Love Entwined (18 page)

“You have been so brave to come here, my Beauty. Do not be afraid of love.”

The thought flitted through her mind with other virginal queries, but she would not fear this. “I am feverish,” she confessed.

“Let us soothe each other.” He lifted a lock of hair off her chest, pushing it past her shoulders.

“I want to see you Jacqueline. Will you let me take this off?”

Her words were gone again. She could only nod her head.

When he lifted the hem of the chemise over her head and let it fall, she lowered her head.

Cupping her breasts in his hands, he kneaded them slowly and she swayed toward him as the pulsing sensation intensified between her legs. His hands journeyed down to her waist in a sensual massage before caressing the hair on her mound. “Burnished gold.”

She shivered, but not from cold. Her skin burned where he touched her.

Lifting one hand to her cheek, he turned her face up to his. “You honor me, my love, in this.”

She could not look away when he ran his hands along her back, bringing her closer still.

Lifting one hand, she ran her fingers through his chest hair. His lips curled and he took her hand, wrapping it around that hot, throbbing part of him. She took a deep breath, but did not move her hand.

“That is how much I want you, Beauty. You will see how well we fit together.”

Curiosity got the better of fear. She rubbed her hand up to the velvety tip, and it jerked to attention.

His sharp intake of breath was more a gasp of pain. He moved her hand away. The muscles of his long legs rippled as the breeches fell to floor and he kicked them aside.

Scooping her up, he took two long strides over to the bed. Stretching out beside her, he put one leg over hers. He licked her lips and his kiss was deep when his hand trailed down her body. He played with the hair between her legs until she couldn’t keep her legs closed.

A finger gently probed her, moving rhythmically in time to the thrusts of his tongue. Instinctively, she lifted her hips, sending his finger deeper.

When he moved over her, she could not think beyond delicious domination and her fears melted away. He did not yet possess her physically, but it felt so. His chest hair rubbed against her nipples and his hips flexed rhythmically against hers.

“Roman…” Now it was she who was in pain.

“Not yet, my love.” His tongue circled her breasts, and he sucked one nipple to a hard nub while his other hand traveled down her belly and moved lower.

His finger slid in and out of her aching wetness until she spread her legs wide, begging him to take her. Instead, he moved lower. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he kissed her mound.

She murmured a protest and attempted to close her legs.

He held her still. “I want it, Jacqueline.” His rough tongue slid against her, slowly, thoroughly until her legs fell open. She gasped when his tongue thrust deep inside her and he lapped at the honey between her legs, sucking and licking up every drop of her.

“
Mon Dieu
…”

He was relentless. She held his head and tossed hers from side to side, bucking against him as the sweet release took her. Her arms fell away and she lay gasping for breath when Roman lifted his head.

As he moved over her, their eyes met and held. He thrust into her to the hilt, rending her hymen. “I am sorry, my love.” He filled her up, but the pinprick of pain was already receding. Liquid sensation took over.

“I want…” She did not know what it was she wanted. She moved her hips against him and rained kisses on his neck.

“Wrap your legs around me. Yes, that’s it.” He moved gently at first, rocking in and all the way out with maddening determination, until her hips came off the bed. With a murmur of approval, he dove into her, sinking in deep over and over again.

“
Mon cher
.” She met his every thrust now, heard a keening whimper and recognized her own voice. She was flying, soaring into the heavens. She burst, her breath caught in ragged gasps, she would surely die from this pleasure.

“Sweet Jacqueline.” He buried his face in her hair and pumped into her. His groans mingled with hers as her muscles pulled him in.

They rode the crest of the wave, clinging to each other. Slowly, their breathing calmed with arms and legs tangled, as they drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

It was dark, but Roman knew the hour. After years on the open seas, his internal clock woke him every morning at five.

They lay on their sides, her bottom nestled against him with a sheet their only covering. Moonlight played on the loose and softly curled ends of her hair, turning them into glossy wine-colored tresses.

Jacqueline clasped his hand in sleep. She would not part with him even to take her rest. He inhaled the essence of violets wafting from her hair.

There was a stirring in his soul. He had thought his home was in Yorkshire, but it was right here in his arms.

He loved Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair, had loved her from the moment he met her. And she loved him, it could not be denied. Although circumstances were against them, she had sought him out. And he was a man who hungered for her too long to think of consequences.

They would have to take care. This was not a wise thing to do under her father’s nose. But they would not be able to stay away from each other now that she had been awakened to passion.

Her eagerness to learn was irresistible. It warmed his blood even now, with so little time left to them in the pre-dawn hour. He was no saint; her body was like nectar and he would drink of it all day. Just a little while longer, and they would be in England, and she would never have to leave his bed again.

He made a mental note to search out fresh linens to hide her virgin’s blood before Isabelle arrived to make his bed.

He kissed her shoulder and stroked his hand down the curve of her hip. She stirred, wriggling her bottom against him to turn into his arms, a sleepy smile on her face. They lay on their sides nibbling each other’s lips until she wrapped her arms around his neck and inched a leg over his.

“Do you hurt?” He asked.

“Yes.”

He was moving away when she tightened her hold around his neck. “I ache for you.”

Slipping inside her, he rocked her gently. He was enclosed in her luscious warmth when she moaned his name against his chest.

The release took her and she tensed, her nails gripping his shoulders. He waited until she shuddered against him, and then his groans of pleasure mingled with hers, and he spilled his seed deep within her.

Château de Vaujours, Asnières-Sur-Seine, France – June 25, 1789

“We shall vacation in England, my dears,” her father said at the breakfast table.

Jacqueline and Margaux erupted with questions about the voyage. Their father turned to the captain for help, as they would sail in a few weeks with him aboard his ship
The Raven
. The Comtesse wanted to know all the court intrigue. Roman supplied enough throughout the meal to acquaint her with her English counterparts.

“Lord Alsborough is to meet us in London where the affianced couple will get to know each other.”
Maman
handed Jacqueline the small gift box the Marquess had sent her. “I have not heard such ready laughter from you in months.”

Jacqueline smiled on her way to her room, gift box in hand. Her mother probably thought she wanted privacy to open the gift, but she only dropped it into her jewelry box and closed the lid. She had no interest in the Marquess’ gift. Judging from the size of the box it may have contained a ring or another pair of earrings, but it was most certainly the wretched rubies of her dreams.

She would have to open the gift before
Maman
or Margaux cornered her with inquiries or they might think she still did not accept her betrothal and she could not risk that. She would not raise suspicion and risk losing what she had with Roman.

Satisfied with her plan, she made her way to the parlor. How ironic that she would sail on her lover’s ship to meet her betrothed.

Deep down within her soul she would always belong to Roman. She did not know how she would manage it, but she would not allow any other man to touch her except Roman. The Marquess of Alsborough could go to the devil.

She lived for the nights. She would go to bed early, knowing Roman would come when the château was quiet and wake her with his kisses.

She never knew it could be this way. He had only to look at her and she was ready for him. They talked long into the night and in the morning when she woke, he was gone.

It was necessary, for now their love remained her sweet secret. But she was so happy and wanted to share it with her family, and prayed for the day when she and Roman could tell everyone about their love.

Margaux only had eyes for the Marchese Falco. They were so caught up in wedding arrangements her sister did not notice the change in Jacqueline from grudging acceptance of the future to blissful acquiescence.

Jacqueline painted the two of them now. They sat in one corner of the parlor on a white powdered sofa, heads bowed together. They were no doubt discussing their future. The Marchese Falco’s green eyes glowed as he made some jest that amused his intended. Margaux leaned into him with laughter. Jacqueline’s paintbrush flew.

“I will return to Italy next week. As a farewell celebration, I would like all of you to come to the opera in Paris,” the Marchese said.

She would gift the Marchese with the completed painting then.

* * * *

Roman stood in the moonlight that spilled onto the blue and green swirls of the Aubusson carpet.

Jacqueline was sleeping in the canopied bed. She was a tempting angel with her hair fanned out in a reddish gold halo on the pillow. Her dusky nipples capped pearlescent globes.

He came closer and heard a soft sigh when she turned on her side.

“Not worthy.”

He laid his robe across a chair and slipped into bed beside her. “What’s that?”

“Death is the reward for disobedience,” she murmured.

Leaning over her, he ran a hand along her side. “Wake up, Jacqueline.”

“He comes for me.” She turned clutching him, her brow was furrowed but her eyes were still closed.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Who comes for you, my love?”

She woke, burrowing against him. “Roman.”

He pulled her up. “You were dreaming. You said someone was coming for you.”

She stilled. “It is just the betrothal…”

“You are dreaming of Lord Alsborough? Do not worry so. Once we are away from here, I will speak to your father. All will be well, I promise you.” He sat up, and put her on his lap. “We leave for the opera tomorrow. I must stay in Paris for business.” He grimaced, already missing her.

She murmured her disapproval, trailing kisses down his neck. “Do not stay away too long.”

“Just a few days.”

She gave a soft sigh, running her fingers through his chest hair. “I shall miss you.”

He caught her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “Why don’t you think of what you will tell your father when I return?”

She came to her knees with a gasp. The square-cut sapphire was surrounded by star-point diamonds sparkling in the moonlight.

“Jacqueline, my heart, I love you. Will you marry me?”

She buried her face against his chest. Her shoulders shook.

He stiffened; her parents had won. She was having second thoughts about her engagement to Lord Alsborough. “My love?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” She cried. “I will marry you!” She pulled him down onto the bed. Straddling him, she guided his straining cock into her; gasping as inch-by-inch, he filled her.

His hand found her nether lips and teased and pulled as she came down on him again and again.

“Ah, Beauty, enough,” he rasped with one hand gripping her buttocks, about to take control.

“Not yet.” She tried not to come, showing him just how happy he had made her but the rough pad of his finger against her swollen lips was too much as his engorged member hit her womb.

Arching her back, she held onto his legs behind her for support as she gushed over him

He sat up, enfolding her in his arms as he speared her in his own release.

* * * *

Opéra de Paris, Paris, France – June 28, 1789

Roman sat in the balcony, listening. Not to the opera, but to the sounds of the city.

He glanced at Claude sitting in the first row with Simone and Jacqueline. The Comte also scanned the crowd in the theatre with a wary eye, but was obligated to support the monarchy and look the other way in the face of his sovereign’s offenses.

I must get Jacqueline away from here.

There was talk of rebellion against the crown. This week he would meet with the crew and hear what more they were able to learn about the insurgents. He would send word to King George with an update on the state of affairs and their imminent arrival in England.

“If we do not go down now for refreshment, I fear we will miss the second act.” Marchese Falco stood next to him, gripping Margaux’s hand. Her eyes twinkled in mirth.

The first act had ended and the curtain went down. The audience was standing in applause. The alcove beyond their box was already filling up with thirsty patrons.

Roman stood and moved out of their way. “Indeed, we can’t have that, can we?”

Marchese Falco’s thick brows furrowed in question, but Roman would not worry him. He could not divulge his mission even to his friend the Marchese. The less the young man knew the better. They would all be gone soon on their way to England. The Marchese and Mademoiselle Margaux would simply have to be wed there. Simone St. Clair would mourn the lavish wedding on the grounds of their beloved home in Asnières-Sur-Seine. However, by the looks of the affianced couple it would not matter to them where they got married as long as the deed was done.

He waited for Jacqueline by the now deserted curtained alcove. Without a word, they came together and he lifted her chin to feast on her lips.

“I wish I could take you away on my ship tonight.”