Beloved (2 page)

“And I have a surprise for you, too,” Marco whispered as though he were the keeper of the world’s greatest secret. “I have a new baby sister.”

Richard made an effort to get a look at the the bundle in the Signora’s arms, but the adults had crowded around her, admiring and congratulating, and he could see nothing but skirts and silk-clad legs. He waited patiently, curious to see what his friend Marco found so special about a baby sister. After all, he had a sister of his own and, while she was no baby, Richard was not yet convinced that sisters were all that special. Guy stood silently beside them, equally curious and equally unable to see.

Catharine finally noticed the boys and bent down to show them the baby.

“You see, Richard, we’ve brought you a new little friend. Her name is Christina and you boys must all take very good care of her.”

Richard couldn’t hide his surprise. She was so small! She looked more like one of Cybelle’s dolls than an actual person. He started to reach up to touch her cheek, but hesitated, looking to her mother for permission. Catharine nodded and he very carefully ran his none too clean finger over the baby’s porcelain cheek. Slowly the baby’s eyes opened and she regarded him solemnly, not making a sound.

“Chrissa!” he whispered in surprise.

Catharine laughed. “Not ‘Chrissa,’ Richard,
Christina
, though I suppose we’ll be calling her ‘Tina’ soon enough.” The Signora stood up and turned back to the adults, enjoying the attention being lavished on her beautiful little daughter.

Richard, lost in thoughts of his own, hung back as the three families, followed by a host of servants, went slowly up the steps and into the château.

La beauté d’une fleure fragile se perd
comme s’éparpillent ses pétales sur le sentier.

Ne mettez-vous pas le pied la-dessus, indifférent, insouciant, sans percevoir que tout ce que nous comprenons de l’Amour y demeure.

—Didron

A fragile flower’s beauty’s lost as petals on a path are tossed.
Don’t pass them by without a care for all we know of Love is there.

Automne 1746

Arles

Maryse leaned closer to the tall cheval mirror, concentrating on her reflection as she carefully rubbed the pink rouge into her dark nipples. Satisfied with the results, she wrapped the sheer batiste faux corselet around herself and tied the delicate lavender silk ribbons into precise, perfect bows.

She sighed as she stared at her image, feeling very much like a
vendeuse
preparing her merchandise for sale. She vaguely thought of powdering her face, but reconsidered. She was supposed to look as youthful as possible so as not to make the young man of the evening feel uncomfortable. She was only seventeen. Looking young was not yet difficult.

Tonight, as every other night since coming to Arles, Maryse reminded herself of the many reasons she had to be grateful. She’d been blessed with unusual beauty and the intelligence to use it wisely and so, despite the line of work she found herself engaged in, she was content with her circumstances.

Sometimes she even found the young men amusing. The only thing that gave her cause for regret was their all too frequent lack of sensitivity. She was growing increasingly impatient with the constant parade of boys who often had far too much to drink before throwing themselves on her as though she were some compliant chambermaid. A minute later they were inevitably snoring in her ear.

Maryse was there to “refine their skills,” as Madame Dijol was so fond of saying, but they rarely gave her the opportunity or showed even the slightest interest in acquiring any knowledge that might teach them to please the women in their lives. Maryse frequently had cause to pity their future brides.

There was firm knock at her door. She patted her carefully arranged hair, pinched a bit of color into her cheeks, slipped a fine lace shawl around her shoulders and took a deep breath. When she opened the door, she presented the three people waiting in the hallway with her most coquettish smile.

“Maryse, my dear,” said Madame Dijol, smiling warmly.

She noticed that the older woman’s pleasure seemed genuine. She was accompanied by an attractive older gentleman who looked to be in his sixties. His silver hair gave him an aura of distinction that was softened by his warm smile. Between them stood an extremely handsome young man.

Maryse was aware they were staring and though she was accustomed to being admired, she felt the color begin to rise to her cheeks. She used to despair her tendency to blush until Madame Dijol convinced her that men found it
charmant
.

Fluttering her fan prettily at her cheek, she regarded the young man. If asked, she would have admitted she was pleasantly surprised. He was clad in a plain but obviously expensive grey silk suit with no embroidery, no ornamentation but the exquisite lace at cuff and throat. There was no sign of artifice on either his suntanned face or dark curls. She thanked her lucky stars for that! She had seen enough painted and powdered men at court and the pretensions of the Provençals bored her.

“Allow me to present Monsieur Magniet, le Baron de Beauvu and his son, Richard,” Madame Dijol continued. Both men bowed slightly.

“
Enchantée, Messieurs
,” Maryse responded, dropping into a deep curtsy.

“Well, Richard,” Louis said, placing his hand on the boy’s sturdy shoulder. “Happy Birthday. Enjoy yourself and remember what I said.”

Louis, proud of his son, hoped Richard was pleased with the enchanting young woman he and Gabrielle Dijol had chosen for him. His son deserved the best and this young lady was the best Arles had to offer.

Richard smiled at his father, bowed briefly to Madame Dijol as he kissed her hand, then turned back to Maryse.

“Mademoiselle?”

“Monsieur
, s’il vous plaît.
” Maryse curtseyed again and motioned him into the room. As she closed the door behind them, just a hint of a satisfied smile crept across her lips. At least this one seemed possessed of some manners, she thought, and so tall—why, she barely came up to his shoulder!

“May I take your coat?”

Richard willingly gave up both coat and waistcoat, happy to be rid of what he considered restrictive clothing. He’d been amused by his father’s generous gift of two nights in the best brothel in Arles, a place he knew his father frequented in three years his mother’s death. But when he saw Maryse, he realized the gesture was far more extravagant than he’d supposed.

He decided to make the most of his father’s generosity, as he looked around the room, inhaling the subtle fragrance of lily of the valley. He pulled one of the pink rosebuds from the crystal vase on the table and rolled the stem between his fingers. Despite the surroundings and the anticipation of what the night would bring, his thoughts turned to Christina. It was her rose, the same color as the one near the little Venus in the garden, the rose he’d told her was “hers” when she was only four. He sighed. Six more years, maybe seven and they would marry. On this, his sixteenth birthday, it seemed like a very long time.

As Maryse hung up his clothes she glanced in the mirror and was somewhat surprised to see that her young man was distracted. Usually they couldn’t keep their eyes off her.

“Monsieur?”

Richard looked up and smiled, refocusing his attention.

“Will you have some brandy?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle,
merci
.”

The shawl slipped from her shoulders as she leaned across him to take his glass, affording him a clear view of her small perfect breasts, her rouged nipples only half concealed by the delicate rows of lace on her corselet.

Richard was no stranger to the arts of seduction, but the combination of her perfume and the enticing view she afforded him… He felt his body respond. He was pleased. She was young, and delicate and certainly very pretty, but her mouth…her mouth was exquisite.

Maryse sensed his eyes on her, almost like a caress, but he was staring at her face! Usually they couldn’t take their eyes off her breasts or the shadowy form of her legs beneath her nearly transparent petticoats. But this one—this one was staring at her face.

“Why do you stare at me, Monsieur?” She smiled as she handed him his glass, the contents shimmering in the subdued light.

He felt the flush of color in his own cheeks. He hadn’t meant to stare, but her mouth
was
extraordinary.

“Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but you have a very lovely mouth.”

Maryse’s silk and ivory fan, painted with pink rosebuds that echoed those on the table between them, quickly fluttered to her cheek, concealing her mouth as she slowly dropped her eyes in feigned shyness.

“You speak of lips, Monsieur. Does this mean you wish to kiss me?” She asked the question softly, hoping not to seem too forward. One must be very careful with these young men. She did not wish to startle him and ruin their evening.

Richard watched her, trying to decide what was really going on behind those intriguing eyes.

“Do you wish to be kissed, Mademoiselle?”

He sounded merely curious. It was her turn to be startled.

Richard smiled.
So, I can surprise her!

Maryse laughed softly. She knew what he was thinking and she was quite sure it was he who would be surprised before the night was over.

“I think this is the reason you’re here, is it not?” she said, tilting her head to one side, the fan fluttering at her cheek as gently as the wing of a butterfly.

Richard stood up and set his glass on the table. Maryse fully expected him to reach for her, but his hands remained at his side. When she looked up into his eyes she felt her heart skip a beat and immediately scolded herself. Yes, this one was special, but she must not forget who was teacher and who student.

“I’m here because my father has deemed two nights with you an appropriate way to celebrate my birthday, but I assure you, I never presume to go where I’m not welcome.”

“In that case, Monsieur, I would very much like you to kiss me.” She smiled as she lowered her fan and looked up at him with what she hoped was a combination of innocence and invitation.

Richard stepped closer, offered her his hand and when she took it, he pulled her to her feet.
She is certainly beautiful, but her mouth…

Maryse was surprised when he didn’t take her in his arms. Instead, he carefully laid the rose against her cheek and slowly traced the line of her chin with the delicate pink petals. His eyes followed the blossom as he studied her face. Then he ran it across her inviting lips before he bent down. His hands clasped her waist as, very slowly, he kissed her.

It was a sweet kiss, tentative, a brief sensation of his lips on hers. He pulled back and looked at her, almost as if seeking permission to continue. She leaned against him, staring into his grey eyes as she slowly ran her hands over the silk of his shirt. His subtle approach left her curious.

Richard accepted the invitation of her parted lips and kissed her again. This time her arms smoothly wound their way around his neck. From her mouth his lips moved first to one cheek, lingered a moment and then moved to the other, then to her forehead. He was determined to take his time, but the very closeness of her nearly naked body was making it very difficult, indeed.

His restraint left Maryse breathless, and in an effort to gather her thoughts, her fingers moved to his throat and began to untie his
solitaire
. She removed the
solitaire
and
crapaud
, loosing his shoulder length hair. As she ran her fingers through the dark curls, she was thinking what an absolutely lovely young man the Fates had brought her.

“Well,” she whispered, unable to keep the note of surprise from her voice, “Perhaps they have not sent me a child, after all.”

Richard couldn’t help but laugh. It was a warm sound, rich and deep like his voice.

“I assure you, Mademoiselle, I am no child,” he said as seriously as he could considering the fact that most of his attention was on the one part of his body that was refusing to obey him.

“But,” Maryse said, playfully tapping her finger against his lips, “I think perhaps you have much to learn.” Her smile this time was coy.

“That may be so, but in return I can promise you that I’ve always been considered a willing and eager student.”

Maryse’s fingers moved down the front of his shirt, deftly undoing the buttons hidden beneath the delicate lace of his
jabot
. She helped him pull his shirt over his head.

“We shall see,” she said with a pretense of skepticism that she didn’t feel as she spread her fingers slowly across his bare chest.

His arms tightened around her as her hands continued to move slowly over his skin. As she pressed herself against him, he kissed her again and she felt his excitement vibrate though her as she ran the tips of her fingers slowly back and forth across his nipples. Richard groaned.

Maryse was aware of the effect she was having on him. Her hands never stopped moving and she felt his control slipping away, just as she intended.

Richard’s own hands moved lower, pulling her tightly against him. He was conscious of his enthusiastic response to her touch, which strained against the silk of his breeches and caused him to wonder if he was really as prepared for this adventure as he’d thought. And then, as her lips moved away from his and down to his chest, her busy fingers loosened the buttons at his waist, freeing him. With agonizing slowness her mouth moved farther down his belly until her tongue flicked at his navel.

Richard groaned again, knowing he couldn’t endure much more. When he realized what she was about to do, he knew he was lost. A moment after the exquisite sensation of her beautiful mouth encompassed him, it was over.

“Forgive me,” he said, embarrassed by his lack of control. Gently, he took her by the elbows, lifting her back to her feet.

Maryse smiled. Now they would have time, no need to hurry. She kissed him again, assuring him this was only a prelude to what was to come.

“As a student, you are perhaps a bit too eager,” she said playfully, twining her arms around his neck and pressing herself tightly against him. “But the night is young, is it not?”