Georges laughed. “Now that’s evasive.”
Seated on the other side of Vincent, Gilbert leaned toward Joseph, grinning from behind his gilded demi-mask. “An answer that begs the question: Just who were you ‘occupied’ with?” He elbowed Vincent. “Wouldn’t you say, Vincent?”
Vincent was sporting the same foolish grin. “I would.”
“In case it’s escaped your notice, we are at a masquerade,” Joseph stated sharply. “You’re not supposed to know whom you’re with.” For his mental peace, he wished he didn’t know Emilie was here. And he didn’t want to know whom she’d be with tonight.
“Ah, my fine friends.” Henri de Villeneuve strolled up and placed a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Did any of you happen to notice our friend, Augustin de Coix?” Smiling, Henri gestured down the table with a motion of his chin. “He’s actually found a woman who can tolerate him. She looks new.”
That grabbed Joseph’s attention. He shot his gaze down the table, spotting his friend Augustin, Comte de Coix, immediately. And the woman he was with. She was wearing a blue and gold demi-mask, dressed in a light blue cloak. His stomach plummeted.
Emilie.
His arm resting on the back of her chair, Augustin leaned into her, his mouth at her ear as he whispered to her, relaying an intimate message. Joseph’s body went rigid.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her before,” Henri said. “Have you?”
“Isn’t that the woman who arrived this afternoon?” Vincent asked.
“No.” Joseph mentally winced. The denial shot out of his mouth a little too abruptly.
Merde. Of all the men in the room, she’d picked Augustin? He was a self-proclaimed ass. He wouldn’t satisfy her. He’d no skill or finesse in bed. Nor did he care to. He’d take his pleasure, then take his leave.
He was all wrong for her purposes. Damn it, he was wrong for her. Period.
Emilie smoothed a hand down the front of her cloak, bringing attention to it. Dieu, she was the only one wearing one. Of all the different costumes in the room, from moderate to outrageous, Emilie’s cloak stood out. It all but screamed, “Emilie de Sarron.” How much longer before his friends realized it was her?
“Look at the way she’s dressed.” The comment came from Gilbert’s mouth, making Joseph want to throttle his youngest brother.
“I like the way she’s dressed,” Georges said.
“Hmmm, me, too,” Henri concurred.
Joseph shot them a look, one that must have indicated just how stunned he was by their response.
Henri’s brows shot up. “What? You don’t agree? Look at her, Joseph. She’s a comely little piece.” A slow smile spread across his mouth. “When the ladies present are wearing low-cut décolletages, our clever little seductress wears a cloak, just to make her stand out.”
“Absolutely,” Vincent concurred. “She’s made it a game. Just think of the fun it will be to peel away those layers and sample the tasty fruit within.”
“She is clever,” Georges said. “She’s donned the cloak just to tantalize our imagination. Every man who looks at her is forced to wonder at the delicious form she’s hidden under it.”
Good Lord. Not at all the reaction he’d imagined.
Just then Augustin reached and yanked open Emilie’s cloak. She started and, with a charming smile, gently closed the cloak again, rose, and left her seat. With nothing but elegance and grace.
Laughter burst out of Joseph’s brothers and two friends.
“It doesn’t look as though the lady is impressed with our Augustin,” Henri said, still chuckling.
Joseph couldn’t shake the sense of relief he felt as he watched her walk away from Augustin. Nor could he help but marvel at the way she’d handled herself. Despite her lack of experience, she hadn’t let Augustin’s brutish advances rattle her.
It occurred to him just then that her chances of succeeding with her plan were great. Aside from her intellect, she was even braver than he’d given her credit for.
Emilie wasn’t going to be frightened away, like some fainthearted ingénue.
One man in this room was going to be the first to enjoy this most exceptional woman. A woman who happened to have the sweetest face, and the softest green eyes he’d ever seen.
A foreign emotion rose inside him.
Joseph wrestled it down.
Feminine fingers brushed across his cheek. Looking up, he found an attractive dark-haired woman standing beside his chair, smiling down at him. Sporting a bright green demi-mask that matched the color of her gown, she wore a décolletage that was so very low, he wondered if she would spill out at any moment.
“Good evening, my handsome lord,” she all but purred. “I have a dilemma. I wondered if you might assist me?”
“Oh? What is your dilemma?” he asked.
Her smile turned saucy as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “It seems that all the seats are taken. I haven’t anywhere to sit. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to use your lap?”
He heard muted snickers from the fools he associated with.
“I never turn away a lady in distress.” Taking her hand, Joseph pulled her down onto his lap. “Allow me to be of assistance.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” She snuggled against his groin, her ample bosom looking even more plentiful from his new vantage point. Right under his face.
She slipped an arm around his shoulders and brought them closer to him. “You may call me Juliette.” A false name. Everyone used them. He loved the anonymity of it all.
She brought her mouth near his ear. “I am yours, my lord . . .” And began nibbling down his neck. Light little bites.
Now this was exactly what he should be focusing on. A sexual encounter with someone he didn’t know. Someone who would never cross his mind afterward.
Joseph closed his eyes, eager to lose himself in the sensations, but the moment they were shut, words Emilie had written rushed into his mind.
I want to know what it feels like to have a man inside me. To know the sensations of each plunge and drag as he takes me to the ultimate fulfillment. Oh, I long to know firsthand how glorious it is to be in a lover’s embrace, lost in passion, locked in the most intimate joining . . .
Joseph’s eyes flew open. He cursed the mental diversion. Don’t think about her. Not now. Focus on the woman at hand. He wasn’t going to think about Emilie. Or if the man she chose would give her the pleasure she sought.
Juliette placed a hand on his chest, and slowly inched her way lower and lower.
“A bet, gentlemen,” he heard Georges say. “A hundred louis d’or says I fuck the lovely lady with the cloak first.”
“A hundred louis d’or says you fail and I succeed,” Henri said.
Joseph arrested Juliette’s hand and forgot all about the woman on his lap.
Her head shot up. “My lord?”
He ignored her, because the next thing he heard was, “I’ll bet, too.” Gilbert drained his goblet, his smile returning the moment he set the vessel back down on the table. “You gentlemen don’t stand a chance when pitted against my charm.”
Georges and Henri scoffed as they rose from their chairs.
“I go first,” Georges said.
Jésus-Christ. Joseph rose with Juliette in his arms and handed her off to Georges. Georges grunted when she landed in his arms.
“There will be no bet!” Joseph decreed, accustomed to ruling his friends. “No one is having her.” Words shot out of his mouth, without censor.
His friends and siblings exchanged curious glances. Joseph knew he sounded like a lunatic. Given the type of gathering they were at, he could hardly make such a statement. But he didn’t care. Emilie was sexually untried. His corrupt friends wouldn’t be gentle with her. Or take her with care, even if they knew it was her first time.
And the mere thought of them recognizing her in the throes of passion and saying something cruel to her tore at his very vitals.
He wasn�
�t going to let them hurt her again, like he’d let them hurt her ten years ago.
“I’m having her,” he added for good measure. “Go find someone else to amuse you.”
Georges put Juliette down. “Ah, come now. You can’t claim exclusivity here. We can all share her.”
Joseph narrowed his eyes. “I’ll claim whatever I want. Find. Someone. Else.” He looked pointedly at each man before him.
That prompted Juliette to turn on a heel, miffed, and stalk away.
“I’d like a private word with Joseph.” Vincent, who’d been silent until now, finally spoke up. The others walked away, grumbling.
“Brother, you lead and they follow. And for the most part, I don’t mind going along, but”—he crossed his arms—“you don’t dictate whom I bed. Now then, care to tell me who this woman is?”
“She’s wearing a mask. How the hell should I know who she is?” He hated lying to Vincent, but the truth was far more complicated than his deceit. And more difficult to explain. There were things about what was going on that he couldn’t explain to himself. And didn’t want to try.
His twin sighed and shook his head. “Fine. Have it your way. You don’t know her. She’s got you intrigued, or some such nonsense. I’m still having her,” Vincent said with finality.
Joseph’s gut tightened. “Not until I’m done with her,” was all he could respond. Pressing the matter any further would make him sound as though he’d gone completely mad. As it was, his behavior was absurd, bordering on irrational. He’d never cared who a woman was with before, during, or after he’d had her.
Vincent silently contemplated his words. Joseph’s heart pounded away the seconds, wondering what he’d have to do to keep Vincent away if he didn’t agree.
His brother’s genial smile returned. “Agreed. You have her first. She’s all yours tonight.” He patted him on the back. “I get her tomorrow.”
Their bodies touched.
He drew his arm around Emilie’s waist and pulled her up tightly against him. Then he pressed his lips to hers. It was actually happening. Her first real kiss. An amorous encounter of her very own. His tongue snaked into her mouth and was presently swirling about. It felt, well . . . odd. But then she’d no experience in this area, and her masked gentleman was seemingly enjoying himself if the zealous sounds he emitted were any indication.
Emilie relaxed her shoulders and laced her arms around his neck, throwing herself eagerly into the kiss, anxiously waiting for the moment “it” would hit her. Passion. Hunger.
That all-consuming desire.
Just like the couple she saw in the corridor earlier. Just like the books she’d devoured again and again. Just like you felt near Vincent . . .
She’d purposely led her masked lover to the gardens. The perfect setting. They were under an indigo sky with a large luminescent moon and a thousand twinkling stars. What could be more perfect? All she had to do was let her lover take the lead, ignore the grunts from the couple who were mostly naked, rutting in the distance. And of course, resist the urge to pretend the man kissing her was Vincent d’Alumbert.
Just focus. Any moment now, she’d be swept up in “it.”
Mimicking his tongue swirls, she angled her head farther to the right and hoped she was doing this correctly. He seemed to like it. He’d pulled her against him tighter, and groaned louder.
Minutes later, he was squeezing her right breast through her cloak and “it” was still nowhere to be found.
Worse, she was actually . . . bored.
This experience was of the blandest sort.
What was she doing wrong? He was handsome, or at least he appeared to be from what she could see of his face that wasn’t covered with his demi-mask. There was nothing unpleasant about him. Not his smell or his taste. What was amiss here? Where was the heat? The exhilaration?
“Ah, there you are,” Emilie heard just before a strong arm slid in between her and the man kissing her, and pulled her back, breaking their contact.
She jerked her head up and was surprised to find herself staring at Vincent, his arm still across her chest, holding her shoulder. He wore his mask, and the same attire he had on earlier. She knew it was him. He gripped her elbow. “Come with me.”
“Just a moment, monsieur! Where do you think you’re going with her?” her flavorless lover protested.
Vincent turned back around and shoved his mask off his face, a scowl etched across his handsome features.
“Oh, it’s you . . . Joseph . . .” The gentleman’s anger was immediately mollified.
“It’s Vincent, you fool. The lady is coming with me. Any objections?” The question was weighty with authority, his elevated rank hanging in the air between the men. It was clear what was truly being asked: “Do you dare object?”
Her anonymous kisser glanced at her, his expression looking remarkably like regret, and then said a soft, “No.”
With that, Vincent took her hand and stalked toward the château with her in tow, the tiny stones on the path crunching beneath her feet.
She was all but running to keep up, her free hand holding her cloak closed so it wouldn’t fly open.
His comportment irked her. “Vincent, just what do you think you’re doing?”
He didn’t respond and kept on walking.
“Vincent, you just bullied that man.” It bothered her to see it. He’d swooped in, without excuses or apologies. An arrogant display that was more in keeping with Joseph’s character and not the Vincent she’d come to know. “Your conduct was rather poor, don’t you think?”
Still no answer. Her ire spiked. She’d no idea what had gotten into him.
“Just because you’re the son of the Duc de Vernant doesn’t mean you’re above reproach.”
“You’re wrong there. I’m afraid it does.” His answer annoyed her further, as did the fact that he was affecting her. The simple touch of his hand was sending delicious tiny tingles reverberating up her arm to her breasts. Hardening her nipples. She’d spent long minutes kissing her masked gentleman with no reaction. Not a spark of heat. Yet some simple handholding with this man, and her body was aquiver.
It was exasperating. Vincent was a friend, albeit an annoying one at the moment. She didn’t delude herself into believing he’d ever desire her. “I don’t care a whit who your father is, you’re not above reproach with me.”
“Believe me, I’m very much aware of that.”
His response surprised her. “Vincent, where are we going? What is all this about? I was in the middle of an amorous encounter when you so rudely interrupted.” All right, perhaps she was a tad grateful that he’d put an end to the dull experience, but he didn’t need to know that. What he needed to know was that she wouldn’t tolerate any high-handedness from him.
“You were in the middle of an encounter, chère. It was hardly amorous. You looked ready to fall asleep. Trust me, I did you a favor.”
Before she could offer up a hot retort, they entered the château’s great room. There was a crush of people now. People who’d clearly consumed more drink, the laughter louder and the throng rowdier than before. Bawdy behavior was more evident and widespread. The light fondling she’d seen earlier around the table had been replaced by open groping. There were more than a few open bodices. Bare breasts. Open breeches. And in a few instances, open fornication.
Emilie was dragged past a giggling woman sitting on her lover’s lap. Her masked man nibbled at the grapes nestled between her amble breasts, making her squirm and squeal with delight. Vincent continued through the crowd, maneuvering her out of the Grand Salon, through the grand vestibule, up the staircase, and down the corridor straight to her private rooms.
When she was finally standing in her antechamber, she pulled off her mask and wig and demanded, “Tell me what we’re doing here.”
“You’re leaving. Now. This night.” He tore off his mask and tossed it carelessly to the floor. “Where are your trunks?” Vincent turned and marched into her bedchambers.
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She chased him in. “What do you mean, I’m leaving tonight? Why on earth would I do that?”
“I’ll get someone to help you pack. Better yet, I’ll help.” He strode to the armoire and threw open the doors. “Dieu, you have a lot of clothes . . . Are there more in the cabinet?”
He, a d’Alumbert, privileged and pampered, was going to help her pack? Tackle the task of a servant?
“Vincent, what has gotten into you? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’ve asked myself that question many times since your recent arrival.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Emilie, you can’t stay. You must leave. The sooner the better.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because this plan of yours isn’t going to work.”
“Really?” Emilie tilted her head to one side. “And why not?”
Joseph noted the stubborn look in her eyes. One that told him she wasn’t about to leave without a good reason. Think of one.
“Fine. You force me to tell you,” he said.
“Tell me what?”
“Joseph wants you.” That wasn’t a lie. Though he wished it was. “I can’t keep him away.” That wasn’t a lie either. He couldn’t seem to stay away from her no matter how he tried. And he couldn’t keep Vincent away from her either.
His easy-mannered twin, who’d always done as Joseph asked, picked a fine time to be unyielding.
Her lips twitched as though she were holding back a smile. “That’s it? That is the reason I must flee in the middle of the night?” She approached, the smile on her beautiful face growing larger with each step she took. “That’s why you interrupted me in such haste?” She stopped before him. Lavender swirled around him, stirring his senses.
His blood warmed. “Ah . . . yes.”
She gave him a radiant smile. “Vincent, you’re a dear!” She threw herself against him, her arms entwining his neck.
Desire hit him in a hot wave on contact. His cock thickened as he took in the warm press of her body down the length of his and her silky flaxen hair against his cheek.
“I’m so moved by your concern. You’re a wonderful, wonderful friend.” She tightened her arms around him and snuggled in closer, inadvertently rubbing his engorged shaft with her belly. Dieu . . .
The Princess in His Bed Page 13
