Humbled

by Renee Rose

  He nodded. “Understood. What else?”

  “Do not chew with your mouth open. Do not speak with your mouth full. When you are finished with your food, leave your fork and knife like this on your plate,” she said, holding a spoon at an angle over her porridge dish.

  “What else?”

  She blinked, her lashes long and dark against the gray of her eyes. “I can think of nothing else.”

  “My speech will need work, I suppose,” he said, affecting an upper class, Parisian accent.

  She smiled but a crease appeared between her brows. “What will happen when we arrive? I mean, until we settle in?”

  He rubbed his thumb with another finger. “I am not certain. Do you suppose Moreau will allow you to keep that gown?”

  She worried her lip with her teeth. “I have the other jewels,” she said, looking guilty.

  “Yes, I recall you allowed me to spend my life savings to get you to Le Havre while you carried riches in your chemise,” he said drily, without real malice.

  “Not in my chemise,” she protested, then blushed, as if discussing her underclothing with him embarrassed her.

  He smiled. “I will spank you for your lack of generosity later.”

  The color in her cheeks spread to her décolletage, making it difficult for him to resist looking at the enticing curves of her lifted breasts. She glanced at him uncertainly.

  “You are not sure whether I tease or not.” He picked up her coffee cup and drained it. “Or perhaps you are not sure whether to hope I do.”

  He observed a small shiver in her shoulders and knew his second guess was correct. His cock stiffened and he shifted in his seat. He wanted to teach her a thousand lessons about pleasure and pain.

  “I could sell another ring,” she suggested in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “I have a large sapphire one.”

  “How large is the gem?” He had a good understanding of the value of fine jewelry, as he had always dreamed of silversmithing, loving the intricate detail work required. He did not, however, know how the La Nouvelle-Orléans market compared to the Parisian market.

  She examined her fingers, holding out her thumb. “The size of my thumbnail, tear-drop shaped, in yellow gold.”

  He gave a low whistle. “I do not know how well things sell in La Nouvelle-Orléans, but I would guess it would fetch ten to thirty thousand francs.”

  “Enough to buy us both some fine clothes and hire a carriage.”

  He blinked, catching up to her line of thinking. He nodded. “Yes. And for separate rooms at an inn.”

  “I will send notes to the well-to-do members of society and see if I receive an invitation to call. Once I am taken in, I will give my recommendation for your services,” she beamed at him, as if delighted with her task.

  He drew in a breath. His previous plan had encompassed what he knew—finding a forge, working as a blacksmith, perhaps convincing a gentleman or two to commission something in silver. This new plan involving Corinne—becoming a gentleman for her—was a different course entirely, and he prayed he could live up to her expectations.

  * * *

  Waiting for Jean-Claude in the cabin that evening, she felt like a virgin bride—nervous and excited about playing house with her new mate. The idea of helping him to achieve his dreams of becoming a silversmith excited her. She could not wait to make an impression in society so she could introduce him or gain appointments for him to earn commissioned work. She imagined how he would look in a fine suit, a member of the wealthy merchant class, like those men on the ship. Not that she minded the way he looked in peasant garb.

  In fact, she would love to see him working in his forge. She pictured him with his shirt off, too hot from the fire and the hard work, sweat glistening on his bulging muscles. She would carry a refreshing drink of ale out to him. He might stop his work and give her a squeeze so strong it would lift her off her feet. Or perhaps he would wrap his arms around her and squeeze her bottom, threatening her with the kind of punishment that could be pleasure.

  She eyed the dirty peasant dress he had removed from her the night before. Her jewels were still sewn into it. Using her teeth, she pried the stitches open and freed the gems, dropping them in a pile on the bed. This was her future. No—their future.

  Smiling to herself, she removed every stitch of clothing. Then she sprawled on the bed in what she hoped was a tempting pose.

  Jean-Claude entered and caught his breath. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, his blue eyes going dark.

  He walked slowly to the side of the bed, his eyes burning holes in her. “What is this?” he asked hoarsely.

  She smiled. “Your future awaits you.”

  “The lady or the jewels?”

  “Both.”

  Jean-Claude sat beside her, a fierce determination entering his expression. “I do not wish you to sell these. They are yours—all you have left of your family.”

  “No. They are for you—to set up your business. You deserve your own forge where you make beautiful jewelry and other finery.”

  “Corinne,” he said, her name sounding like an endearment on his tongue. He pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her and lifting, leaving her feet dangling in the air and her chest crushed against his body.

  She sensed his strong emotion, though she did not understand it entirely.

  “Corinne,” he murmured again, not releasing her.

  He lowered her to her feet but kept her pressed against his body. She felt his lips on her hair.

  She wanted to be held in his arms forever. To only know the sound of her name on his tongue.

  “I will not disappoint you,” he said, his voice still choked with tears.

  “I know you will not.”

  “Thank you.”

  She did not deserve his thanks. He had saved her life—she should have offered her wealth from the start. She shook her head against his chest. “I am sorry—I should have—”

  “No,” he said, pulling away and lifting her chin. “You just gave me everything you own. Unless you are still holding something back?” he asked with a teasing smile.

  Her face grew warm. “No. Forgive me my selfishness.”

  “I believe I promised you a spanking for it,” he said, the deep rich notes of his voice igniting a flame of desire in her core.

  “Did you?” she said, as if she had forgotten.

  “But I might opt for teaching a different sort of lesson.”

  Her breath quickened. “What sort of lesson?” she whispered.

  “Remember how I told you I would take my wife? Any way I like?”

  She stepped against his hard form, tipping her head back. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

  “Get down on your knees.”

  She hesitated. “My knees?”

  “You heard me. On your knees.”

  She saw the challenge in his expression, and though her pride resisted the order, some other part of her wanted to know what came next. She lowered herself to her hands and knees.

  “No, not your hands, just your knees,” he said, helping her to erect her torso.

  She found herself facing the crotch of his trousers and suddenly understood his intent, lifting her eyes to Jean-Claude with slight alarm.

  He smiled and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  “Wait for me like that while I wash up,” he said, striding over to the wash basin, where he removed his clothing.

  She watched her lover undress. He was even more spectacular than she had imagined. The two months at sea had not caused his muscles to diminish in size, his arms bulging with power, his broad chest chiseled with muscle. His cock leapt out, bobbing in a stiff salute.

  He used the washcloth, cleaning his cock thoroughly and easing one part of her anxiety. He sponged the rest of his body, splashing water on his face before drying with a second linen and sauntering to where she waited. He held an object hidden behind his back.

  She peered around him, trying to see.

  He
grinned and showed it to her. “I made a little toy,” he said, revealing an implement with several pieces of rope tied together in a knot. The ends of the ropes had been purposely frayed open, so a half dozen smaller rope pieces dangled down. “It will be quiet, but it should not hurt so much as a single rope or a loop.”

  Intimidated, she spoke in a pleading voice, “Jean-Claude—”

  “Open your mouth,” he interrupted.

  She looked up nervously but obeyed.

  “Now, grasp the base, right here,” He said, guiding her hand to his cock. “And guide it into your mouth.”

  She opened her lips wider and took in his length, then swiftly retreated. He brought the rope flogger down on her bare cheeks. She jumped but found the sting to be milder even than his hand.

  “Go on,” he prompted, still swatting at her backside, warming the flesh with each kiss of the rope.

  She obeyed, closing her lips around his sex and sliding it into the pocket of her cheek.

  Jean-Claude groaned. “That is it, Corinne. Good girl.” He grasped the back of her head and guided her in and out, sometimes frightening her when it hit the back of her throat. Had it not been for the appreciative noises he made, she might not have enjoyed it, but realizing the pleasure she gave him empowered her. She had certainly read about this sex act, and some of the ladies at Versailles boasted about their skill, but she had always hoped to avoid such a lewd activity. Now, though, her own sex seeped moisture as she did her best to please her lover. His intermittent use of the rope flogger only increased her excitement, its lash creating a delicious tingling warmth after the initial sting.

  “Good girl, good girl,” he choked, then pulled out of her mouth, pumping his fist over his cock and spending his seed into the air with a satisfied moan.

  She knew he could have spent inside her mouth and was grateful he had spared her on her first try.

  He pulled her head against his leg, stroking her like a pet. As degrading as it seemed, she felt oddly pleased to be his pet. He trailed the ends of the rope across her back, tickling her skin. “Are you ready for more spanking?” he asked lovingly, as if spanking were a treat.

  “Yes?” she said in a small voice, wondering if she had lost her mind.

  * * *

  When he had gone to Château de Gramont to rescue Corinne, he never could have imagined the little aristocrat would be naked at his feet, eager to do his bidding. He admitted part of him had wanted to see her humbled, along with the rest of the aristos, which is why he had not hesitated to switch her the first time in the woods. But her willingness to submit now had the reverse effect of humbling him.

  He prayed he might be worthy of her, that he could create the sort of future she seemed to think him capable of.

  “Bend over the bed, sweetheart,” he said, helping her to her feet. She stood and folded her torso over the side of the bed, offering her globes up for his rope. He flicked it across her bottom, enjoying the quivering response, her little gasps. He knew it did not hurt much, as he had tried it out on his leg when he made it, taking care to separate the rope strands enough to take the bite away.

  He swished the flogger across her flesh, watching as the color changed from creamy white to a rosy blush. When it seemed thoroughly warm, he dropped to his knees behind her, nudging her legs wider and lowering his head to greet her tender pink minou with his tongue. He gripped her cheeks in his hands, holding her in place for his onslaught. He licked and sucked, drawing cries of excitement from her. She found la petite mort the moment he added his fingers, shoving two deep within her to feel her muscles tighten and spasm around them. He chuckled, giving her bottom a kiss when she had finished and helping her into bed.

  “Tomorrow we dock,” he said, “So tonight will be our last night as man and wife.”

  “Mmm,” she said, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder.

  “We cannot see each other this way in La Nouvelle-Orléans, love.”

  She slid her palm over his chest. “Not until you are a gentleman silversmith,” she mumbled, drifting into sleep.

  He covered her hand with his own, treasuring the touch, trying to push away his trepidation about what the colony would hold for them.

  * * *

  As they docked, she and Jean-Claude stood on the deck, watching as the mass of land grew larger before them.

  “So, you will give your real name.”

  She nodded. “If it is a trap, I will face the guillotine knowing…” she wracked her mind for what she knew now. What had she accomplished in her life?

  Knowing you.

  “You will not face the guillotine,” Jean-Claude interjected. “If they try to take you, I will not allow it.”

  They both knew he had little means to prevent such a thing.

  As if he read her mind, he gave a quick shake of his head. “You escaped Gramont. You could escape again.”

  “I have no reason to trust Moreau, and yet I do. I think we shall both find our fortune in the new world.”

  They stared out across the water together, a somber silence growing between them.

  “My father spoke enthusiastically about the opportunities on this continent,” she said. “Not just Louisiana, but America, too. We were there for the Treaty of Paris; we met the founders of the United States—Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and Benjamin Franklin.”

  Jean-Claude looked at her with interest.

  She shrugged, abashed. “I was a silly girl, interested only in the current fashion of the court and the spectacle of man’s first flight by balloon. The politics of the colonies did not interest me. But I suppose it left some impression, because I chose La Nouvelle-Orléans over England.”

  He leaned on the rail. “I wonder if France can keep La Nouvelle-Orléans. King Louis already lost most of the territory to Spain.”

  Too much was unknown—the world as they had known it had crumbled. All she could do was laugh. “Then we will learn to speak Spanish.”

  “So there is a language you do not know?” he teased.

  Waiting to dock was sheer agony, time seeming to crawl by. It was chilly, and she did not have a proper wrap, although Moreau had granted her permission to take the gown. She bid Flora, her young admirer, farewell. When at last the ship had docked, Moreau called them over.

  He summoned a dockworker up to the deck with them. “Tell us, are they targeting any aristocrats arriving from France?”

  “No, Captain, not that I have heard,” the young man said.

  “You see?” he said, turning to them. “You should be safe here.”

  “I would thank you, Captain, had you not made a spectacle of me on your ship,” she replied tartly.

  He chuckled. “I had my fun. But you survived it. Good luck to you both,” he said, sauntering off.

  Even with his reassurance, she gripped Jean-Claude’s arm as they disembarked, scarcely breathing as she marched into the queue for customs. She stood out in the gown and began to regret not wearing the peasant dress, but it was too late to hide her identity.

  The official took Jean-Claude’s name and occupation first, then questioned her.

  “Full name.”

  “Corinne de Gramont.”

  “Reason for travel?”

  She shifted from one leg to the other. Did she answer honestly? Tell him she left to escape the guillotine? Or did she pretend she had other business there?

  “I wished to see the promise of the colony,” she answered.

  He looked up from his papers with a doubtful look but jotted something down on the paper.

  “What is the value of the goods you brought with you?”

  She held her breath. Did she declare the ring? No, Jean-Claude had it, and he had declared nothing.

  “Two hundred francs,” she murmured, guessing the value of the gown on her back.

  He made a note. “Next,” he said looking past her.

  She exhaled, hardly believing she had made it through. Jean-Claude swept her forward, out of the thron
g, as if he feared someone might change their mind and take them into custody. He did not stop until they had walked several blocks away.

  “Now we must find someone with enough wealth to buy your ring,” he said, looking about.

  “Can we simply ask for a jeweler?”

  “Yes, but a jeweler may not have the funding to purchase such an expensive ring. He could probably arrange a buyer, though it may take time and he will take a percentage. It would be better if we could sell it directly, though I know not where to begin.” He looked at her. “I will find you a room and go out on my own.”

  “No!” she interrupted.

  He looked wounded. “Do you not trust me, Corinne?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do not be stupid, Jean-Claude! Of course I trust you. But I do not wish to sit alone at an inn. I want to go with you.” She looked about the busy streets, taking in the mixture of black and white faces, so different from anything she had seen before. “I wish to see La Nouvelle-Orléans.”

  “Is it seemly? To go unescorted with a man pretending to be a silversmith on a business mission?”

  She smiled. “No, it is positively unseemly. Like much of what we have done. But I want to go with you. Please, Jean-Claude.”

  He released his breath in a wry chuckle. “All right. Perhaps you will provide the luck or the connection necessary to make this happen. I have an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “Pardon me,” he said, stopped a man who walked by. “Can you tell me where the very best hotel can be found?”

  “You would want Hotel Jardin over on Bourbon Street,” he said, pointing the direction.

  “Thank you, monsieur.”

  Walking down the busy streets, he led her in the direction the man indicated. Carriages raced by and they passed people of all colors and costumes. They saw trappers, all dressed in animal furs, and the red-brown faces of the native peoples. They heard Spanish, English, French, and some languages they did not recognize. Corinne attracted some attention, but she held her head high, her eyes dancing as she took it all in with interest.

  They located the hotel without problem.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, approaching the counter. “I am escorting Mademoiselle de Gramont, just arrived from France. Do you have a room for the lady?”