He didn’t deserve the praise and he certainly couldn’t take the physical contact, given his current celibate state.
Gently, Joseph pushed her away. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length and dipped his head, bringing him eye level to her. Big beautiful green eyes stared back at him, drawing him in. Just as distracting was that perfect pink mouth. Seeing another man sampling her drove him half mad. He was starved for those lips. Ludicrous as it was, he wanted them all to himself when he’d never cared much about exclusivity before. Thoughts of sliding his cock between those lush lips flitted through his mind. “So you see now why you must leave,” he forced out, ignoring the mental images. “It’s quite impossible to keep Joseph from you. He’s told me he’ll approach you tomorrow. And we both know how much you don’t want that. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“Wonderful. Then it’s settled. You’re leaving. Let’s pack.” Joseph released her shoulders and walked toward the cabinet where he was sure to find more of her wardrobe, then thought better of it. He’d no idea how to pack. And no interest in learning. Joseph turned back around to face her. “Better yet, I’ll go see to your carriage and I’ll have your personal effects packed and sent to you.” Resting his hands on his hips, he smiled, feeling at ease for the first time since he’d arrived at the Comtesse’s château, despite his stiff prick.
“I’m not leaving.”
His smile died. As did his easy feeling.
“What do you mean, you’re not leaving?” That stubborn look was back, her expression serious and uncompromising.
“I may not want Joseph to approach me. But I won’t leave because of him.”
Merde. “Emilie, we’re talking about Joseph. Remember, horrible, terrible Joseph? You don’t want him anywhere near you. You’ve said so. It’s best you leave.”
“Actually, since you put it that way, I’ve changed my mind.”
His smile returned. “Excellent!”
“I want Joseph to approach me.”
His smile died again. Jésus-Christ. There had to be something wrong with his hearing. “You want Joseph to approach you?” he repeated, incredulous.
“I do. In fact, I welcome his advances. I’ll even encourage them. Then I’ll do something he deserves. I’ll rebuff him. He has it coming, don’t you think?”
Joseph blinked. Speechless. Emilie de Sarron was torturing him.
On every level imaginable.
She smiled. “The mighty Joseph d’Alumbert, contemptible and vile, whom society bends to, and placates at every turn . . . He has never been refused anything. Nor has he ever had a woman turn him down. I think I’ll enjoy doing just that—refusing him. Turning him away.”
Joseph rubbed his forehead, trying to knead away the dull ache that had just developed. Yet the discomfort was small in comparison to his throbbing cock. He couldn’t believe it, but he was hard for a woman who’d just called him contemptible and vile. To his face.
Having mastered the art of seduction long ago, he’d fucked his way through the French court, and yet this one sexual novice had utterly seduced him—with the strokes of her quill, no less. A woman who didn’t dress provocatively and had injuries to her body. And nothing—absolutely nothing—seemed to diminish his desire for her. His fever continued to mount to the point where it was influencing his behavior. His actions idiotic. Because no matter how hard he tried to ignore it or silence it, his every rakish instinct told him that a sexual experience with this unique woman would be nothing short of pure ecstasy. Clearly some otherworld forces were at play. How else could he explain being so ridiculously spellbound? Someone somewhere was making certain he was going to pay for all his misdeeds. Every one of them. This night. At the hands of this woman.
What poetic justice.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Emilie, don’t toy with Joseph, or any man here. No man likes a cock tease. By your attendance at the masquerade, it is assumed you are willing to be taken. Playing the coquette here, with no intention of surrendering sexually, is most unwise. With anyone.”
“Rape isn’t permitted, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she countered.
“What I’m suggesting is that a man may not think you are seriously objecting if you lead him down the path too far. In a setting such as this, people play a variety of sex games and roles.”
She was silent, and he could tell she was carefully considering his words. “I won’t seek out Joseph, but if he approaches me, he will be played upon, and in the end, if he refuses to take no for an answer, he will be cast out of the masquerade. This is, after all, my aunt’s home.”
Joseph wanted to tell her that her aunt would never—could never—shut her doors to any member of the house of Alumbert, but he kept silent.
“As for the other men here, I don’t intend to withhold myself. I want to surrender sexually, as long as they are not Joseph’s friends. You don’t understand, Vincent. I need this. I want a lover. I want to touch and be touched. To know the physical bliss that you and others have known.”
“What if in the throes of passion, he tries to remove all your clothing?”
She tensed. An emotion he couldn’t decipher crossed her features. The words had tumbled from his mouth. He hadn’t meant to voice them, but the gnawing fear wouldn’t relent.
“That isn’t your concern,” she responded tightly. “I’m staying. I’m proceeding as planned and that is final.”
She turned on her heel, picked up her mask and wig, and headed for the door.
Joseph held back the profanities he wanted to bellow out of sheer frustration. Between his brother, Emilie, and this disastrous situation he’d created, he was sure to lose his mind.
Emilie was heading back out there, looking for a lover. Not a single man here deserved her. Least of all him. Joseph was the last person she’d want to touch her. To take her innocence. But when she placed a hand on the door handle, he shouted:
“I’ll be your lover.”
Her hand on the door handle, Emilie stared back at him. She didn’t move. Nor say a word. Her sweet lips slightly parted, she looked frozen in shock.
He shouldn’t have said he’d bed her. But he wouldn’t take it back. There were numerous reasons why having her was wrong. And just as many reasons why this felt so right.
Maybe if he showed her just how desirable she really was, it would make amends for his transgressions against her. He hated it that she’d hidden herself away for years. That she hid inside all those layers of clothes. And most especially that she believed she couldn’t stir a man’s blood unless she masked that angelic face and her identity.
He wanted to prove her wrong.
By no means was he being selfless here. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one to touch her and be touched by her. To take this passionate, headstrong—untaught—female and initiate her into the sexual pleasures she so adamantly wanted to experience. By God, he wanted to fuck her so badly, it made his body ache and the crest of his cock wet with pre-come.
As it was, his sac was drawn up painfully tight. He was ready to explode.
He was going to have her. Tonight. Now.
And once he did, this incessant carnal craving for her would end. No?
4
He jests, Emilie told herself, her heart pounding hard. Scrutinizing his face, she looked for any sign that would confirm it.
His sensuous blue eyes gazed back at her, unflinching. Try as she might, she couldn’t find any insincerity in his expression. Nothing that belied his words.
Dear God, he actually looked serious. He couldn’t be. Why would he be?
“Why . . . ?” The word rushed out of her lungs on a breath, unable to muster more.
His brow furrowed. “Why what, chère?”
“Why would you want to be my lover?” The man could have any woman he wanted. With prominence, power, and fine looks, the d’Alumbert brothers were never short on female attention. They had their choice of mistresses. All o
f whom were beautiful and flawless.
She was neither.
The corner of his mouth lifted with a slight smile. He approached, all male grace and masculine beauty, his tall muscled form stopping before her. Her heart thundered so hard now, he was certain to hear it.
Vincent took her hand and, to her utter astonishment, lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist. A thrill shot up her arm. She felt a quickening in her belly.
He brought her hand to the bulge in his breeches and stroked her palm over his thick length. So large and solid. A feral need throbbed through her core and weakened her knees. “This is what you do to me, Emilie. You stiffen my cock anytime I’m near you. Anytime I think of you. Anytime I read one of your letters where you tell me, bold as can be, your sexual fantasies. I want you.”
She was trembling all over, when she’d never trembled for anyone. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream. One she’d had of him more times than she’d care to count.
He leaned in, his lips grazing across her cheek to stop at her ear. “There isn’t a man here who knows you better than I do. I know what you want. How you want it. I can satisfy all your desires.” Her breaths were ragged. Her head was spinning and her knees almost gave out when he whispered, “I’ll take you, in every one of your favorite positions—pages five to twelve of your erotic book. Then I’ll take you in some of my favorite ways. You’ll enjoy every moment. All you have to do is say yes, ma belle.”
At his endearment, she jumped back, bumping against the wall. My beauty . . . Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back, embarrassed by them. She didn’t allow herself to cry. Not for years. And never in front of others.
She reeled, trying to make sense of it all.
My beauty . . . It was the second time he’d said it, and with the same level of sincerity. How could he mean it?
“You . . . You want . . . me?” It seemed too incredible to conceive, despite the physical proof of his desire.
His half smile returned. “We both do.”
“Both?”
“My prick and I.” He crossed his arms, his smile broadening. “We are in complete accord on the matter. We both want me to bed you.”
Oh God. Beautiful Vincent d’Alumbert desired her.
No man had ever desired her. Or ever would. Or so she’d come to believe after years of mean-spirited commentary and a night of abject humiliation where future suitors had indicated their scorn.
He took a step toward her. “Emilie . . .”
“I don’t understand . . . You say you want me . . . but you know I have s—”
“Such a beautiful face?” he injected. “I know. You’re rather breathtaking.”
Breathtaking? She shook her head. “That’s not what I was going to say. I have bur—”
“Breasts.” He pressed his palms against the wall on either side of her head, hemming her in. “Very nice breasts, actually. I got a glimpse of them when your cloak opened.”
He did? Nice breasts? “No . . . That’s not it at all. What I’m trying to say . . . I have . . .” She forced the bitter words off her tongue. “Burns. And scars. I have scars and burns.” At the moment, she hated them more than ever.
He leaned in, his mouth so close to her own, making her lips warm and tingle. “I’m still hard for you. I still want you.”
Fresh unshed tears blurred her sight.
Gracious God. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.
“What—What about our friendship, Vincent? I don’t want to lose that . . .” She didn’t have many dear friends. And none like him.
“A few days and nights of carnal diversions won’t change anything. It’s only while we’re here. You’ve come to find a man to show you sexual pleasure. Let me be that man.” He brushed his lips ever so lightly against hers. Her nerve endings quivered with life. She parted her lips for him, but he pulled away. “You won’t be bored with me,” he wickedly promised. “And you don’t need to wear a mask with me either.” He tugged it and the wig from her grip and dropped them to the floor.
“Let me give you what you want.” Vincent slipped his hand inside her cloak and cupped her breast. She sucked in a breath. His thumb was drawing scintillating circles around the pebbled tip. Each circular caress making her feel weak and wet. Her sex, slick and needy. Her hardened nipple ached for his touch. “I’ll make you come . . . hard . . . again and again.” He grazed his thumb over her sensitized nipple, tearing a soft cry from her. “All you have to do is surrender to me. Say, ye—”
She shot up onto the balls of her feet, fisted his justacorps, and crushed her mouth against his.
Vincent pushed her up against the wall firmly. Cupping her face, he took command of the kiss, tilting her head to the side, sliding his tongue past her lips, possessing her mouth in a delicious, unhurried kiss. Unlike her masked lover in the gardens, Vincent gave her slow, luscious strokes with his tongue, sending waves of pleasure rippling through her. The light pulsing between her thighs intensified. He kissed even better than she’d imagined any man could. Emilie tightened her grip on his coat, a moan escaping her throat.
Her breaths erratic, she kissed him with urgency, unable to hold to his languorous pace. His taste was inebriating. She couldn’t get enough, sucking and stroking his tongue with famished zeal. This was “it.” The hunger and heat she sought. Her fever mounting by the moment.
Then his lips were gone. Her eyes flew open. Dazed and bereft, she stared back at him, unable to catch her breath.
He was smiling. “I just knew you were going to taste that good. And be that passionate. I can’t wait to taste the rest of you. I’m going to savor every sweet drop.”
His comment made her insides quiver. “That’s odd . . . I was going to say the same thing.”
His brows lifted, then he burst into a laugh. He pushed her back against the wall and gave her a fast fierce kiss she felt all the way down to her toes.
“I can’t wait to have you, spirited and sensual Emilie de Sarron,” he murmured, his mouth on the sensitive spot below her ear, slowly moving down her neck.
Emilie closed her eyes.
Oh my . . . No one had ever called her that. His words coiled around her heart. She cautioned herself. It would be too easy to fall wildly in love with him. And she couldn’t.
This was only an affair. Of the temporary variety.
This is going to happen. Vincent is going to be your lover . . . She’d be pleasured by this gorgeous Aristo, reputed for his carnal skills. His sexual talents matched only by his twin’s. Better still, her first amorous encounter would be with a man who actually mattered to her.
She was seizing the opportunity with eager hands.
Joseph slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him, crushing his cock against her belly. His prick gave a hungry throb. He’d never taken a virgin. Never found the notion of having an inexperienced woman in bed enticing. Yet he wanted to sink his length inside her more than he wanted his next breath.
Grasping the fabric of her cloak with one hand, Joseph pulled it open, unveiling her. She stiffened and tried to pull away. He tightened his arm around her waist. “Easy. You’re safe with me.” His gaze traveled down her slender neck, to the swells of her breasts above her décolletage. Luscious mounds rose and fell with her quickened breaths. The expanse of creamy skin beckoned and beguiled him. Lightly, he ran his fingertips over the curves of her breasts along the scooped neckline. She jerked in his arms. He could feel her racing heart. He knew her hardened nipples were pressing against the inside of her gown. And he could only imagine how good those distended nipples would taste on his tongue. When he met her gaze, he found her eyes were darker with passion. “The cloak has to go.”
“My cloak?” There was a touch of alarm in her tone.
“We’ll remove as much of your clothing as you’re comfortable with, but the cloak goes.” He wasn’t going to relent on this. “You have a gown. You don’t ne
ed it, and quite frankly, I hate it.”
“Really?” She looked down at the thing. “I thought it was pretty.”
Dieu, she’d worn them for so long, she actually did. No matter what color or expensive fabrics she chose, it was no more than a shapeless mantle that hung from shoulder to ankle. A different way to hide herself from society. He wasn’t going to let her. He didn’t want to see her hidden behind it any longer. She should never have been made to feel she needed to conceal herself in the first place. Joseph was determined to coax her clothing off her layer by layer. By the end of the week, she was going to be naked in his bed. Not for a moment did he believe she could repel him, no matter what her scars looked like.
And he had a strong suspicion he knew exactly where on her body they were located. In every illustration she favored in her erotic volume, the woman faced her lover. The marring had to be on her back. Something to keep in mind as he disrobed her.
“Sex is about mutual pleasure, and it pleases me to see more of you. Take it off, Emilie.” He dipped his head and lightly bit her soft earlobe. He liked her little gasp. “Do it. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back. Like a curtain, the cloak closed again, cocooning her within. He waited. Impatiently. Fighting back the urge to rip the thing off for her.
A myriad of emotions crossed her face. She vacillated. Merde. It was a sobering sight. Seeing her struggle with the removal of a simple cloak pierced him to the core—proof of just how greatly the teasing and taunts she’d endured had affected her. Yet for all they’d put her through, incredibly she hadn’t become caustic or bitter. As many would have in her place. She was quick to smile. Sweet and affectionate. Passionate and provocative. Engaging in every way.
She hadn’t allowed anyone to break her true spirit.
She amazed him. He admired her. Something he couldn’t say about any other female he knew.
Silently he willed her to discard the cloak. Wanting it more for her than for himself.
The Princess in His Bed Page 14
