The Princess in His Bed (23 page)

5

“Good morning.” Emilie walked into her aunt’s private apartments the next day smiling and sat down at the table with Pauline and Marthe in the antechamber. Her presence in the room had effectively silenced the two older women’s bickering. Arguing that could be heard from the hallway.

The subject of their argument was Emilie. As always. But she was in too fine a mood to be aggravated.

A servant stepped forward to pour her a goblet of water with orange slices. Reaching for the crystal vessel, Emilie brought it to her lips and stopped short when she saw the looks of shock on her mealtime companions’ faces.

“Is there something amiss?” she asked and took a sip.

“Why, Emilie . . .” Marthe began. “You’re not wearing a cloak.”

“And it isn’t morning. It’s midday,” her aunt was quick to point out.

Emilie motioned the servant to place two slices of ham on her plate as well as a hearty portion of mutton. Normally she didn’t much care for mutton and gravy, but she was famished. She’d yet to break the fast.

“I’m afraid I slept in,” she said to her aunt and to Marthe. “I don’t believe I need a cloak today, dear Marthe. It’s rather warm.” As a habit, she’d placed one on earlier, but even the lightest of the lot felt heavy and cumbersome. She’d walked out of her rooms in simply her gown, feeling light and free and entirely different. Thanks to Vincent. She even felt . . . well, pretty.

He’d made her feel desirable. He’d made her feel desire, delicious and pure. He’d made her feel like a woman. Whole. Undamaged. Not for a moment in his arms did she feel in any way less than any other female. She hadn’t had to hide her identity. He wanted her. Just as she was. And that alone made it impossible to deny what she’d been trying to suppress for many months. She was in love with him. Rather hopelessly, actually.

She wasn’t naïve enough to think Vincent was going to propose marriage or that his affections ran as deeply as hers.

The prudent thing to do in this situation was to guard her vulnerable heart and leave promptly, sparing herself the anguish it was going to be to part with him at the end of the week. With certainty, the longer she stayed with him, the greater the heartache.

But she refused to leave—heartache be damned. She wouldn’t deprive herself of the opportunity to be with him. That way, in her old age she couldn’t bemoan how she’d missed out on an incredible week, on creating cherished memories—all because she’d lacked the courage to face the heartbreak and had run.

Vincent had kept her up until the early-morning hours making love. She wouldn’t deny herself more of the same. Heated memories flitted through her mind. She felt her nipples harden and her heart dance. There was a delicious soreness to her private muscles that reminded her of the magical night she’d had—one that hadn’t required any make-believe at all.

Cutting into the ham, Emilie looked up.

Pauline’s surprise was turning into a large grin, Marthe’s astonishment quickly becoming horror.

“You had a man last night,” they said in chorus.

Emilie glanced over at the elderly servant. The man looked ancient and perhaps hard of hearing, but still . . . She was hesitant to speak.

Her aunt impatiently waved the servant away. Only when he’d gone did she place her hand on Emilie’s arm. “It was the man outside in the corridor, wasn’t it?”

Emilie couldn’t suppress her smile. “It was.”

“I want to hear everything!” Pauline beamed.

Marthe shook her head. “I want to hear none of it.”

“Hush, Marthe.” Her aunt patted Emilie’s arm. “Did your lover please you,
chérie
?”

Emilie’s smile broadened. “He did. Immensely.” He did more than please her. Seeing herself through his eyes had bolstered the confidence she’d lost in herself. Had made her heart soar.

Jubilation erupted out of Pauline with a joyful squeak. “Ah, this is wonderful!”

“Wonderful? She gives herself to a nameless man, forfeiting her—”

“Not another word,” Pauline cut off Marthe’s rant. Her aunt’s smile returned as she gazed at Emilie. “Look at her. She’s lovely—all aglow after a night of passion. She has needs and longings, just like any woman—except you, Marthe. It isn’t right or healthy for her to remain secluded. Or deprived of physical love. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world. And yet women are too often denied, trapped in unsatisfying marriages. While men have their mistresses, most of them openly, without discretion, a woman must be discreet if she takes a lover or abstain all together. Society tries to discourage women from indulging our physical yearnings while men are encouraged to satisfy theirs. It is because of this terrible injustice I have these gatherings. Women know they can come here, regardless of their circumstance, and are safe to partake. Without judgment. And with complete anonymity.”

“Yes, quite the charitable work you’re doing,” Marthe injected blandly.

Pauline ignored her and continued, her smile still in place. “I am delighted you tasted passion with a skilled lover,
chérie
.”

“Thank you, Aunt.” Emilie looked at Marthe. “He was not nameless, Marthe. I knew exactly who he was.”

“Yes, we both do! I recognized him immediately, despite the mask. Some men are just so sinfully potent, they stand out of the crowd,” Pauline said. “Marthe, I’ll have you know that our darling Emilie was with none other than one of the Duc de Vernant’s very handsome sons.”

At that, Marthe’s posture straightened, her eyes widening. “You were? A member of the house of Alumbert?”

“Yes, it’s true.” Emile confirmed. Her smile had yet to leave her face. She could hardly wait to see him again, her body famished for his touch. His mouth. His body inside hers.

She didn’t know a man could give a woman so much joy and pleasure.

“I must say, I was rather surprised who you selected,
chérie
, but”—Pauline shrugged—“if he pleased you, then I am pleased.”

“Who was it?” Marthe asked. “Which one? Gilbert?”

Emilie laughed. “No, not him. I was with—”

“Joseph,” Pauline responded.

“Vincent,” Emilie quickly corrected her aunt.

Pauline frowned. “
Vincent
? Really? Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. Vincent and I have been corresponding for the last year. I know him quite well.”

“She’d never be with Joseph d’Alumbert,” Marthe added. “Or any of his equally unappealing friends—who hang on his every word and follow him about as if he were the King himself. He may be the heir to a duchy but he and his companions are a horrid lot.”

Pauline still looked confused. “I was so certain that was Joseph . . .”

“Well, it wasn’t, rest assured,” Emilie said. “I couldn’t agree with Marthe’s opinion more.”

“Yes, why do you permit such men here?” Marthe asked. “Especially after the way they treated Emilie.”

Pauline stiffened. “I may not like the man or his friends, but you know as well as I do that one does not forbid a member of the Duc de Vernant’s family from attending any gathering.”

It was true. Doors were flung open for the Duc’s heir and those he favored. It felt wonderfully empowering to turn down one of Joseph’s friends last eve—his mask unable to conceal his boorish manners. He was easily recognized.

Just one of the many who had behaved so heartlessly that night years ago.

Imagine how delightful it would be to rebuff Joseph—just as she’d done to his friend?

While she was here, she wouldn’t deny herself that experience either. It was time someone brought him down a notch. Or two. She wasn’t going to run or hide from Joseph or anyone. Anymore. Given the sheer abundance of decadent behavior and enthusiasm as people roamed about looking for their next carnal diversion, she was sure to run into Joseph.

It was inevitable.

She’d look him in the eye. And give him the cut.

“Wake up.” Gilbert gave Joseph a jarring shake.

Joseph sat bolt upright, startled out of a deep sleep. He’d been dreaming of a sweet seductress with flaxen hair, captivating moss green eyes, and the most divine lips—as enchanting as the princesses in the fables he’d been told as a child.

Only this princess was in his bed. She belonged to
him
. Gave herself to him, wanted only him, engulfed him in the most sublime passion he’d ever tasted.

But the fair princess had been torn from his sight only to be replaced by Gilbert’s face.

Joseph frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?” He raked a hand through his hair.

“Well, good day to you, too, dear brother. I see you’re in a good mood. You could show some gratitude, you know. I could have let you sleep and miss out on the afternoon and evening festivities. I’ve been at the Basset table all afternoon. Strip Basset.” Gilbert grinned. “I won. Joseph, you should have been there. A woman with the finest tits you’ve ever seen sat—”

Joseph grabbed a fistful of Gilbert’s justacorps and yanked him closer. “What do you mean ‘miss out on the afternoon and evening festivities’? What time is it?”

Releasing Gilbert, Joseph glanced past his brother at the tall windows. By the low summer sun, he realized the day was old.

“It’s almost supper time, but if you hurry, you can squeeze in some amusements beforehand—”

“Merde
.
”
He’d been with Emilie until almost dawn. After their delicious night of ecstasy, of sexual excess, he’d slept so deeply, so soundly. And for so damned long. None of this would have happened if she’d let him stay. He was certain that with her by his side, he would have awakened once she stirred.

After sex, he normally left, and yet last eve he’d had no desire to leave her side. A first. She’d turned him away—albeit ever so sweetly. Another first. He usually departed the boudoir with the woman begging him to remain. But he knew why she’d refused.

It was too uncomfortable to sleep in her gown and she wasn’t ready to remove it for him. He’d decided not to press her. He’d coax the gown and the rest of her clothing off her soon enough. Tremendous strides had already been made in the few short hours they’d been together. He’d seen her blossom sexually before his eyes, her inhibitions lower.

Adorable yet mouthwateringly sensuous Emilie de Sarron had matched his ardor throughout the night—inciting the sweetest heat no man could resist.

He was hard at the thought of being back in her silky sex, all warm and wet and fisted so tightly around him.

“Since you’re up, I’ll return to the amusements below. Why leave Vincent to have all the fun.”

Joseph’s heart lurched. “Vincent?” His brother’s name tumbled from his lips on a breath.

Gilbert smoothed his justacorps. “Yes. Vincent. Your twin. Remember him? I haven’t seen him in hours. No doubt he’s found the lady with the cloak he’s been looking for and is enjoying some rapturous delights as we speak.” Gilbert smiled.

Joseph tore out of bed.