“Of course it’s not bloody—” He fell silent, a realization hitting him. Then William left the bed, throwing all the coins in his pocket to the girl as he hurried for the door, calling for Gaudet.
“Fasten your breeches!” She laughed and watched him go.
He did so as best he could, shouting for Gaudet again. The Frenchman had been faster, however, and was nowhere to be seen in the crowded, fire-lit bar where all of the village seemed to be congregating. Cursing, William forced his way through the mob, finally reaching the door and pushing out into the night.
There was no sign of his friend and William shook his head, wondering just how the man had managed to move so fast. What he would say when he found Gaudet he had no idea. The wash of thoughts, feelings and utterly contradictory nature of them all left him more in need of a drink than ever as he called Gaudet’s name again, heading off through the village.
After a considerable time, and with dejection mounting, William was close to giving up when he finally caught sight of a familiar figure, anger surging once more and he stormed toward him, shouting, “Where the bloody hell have you been?”
“Go back to your whore, Bobbins,” Gaudet spat as he turned to address William. “And prove to yourself that you’re still a man.”
“She’s not my anything,” William insisted. “And I’m now penniless with nothing to show for it after chasing you about for the last bloody hour.”
“Then you are a fool as well as an idiot.”
“I’m not the one who—” He gestured frantically. “Why did you say that?”
“Why do you think?”
“I don’t know,” William shouted. “I don’t know, that’s why I am asking. I was trying—”
“What? What were you trying to do?”
“Put things right.” William did his best to ignore the other, less altruistic thoughts that insisted on flooding his mind. “So things could be—so we could have some fun.”
“I had fun last night. I don’t want to have ‘fun’ with a tavern whore who cares more for her tobacco. I prefer men, Guillaume, and I am very sorry that you seem so troubled by that.”
“I came out here to find you—”
“Because if you lose me, Dee will skin you alive.”
“I don’t give a bloody fig what Dee thinks. He’s on the verge of sending me back to England on my own, anyway, so he can bloody well—”
“Then good riddance to you. May you and your women be very happy and may you one day realize what ‘fun’ you missed.” Gaudet turned, clearly intending to continue his angry promenade.
William had every intention of storming off, but instead he found himself grabbing Gaudet’s arm, telling him furiously, “They are not my women, they are not my anything—I bloody left her to come and find you.”
“Last night meant something to me.” Gaudet’s voice was quieter, eyes flashing with hurt. “And I feel battered.”
“I’ve never,” William heard his own voice, strange and unsteady, “ever—with a man. Before. I don’t bloody understand any of this—”
“I thought you liked me,” was the answering whisper. “I really did.”
“I didn’t want her—”
“Nor did you want me, Guillaume, not for more than one night.”
“What happens,” William could barely breathe now, “if I say that you are wrong?”
“Kiss me again?” Gaudet’s words were soft, breathless. “Please?”
It sounded absurdly easy, and as his lips found Gaudet’s he wondered absently what all the trouble had been about, why he hadn’t just done this with the dawn light, when it had been all he had wanted.
“I didn’t want to share you tonight,” Gaudet whispered into the kiss. William’s heart leaped with desire and he rested his forehead against Gaudet’s. “Was I terribly beastly?”
“No.”
“Claudine says I am prickly.”
“Forgive me,” William implored. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Never say sorry.” Gaudet’s lips brushed William’s again. “Never ask for forgiveness.”
He was silent for a long moment as he kissed Gaudet almost desperately, everything feeling utterly off-kilter and confusing. The kiss went on for longer than ever, another following, then another as they sheltered in the shadows of the nighttime village. Needing the closeness of the man, the heady scent of his perfume, William slipped his arms around Gaudet and lost himself in their embrace, all thoughts, all worries, all ‘sorrys’ set aside for now.
“Guillaume…”
“Come back to the house with me.”
Gaudet nodded breathlessly, setting Pap down before he whispered, “To our bed?”
“To our bed,” William agreed, heart hammering so hard he was sure Gaudet must be able to hear it.
“Oh.” The playwright laughed softly, no trace of the usual shriek of mirth. “For a carriage.”
“We’d better get walking.”
It was after one last kiss that Gaudet pulled away to do just that, William’s hand still held in his. He found himself silent as they walked along, his fingers laced with Gaudet’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He couldn’t think past each moment, the journey seeming to take forever until they finally, thankfully, reached the house.
As though she had been prompted to do so, Papillon trotted upstairs ahead of them and nosed her way into the room where Dee’s daughter slept, leaving them at the foot of the staircase. The house lay in silence, all its inhabitants asleep or safely in their own rooms.
“Well…” William heard himself say, clutching Gaudet’s hand and clinging to him as though his life depended on it.
“Well?”
“I really don’t know what I’m doing,” William whispered.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want,” he admitted, “to go upstairs with you.”
Another kiss, then Gaudet led him gently up the staircase, turning to steal the occasional kiss on the way. William kept close, realizing, as they reached the door, that he was trembling, praying Gaudet did not notice.
“We will just…?” Gaudet drew him into the room, telling him, “Whatever you want.”
“Show me.” He pushed the door closed. “Show me how it can be.”
Gaudet answered that with more languorous kisses, his arms around William’s waist and his hands sliding over his back. It was impossible not to sink into him, returning kisses and caresses as best he could, the heat between them growing with each passing moment. With softly encouraging whispers, Gaudet slid William’s coat from his shoulders, exploring the kiss gently with his tongue.
He was happy to let Gaudet lead, relinquishing the careful control he usually kept over everything, barely caring when his coat fell to the floor before he ran his hands over the front of Gaudet’s shirt.
“No waistcoat tonight,” the Frenchman said good-naturedly as he shrugged off his own coat, “I had decided to try being rustic.”
“I’m glad.” He pulled Gaudet’s mouth back to his. “Less buttons.”
“Less buttons,” he repeated, slapping William’s bottom rather opportunely, sending a surge of heat through William’s veins. With something close to a growl, he pulled Gaudet tight against him, the kiss that followed decidedly more desperate.
“Chérie,” Gaudet declared, slapping him again. “My Guillaume.”
“Bed…”
“Can we get,” he tugged at William’s shirt urgently, “all of this off first?”
“Mm…”
The next while was spent divesting each other of their clothing, William finding the process much hindered by the need to touch every fresh area of exposed skin, stroking, feeling, exploring this man who had bewitched him as no woman could.
“You are…beautiful,” Gaudet told William, his gaze roaming over him. “Utterly.”
A short laugh escaped at that, the word one that had never before been applied to himself. “No.”
“Be
autiful,” he repeated, trailing one hand down William’s chest before he pressed his lips to his throat, nuzzling softly.
In response, he closed his eyes and slipped his hand into Gaudet’s hair as he murmured his name, arching to the touch, to the faintest scrape of teeth teasing his neck. He surrendered to it, heart pounding afresh when Gaudet trailed his hand lower over his chest, his stomach, moving to brush his thigh.
“Bed.” Gaudet stepped back as he whispered the word, taking William’s hands in his own and leading him to the bed.
He let himself be eased down to the simple covers. A moment later Gaudet’s lips were on his again, his hands roaming over William’s body.
What he wanted, how he felt, was almost overwhelming, Gaudet’s name a gasp. He lost himself in a long, deep kiss. At the sound of Gaudet’s soft breath of anticipation, his heart quickened still further, hips shifting restlessly when the Frenchman stroked his fingers over him.
“Do you want…?” William struggled for the words, flushing deeply at the suggestion that had almost left his lips. How did one say it to a man?
“Tonight is for you, chérie,” Gaudet promised, hand moving against him. “Anything you might want.”
“I want—” He gasped, closing his eyes at the touch, before forcing them open again. “I want you to have me.”
“Guillaume,” Gaudet whispered gently.
William held his gaze, sure once again that no name could sound so perfectly decadent.
“Just show me what to do.”
“Oh, I think”—he kissed William again—“you will just know.”
The thought was comforting, even as he kissed Gaudet hungrily, exploring wherever he could reach.
“Do you feel”—he dropped his head to kiss William’s chest—“ready?”
Did he? He considered for a moment before nodding, watching Gaudet breathlessly in the dim room.
Still pressing soft kisses to William’s throat, Gaudet moved between his legs, closing one hand over his hip. William felt as though he could barely breathe, gaze fixed on the man with him, the man who had occupied his thoughts for longer than he might care to admit.
“Please,” he gasped, “I want—”
“I want you,” came the answering admission, Gaudet’s hip lifting him a little until he could press closer.
William closed his eyes at the words, wondering how anybody could want him.
Gaudet slipped his hand down between William’s thighs, softly stroking, caressing him. He was like a musician playing an instrument, practiced and intuitive. The touch was tender yet assured before, with exquisite care, Gaudet moved his fingers over his skin, heat building where they came to rest. For a moment, William tensed, but another kiss was all it took to relax him once more and with a soft breath, Gaudet pushed one of his fingers gently into him. He gave himself over to it, gasping as Gaudet whispered endearments, sliding a second finger into his body.
William moved his hips instinctively, lifting them in a silent encouragement to meet Gaudet’s touch, to deepen it. His apprehension dissolved at the feeling of pleasure and he knew nothing but the night and them, this sensation that he had never even imagined. He gave a deep moan of pleasure that was stifled against Gaudet’s lips. As he gave another moan, William clutched the Frenchman’s back.
Still exploring with his fingers, Gaudet shifted to nibble at William’s earlobe, brushing his tongue over the skin with each whispered sentiment. This seemed to go on for long, delicious minutes before Gaudet withdrew his fingers and slipped his arm around William’s waist.
For a second, as Gaudet bought his other hand to his mouth, William didn’t realize exactly what he was doing. It was then, as he licked his palm and rubbed the spittle over himself, that it dawned on him that the moment he had longed for had arrived. He felt that shiver of uncertainty again, glad for Gaudet’s kisses when their lips met once more.
Still, his body tensed slightly in anticipation, a moan escaping as Gaudet entered and filled him. It was unlike anything he had felt and he tightened his grip on Gaudet’s back, barely noticing the scars of Tessier’s lash.
A soft whimper slipped from Gaudet’s lips and he pressed a tender kiss to William’s mouth before he started gently to move. Any discomfort quickly gave way to pleasure, and he was soon following Gaudet’s lead instinctively, pressing his mouth eagerly against his lover’s lips as he let his hands roam and explore.
For a moment, more than a moment, William felt the nag of discomfort. Not the sharpness of pain but a dull pressure deep within him. Gaudet’s hips shifted and the sensation subsided, the ache giving way to something rather more pleasurable, something he couldn’t quite describe. William hadn’t known what to expect, yet it wouldn’t have been this. This was a pleasure that was quite unlike anything he had felt in his life, far removed from those stolen liaisons with tavern girls and bored society wives.
Those women had been soft and yielding to touch, yet Gaudet combined that softness with an unexpected strength, firm muscles moving beneath hot, smooth skin. A faint sheen of perspiration covered them both. It seemed to glow on Gaudet in the candlelight, highlighting every contour, everywhere William found now that he longed to know.
William opened his eyes once more and met Gaudet’s gaze, dancing flame reflected in the vivid green. He thought then of their own dance in the fields, the dance they had been doing since their first meeting, the delicious twists and turns that had led them here.
“Cherie,” Gaudet whispered then he dipped his head once more, nuzzling his lips into William’s neck. He arched into the touch, closing his eyes as he let his other senses take over, carried away on the ever-heightening feeling of pleasure. The only sounds were their soft whimpers and moans, the scent of Gaudet’s skin as bewitching as any cologne. It wasn’t the saddle soap and leather smell of a man on the road, nor the rosewater of a dandy at his toilette, but something entirely undefinable, silk and lace and him.
It seemed that there was no one else in the world but them, the sparse surroundings of the ramshackle house forgotten. William knew only the touch of the man with him, heard only their shared breathing, the occasional moans that he realized now were coming from him. He could have quite happily stayed like that forever, but his desire was mounting swiftly, release not far away as he gasped the fact against Gaudet’s mouth, sliding his palms restlessly across his back.
“God.” He bucked his hips, catching his lip with his teeth momentarily. “Yes!”
“Guillaume,” Gaudet urged, thrusting harder. “Chérie.”
He tried to say something but couldn’t have gathered a thought and instead cried Gaudet’s name before he lost all control, spending hard between them. It was just seconds then Gaudet followed, a crushing kiss claiming William’s lips in the final moments.
William couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could barely breathe as he clung to Gaudet, happy to just let the world get on without him for a while.
Alexandre Gaudet was not a playwright.
He was a damned magician.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The man known to the small band of runaways as Professor Dee went by many names, each governed by the territory in which he found himself. His interest in the espionage business had, until now, been academic, a lucrative exercise in paperwork. After all, he was nothing more remarkable than a Dublin scholar with the occasional sideline in acquiring priceless treasures even if now and again he also contracted freelance agents to carry out the odd bit of work for the British crown. Not until this trip to France had he been quite so in the heart of the action, though. His first instinct, upon discovering that Gaudet and William were on the run, had been to gather up his daughter and the best friend who traveled with them and flee for safety, leaving the lot of them to it, but he would not, could not, as well he knew.
He was not a man who could turn his back on anyone, and he suspected that, one day soon, Bastien Dupire might need someone reliable when his mother showed her true colors and grabbe
d for the diamond.
Now Dee lay in the gathering dawn, half-awake and half still dreaming of a life without danger, no longer on the road but settled once more in his tranquil home, living a few quiet months after weeks of travel.
Soon, he promised himself as he rolled over and tugged the blanket up farther. Soon we will be home.
The sound from beyond the door alerted him to the presence of another in the second before the door itself started to open. He slipped his hand beneath the pillow for the touch of the pistol there as someone entered the room, the door closing a moment later.
The light tread of bare feet suggested that the intruder must be one of the few women in the house. He knew immediately who it would be and why. Gaudet’s drama the previous day had delayed their departure yet when Sylvie had disappeared for her short sojourn that same morning, she could not have known they would be remaining here in the farmhouse. That Sylvie Dupire was passing information to Tessier’s agents was beyond question—that she would now fear they would suspect her of betrayal might drive her to anything.
What that anything might be became clear a moment later as the covers shifted, the thin mattress beside him dipping with Sylvie’s slight weight. There was a long pause then, the only sound the softness of her breathing beside him.
“I believe, Mademoiselle Dupire,” Dee opened his eyes to look at his unexpected companion, words soft, “you have happened into the wrong room.”
“On the contrary, Professor…” She lowered her eyes for a moment, he noted, before meeting his gaze again. “I’m exactly where I meant to be.”
“You are seeking to…secure our alliance?”
“If you want to put it like that.” She chewed at her lip, eyes wide with feigned innocence.
“Yesterday, just before breakfast”—Dee reached up to run his hand gently down her hair, gaze sweeping over her—“I searched the house but I couldn’t find you—you were all I could think about.” He met her eyes, asking, “Where did you run away to?”
Her gaze dropped briefly before she shrugged. “Sometimes you just need to get away.”
The Star of Versailles Page 22
