Ronin Warriors Fan Fiction ❯ Her Nefarious Inclination ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

Her Nefarious Inclination

Prologue

By Svelte Rose

It was not that she had to do this. There was no reason as to why she was doing this. As for how she was going to do this, that was still to be determined. Barely dressed with only a small piece of fabric draped across her breast and groin area, she shivered. "Is there heat in this room?"

The blue-haired painter answered 'no' with a shake of her head as she kept on mixing the paints and playing around with colors. "It makes my oil paintings runny. The few that I have finished at least," She picked up a black velvet domino mask and tossed it to the mahogany-haired model lying on the couch. "Put this on,"

The almost-nude female caught the mask in mid-air and tied the satin ribbons around her head, giving her whole appearance a rather mysterious, yet seductive outlook.

"Perfect," The other female determined as she stood up and grabbed a dirty frock to cover her own clothes. Pulling her termite-infested stool over to the large canvas, she sat down and diligently went back to mixing her pants up; once in a while, looking up at the model to determine what shade the skin color should be. "What's your name?"

The model shifted uncomfortably on the couch and answered, "Mia Klarisse Farrow," Not even a single quiver in her voice.

"Hmm…Are you related to the Marquess of Hillton? Both of you have the same last name," The skin tone needed to be darker.

"He is my husband," Said the barely-covered female, now dubbed Mia, Marchioness of Hillton.

The painter immediately dropped her brush. "What are you doing here then?" She all but screeched. "Oh dear god, I'll get my head taken for this!" The painter fretted as she hurried to find something so that the Marchioness of Hillton would be more properly [or as properly as they could manage] attired.

Mia hurried out off the couch and grasped the painter by the hands, stopping the nervous fretting. "My friend - may I call you that?" A brief nod. "Though he may be one of the richest and most influential man alive, he is also quite scandalous. He goes out all night long and comes home looking as content as a cat who had just caught a mouse. And despite all that, I respect him. I fear that I may not have lived life up to it's potential as he has and I despise that. I was taught to be a proper lady and a proper lady I am. Do you know how exceedingly boring that is?!" She yanked the painter by her lapels. "I understand that this may seem odd and somewhat immature, but the truth of the matter is, I am tired of wasting my life away like this. I want to do something that Mia Klarisse Farrow has never done. I want to scandalize the ton. THAT is why I am here barely dressed freezing my brains out. Besides, you needed a model and a model I am! You could teach me and I could learn, it can't be that hard. I have adapted to sitting quite still - which comes in handy at times. I want to be the content chesire cat for once, I want to be the one having liaisons with other people, I want to live!" She shook the painter, clenching her teeth. During the process, her mask had fallen askew, revealing a flawless and porcelain complexion. The Marchioness of Hillton was a very beautiful lady - there was no doubt about that. Her hair had run free of their confines, flowing down her back in waves of mahogany curls, accentuating her richly colored blue-green eyes. Long, thick eyelashes were a blessing to those who had it. The cheeks needed no rouge for it had a beautiful, natural pink tint to them and her lips - they needed no color either! Also natural, they were a bright cherry red. Added to that, Mia's reputation of being the very model of how a lady should act, had matchmaking mama's begging for her company during the season. And despite her husband's infidelity, he belonged to a circle of most eligible bachelors that Mia also had access to because she was married to him. If one was to become Marchioness Hilton's friend, then one was sure to snare a rich and titled husband for their daughters.

And because of that, it was confusing as to why the Marchioness was in a dingy attic, barely-covered, and shaking a poor painter by the lapels of her jacket.

"This could be such a fantastic experience! You could publish this painting and since I'm barely covered, it'd be scandalous and everyone will be wondering who's behind the mask!" Mia threw her hands up in the air. "Aren't you excited?" She demanded, staring determined at the painter. "You must be! I am going to die soon of boredom and if not that, I'll kill myself with my husband's rapier. So at least help me in my quest? Help me set the bloody ton on the tips of their toes!"

The painter stared up at the marchioness, pole-axed. "This coming from you of all people? Good lord," She swore, hand clapping her mouth as she remembered whose company she was in. The marchioness waved it off. The painter continued, "You are the very epitome of a proper lady! Do you know how bad this would be for you if you were to be found out? Not to mention, do you know how unrealistic you sound? You're talking about publishing your nude-,"
"Almost nude," She corrected.

"My mistake. Almost nude body out there and believe me, I do not hide a single curve. This is outrageous; I cannot go through with it! I'll have you know, I am a very exceptional painter!" Kayura all but bragged, her dark-blue eyes flashing. "I leave no dark corner undrawn!"

"Good!" Mia chirped.

"It'd be scandalous. This is bizarre, I won't do it. You must be drunk or something because this is very much unlike what a marchioness would say, much less you, the oh-so-proper Marchioness of Hillton, Mia Klarisse Farrow." The painter waved her hand flippantly.

"It is because of my reputation that I want to be doing this. I want to do something that people will be talking about for years to come. And I tried out fair and square like all of those other models, so you owe me a series of 'Masked Maiden' paintings…starring me. People won't know, I'll be wearing a mask in the paintings. I mean that is the idea," Mia concluded, her arms crossed over her chest. "Let me do this before I die an old maiden,"

"If my calculations are correct…and I know they are. You are only - what? Five and twenty?"

"Four and twenty but I'm almost five and twenty. That's not the point, the point is…I need excitement in my life."

"And you think this is going to give it to you?! You're willing to risk everything for that?!"

"Yes!"

"What if my paintings aren't popular? I won't have money to pay for you and the materials required,"

"That problem is solved. I have money. I'll purchase the supplies for you. You need not to pay me either. Besides, I know how the mind of the ton works. Your paintings will be famouse!"
Kayura, the painter, wanted to cry. She had only wanted to do this series of paintings for some extra money to pay for her house rent. She knew that these series wouldn't be a let down if they were done correctly and that was because she understood the minds of males…they wanted what they couldn't have. Those were the minds these paintings were directed at. That fact alone gave her the inspiration for her 'Masked Maiden' paintings. She never expected a nobility of the ton to be the model for her ideas much less the Marchioness of Hillton. Though she would cause a better sensation than any blond haired or raven-colored women ever would. She added as an afterthought.

"Look, you don't have to pay me, my husband set aside a private fund for me of which he adds every week so that I could use it whenever I wanted to buy something of my own." Her cherry red lips pouted and she drooped her eyes. "Please?"

Say noooooo…nooooooo. Just say it Kay…noooooo. "Okay?" She agreed meekly.

Mia whooped and ran back to the couch, readjusting her mask. "I am all yours," She grinned comically as she lay across the couch…only to fall off onto the hard floor. "Ow!" She yelped before hurrying to get back onto the small couch.

"Why couldn't you just say NO?" Kayura muttered to herself as she viciously mixed the paint.

The Marchioness flashed a victorious 'V' sign at the obviously distressed painter. "Cheer up! It isn't so bad!"

Kayura growled. "Just don't move,"

Mia nodded enthusiastically.

It was ironic really, a beautiful Marchioness obeying the commands of a poor painter like her. Kayura was starting to see the pros of this relationship.

"So, how should I sit?" Mia posed several different positions, careful not to let the black silk slid down her body revealing more than she wanted.

Kayura twitched at the dramatic and comedic display the mahogany haired lady was giving. "Just lay down and I'll have the rest covered," she started slathering paint onto the oil canvas.

After a few moments of silence while the blue-haired painter mixed more paint, Mia licked her lips. "So…" She began. "What's your name?"

"Kayura,"

"That's not English, is it?"

"It's Japanese. My mother was a Japanese,"

"Fascinating,"

A few more moments of silence passed.

Kayura cleared her throat. "So why do you want to flaunt convention in the faces of the ton?"

"Keep on painting," Came the brusque reply.

Kayura looked out from around the canvas and arched her eye. Maybe the countess was afflicted with some mind disorder. Kayura had heard of those. That would explain why the bloody Marchioness of Hillton was in a dingy attic, barely clothed, and posing for a series of the most scandalous paintings that the crème de la crème would not be forgetting for a very long time.

~*~*~*~

"Welcome home sweetheart," Said Mia from behind the newspaper as her husband came skipping - no…strolling happily with a little bounce in his walk from the entrance of the parlor.
The Marquess of Hillton bent down to kiss his wife only to be shied away from. "What is the matter?" He asked, a pout forming on his perfectly sculpted lips.

Mia arched her eyebrow at her handsome husband. "I have no idea where those lips have been and I want them no where near me,"

The Marquess laughed. He loved the conversations he held with his wife. Nobody, not even the ladies he had made love to, matched her wit and humor and him, of all people, revered intelligence above all. Theirs was a strange relationship. They had gotten married because it had been arranged since they were born. To make it work so that they weren't going to rip each other's throats out, they decided that whatever mistresses the Marquess had a liaison with…the Marchioness would look the other way. There was no question about whether the Marchioness would have any liaisons with other men because she always behaved so properly and never seemed to be attracted to any men. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time she accepted a male's invitation for a drive in the park or a simple outing…and there were tons of them. She wouldn't have an affair; there was no doubt about it in his mind. Though he did worry sometimes… it seemed as if she didn't possess a sex drive. That was unnatural - at least to such a man as himself. He didn't know if he minded if she were to make love to someone else - but he wouldn't feel jealousy. Of that, he was also certain.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience - that much was certain. But the fact that he got such a proper and witty wife who cared naught for his scandalous behavior and his mistresses made him the target of many jealous men who were husbands to not so accommodating wives. "You are a jewel,"

"I know," She replied, still looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "Don't you dare!" She spoke irrelevantly.

The Marquess bent down and gave her a big wet one on the cheek.

"Eugh! Rowan!" She furrowed her nose as she wiped her wet cheek off with a hand and wiped it on his raven locks, glaring at his mischievous, midnight blue eyes.

"Excuse me my dear Countess," Rowan grinned as he stood up to his full six feet and four inches. He pointed mockingly as his now cockeyed hairdo. "This piece of art took a very, very long time to perfect,"

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away. "Right,"

"Hmm…was that what they called sarcasm?"

She rapped him with the newspaper, "How very observant of you,"

"More sarcasm, I don't know if I can take anymore of this!"

"Rowan, stop being so dramatic,"

"I am thirty-two years old, it is my job to be dramatic,"

"You are the very epitome of a dandy,"

Rowan gasped, his hand over his chest, "A dandy? I am insulted! I am a Corinthian through and through! I shall have to call you out! Name your seconds,"

"I think I may have proven my point," Muttered the marchioness from behind the folds of her newspaper.

"Alright, tomorrow at the crack of dawn and don't you be late," He wagged his finger at her.

"Count on it," Came the dry remark, muffled by the newspaper.

Rowan rubbed his hands together. His wife was in for a rude awakening.

Only the ruffles of the paper and a slight sound Rowan was emitting destroyed the blanket of calm that had settled in the parlor.

"Rowan, I can hear your snickering you know," Mia commented a few moments later when the sound ceased to stop.