Bewitching in Boots (11 page)

His hand skimmed along her skin from her shoulder to her breast, a fiery path straight to her taut nipple. He pinched it, holding it captive between his fingers until it began to throb, a delicious pulsing sensation that radiated from her breast and echoed in her sex. She arched and writhed, delirious with need, her body on fire. He released her nipple and sucked it into his hot mouth, his wicked fingers capturing her other nipple, treating it to the same sweet torture. The sound of pleasure shot up her throat, the double stimulation on the sensitized tips almost too much to take.

“Please,” she panted. “I want you now.”

“I’m going to come inside you,” he rasped against the pulsating tip of her breast. “Do you understand me? I’m not pulling my cock out.”

All she could do was moan. The thought of him filling her with his essence made her hotter. Wetter. “Yes. Do it.”

Tristan filled her sex with one solid thrust. She wrapped her legs around him. He wanted to howl with pleasure, love and lust burning inside him with equal intensity. He couldn’t believe it when Claire had told him Elisabeth had loved him from afar for so long. He couldn’t believe the touching lengths she’d gone to just to be with him.

And he was going to spend a lifetime returning her love. Cherishing her every day.

“
Dieu
, I love you.” He pumped his hips, hitting the sweet spot on her clit with his every downstroke. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“I love you!” She was breathless and so wet, her cream was seeping from around his thick cock. “I love you, Tristan.”

She was already on the edge, and
Jésus-Christ
, so was he.

“Come for me . . . Come with me.”

Her body tensed. “Oh! I’m coming!”

Tristan gathered her tightly in his arms and rode her for all he was worth, fighting back his release, waiting for hers to hit so he could let go. He felt the tremor in her sheath, her body arch. And with her scream of rapture, he held nothing back. His come shot down his length. In shuddering waves he poured his prick into her quivering cunt in hot steady streams, driving his cock as deeply as he could with each powerful thrust. Overwhelmed by her orgasm, she moaned and whimpered, clenching all around him, her arms, her legs, her sex, sending a growl rumbling from his chest. He’d never known such stunning pleasure, such pure ecstasy, as the mind-numbing joy it was to drain himself inside her.

With her now quiet in his arms and his prick emptied, he reluctantly withdrew.

Tristan looked down at her. There was a smile in her eyes. She lifted her head off the bed, cupped his cheek, and gave him a warm kiss. He’d just come inside her, claimed her for his own, and yet she said with a lazy grin and a soft sigh, “You’re mine.”

Tristan couldn’t hold back his own grin. He nuzzled her neck. Breathed her name. “And you are mine,” he assured her.

He’d never met anyone like Elisabeth. She was the only woman he knew who could drive him wild in a pair of breeches and the most irregular boots he’d ever seen.

She made him feel like the richest man on earth. The luckiest man in the realm.

Tristan had won the heart and hand of the fair princess.

Musketeers were NOT the fools with blades you’ve seen in the movies.

These men were highly trained and seriously skilled. To make it into the King’s private Guard—the Musketeers—to be responsible for the safety of the monarch and royal family, and entrusted to deliver sensitive messages across enemy lines during the many battles France fought as they worked to increase their nation (the largest in all of Christendom during the seventeenth century), you had to not only be the best of the best when it came to horsemanship, and wielding weapons, but of noble birth, too.

These men were an elite corps. Men you wouldn’t mess with.

And yet, there was a certain woman who gave them considerable grief. :)

Her name was Julie d’Aubigny
(a.k.a. la Maupin)
—an extraordinary swordswoman who bloody well lived her life by her own rules! Elisabeth, my heroine in BEWITCHING IN BOOTS, was inspired by her. The moment I read about
la Maupin
, I knew I had to create a character similar to her.

Julie’s father was the Grand Squire of France, responsible for the royal stables and training King Louis XIV’s pages. And he made sure his daughter trained right alongside them. From a young age, Julie learned fencing, horseback riding, and how to deliver a fist in the face if you were too stupid not to back off when threatened.

She grew up to be beautiful, took any lover she fancied, knew how to take care of herself—and often donned men’s clothing when it suited her. Dressed in male attire, she attended taverns where Musketeers were known to frequent, just to provoke a duel with one of them. Once she had the Musketeer on the ground, defeated, she’d whip off her male disguise and made darn sure they knew it was a woman who’d bested a member of the King’s prestigious Guard.

And Louis XIV loved it! He was so amused by stories of Julie’s antics that he would often ask about her. One day the King was informed by one of his advisors that Julie had been arrested, “for dueling, Your Majesty.”

The King immediately demanded, “Read me the law.”

A very confused advisor promptly provided the legal authority for Julie’s arrest. “Right here, Sire. It says,
“No man shall duel…”

“That’s correct. No
man
shall duel. She is a woman. Let her go.” He’d given her carte blanche to do as she pleased with his personal Guard.

The glittering court of Louis XIV was as salacious as it was elegant. It was during this time period that the father of fairy tales, Charles Perrault—author of
The Tales of Mother Goose
—wrote stories that have delighted generations:
Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots, Bluebeard
and the ever popular,
Cinderella
, to name a few.

I hope you enjoyed your time in the world when fairy tales were born. Please see the end for a delicious excerpt of yet another Fiery Tale!

Happy reading!

Lila

Antechamber
—The sitting room in a lord’s or lady’s private apartments (chambers).

Caleçons
—Drawers/underwear.

Chambers
—Another word for private apartments. A lord’s or lady’s chambers consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom, and a
cabinet
(office). Some chambers were bigger and more elaborate than others. Some
cabinets
were so large, they were used for private meetings.

Chère
—Endearment for a woman (
cher
for a man). Meaning:
dear one.

Chérie
—Endearment for a woman
(c
héri
for a man). Meaning:
darling
or
cherished one
.

Comte
—Count.

Comtesse
—Countess.

Dieu
—
God.

Duc
—Duke.

Duchesse
—Duchess.

Hôtel
—
A mansion located in the city.
The upper class and the wealthy bourgeois (middle class) often had a mansion in Paris (hôtel) in addition to their palatial country estates (château).

Justacorps
– A fitted knee-length coat, worn over a man’s vest and breeches.

Merde
—
Shit.

Salle de Buffet
—
Dining Room
.

Inspired by the tale of The Emperor’s New Clothes, an erotically charged historical romance novella from the acclaimed Fiery Tales series that would have made Hans Christian Andersen blush.

There is a certain gorgeous lord who’s quite difficult to resist…

To save her cousin, Aimee de Miran must retrieve a jeweled ring from the most sinfully seductive man at court, the unsuspecting Marquis de Nattes. But to search his considerable wardrobe she'll have to get very close to the notorious rake...and remain immune to his intoxicating charm.

But without his clothes—well, that’s completely impossible.

Adam de Nattes has secretly burned for his best friend’s wife for years. Now that Aimee is a widow, now that he’s discovered her in his bedchambers, he intends to get very close to her indeed—with his clothes—and hers—utterly forgotten...

***Originally published in THE PRINCESS IN HIS BED anthology.

“My life is over!” Louise d’Arcy exclaimed the moment after she’d yanked Aimee inside her elegant private apartments and slammed the door shut.

Aimee de Miran sighed. She’d just arrived at Versailles. Her sojourn at the palace was only ten minutes long and already she was rethinking her plan to attend court and visit with her cousin.

Dear Louise was always in the midst of chaos. It seemed now was no different.

Parched from the long carriage ride, Aimee walked over to the pitcher of water and orange slices on the ebony side table and promptly filled two crystal goblets. “Louise, darling, I’m certain your life isn’t over.” She held a goblet out to her cousin. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? Renault is what’s wrong. He’s cast me aside!” Wringing her hands, Louise began to pace, completely oblivious to Aimee’s extended arm and the goblet of fresh water being offered.

Aimee availed herself of the refreshment instead and set the goblet down.

A lovers’ spat. Nothing new.

“I see.” That would be all she’d need to say for the next hour while Louise ranted. When she was done, her cousin would collapse in a chair, quite theatrically, and weep for at least twenty more minutes.

Aimee had been through this before. Many times. Louise was always having spats with her longtime lover, Renault de Sard.

Louise stopped dead in her tracks. “No, you don’t see. You’ve no idea what has occurred. Everything is a mess. And it’s over this time! Truly over!” Her hazel eyes filled with tears. “He’ll not have anything more to do with me. He’s said so!” She dropped her face into her palms and sobbed.

Aimee approached and put a consoling arm around her cousin. Of similar age, they’d always been close. She did adore Louise, despite her histrionics. “Louise, it will work out. You’ll see. He always comes back.”

“Not this time,” she said without lifting her head, the words muffled by her hands.

“You say that every time.”

Her cousin’s head shot up. “This time it’s true!”

“You say
that
every time, too.”

Louise let out a sharp breath. “Aimee, he favors another! I have been replaced. He’s with Diane de Millon. I’m no longer his mistress at all! I tell you, he is a horrible,
horrible
cad! He purposely misled me.”

“Oh? Misled you how?”

“I was positively thrilled when he asked me to accompany him to the palace for his regular official visit with the King. He’d been so cold and distant lately that I didn’t think he’d permit me to attend this time. In truth, his plan was to bring me here to end our affair. He thought I wouldn’t pitch a fit at the palace. And do you know what I did?’

“You pitched a fit at the palace.”

“No. Well . . . yes.” Louise waved her hand dismissively. “But that was in private. And that’s not what I’m talking about.” Her cousin began to pace and wring her hands again. “I did something. Something terrible. Something I regret.”

Trepidation was beginning to mount in Aimee. Louise always had a flare for the dramatic, but . . . Aimee couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling tightening in her stomach. There was a certain look in Louise’s eyes that made her a little anxious.

“What did you do?”

Her cousin smoothed her hands down her gown. A habit. Something Louise always did when she was nervous. Or uneasy. Or terribly guilty.

“Well, you see . . .” Louise began and smoothed her hands down her gown again. “You must understand, I was quite angry with Renault at the time, and very hurt by his cutting coldness toward me. So I . . .”

Aimee braced herself. Having no idea what she was about to hear, her instincts told her it was going to be bad. Quite bad. “You
what
?”

“I took something of his.”

“Took?”

“All right, I
stole.
There, I said it. Is that better? I
stole
something he holds dear.”

Good Lord. This was a new low, even for Louise. “What on earth did you steal?”

Louis threw up her hands. “The man has never given me
anything
, Aimee. In all these years, no lover’s trinket. No jewelry at all! I felt he owed me at least that much.”

Aimee struggled with her patience. “Louise . . . What. Did. You. Take?”

“His jeweled ring. One of the ones given to him by the King.”

“Oh, Louise, you didn’t.”

“I did!” Louise flopped down onto the nearby chair dropped her face into her palms again, and wept audibly.

Aimee shook her head, dismayed. Of all the predicaments Louise had landed herself in, this one was by far the most shocking. “Didn’t it occur to you that Renault is the King’s Lieutenant General of
Police
? A man who is overzealous when it comes to the duties of his post and would arrest his own mother for the most minor infraction?”

Louise looked up. “Well, not at the time, but it certainly has over the last few hours . . .” She choked on a sob. “What am I going to do? My life is over! He’ll throw me in one of those horrible cells without batting an eye. If he’s angry enough, he could have orders drawn up against me, and I’ll be held without trial—for who knows how long.”

Aimee took in a fortifying breath and let it out slowly. She walked over to her distressed kin and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Everything is going to be fine. We can remedy this problem. This really isn’t as great a dilemma as you think it is.”

Her cousin swiped away the tears on her cheek. “Oh, but it is.”

“No it isn’t. You will return the ring with a sincere apology—”

“I can’t.”

“You’re right. The man is so rigid and uncompromising, he won’t understand,” Aimee said as an idea occurred to her. “I have it. You’ll sneak into his rooms and put the ring back, without him being the wiser.”