by Isadora Rose
Anton Beaulieu visibly tensed as he sipped from his steaming cup of coffee. “Tristan…”
The faint note of rebuke was one that Tristan had heard from his oldest friend many times before, but it had always been accompanied by an amused and indulgent smile. Not this time. His heart skipped a beat as Anton set his cup down on the table and warily met Tristan’s piercing stare.
“What is it, Anton? Tell me!”
Anton’s face tautened further as he exhaled deeply and drummed his fingers on the polished tabletop. “Where to begin, Tristan? First, I suppose, I must demand to know why it is that you have taken such an interest in Esther.”
The other man’s casual use of her given name did not escape Tristan’s attention. His jaw twitched irritably as his appetite receded in the face of another, far more pressing hunger – his hunger for Esther. “You and she are close, then?”
“She is a dear girl, Tristan; Esther is my wife’s closest friend and she is to be Catherine’s godmother. You would be wasting your time if you tried to pursue her.”
Anton’s words were firm and steady, but there was no mistaking the clipped and curt tone that they had taken on. In unspoken accord, the two men slipped into their native tongue to shield their conversation from the servants bustling in and out of the grand dining hall. “Wasting my time?” Tristan repeated in French, subduing a sudden urge to angrily raise his voice.
Anton waved away a servant who had come forwards with more coffee. “Esther is not like the flighty women of the French court we grew up in, Tristan. She no longer has any interest in the carnal entertainments you so like to indulge in – I assure you that your attentions to her would be most unwelcome.”
“How so? She is unwed, yes?” Tristan asked urgently.
“Now she is. She is a widow, Tristan, the Dowager Lady Malone; the lord died in somewhat unsavoury circumstances two years ago. That is of no consequence, though, for she will not have you – or any man, for that matter.”
Tristan’s eyes darkened further as he remembered the way she had responded to him in the gardens. “Oh, she will have me, Anton. But for now, I want to know about her husband. Was she...” To his surprise, he abruptly trailed off. His next words had to be forced through gritted teeth. “Was she in love with her husband?”
“Impossible for me to say, brother. However, from what Eleanor told me, Esther idolised Andrew –“
“That was Malone’s name?”
“Yes – Andrew Ellis, the sixth Lord Malone. He was a cad of the highest order, a womaniser with a wicked temper. I disliked him intensely, and I am sorry to say that I did not grieve his passing in the least. Esther is well rid of him, in my humble opinion,” Anton said fiercely.
Tristan felt himself becoming more agitated with every word that was exchanged. Despite his fondness for sharing his bed with any woman who caught his eye – an enjoyment that Anton had also indulged in prior to his marriage - he always took great care never to mistreat a woman in any way. Never did he lift so much as a finger to them in rage or show any sign of disrespect to even the lowliest of maids; a virtue it seemed that the late Lord Malone did not share. His neatly manicured nails dug into the palms of his hands as he lifted his head to look at Anton again. “Two years ago he died, you say? She is out of mourning, then.”
“By the standards of society, yes. But as I said, Tristan, she was very attached to her husband and the way that her marriage ended was difficult to come to terms with. I am not convinced that she has yet done so.”
“You mentioned unsavoury circumstances surrounding his death, Anton. Is that what you are referring to?”
“In part; to die whilst in pursuit of another woman when you have a beautiful and faithful wife waiting at home for you is abominable. Andrew made no secret of his extra-marital conquests, much to Esther’s distress, and when the fool got himself killed, the entirety of the ton devoured the scandal with no regard for her feelings.”
“Another woman?!” Tristan breathed in sharply, attempting with all his might to rein in his spiralling temper and rage with the dead lord for fear he would unleash it upon Anton instead. “Damn! How could he want for any other woman with Esther in his bed?”
“Merely the last in a long line – but I agree with your assessment, Tristan. A fool in every way.”
Tristan nodded grimly. “If you cannot marry with the intention of staying faithful to your spouse, then you should not marry at all. Were he alive, I myself would willingly step up to show him the error of his ways; but then, I suppose if he were alive still I would have no hope of coaxing his beautiful widow into my arms.”
“You have no hope regardless. I only say so because I do not want you to waste the week in pursuit of a woman you will not have, Tristan, especially when that woman must stand next to you in the church for Catherine’s christening. You will only insult her by asking for even as much as a kiss.”
“A kiss I have already had from her – and I will take all else she has to offer.”
Anton’s eyes widened. “You have kissed her? No, surely not!”
Smug, burning triumph erupted inside him as he recalled again how it had felt to take Esther in his arms. “Oh, yes, and a glorious one it was. Is it a rarity, then, for her even to do as much as that?”
“Very much so, now.” Anton slowly shook his head from side to side with a rueful smile as Tristan lifted one eyebrow. “Esther is entirely resolved to steer clear of all men after the way she suffered at Andrew’s hands. She was disgraced and heartbroken, Tristan. It is no wonder that she has no wish ever to marry again.”
“No, no wonder at all. But it is not marriage I am proposing, merely an exchange of pleasure; and Anton, she is a deeply sensual and fiery little woman, I know that already after the kiss we shared. No woman with such passion running through her veins should live her life secluded and alone forever, not when any man would gladly oblige her in fulfilling her needs.”
“And they are queuing up to do so, despite her disinterest.”
Tristan recoiled as an acerbic tide of jealousy rose up inside him with no warning. The thought of another man so much as looking at Esther with lust in his eyes infuriated him. “Indeed?” he finally replied curtly. “Then I shall have to do my utmost to ensure that it is only I whom she has eyes for.”
A spark of good-natured humour finally returned to Anton’s eyes as he observed his friend’s uncharacteristic discomposure. “If any man can succeed in doing so, it would be you – and perhaps a night with you would do her good. It has pained me to see the way she has suffered since Andrew’s death; it is possible to be too reserved, and these English women can be notorious for it.”
“Fear not, Anton, for I know precisely how to break down her reserve.”
Anton laughed quietly. “In that case, Tristan, I have one more thing to say, brother.”
He stared at him warily. “Go ahead, Anton.”
“Esther is as good as a sister to Eleanor. If you cause her any pain, then our friendship will not hold me back from taking you to task as if it were my own sister you had offended.”
Tristan’s crooked grin illuminated his face once more as he leaned back in his seat and rested his feet on top of the table. “I intend to give her no pain, only pleasure. If what you say is true, her need of it is as great as my need to give it to her; and if she and I are to be little Catherine’s godparents, it is only right that we should come to know each other well.”
“You, though, only wish to know her in the biblical sense.”
“Ah, you do me a discourtesy with your accusation, Anton! Esther is a lovely and witty little thing. I anticipate taking as much pleasure from talking with her as I will from lying with her – well, almost as much.”
A matching smile finally broke out across Anton’s shaved face. “You sound entirely convinced that she will have you, Tristan. Have my words done nothing to prick your over-inflated ego?”
Tristan’s grin only widened. “Nothing at all. Now, if you wil
l excuse me, I am afraid that my little lady’s company is far more appealing to me than yours for now. I have been here awaiting you since before dawn, Anton, and Esther has not appeared. I shall take her breakfast to her and proceed from there.”
“There is no dissuading you, is there?”
“Not where she is concerned. I must have her, or else I will go crazy – and I am utterly convinced she craves me just as much.” Tristan deliberately did not mention the obstacle that was Esther’s cousin. As far as he knew, Anton had no knowledge of the scandal and he did not wish to speak of it. His fervent hope was that the strength of the passion between the two of them would be enough to force Esther to set aside her objections for long enough to give him all that he yearned for.
Anton clapped him on the shoulder as the two men rose from the table together. “Do bear in mind what I have said, Tristan. I love you like a brother, but I will not stand back and allow Esther to be hurt again.”
“Then it is as well I have no intention of hurting her. She wants me, Anton, I know that she does. I simply have to make her see it.”
Chapter Three
Esther dismissed her fretful maid when she attempted to rouse her from her bed. The sun was already high in the sky, but somehow she could not bear the thought of leaving the safety of her bed to face the day ahead.
Eleanor Beaulieu, her dearest friend, had cornered her when she had been fleeing from the Comte’s arms the previous evening. It had been impossible to deny her discomposure, for the flush of her skin was evident for all to see, but Esther had managed to escape with a promise to share all that had happened over a morning’s walk through the gardens – a promise she did not intend to keep if she could satisfy Eleanor with evasive half-truths instead.
The only blessing about getting out of bed to own to at least some of the truth of the passion she had shared with the Comte was that he would be gone by now, thank goodness – only Eleanor and Anton’s closest friends would be staying at the manor until the christening, and the Comte de Rouvroy could not possibly be one of them. If she had to face him at the christening, then so be it, but at least by then enough time would have elapsed that she would have regained both her senses and control of her treacherous body that had responded to his so wantonly.
Just the memory of the way that the Comte had kissed her was enough to make Esther very grateful that she was alone, for her physical reaction was so vivid that her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and guiltily allowed her mind to fill with the imagined thoughts of how it would have been had she allowed him to accompany her to bed.
The compulsion to draw up her skirts and reach down between her legs descended upon her with breathtaking force. The mere image of the Comte’s handsome face in the forefront of her mind was enough to send her desire for him soaring once more. Esther gasped out loud, fighting with all her might to cling onto the reasons she had for dismissing him last night; the reasons why she should not even be imagining allowing him to strip away their clothing and fill her with the more than ample length of the cock that had surged so invitingly against her hand.
She could not have him. The Comte was the living man she hated more than anyone else, for he was the one who had brought shame upon the only family she had remaining.
Esther’s cousin, Charlotte Tennyson, had been engaged to be married to one of the most prominent lords in the country; it was a prestigious arrangement that her father, Esther’s uncle, had striven hard to make and was deeply proud of, for it would have assured his only child’s security for the rest of her life.
The young and innocent Charlotte, however, had been seduced into giving up her virginity to a man who was not her fiancé – to the Comte de Rouvroy, the notorious French rake. Understandably, her fiancé had been rightfully enraged when Charlotte had tearfully confessed to him what had happened and he had broken off the engagement to leave her with the stain of the broken betrothal hanging over her head, much to her father’s dismay.
No-one outside of the family knew the details of Charlotte’s disgrace; and as such, the Comte’s role in her downfall was unknown to all but Esther, her uncle and Charlotte herself.
Lost in her jumbled thoughts, Esther did not at first register the knock that came on her bedchamber door until it was repeated. The knocking was soft but insistent, and with no maid now to send away the intruder, she had no choice but to climb out of bed and answer the door herself. Anticipating that it would only be Eleanor, she did not bother to even gather up a sheet to wrap around herself before irritably tugging on the door handle – and, to her horror, opening the door to the Comte himself.
A wicked gleam sparkled in his dark eyes as he held out a heavily-laden breakfast tray towards her. She was deliciously sleep-rumpled; her cheeks were flushed and her tousled hair fanned out, calling to him to fist his hands through it. Patience, Tristan reminded himself, even though the way that his cock was already straining against his breeches again was making it impossible to think clearly at all. “Good – good morning, ma chére,” he finally greeted her, recovering his composure as her eyes settled upon the evidence of his instant arousal and widened.
Esther could not prevent her tongue from darting out across her parted lips as, wholly unbidden, the thought of how his cock would feel buried inside her began to tantalisingly dance through her already hazy and lust-filled mind. It had been a long time since any man had made her feel the way that the Comte did – far too long – and for it to be this most hateful of men who had managed to do so was deeply irritating and unsettling.
He watched intently, studying every last detail of the conflict passing across her face as she continued to unconsciously stare at his cock with a hunger that could not be hidden. It was a hunger that convinced him entirely that she would be his. “Have you nothing to say to me, Esther?” he asked softly. “Perhaps it is simply that you wish to take advantage of my company now that we are alone once more, for words are not necessary between us to put voice to our mutual desire.”
Her eyes widened further. “Did I not make it apparent last night how unwelcome your company is, Comte?” she demanded as a wave of heat coursed through her that left her entirely wrong-footed.
Her shaky words amused Tristan greatly as he wedged his foot in the door. “Oui, but the words your pretty mouth speaks are not what your body wishes to say. Darling, your desire for me is as evident as mine for you.”
The dark circles of her breasts were all too visible through her nightgown, straining through the clinging silk; a fact it seemed she had not noticed, much to his delight. The compulsion to devote himself to the little nipples that were stiffening beneath his heated gaze was irresistible.
As she stammered incomprehensibly, he balanced the tray on one hand and reached the other out towards her. “So, what did you dream of, Esther?” he asked softly, capturing one tautened nipple between his thumb and forefinger as she froze where she stood. “I confess, I dreamed of the kiss we shared – it was glorious, mais non?”
She arched against him, knowing that she should be screaming out to have the deceitful and debauched Comte removed from her; yet, somehow, her mouth would not form the words. “Comte...please!”
“Please what? Desist? Or...” Tristan took another step towards her as he gently rolled her nipple between his long fingers to wrench a low cry from her lips. “Or are you begging me to make love to you, Esther? We both know that you want me to.”
“What I want and what I need are two different things, Comte,” Esther managed to gasp, her steely words entirely at odds to the fire raging inside her as Tristan’s fingers began to toy with the tiny buttons running between her cleavage. “I am afraid that I am no green girl you can seduce into your bed.”
“No?” he said mildly, deftly slipping the top button open before she had even realised his intent. “A shame, ma chére, for it is a very comfortable bed. If your preference is to enjoy the carnal pleasure with me elsewhere, though, I will be more than agreeable. That rug i
n front of your fireplace seems an excellent site upon which we could explore each other’s bodies - or we could take a sojourn to the gardens? Alternatively, Esther, I could simply lift your skirts and take you here where we stand.”
Her breath hitched. His sultry and heavy accent only increased the effect that his salacious words had upon her. All protest seemed to melt away in the face of the desperate desire that heightened further with every button that the Comte flicked open between her breasts.
Tristan leaned his head in towards hers to press home the advantage he sensed he had won himself with his lust-filled words. “I brought you breakfast, Esther, for there is something that has come to my attention.” Her treacherous eyes flickered down towards her breasts and he laughed delightedly. “No, not your beautiful breasts – though they are occupying my mind almost exclusively. It is a family matter, I suppose you might say. May I come in, then, or are we going to do this in the corridor?”
She hated the way that he had her constantly stammering, so dazed and confused in a way she had not been for so many years. “Do this?! Do what, Comte?”
“Talk, eat and then have sex, ma belle.”
His proposal was so calm and nonplussed that despite the way he had been touching her so intimately, Esther was convinced she must have misheard him. When his free hand slipped inside her nightgown to caress her bare breasts and gently coax at her achingly sensitive nipples, though, a low moan flew from her lips before she realised that he had no intention of stopping there.
Though it went against the furious command of her inflamed body, she writhed away from his teasing touch and stumbled backwards into the bedchamber. Without hesitation, Tristan followed her inside and closed the door behind them.
“In here it is then, Esther,” he said triumphantly, setting down the tray on the bedside table before gracefully stretching out on top of the mattress despite her scandalised protests. The scent of her still lingered upon the warm sheets she had so recently vacated and he inhaled deeply, revelling in the intimacy as she snatched at her nightgown to hold it closed over her breasts.
