by Shana Galen
The marquis went directly to the window, almost pressing against it. His desire to be closer to the girl in the garden was almost palpable. His entire body seemed to lean toward the young woman and anguish etched into the lines the formed between his brows and at the corners of his mouth.
Honoria wanted nothing more than to allow him this moment. He’d waited so long to see her, the young princess, but his actions put them both at risk.
“Monsieur,” she murmured, touching his shoulder. He was as hard as rock, his shoulders like boulders. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her touch in any way.
“Monsieur,” she said again, this time giving him a little shake. When he still didn’t respond, she moved to face him, partially blocking his view of the girl in the garden. “Laurent, you must move away from the window.”
“Marie-Thérèse,” he whispered. Her name sounded almost reverent on his tongue, as though he uttered a prayer.
“I know, and I know you have waited so long to see her.” She took his face in her hands and forced his eyes to meet hers. She knew the moment his attention finally shifted away from the princess because his eyes widened as they always did when he looked into her eyes. She’d always hated her strangely colored eyes, but the marquis made her feel as though they were beautiful.
“You will be seen if you stand here. The guard who is with her is studying the walls of the garden and the buildings.”
His gaze flicked back to the garden, and with a suddenness she didn’t expect, he moved aside and pulled her with him. Honoria was pressed between Laurent and the wall, his chest pressed against her bosom as he stared out the window over her shoulder.
“I should move...” she began.
“Shh.” He gestured to the guard whose mouth was moving. The young princess looked back at him, nodded slowly, and continued walking.
“Merde! We are too far away to hear what they are saying. If only we could be on the other side of the wall.”
“If you risk it, you risk being discovered and imprisoned. It’s unlikely the guard is saying anything useful to us, probably telling her to stay where he can see her.”
He nodded, and she wondered if he realized he’d snaked one arm around her waist as they stood pressed together. She had wanted to be close to him, but perhaps not quite in this manner. “If you release me, I could sit and sketch her.”
He waved his free hand. “Later. I will sketch her. Right now I am committing her to memory. She looks pale and thin.”
“Does she? She does not look as though she is being mistreated.”
“No, but neither is she the picture of health. She used to have roses in her cheeks.” He squeezed Honoria lightly. “Like you.”
Honoria lowered her face to hide her flaming cheeks, but he was not looking at her. His gaze was out the window on the young girl. “She will be the picture of health again once we take her from the prison,” Honoria said.
“God willing.”
They stood immobile for several more moments, Honoria’s gaze on Laurent and his eyes following Marie-Thérèse. He was the sort of man she would never have looked at twice before. The cut of his jaw was too severe, the angles of his cheeks too sharp. His nose was straight as a blade. Every feature he possessed spoke of his noble lineage.
Except his eyes.
His eyes were not sharp or proud but soft and deep. He could narrow them into haughty emerald slits, but now when he looked at her, they were full of warmth.
With a start, she realized he was looking at her. How long had he been watching her watch him?
Now their gazes had met, and she felt the heat of his stare all the way to her toes. “Has she gone inside?” Honoria whispered.
“Who?” he murmured, his voice a husky rumble.
“The princess.”
“I don’t know. I became...distracted.”
“You should watch. We need to record how long she walks, how often, if the same guard takes her out...” She trailed off as his hand came up and caressed her cheek.
“Yes, we should do that.” His hand made a path of fire from her cheek to her lips. “We should take up our quills and write all of this down.” His thumb rubbed over her lips again and again until the friction had all but driven her mad.
“But we could do that later,” she suggested, curling a hand around his neck.
“Yes, later.” He leaned down until his lips brushed hers. “Much, much later.”
Eighteen
Laurent had not wanted to move, too afraid he would break the spell. He’d been so relieved to see Madame Royale alive that for several minutes he had stood transfixed, watching her. He’d wished he could hug her, wrap her up and take her away from the prison and the guard watching her. He wished he could take her back to Versailles and turn back time to the way it had been just three years ago.
But those halcyon days seemed a lifetime ago.
Marie-Thérèse was still alive. That was what mattered. He would keep his promise to her and to her parents.
He’d closed his eyes briefly in relief and that was when he noticed the heat and the softness. When he’d looked down, he’d found his arms around Honoria. He must have been holding her, pushed up against the wall and out of sight, for several moments, because she was studying him as though she were starving and he the first course of the meal.
He liked the way she looked at him, the way she wet her lips as though she hungered for the taste of him. He’d been hungry for her since the first time he’d seen her.
Then their gazes collided, and he was sinking in the dark pools of her violet eyes. He couldn’t resist touching her skin, reveling in the feel of the satiny smoothness on the pads of his fingertips.
She spoke, but he hardly knew what she said. He had the briefest flicker of guilt, of worry that he should be watching the Temple. But his plan did not include entering the prison in the middle of the day or attempting to steal the princess away during a walk where she was guarded. For one, it would mean leaving the dauphin behind, and Laurent would only do that as a last resort. Secondly, the moment the alarm was sounded, and the tocsins rang throughout the city, all of Paris would be after them.
No, their only hope of success was to take the princess without the guards knowing. They must have her safely away before her absence was discovered or their mission would be doomed from the start.
He would watch and finalize the plan tonight. Later. “Much, much later,” he said as he took Honoria’s mouth. Whatever small part of herself she would give to him, he would take for as long as she offered it.
Their lips met, and she surprised him with her eagerness and passion. Her lips parted, and her tongue slid into his mouth, enflaming his entire body. She seared him with that kiss, branded him. Tongues tangling, bodies melting together, lips caressing. His arms shook as he wrapped one around her, keeping the other hand on the wall behind her. He needed something to hold on to.
No woman had ever made him feel so lost in her kiss. He was drowning in the scent of lavender and the feel of lush curves and the taste that could only be described as Honoria.
His lungs burned for breath. His knees wobbled. His entire body thirsted for more like the desert thirsts for the first drops in a long-awaited rain shower. Laurent was falling, falling, falling. Finally, he braced his hands on either side of her head, pushed against the wall, and broke the kiss.
He gulped in a breath and stared at her.
Her wide eyes stared back, hazy with passion. Her cheeks were pink, her lips red as a newly plucked rose. For a long moment, they merely breathed and stared at each other.
“I want to take you to bed, Honoria.” His voice did not sound like his own. It sounded jagged and raspy as though he’d been choked and it was an effort to speak. It was an effort. Coherent thought was an effort with her so close.
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Take me to bed.”
She moved to embrace him, but he placed a hand on her collarbone, his fingers splayed across her lovely,
pale neck. He pushed her back gently. “If we go into the bedchamber, I do not know if I will be able to stop. I’m half in agony right now, being this close to you and not kissing you, not touching you”—he stroked the skin on her neck and she closed her eyes and moaned softly—“not sliding inside you.”
Her eyes opened.
“If that is not what you want, tell me now. Tell me if you want nothing more than kisses, nothing more than hands sliding over clothing so your innocence is preserved.”
“My innocence is little more than a memory,” she said, her eyes clear now. “I know what I want, and I want you.”
The words were like a balm to a burning wound. He hadn’t realized how much it pained him to hold himself apart from her. Now he slid his hand from her neck into her hair. She shivered under his touch as he pulled the ribbon from her tresses and allowed her hair to fall free across her back.
“My sweet, sweet Honoria.” He leaned forward to inhale the scent of her hair. “You are still so much the innocent in my eyes.” He murmured in her ear and watched as gooseflesh rose on her arms. Only one with very little experience would still react thus to such tender ministrations.
Only an innocent or one completely enraptured. He was no innocent, but she held him in thrall. That was the only explanation for the way he’d lost complete control of their kiss a few moments before. The only explanation for why he was willing to accept lovemaking on her terms, when everyone knew the Marquis de Montagne always took a lover on his own terms.
Honoria was no lover. She was so much more.
“Come with me.” He took her hand, enchanted when she clasped his tightly and with a trust he hadn’t expected. He led her across the room and into the bedchamber. Releasing her hand, he lit a candle, then closed the door and turned to face her. The yellow light reflected off her dark hair and gilded her porcelain skin. “Let me undress you.”
His voice had the edge of a plea in it, and he was almost ashamed. He’d meant to tell her to undress. He’d planned to watch her remove item after item until he couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. Instead, he all but begged her to let him play the role her maid would have.
And when she nodded her acquiescence, his heart leaped in elation.
What the hell had she done to him?
He crossed to her slowly, moving carefully, half afraid she would bolt if he made a sudden gesture. But she stood calm and still, hands at her sides. He began with the intricate task of removing the pearl-tipped pins that held her bodice together. There were at least eight, and he removed them one by one. He dared not look at her face as he worked. He feared he would forget his resolve and kiss her. It was bad enough watching the way her breasts rose and fell under the gauzy white fichu. He could not wait to remove that. But first the pins.
He dropped them on the small dresser, then began unpinning the unfinished side of the bodice. As the bodice opened, he slid the garment from her shoulders so she stood in her skirt, petticoats, corset, and chemise. Her translucent fichu was tucked into her skirt and petticoats, and he drew the ends out and allowed the triangle to flutter down to the floor. Now he could see the creamy swells of her breast where the corset pushed them up. The corset was laced in front, a necessity since she had needed to dress herself, but first he tackled the ties of the skirt.
When that slid from her hips, he untied the petticoat, then took a breath as he began unlacing the stays. Honoria shivered.
“Are you cold?” he murmured as he worked on the tapes.
“No, just impatient.”
He felt his lips curve up. “I suppose I could just toss your skirts up, but I’d rather take my time.”
She lifted her hands to attempt to assist him with the tapes, but he swatted them away. She’d laced from the bottom up, a technique used by large-breasted women to minimize the bust, and he’d reached the top of the corset now. His knuckles brushed against her warm soft skin, and a breath shuddered out of her.
Finally, he parted the corset and pushed it down over her hips. Her linen chemise slid off one shoulder, and her nipples were hard against the thin fabric. Laurent reached down and lifted the hem of the chemise, dragging it up slowly over her knees, then her thighs, then hips until he had it over her head.
He dropped it on the floor and she stood in stockings and garters alone.
He would deal with those, but he needed a moment to catch his breath. Her body was as magnificent as her face. Her legs were long and shapely, her hips round until they dipped into a slender waist. Her breasts were large and heavy, her nipples jutting upward, just waiting for the tip of his tongue.
No wonder she tried to minimize the size of her breasts. She had not wanted to be taken for a loose woman. She had not wanted men to notice her at all because they too would have been rendered breathless by the sight of her.
“Laurent,” she whispered. Her hands rose to cover the junction of her legs, but he caught them.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, lifting her hands and kissing them. “So beautiful I could not move for an instant.”
“You flatter me.”
“Mon Dieu, I don’t need to flatter you. Surely you know you are perfect.”
She shook her head. “I have my flaws, like everyone else.”
“None in my eyes.” He dropped her hands, but he did not want to risk touching her yet. “Sit on the bed. Let me remove your stockings.”
She obeyed, sitting primly on the edge of the small bed. “And am I ever to see you unclothed?”
“I’d better wait to undress or this will be over all too soon.” And dear God, now he was conscious of his own flaws. He’d never before given much thought to his body. He was young and fit, but prison had taken a toll. He was thinner than he’d been before and a little paler.
He knelt before her and reached for her leg. She lifted it, sliding her foot out of her shoe and placing it on his thigh. He slid his hands up the plain stocking. The skin of her thigh, where the garter was knotted, was silky and warm. He drew the stocking down, lifting her foot. Her legs parted with the movement and he caught a glimpse of her pink core.
His cock, already at attention, pulsed, and he closed his eyes to maintain control. He felt her other stocking-clad foot slide onto his thigh. “What are you waiting for?” she asked.
“Strength?” he said on a half laugh. “The will not to embarrass myself?”
“You want me.” As she spoke, her foot slid to the hard length of him. She could not have missed the bulge, missed the evidence of how much he wanted her. Now she slid her foot over his hardness.
He caught her ankle. “Honoria...”
“I am tired of waiting. I want you too.”
The words sent a rush of fire through him, and he skated his hands up her leg, all but ripped the garter off and pulled down the stocking. Now she was completely naked—naked and wanting him.
“How much do you want me?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question, one he intended to answer for himself. He set her foot on the floor and parted her legs, brushing his hands up the inside of her calves and her thighs to reveal the pink center of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
“I want to see all of you.” He spread her legs wider, then ran a finger over her moist center. Yes, she wanted him. The dew on his fingers was testament to her desire.
“This is...” She swallowed the words on a gasp as he slid his fingers over her outer folds and brushed over her hot channel.
“This is what?” he asked. “Tantalizing?” He circled her opening, and her eyes widened. “Torture?” One finger brushed against her small bud and she let out a cry. “Scandalous?” He dipped a finger inside her.
“Yes,” she cried, but her eyes had gone dark with pleasure.
She was wet and hot, and his cock throbbed to take the place of his finger. He did not slide deep, just enough to test her, then back out again and up over that small bud that would cause her the most pleasure.
>
“Oh!” Her body shook, and Laurent knew it would take very little for her to climax. His task would be to prolong it, make her la petite mort something she would not soon forget.
“I thought your innocence was a memory,” he said. “Have you never sat before a man with your legs spread?”
“No,” she gasped as his fingers—two this time—slipped inside her damp sex.
“Have you ever had a man’s fingers inside you?” He stroked her, deeper this time, then crooking one finger and pushing upward.
She gasped and convulsed, but before she could come, he withdrew. “I think the answer is no. I think your other lovers were in too much of a hurry to explore you fully.”
“Lover,” she said, meeting his gaze. “There have not been legions.”
No, he hadn’t thought she would give herself to many men, but the revelation that he was only the second gave him pause. She was even more an innocent than he’d expected.
“There is only me now,” he said. “And for me, only you.”
She nodded, and he did not know if she understood his meaning. He was not certain he understood it. Was he saying he wanted no other women after her? He certainly did not even want to imagine her with another man. He would ruin her for other men.
There was so much he could show her, so much pleasure he could give her. If a man had not touched her like this, had one ever put his tongue on that tight little bud? He would have to try it, to taste her and feel her come apart against his lips.
But for now he wanted his mouth on those dark, jutting nipples. He leaned forward, his fingers delving inside her again, his thumb against her small bud. He put his mouth on her breast, warming it with his lips, feeling the satiny texture against his tongue. His fingers slid in and out, while his thumb moved in circles. Honoria’s breathing grew more rapid and she arched her back. He took a nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue over the thick point.
Her hips began to move, and he slowed the work of his fingers, moving in a leisurely fashion until he could feel her body straining harder and harder for the pleasure just beyond her reach.
