This Heart of Mine (90 page)

“Mon Dieu!”
said Henri of Navarre. “This is an incredible tangle! I shall find out for you if your king still seeks you, for if I were your husband, my adorable Velvet, I should be distraught beyond all not to know where my wife was, especially in your state.”

“You will not betray me?” Her voice trembled.

“I have given you my word,
chèrie.
I will not betray you, but you cannot hide forever. Tomorrow, when I return to
Chenonceaux
, I shall make discreet inquiries about the difficulties between your king and our mutual friend, François. If you are sought by the Scots crown,
chèrie
, I shall learn of it, and then together we shall solve the problem, I promise you.”

“You will really help me?”

Henri smiled to himself in the dark. She was absolutely charming. “Yes,” he said, “I will help you,
chèrie.
How could I not?” Then, leaning over, he tipped her face to his and kissed her.

Velvet pulled away, suddenly very, very aware that the king’s aid had its price. “You gave me your word,” she said softly.

“I gave you my word not to force you,
chèrie
, and I will not. But if I offer you something that you very much want, is it not only fair that you offer me something that I very much want in return? Making love does not always have to involve the emotions. It is a delightful sport in which two compatible people may give each other pleasure.”

“Your mind is much too sophisticated for me, monseigneur. I am a simple woman who finds it hard to visualize lovemaking outside of the bonds of matrimony.”

“You have been most properly brought up, and I applaud your parents who have raised you to be a good Catholic noblewoman; nevertheless, there are times when even the most virtuous of women face serious decisions of this nature. You wish my help, and I wish to make love to you. The choice rests with you,
chèrie.
The ambassador from your country to mine can tell me what I wish to know. If James Stewart still seeks you, then I shall arrange
to bring your husband to you secretly. You can live your life quite happily here in France until you are safe. When is your child due?”

“Early spring,” said Velvet. “April, I would say.”

“I can arrange that your husband be with you then. You would like that, wouldn’t you? If James has already forgotten you, then you can contact your husband and he can join you here immediately. Is that not worth one brief encounter to you?”

Velvet bit her lip. She knew the story of her friend Cat Leslie and of how James Stewart had forced her to his bed. Would it be the same with Henri of Navarre? Somehow she did not think so, for the French king was a man who openly enjoyed women, and always had at least one acknowledged mistress. Being in the early months of her pregnancy, she could not become enceinte by him, and if Alex never knew of the incident … She could no longer bear this separation from him! She loved her husband, and she needed him!

“Promise me that my husband will never know of this shameful episode,” she said.

“Madame, I am not a man to kiss and tell,” he said, his tone offended.

“But you have not returned to
Chenonceaux
tonight, and surely the gentlemen with you will assume you have been in my bed.”

“They would have assumed it even if I had not been,
chèrie
, and I would certainly not gainsay them their lecherous meanderings of the mind. Do not fear, my lovely Velvet, my gentlemen have no idea who you are, or even the name of this delightful little chateau. Even if you came to my court with your husband, there is not one amongst them who would betray your honor, for by doing so they would betray their own, and they are a proud bunch of milords.”

“Then if I am to have your help, monseigneur, I have no other choice than to yield to you,” Velvet said softly.

“Ah,
chèrie,”
he said, the delight in his voice hard to conceal, “you have made me the happiest of men!”

He might be happy, she thought, but she certainly was not. Having committed herself to this course, one thought bothered her. She had never slept with a man with whom she was not in love. Would Henri of Navarre think her a good lover, or would he feel cheated and, considering her a bad bargain, not feel obliged to help her? “Monseigneur,” she began, “I have virtually no experience in love other than with my husband.” There was no need to explain Akbar. It would be too confusing.

“But I,
chèrie
, have great experience. You will learn at the hands of a master, and, to begin with, I should like you to disrobe for me.” He himself arose from the bed and, going to the fireplace,
built up the fire so that the room was bathed in a rosy glow. Then taking a taper, he relit the candelabrum on either side of the bed. “Love,” he said, “should not be hidden away in the dark as if it were something to be ashamed of,
chèrie.
A woman’s body is possibly the most beautiful of God’s creations, and I am a connoisseur of beauty. I have always enjoyed watching the faces of the women I make love to. It is a weakness with me.”

Velvet, too, had arisen slowly from the bed. She had been wearing a simple night rail of white silk with long, full sleeves that was decorated with pink ribbons at the wrists and high neckline. She suddenly felt very, very shy. Both Alex and Akbar had seen her naked, but this man was a virtual stranger, unknown to her except by reputation until a few hours ago. She began to tremble, and the king, who had already shed his nightshirt, saw it.

Coming up behind her, he slipped his long arms about her waist and bent his head to kiss her neck with delicate, feathery movements. “Don’t be afraid of me,
chèrie.
I shall not hurt you or the child, and I promise to make you very happy even though your adorable, strict sense of morality will not let you believe such a thing is possible right now.” Gently his slender fingers undid the ribbons at her neckline as he opened her night rail to the waist. Drawing the gown off her shoulders, he watched as it slipped down over her hips and past her shapely calves to puddle about her ankles.

Automatically Velvet stepped from the tangle of silk, and her heart began to beat faster at the king’s sharp intake of breath.

“Ahhhh,
chèrie,”
he breathed reverently, “you are beautiful beyond compare, beyond my wildest expectations! You should be sculpted in marble, but I do not believe that there is an artist living or dead who could do you justice! Come!” Catching her hand in his, he quickly drew her over to the pier glass. “Look at yourself,
chèrie!
Are you not magnificent? Look at us together! We are superb! I am a tall man, and it is not often that I have a tall woman.
Mon Dieu!
I must worship at your shrine, my exquisite goddess!” So saying, the king knelt and began to kiss Velvet from her feet upward, holding her firmly about the hips. She quivered beneath his touch.

His warm mouth wandered up her ankles to first her right knee and then her left. Slowly he turned her so that he might kiss her hips where they swelled out from her waist, her firm buttocks, the base of her spine. Turning her again, his mouth found its way up the fronts of her thighs, the rear having already been saluted.

Velvet could feel her legs buckling, and when his lips found the cleft in her Venus mont and his tongue ran along that cleft slowly, she almost shrieked aloud, but then his mouth was suddenly at
her navel. Now he was drawing her gently to her knees so that he could kiss her full, young breasts, her shoulders, her throat, her mouth, and her eyes. Velvet had to admit to herself that she had never been kissed quite as thoroughly as Henri of Navarre was kissing her, and it was not an altogether unpleasant thing.

He stood, drawing her to her feet again, and pressed her against his length. For the first time Velvet became aware of the king as merely a man. He was already rigid with his desire, but she did not dare to look down at him. She was quite close to fainting now, and her breathing was very shallow. He saw it, and, scooping her up, he laid her down upon the huge bed and, joining her, drew her into his arms.

“You are still afraid,” he said, “and it distresses me to see it,
chèrie
.” His big hand caressed her hair. “Such beautiful tresses,” he murmured, the hand stroking her as if she were a beast to be gentled. Suddenly he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. “You smell of gillyflowers,” he said. “It is the perfect scent for you—fresh and sharp, and even a trifle innocent. I shall never smell gillyflowers again without thinking of you,
chèrie.”
Then rolling her onto her back in a single, deft movement, he found her lips once more.

For some reason she could never explain to herself, her lips parted quite willingly for him, and his tongue slipped in to find hers; to tease and play with it within the sweet grotto of her mouth; to stoke the banked fires of passion that lay hidden deep within her, waiting to be encouraged forth by this master of the erotic arts. Velvet felt the first stirrings of desire taking over her body, and with shock she realized suddenly that the king had been absolutely correct when he had told her that two compatible people could give each other pleasure despite their lack of emotion for one another. There was a word for such a thing. It was called lust, and though one part of her nature still denounced it, she perceived that lust could sometimes be an attractive thing.

Unable to help herself, she found she was kissing him back, her lips eager for his. He encouraged her further, his mouth lingering here, moving there, touching lightly at the corners of her mouth. The pressure of his lips on hers increased until she felt he was bruising her delicate skin.

“You are like the sweetest flower imaginable,” he murmured against her mouth, “and like a gigantic bumblebee I could drink your honey all night, but there are other fountains from which I would drink!” His big head moved to her breasts, and, fastening his lips over one tender nipple, he began to suck on her.

The effect on her was so devastating that Velvet cried out softly. It was as if lightning had streaked from the top of her body to the
very bottom. The tug of his lips upon her breast was suddenly the most sensual act, for her nipples were extremely sensitive with her pregnancy, and while his mouth worked upon one breast, his hand gently kneaded the other before switching sides to increase her delight.

Velvet felt herself beginning to lose control of her own emotions, particularly when the king moved his head even lower to explore tenderly that most secret shrine of her womanhood. Like a hummingbird seeking out sugary nectar, his tongue moved swiftly, touching her here, then there, then flicking maddeningly back and forth against the very jewel of her sex until she shattered into a thousand shards of honeyed pleasure—once, twice, three times in quick succession.

When she finally came to herself, he whispered, “You see,
chèrie
, I can indeed give you pleasure. Perhaps you will not admit it to me, but your beautiful face told me all. Ah, the face of a woman’s passion! There is nothing more beautiful in this world!”

“I … I cannot deny your words, monseigneur,” she said softly, “but loving without love is not for me quite the same.”

“Sometimes it is better,” he rejoined, “for only the senses are involved, unclouded by the emotion of love.”

“I do not believe that you really think that,” Velvet protested. “You cannot, and still be such …” She stopped, blushing.

“Such a what?” he demanded. “Tell me,
chèrie.”

“Such a magnificent lover,” she finished. “I would lie if I said you were not. You have known love, monseigneur, whether you will admit it to me or not.”

“You are so wise in some ways,” he said, “yet so innocent in others,
chèrie.
Now, however, I wish to consummate our agreement.” He caught her to him once again, kissing her lips, which were already swollen with his many kisses.

Her body was readily responsive to him. To her surprise the king drew Velvet toward him on her side, sliding one of her long legs beneath him, and the other over his own leg. With a swift and smooth motion he quickly penetrated her, thrusting deeply inside her. She gasped, but his mouth was already on hers again as his arms held her around her shoulders and about her buttocks. He moved with long, even strokes inside her, his rhythm well ordered and easy. His brown-gold eyes held her emerald ones in thrall, and as she felt herself sliding over the edge of passion’s precipice she saw the swift light of triumph glowing, or was it merely reflected in those powerful eyes? Velvet cried out a piercing cry of sweet surrender that she clearly heard joined by his own voice.

Afterwards, he told her, “You,
chèrie
, are born to love. You
must never, never be ashamed of the magnificent talent that
le bon Dieu
has given you. I only regret that you are happy with your husband.”

Twice more that night he made passionate love to her, and Velvet finally slept, totally exhausted by their wild bout with Eros. When she awoke, the storm had passed, the candies lay melted in their silver holders, the fire was but glowing embers, and the sun was streaming through her windows. Upon her pillows was a single red rose—surely the last one of the season—and a folded parchment that she opened with trembling fingers to read:

Your hospitality
, madame la comtesse,
has been without equal. I shall not forget the debt that I owe you. Farewell, chèrie! Navarre.

For a moment Velvet felt a sense of sadness, of deep and great loss. The king had behaved outrageously, taking advantage of her predicament, of her helplessness, and yet she felt no malice toward him. She had kept her part of their bargain, and she somehow knew that he would keep his part, too. So now, she thought, there are two secrets that I must keep from you, my darling husband. Perhaps, though, one day I shall be able to tell you about my daughter. Someday when you are completely in my love and surrounded by the children that I shall give to you, God willing. But I shall never tell you of this adventure with Henri of Navarre, Alex. Somehow I do not think you would understand that I had to barter my soul and my body so that we might be together again. There are some things, I have learned, that a woman never tells the man she loves, particularly if she really loves him. Love, I am learning, is the ability to bear pain silently in order to protect the one you love. Dear God, please end this separation between us quickly! Velvet silently prayed.