Intrigued (24 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: Intrigued
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“Is she
enceinte?”
Jasmine asked.
“Nay, although she wants bairns, she told me. She’s a wee bit rough-spoken, but I like her, Mama.”
“Let us see how long it will take your brother to inform me of this marriage,” his mother said, and then, “God’s boots! I am now the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk! I do not know if I can forgive Patrick for that, although I did tell him to take a wife.”
“So now we are all married, Mama,” Autumn said. “You have certainly done your duty by us.”
“Haven’t I just,” her mother replied dryly, and they all laughed.
The wedding feast was served to the assembled guests. Jasmine had invited all the servants both inside the chateau and out to join them. They sat at tables below the highboard, while those assigned to bring in the feast hurried back and forth before seating themselves. Pere Bernard said the blessing. Then the Duke of Lundy raised a silver goblet and offered a toast to his youngest sibling.
“To Autumn Rose, the last of us, born to our mother when she believed she was past that time in her life. She has, I know, been a blessing and a joy to her parents. May she be one to her husband as well! And to Sebastian, her lord, who has not the faintest idea of what he has done in marrying this beautiful minx. Long life, prosperity, many healthy babies, and may every year you are together be a vintage year.”
“Salut! Salut!”
cried all the guests, raising their own silver goblets and pewter cups.
“Oh, Charlie,” Autumn told her brother, “you have made this such a happy day for me. Thank God you are safe!”
Charles Frederick Stuart took his sister’s hand in his and kissed it tenderly. “Thank God,” he said in return, “that I was able to share this day with you and Sebastian. The others will be quite envious when they learn of it.”
“You will stay with Mama? You will not go away too soon?” Her look was anxious.
Seeing that look, Sebastian felt a pang of jealousy. He had only an older sister he barely knew. He did not understand the closeness between siblings who loved one another.
“Family is everything,” his mother-in-law said softly to him. “Now you are a part of us,
mon brave.
You will learn to love as we do each other, and so will your children.” She patted his big hand. “Even though she was the last of my babies, Sebastian, and they all much older, we have always been together one way or another. Autumn is every bit as much a part of her brothers and sisters as they, who were so close in age, are. Charlie, however, was always her favorite. Stuarts have that rare sort of charm.”
As if to prove her point, Charlie called to his mother’s two Scots retainers. “Red Hugh, Fergus! Fetch the pipes, for I know you have them. What is a Scotsman wiout his pipes?” he said in his mother tongue. Then, excusing himself, he disappeared from the hall. When he returned he was clad in his kilt and carried two swords. Setting them on the floor of the hall, he nodded to Red Hugh and Fergus. They began to play, and Charles Frederick Stuart began to dance, moving gracefully among the crossed swords as he paid this familiar tribute to his sister.
The French in the hall watched with admiration as this tall, elegant man in his red plaid, with his dark curls and amber eyes, danced before them. They had never seen such a dance, but they recognized the passion in it. Autumn put her head against her husband’s shoulder and wept softly. It was all so beautiful, she thought, so wonderful that Charlie was with them, and yet she wished the others could be too. She sighed deeply.
Sebastian dropped a kiss upon her ebony head. “It is quite wonderful,” he said softly. “The perfect end to our wedding feast, but
cherie,
we must depart soon for Chermont. I would be home before dark. The river road is not easy to travel in the glooming.”
For several days Autumn’s possessions had been transferred from her mother’s house to her husband’s. A small baggage cart with the last of the bride’s belongings would follow their coach, along with Lily and the young servant Marc, who would now become the marquise’s personal courtier. Marc was intelligent, and Adali had thought it wise that Autumn have a male servant whose loyalty was to her alone. He had explained all of this to Marc before offering him the position.
“Serve the young marquise well, and first. You will not regret your loyalty to her. Madame’s two women and I have served her from birth, even enduring a six months’ voyage from our homeland to remain with her. Red Hugh and Fergus have come with her from Scotland. This family places a great price upon loyalty, Marc. We have all become quite comfortable in her service. If, God forbid, she died tomorrow, none of us would lack for anything. Remember this should anyone, even monsieur le marquis, attempt to dissuade you from your duty toward the young marquise. Can you give her that kind of loyalty?”
“I can, Monsieur Adali,” the young man said. “This offer you have made me is a blessing, for surely you have noticed I have a
tendre
for Mademoiselle Lily. I hope to wed her one day if madame le marquise will permit it and give us her blessing.”
“Loyalty has its rewards,” Adali replied meaningfully. “I am certain that once you are settled at Chermont and have proven your fidelity to your mistress, she would gladly give her consent. You will need it, however. Lily will not marry you without it. She is distant kin to her mistress through her uncles, my mistress’s two Scotsmen, and has been raised by Fergus and his wife, Toramalli.”
“I should never betray my mistress once I had pledged my allegiance,” Marc said earnestly.
“Then it is settled,” Adali said, satisfied, but afterwards he had spoken to Lily, explaining all to the girl’s delight, and advising her to make certain no other lass caught Marc’s eye. “I am certain you will know how to keep his devotion, my child,” he told her. “Remember that there will be another maidservant to serve your mistress at Chermont. She is called Orane and is young, pretty, and pert. I do not know yet if she is ambitious, but be warned that if she is, she will want everything that is yours, including your swain. Her aunt is the housekeeper.”
“I know how to protect myself and what is mine,” Lily replied fiercely. “I am the stranger, and so they will all be watching to see if they can fault me. However, I shall be sweet and full of questions. I will be respectful but not servile. They will like me but quickly realize that they cannot replace me with one of their own. As for Marc, he will not stray, Adali. He is a good man and loves me truly.”
Now, as he watched Autumn prepare to depart her mother’s house, Adali prayed silently that he had been correct in his judgment, that Lily and Marc would continue to love and serve his mistress’s child. He brought the pale blue velvet cloak trimmed in ermine and put it about Autumn’s shoulders. Then, standing before her, he carefully fastened the scrolled silver frogs and drew up the hood, covering her hair. No words were necessary between the two. Autumn hugged him silently, and he acknowledged her with a faint smile and a nod of his white head.
“Come and see us in a few days’ time,” the marquis said to his new family.
Autumn hugged her mother and brother in their turn. Then she was helped into their coach by her husband. “I should far rather have ridden,” she murmured to him as she settled herself. “I really don’t like coaches. They are so confining.”
He climbed in next to her, and the carriage door was firmly shut. “If,” he said as their vehicle rumbled off, “we rode to Chermont, I should not have this private time with you,
cherie,
to make love.”
“You want to make love in a coach?”
Her face mirrored her surprise. “You cannot make love in a coach!”
“If one can make love lying before a fireplace, then why not in a coach?” he said, and his hand slipped beneath her cape to fondle her bosom. “Later,” he told her, “when you have more experience,
ma petite,
I shall show you that a man and a woman can indeed make love almost anywhere. For now, however, I want to kiss and cuddle you.”
“When we get home,” she said, nestling against him, “can we go right to bed, monseigneur?”
“There will,” he promised her, “be a supper placed in your salon, madame la marquise. There will be wine. The fireplaces in your apartments will burn all night long, as will my ardor for you.” He kissed her mouth slowly, tenderly. “We will make love, and I will begin to teach you passion,” he continued. “We will eat when it pleases us, and rest from our desires when it pleases us. Have you any idea how much I want you, Autumn? How very much I need you?”
She turned herself into his arms, and her hand reached out to caress the very obvious bulge in his breeches.
“Oui,
Sebastian, I do,” she murmured sweetly against his mouth. Her fingers slid up and down his length teasingly.
“You are the boldest virgin,” he said with a sigh.
“Does it displease you?” she asked him.
“Non, ma cherie,
it does not,” he replied honestly.
“Then,
mon coeur,
we shall amuse ourselves all the way home, won’t we?” Autumn told him, snuggling against him.
“I will undress you myself,” he groaned through gritted teeth.
“You have expertise in maiding a lady?” she asked wickedly. “You cannot tear my wedding gown in your lust, Sebastian.”
“I shall only tear your undergarments,” he promised. “You are not wearing the
caleçons,
are you?”
“No,” she murmured, kissing his earlobe. “Drawers are such a bother, monseigneur, are they not?”
He drew up her skirts and slid a hand beneath them to ascertain her veracity, pleased to find truth in her words. His fingers brushed her thighs above her gartered stockings. The skin was every bit as soft as the silk covering her legs. “Madame, you are, I fear, too tempting.”
“You are too,” she concurred. “Perhaps we would be better off if we ceased this delicious devilment and looked at the river.”
“As madame la marquise wishes,” he agreed and, removing his hand from beneath her gown, he drew her skirts down.
“Madame la marquise doesn’t wish it, but she is already so hungry for your passion she will turn to cinders before we get home unless you show a wee bit of restraint,” Autumn said frankly.
“There will come a day,” he promised, “when I shall set you upon my lance within the confines of this coach, and we shall ride together to its rhythm. For now, however, we shall view the river.”
“And when we get home?” she pressed him.
“Ah, madame la marquise, when we get home is a different matter entirely,” he replied.
The countryside about them grew quieter as sunset approached and they came nearer to Chermont.
Chapter
11
E
verything was as he had promised. Lafite had greeted them when they arrived.
“Welcome home, madame la marquise,” he had said. “Lily and Marc will be settled immediately.” He bowed.
“Merci,”
Autumn said softly. Her husband’s hand was beneath her elbow as he gently but firmly led her up the broad staircase to their apartments.
Entering, the marquis said to the young girl who came forward to take Autumn’s cloak, “You are dismissed, Orane. Go and greet Lily. She has your instructions for the morning.”
Her large, dark eyes startled, Orane curtsied, and exited the salon, still clutching her new mistress’s outer garment.
“Step back and let me look at you,” the marquis said to his bride. “Ah,
cherie,
you are so beautiful. I do not believe I told you that today. Monsieur Reynaud’s gown is exquisite.”
Autumn felt a sudden heat warm her cheeks. “Remember,” she cautioned him, “you promised not to tear it.”
“I won’t,” he replied. “Are you hungry? Supper is laid upon the sideboard, even as I said it would be.”
“No. I am not hungry . . . for food,” she told him boldly.
“Turn around,” he instructed her, and when she did he began to unlace her bodice. “Are the sleeves separate or attached?” he asked.
“Attached,” she said and, feeling the bodice undone, pulled it off and laid it aside upon a chair. Her skirts, which had been fastened to the bodice with several tabs, now sagged over her petticoats.
The marquis carefuly studied this situation and then began to unbutton each petticoat in its turn until they were all loosened. Then, suddenly, he ripped the dainty silk waistcoat in half, drawing it off her and tossing the ruins aside. “I said I would not tear your gown,
ma petite,”
he explained, putting his hand about her narrow waist and lifting her from the muddle of her petticoats and skirts. Stepping back, he caught his breath, for she was certainly the loveliest girl he had ever looked upon.
She was naked but for her cream-colored silk stockings, which were embroidered with delicate golden butterflies and held up by pearl-encrusted gold silk garters. Her feet were encased in narrow, cream, silk-covered shoes with slender diamond-studded stilletto heels. She had delightful small, round breasts that he knew in time would mature into magnificence. Her hips were most pleasingly rounded, her limbs slim and shapely. Her belly was flat, and beneath it a forest of tightly bunched black curls caught his attention.
Shouldn’t she be embarrassed, Autumn thought, as he viewed her nudity with open admiration? But she wasn’t. Instead she pirouetted audaciously before him, striking a bold pose, one leg upon a settee, as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “You are pleased, then?”
He could not keep his hand from reaching out to fondle an impudent buttock.
“Oui,
madame la marquise, I am pleased,” he responded.
“Then,” she said, “it is my turn to disrobe you, monseigneur.” Her fingers slipped the buttons from their buttonholes with surprising dexterity, and his doublet was quickly gone. Her hands now moved to his black velvet breeches, and to help her, he kicked off his shoes. She pulled at his breeches, surprised to see he was wearing short, white silk drawers beneath them. He stepped from the breeches and drawers.
“You are very good at this,” he said.
“I’ve never done it before,” she assured him, and then began to unlace his shirt. When the laces were undone she slipped her hands inside the garment and ran her palms over his smooth, warm flesh. Then she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and it slid down his torso to the floor. Autumn now stepped back to observe him as he had her.
He was so beautiful, she thought, smiling to herself that she had used such a word to describe a man. But there simply was no other phrase that expressed it so well. Everything about him was long—his torso, his arms and legs, which she noted were very hairy, although his broad chest was smooth. His waist was narrow, his hips slim. Unable to restrain herself, Autumn reached out and caressed his manhood. It was, like the rest of him, long. She looked past his
lance d’amour
to his feet. They, too, were long and slender. Then it was true, she thought. Her brothers had not been teasing her: A man’s feet indicated the size of his more manly part. Their eyes met, and she could see his were filled with laughter.
“What is so amusing, monseigneur?” she asked.
“I know what you are thinking,
cherie,
and I promise you that feet have nothing to do with it. ’Tis naught but an old wives’s tale,” he told her. Then he turned, saying as he did, “You have not examined all of me yet. I was once told my flanks are one of my best features.”
“Whoever said it was not lying,” Autumn agreed, giving his buttock a small smack of appreciation.
He laughed, and then said, “Sit down, madame la marquise. I would remove your shoes and stockings now. The sight of you makes me eager to lay with you, to caress those adorable little breasts, to have your maidenhead so I may teach you what passion really is.”
Autumn felt a quiver deep within her innards. Her legs were suddenly weak, and she sat almost gratefully upon a small blue velvet chair, her legs set primly together.
Her bridegroom knelt before her, running his big hands up her legs to her knees. Then, carefully, he removed each one of her shoes, setting them aside beneath the chair. Unfastening the first garter, he dropped it and slowly unrolled the silk stockings down her leg, kissing the shapely limb as it was revealed to him. Sliding the stocking off, he cradled her little foot between his two hands, fondling it gently, finally kissing it. He then removed the other stocking in the same seductive and sensuous manner. After he had kissed her second foot he leaned forward, kissed each of her knees, and gently spread them wide open to his sight.
She was already half-swooning with his attentions. Now she was unable to control the faint trembling that began to overcome her.
“Don’t be afraid, Autumn,” he told her. “I want to see your treasures.” His two thumbs tenderly parted her nether lips to his view. His gaze was intense; his look almost pained. Finally, in a forced voice, he said,
“Mon Dieu, ma cherie,
but you are so perfect
there.”
Leaning forward, he placed a kiss upon her flesh.
It was too much. Autumn crumpled forward, but Sebastian quickly caught her and held her close as he whispered soft and soothing words.
“There, my little virgin, ’tis all right. Did you not know that every part of a woman’s body is meant to be adored?” He kissed the top of her dark head. “I cannot resist you,
cherie.
Did your mama not explain to you what is involved between a husband and a wife?”
“M . . . Mama explained,” she managed to reply, and then, as the breath seemed to fill her body again, she continued, “and Charlie’s wife told me more, but there is a difference between the words and the reality, monseigneur. Do it again! It was so very exciting!”
His laughter was low. “I can make it even better,” he tempted her. “Do you want me to,
ma petite epouse?”
“Oui!”
“Then do as I tell you, Autumn,” he said as he sat her back upon the chair. “Put your pretty legs over my shoulders. Ah, that is right,
cherie.
Now I will pleasure you.”
Fascinated, she watched his dark head push between her thighs. His thumbs opened her again. Then she felt it! His tongue was licking her sensitive flesh. She could feel the broad sweep of that wicked little organ teasing at her, caressing her intimately until she felt she was melting from the heat he engendered within her. Then his tongue found her little
bouton d’amour
and began to flick back and forth over it with relentless determination. Autumn gasped, surprised, as she felt a sudden tension growing within her. Unable to help herself, she moaned, but the sound, even in her own ears, was one of distinct pleasure. It was even better than the first time he had done this to her with his fingers. The pressure built and built, until it finally exploded with a force that rendered her giddy with the ensuing pleasure that filled her.
He felt her release and groaned with his own desire. His nostrils were filled with the scent of her, all sweet and pungent. His mouth was filled with the piquant taste of her. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and pulled her down to the floor beneath him. His big body covered her. “I can’t wait,” he half-sobbed in her ear.
“Don’t!”
was all she said, and opened herself wide to him, feeling his hard length as it slid easily within her well-prepared body. She gasped at the sharp sting of her lost maidenhead. Tears slipped down her cheeks, which he kissed away while whispering words of apology and love into her ear. She wrapped her limbs about his torso, enabling him a deeper passage, then gave herself up to the dizzying splendor that began to overcome her.
He plundered her sweetness, reveling within her tight, hot sheath. It welcomed him, opening to his advance, closing about him tightly to embrace him. Her soft little breasts gave way beneath his chest. Her silken thighs gripped him firmly as she would have gripped her mount. Now he began to piston her with a careful, measured cadence. He plunged and withdrew over and over again until he felt the storm rising within her. When he thought he could bear the tension no longer she cried out, and he released his love juices, flooding her body.
“Too sweet! Too sweet!” Autumn cried, her head thrashing back and forth. “Oh, I cannot bear it!
Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!”
She shuddered violently, and then her body went limp.
He rolled onto his back and lay there a few moments until his ragged breathing began to slow and grow more even. Staggering to his feet, finally he picked his wife up in his arms, stumbled into her bedchamber, and lay her gently upon the bed. As he lifted her, he saw the blood upon the carpet that had been beneath them, the smears of crimson upon her milky thighs. Looking down, he could see his manhood bore traces of her innocence. Climbing into the bed, he cradled her in his arms, and Autumn sighed with contentment against him.
“Je t’aime,”
she murmured, and then fell asleep.
“Je t’aime aussi, ma cherie,”
he told her softly, and closed his eyes, but he did not sleep at first. Instead his mind went back to his wedding night with Elise. How coy and shy she had seemed. It had taken him almost a week to breach her, for she wept and demurred and sobbed that she was afraid. He had been just seventeen, and his father had always told him a gentleman never forced a lady. So he had played her waiting game, and when he had finally had her it had been a disappointment. And, he seemed to recall, there was no show of blood. He had not known then that there must be blood to prove virginity.
After that Elise could hardly seem to get enough of passion, yet she never seemed to be satisfied. He noticed suddenly that other men were beginning to look at him pityingly, especially men of his own station. Then one day his late mother’s best friend, Madame St. Omer, had told him the rumors. He had investigated and learned them to be true. He had been angry at the older woman, but then Elise found herself
enceinte
and was unable to identify the sire of her babe. It had been providence that she had died trying to rid herself of the child. Now, he found, he owed Madame St. Omer a great debt for putting Autumn in his path. Sebastian d’Oleron believed in fate, and it was obvious to him now that Autumn Leslie was his destiny. Turning his head, he watched her in sleep and knew he would never love anyone more than he loved her.
When he awoke several hours later it was to find Autumn seated upon his chest, her back to him, bathing his male member. “Madame,” he murmured sleepily, “what are you doing?”
“Washing it,” she replied, not bothering to turn around. “I have been taught to bathe one’s private parts after passion. It makes the next bout of Eros ever so much nicer, Mama says.”
“And you are ready for another session of lovemaking with me then, madame la marquise?” he asked her.
She swung about to face him, tossing the cloth in her hand into the basin by the bedside. “Aren’t you, monseigneur?” she replied, leaning forward to brush her nipples over his chest before straightening up again, her odd-colored eyes twinkling at him.
Reaching up, he fondled both of her round little breasts. His silvery eyes narrowed speculatively. “So, madame,” he said, “once is not enough for you?”
“My brothers are prodigious lovers, or so their wives claim. Mama says at least twice a night is good for one’s health, Sebastian,” she answered him seriously.
At first he wasn’t certain if she was teasing him or not, but he erred on the side of caution. “Twice is pleasant, and I will admit that after several hours of rest I am contemplating the idea of coupling with you again, madame.”
“Merely
contemplating,
monseigneur?” she murmured, wiggling her bottom provocatively against him as his thumbs teased her nipples.
With a swift motion he rolled her beneath him, his long, hard body pressing against her. “What I want, madame,” he growled into her ear, “is to pinion you into the mattress and drive so deep inside you that I lose myself.” His mouth found hers and he kissed her deeply, his lips conveying to her the intensity of his desire as they demanded an equal commitment from her.

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