
The blonde moved next, stretching out on her back on the opposite side of the raven-haired woman’s feet.
The blonde reached out, and grasped one of the woman’s bare feet, and gave Ophelia an alluring look.
The brunette joined them last, sitting at the edge of the bed with her back to the right bed post. She rested one leg up on the bed and bent her knee as her other foot came to rest on the floor.
She then raised her arms to circle the post behind her, jutting her perfect breasts out.
Though Ophelia had never done a nude portrait before and she’d never once had an inclination toward her fellow women, even she had to admit the visual was incredibly enticing.
“Better get at it,” The Devil’s voice whispered in her ear. “I am afraid time is not on your side.”
Ophelia jolted out of her reverie. She could marvel at her situation later.
For now, she was going to work. She sat her case down, then lugged the canvas and the easel to the center of the room, lining it up until she had the angle she wanted to work from.
She raised her right thumb beside her canvas, finding the center point of the women posing before her, and began.
The where, who, and what of the project fell away as Ophelia picked up her sharpened charcoal and began to sketch the outlines.
This was her talent, her passion, and she wasn’t going to let a little nudity stop her from using those things to help her father.
Sweat pricked at her brow as the outline came together; she moved to wipe it away, and nearly laughed out loud as she came in contact with her mask.
She’d completely forgotten that she’d had it on!
She shook her head at her forgetfulness, and carried on, moving away from the sketch of the four-post bed and onto the beautiful bodies lounging atop it.
Every so often, her nerves would skitter to life as she felt the Devil’s hot breath flutter across the back of her neck.
Even though she never looked back, Ophelia could feel that he was right there, probably not even a footstep away.
She was nearly finished with the online when the Devil said, “Stop.”
Ophelia froze mid stroke of her charcoal.
“Something the matter?” She asked, keeping her eyes forward.
“This was supposed to be a painting, not a sketch,” he said behind her.
Ophelia’s annoyance from before ticked upward, but she swallowed it.
“It is a painting,” she replied calmly, “This is just to get the proper lines.”
“They are too dark for an outline,” he countered. “Look here.”
The Devil raised hand toward the canvas, careful not to touch the charcoal lines, and traced a finger over a particularly dark line of one of the bed posts.
He said something else, something that was no doubt important- but Ophelia didn’t hear it.
She was too distracted by the hand in front of her.
The hand that had appeared in every practice sketch she’d ever created these last twelve years, a hand that had transfixed her since the moment she noticed them.
The man behind her, the elusive, infamous Devil of the Devil’s Masquerade that no one seemed to be able to identify- was none other than Lord Perfect himself. Tristan.