To Bed a Libertine. Amanda McCabeЧитать онлайн книгу.

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Tired of seasons with boring socialites, Lord Tristan Carlyle has given up his life as a libertine to become an artist. Inspiration eludes him…until he meets the alluring Contessa de Erato, who awakens a passion not even this former rake has felt before.

      But the “Contessa” has a secret—she is really Erato, muse of erotic poetry. Although she came to England to help other women find love, one night of ecstasy with Tristan shows Erato the kind of pleasure she never thought she would experience herself—and now wants to savor forever…

       A prequel to The Chase Muses miniseries.

      Author Note

      I’ve loved Greek mythology ever since I bought a book called Greek Gods and Goddesses at a book fair in the second grade! This was a young reader’s book, so there were none of the racier tales I found later (like Leda and Danae!), but I was fascinated by stories of Artemis, Apollo, and Aphrodite, and their lives on Mount Olympus, as well as the terrible things that happened to luckless humans who encountered them. Luckily, my parents enjoyed visiting museums on family vacations, so I got to see ancient vases and statues that gave a visual aspect to the Greek world—and I could make up my own stories to go along with them.

      The world of Regency England had a similar fascination with ancient history and art, and there were many scholars and avid collectors who fueled the neoclassical fashions of the day with their discoveries. I had so much fun combining these two passions in The Chase Muses, three sisters named after mythological Muses (Calliope, Clio, and Thalia) who have a love for archaeology—and for three hunky heroes.

      As for the real Muses—well, as a writer I often call on their aid (though they don’t always listen). I wondered what would happen to one of them if she suddenly found herself in Regency London, and met a devastatingly handsome artist who needs her help, even as she’s tempted by him. That’s when I met Erato, the Muse of Erotic Poetry. I hope you enjoy her adventures as much as I did!

      Chapter One

       On Mount Olympus, Time Immemorial

       On Earth, 1818

      Erato, the Muse of Erotic Poetry, was bored. Very, very bored.

      This was nothing new. Any being who had lived for centuries, inspiring countless artists to feats of great creativity, attending parties and meeting handsome men, would sometimes feel a touch of ennui. A sense of having seen it all, several times over. Of not being really useful any longer.

      But she had never felt quite like this before.

      She rolled over on her cushioned chaise, staring up at the cloudless azure sky. The Muses’ pavilion was as beautiful as ever, gleaming white marble on a verdant slope of Mount Olympus. The fluted pillars were widely spaced, giving glimpses of the trees and rivers beyond. Shepherds and shepherdesses frolicked in the lush green fields, the sweet music of their pipes floating back to her on the warm breeze.

      The air smelled of roses and lilacs, the splashing water of the fountains perfumed with oil of jasmine. Little cupids fluttered among the cushioned couches, laughing as they chased one another around and around. Servants hurried to and fro, all of them long-limbed and beautiful in their short tunics, bearing trays of wine goblets and honeyed sweetmeats.

      Her sisters were all nearby, dancing to that intoxicating pipe music as their diaphanous pastel robes fluttered like butterflies’ wings. They were all very merry in the sunlight, except for Melpomene, Muse of Tragedy, who sat morosely in the corner contemplating a new poem of death and mourning. She was rarely merry at all.

      But Erato was supposed to be joyful. She was supposed to be filled with the glow of love and sex, the transcendence of pleasure.

      Instead, she felt heavy and tired—and bored. She could find no inspiration for herself. If she didn’t snap out of it soon, then the romantic poets and painters who were her charges would lose their inspiration, too. They wouldn’t be able to inflame hearts with their verse, and earthly lovemaking would become dull and clumsy, a dreary duty.

      Aphrodite would be so angry. They were meant to work together in spreading love over the world. The goddess of love was much too lazy to do it all herself.

      Erato sat up on her chaise and reached for a goblet of wine, but there was no consolation in the sweet, golden liquid. She would just have to find a new inspiration, that was all. But where to look?

      Maybe she should start by seeing what the Chase Muses were up to at their home in London. They usually afforded some amusement, if nothing else, and they knew lots of artists and scholars who appreciated the wonders of the ancient world. Yes, she would look in on them.

      Erato set off down the marble steps of the pavilion, past her dancing sisters. They called out to her to join them, but she waved them away. There was no time for dancing today—she had important work to do.

      She crossed over a crystalline river, where water nymphs laughed on the mossy banks with centaurs, draping flower wreaths around their necks. Their cousins, the wood nymphs, swung from the leafy tree branches, shrieking with merriment. She already had a different world in her thoughts, though—the far more prosaic Regency England world of the Chase sisters.

      Ever since the daughters of the scholar Sir Walter Chase were born and given the names of the Muses—Calliope, Clio, and Thalia—Erato and her sisters had taken them under their special protection.