Joseph tore out of bed.
Emilie moved through the grand vestibule slowly, squeezing her way through the crush of people. Searching for Vincent.
It seemed as though there were even more guests in attendance this night than the night before. She held on to the train of her gown, lest someone stomp on it.
She’d bathed and primped that afternoon, anxiously preparing to see Vincent again. And after much consideration, she’d finally selected her masquerade attire for this eve from the various costumes she’d brought. A cream-colored demi-mask garnished with small to medium light brown plumes ensured her anonymity and matched her gown.
It, too, was cream-colored and had a light brown overskirt that was drawn back to encircle her hips and fell in long drapes behind her. The very end of her train was a soft red.
Her gown had large brown and cream bell-shaped sleeves that were very much like the wings of a bird.
Her attire representative of just that very thing—a bird.
One of her favorites.
A little bird that was rather plain. Upon first glance, it wouldn’t likely garner a second. But what made this creature special came from within. And she liked that. As much as she liked the sound of the bird’s nocturnal crescendos.
This eve, Emilie was a nightingale.
She finally made it into the long corridor that led to the dining room. That was when she spotted him. Vincent. Or perhaps it was Joseph.
He was just ahead, moving with the crowd. Wearing a brown justacorps and black breeches, his tall chiseled form, his strong shoulders were eye-catching; his masculine beauty made him stand out at any gathering.
Her pulse quickened. She quickened her pace.
Clutching her train tightly in her hand, she negotiated around the people who walked between her and the ever-nearing d’Alumbert ahead. Anticipation building with each rapid step that brought her closer to him.
Which one was he?
Her instincts told her—Vincent.
But it didn’t matter, really. She had good reason to stop either.
The moment he got within arm’s length, she reached out and caught his hand, arresting his steps.
He turned to face her. She noted the surprise that momentarily flashed in his eyes, despite his brown-and-black-checkered mask.
“Vincent?” she blurted out softly as people pressed past.
His sinfully tempting mouth lifted in a slow seductive smile. “Yes?”
Emilie felt a surge of joy. She clasped both his hands and backed up, pulling him with her away from the center of the hallway where they were being bumped by the boisterous lot streaming past. She stopped short when her back met the wall.
She couldn’t contain her grin. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Releasing her hands, he pressed his palms against the wall on either side of her head. “Have you, now. Well, then . . . I’m glad you found me, chérie.”
There was something about the way he spoke, or perhaps it was in the way he looked at her . . . Something was not quite right.
Emilie dismissed it as absurd.
He was likely putting on a bit of a performance, given the very public place they stood in and all the ears that moved past. She knew he’d do whatever it took to protect her anonymity. She trusted him explicitly.
“I’m absolutely famished,” she told him.
“Famished?” It wasn’t what he was expecting her to say.
“Yes, for Vincent d’Alumbert’s delectable kisses.” Smiling, she tilted her chin up a notch, bringing her lips closer to his irresistible mouth. “Kiss me.”
6
“With pleasure . . .” Vincent murmured just before his lips met her eager mouth.
Grasping her chin, he held her face captive, angled, as he slanted his mouth over hers. Impatient for more, she parted her lips for him.
He didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue inside.
Something was . . . different. His kiss felt different. The way he kissed her . . . heated, yes, but with a certain detachment and distance she hadn’t felt from him the night before.
And where was “it”? The bolt of hot excitement that rocked her every time he touched her, kissed her. Or even neared.
This was the man she’d surrendered her innocence to and had spent a night and morning of rapture in his arms. She’d shared intimacies with him—on many levels.
This kiss didn’t feel at all intimate.
Suddenly his mouth and the press of his hard body were gone and a growled oath shot out of him.
She snapped her eyes open and gasped.
Vincent’s twin brother, Joseph, stood beside them. The firm grip on Vincent’s arm and the angry frown on Vincent’s mouth told her instantly that Joseph had yanked him away.
“I need to speak to you,” Joseph said to his twin, his jaw tight. Though half his face was covered by his dark blue mask, she could tell he was fuming.
“I’m busy at the moment, in case it isn’t obvious.” Vincent kept his tone light but his voice was strained, clearly struggling with his ire.
“Now,” Joseph said, the word sharply dealt.
For a moment the two large men stared at each other in muted fury. But then, Vincent took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Very well. This had better be urgent.”
Before Vincent could offer her a comment, Joseph pointed a finger at Emilie. “You, stay here. Don’t move from this spot. Vincent will return shortly.” It was an order. Rather an odd one coming from Joseph. She couldn’t imagine why he’d care if a woman waited for Vincent or not.
Dumbstruck, she watched the brothers walk away.
On opening the fourth door in the long hallway, Joseph finally found a room that wasn’t occupied by couples engaged in open copulation.
Stepping inside the library, he was livid. Seething. His very entrails twisting in his gut over an emotion he’d never felt in his life. One he didn’t even believe he was capable of feeling—until Emilie came along. The ridiculous, possessive emotion had torn through him the moment he saw Vincent in a heated exchange with her.
Vincent stopped in the middle of the room, ripped off his mask, and turned to face Joseph. “What was so important you had to interrupt me just now?”
Joseph was just closing the door when Gilbert pushed his way inside, a typical grin on his face. He grabbed a chair, sat down, and pulled off his mask. “I saw what just happened in the corridor. I don’t want to miss any of this,” he said cheerfully.
Joseph held back the few choice words he had for his younger brother, shut the door, and locked it. His focus was his twin.
“So? Are you going to tell me what you want, Joseph?” Vincent asked.
Joseph pulled off his mask. “Yes. I want your clothes. Take them off.”
“My clothes?”
“That’s correct. Remove them.”
Vincent crossed his arms. “When did it happen?”
“When did what happen?”
“When did you take complete leave of your senses?”
Gilbert laughed, but it instantly died when Joseph shot him a glare. Gilbert’s gaze averting to the ceiling, he feigned sudden interest in its mural.
“Vincent . . .” Joseph strove for calm, trying to mask the extent of his discomposure over the incident in the hallway around his brothers. The ridicule would be endless if they had any idea how it had affected him. As it was, he was stunned by how strongly he wanted to slam his fist into his brother’s belly for kissing Emilie. The image of Vincent’s mouth on hers was still boiling his blood. He shouldn’t be this riled. Not after all the women he and Vincent had shared. “Either you remove your attire or I will remove it for you.”
Vincent raked a hand through his hair. “Clearly, by your request for my clothing, you want someone to believe you’re me. Fine. I don’t care. Let me finish with the woman in the hallway and then the clothing is all yours.”
“No!” Joseph cringed at how strongly that came out. “You’re not having the woman
in the hallway.” He’d managed to lower his voice and keep his tone quiet and even.
“Dieu. Joseph, what has gotten into you? First you lay claim to the lady in the cloak and now this wo—” His twin stopped mid-word. Then a wolfish smile formed on his face. “The lady in the cloak is this woman. Isn’t she?”
Merde.
“Well, well . . .” Gilbert rose, snickering, walked over to stand beside Vincent, and casually propped his elbow on Vincent’s shoulder. “Aside from the tantalizing tidbits of his evening with the fair lady, I think Joseph is keeping a great deal from his brothers, wouldn’t you agree, Vincent?”
“I would indeed, Gilbert.”
They were both smiling at him, thoroughly enjoying themselves.
He didn’t want to punch Vincent anymore. He wanted to punch both his brothers.
“So, Joseph, are you going to tell us who the lady is, once and for all?” Vincent prompted.
“No.”
“Very well. I have a lovely nightingale who is waiting for me. Warmed and wet.” Vincent took a step toward the door.
Joseph stood in his path. “I’m not done with her yet. And she isn’t warm and wet for you. Her stirrings are for me.”
Vincent patted Joseph on the shoulder. “I’m fine with that. By the way, she did say she was famished for Vincent d’Alumbert’s kisses. I’m happy to finish what you started.”
Joseph pressed his hand firmly against Vincent’s chest to discourage any progress. “You’re not having her.”
“Can I have her?” Gilbert asked.
Joseph’s gaze jerked to his younger sibling. “Not another word from you.”
Gilbert’s eyes widened, affecting an innocent look. “I was only trying to help—you know, break the impasse?” His lips twitched. He was fighting back a smile.
Joseph turned to Vincent and caught him holding back his mirth as well. Merde. They were playing with him. Purposely trying to push him into showing his sorry state.
Both brothers burst out laughing. “Well, well, I never thought the day would come when Joseph had a tendre for a lady,” Vincent said.
“You’re mad.” Something deep inside Joseph balked at the protest.
Chuckling, Gilbert said, “I’ve just got to know who she is now.”
“Me, too. I’ve never seen you so possessive over any other female. We’re your brothers. We’ve never kept any secrets from each other. Who is she? And why didn’t you use your own name instead of mine?”
“I can’t use my name. Leave it at that.”
“Not enough of an answer,” Vincent pressed. His brothers stared back, still sporting their foolish grins. Sensing his discomfort, they were reveling in it. Clearly, they weren’t going to relent until they got their answers.
“Look, she’s not like the other women here. She’s never done this sort of thing,” Joseph said.
“Never done what sort of thing? Attended one of the Comtesse’s gatherings? Or—”
“Fucked?” Gilbert finished Vincent’s sentence.
Joseph let out a sharp sigh. “Both. There. Is that enough for you?”
If he wasn’t so frustrated, he might have laughed. The looks on his siblings’ faces, wide eyes and gaping mouths, were comical.
“The woman in the cloak is . . . was a virgin? You had a . . . virgin?” Gilbert asked.
“Since when have you ever been interested in deflowering women?” Vincent was clearly incredulous.
Since he met Emilie. A woman who took his breath away at every turn. And had him behaving in ways he’d never conceived. All he wanted to do was to possess that snug wet heat once more and ride her in more sexual positions from her erotic volume. Last night he’d delighted in satisfying her sexual curiosity and basked in the mind-numbing pleasure it was to fuck her.
The mere thought of having her again made him rock hard.
But he first had to get his brothers under control.
He never wanted to have to peel one of them off Emilie again.
“I hadn’t planned on having her initially. It just happened,” was his weak explanation.
“Good Lord, you’ve been trapped!” Vincent’s expression had turned to alarm. “She’s going to tell her family and you, dear brother, are going to be hauled to the altar.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Of course it’s going to happen! You’re the heir to a duchy.” Vincent began to pace. “We’ll say you were with us. That the lady is lying or mistaken and—”
“Well, actually, she thinks you deflowered her, Vincent. You’re the one who would be hauled to the altar.” Joseph’s words arrested Vincent’s steps. For the first time since entering the room, Joseph felt a smile coming on.
Vincent’s expression was one of abject horror.
“Me?! That’s why you used my name? So you wouldn’t be trapped?”
Joseph chuckled. “Be at ease, Vincent. I assure you she has absolutely no such intentions.”
“Was the tumble any good?” Gilbert asked.
Both his brothers shot him a look.
“What?” Gilbert said to Vincent. “You’re not curious?”
Vincent turned to Joseph. “Actually, I am. Was it any good?”
His greedy cock gave an instant hungry throb. “It was heaven.”
The best he ever had.
“A virgin? Really?” Gilbert pondered the notion.
“So why not take credit for the tumble?” Vincent asked. “Just who is this woman? Since you’re using my name, you could at the very least tell me.”
Joseph stared silently at his brothers. As much as they needled him—and it was going to be incessant over this—he knew they wouldn’t relay any information he gave them to anyone else. Perhaps if he enlisted their help, it might make it easier to get through the week?
If he didn’t count the nerve-grating, aggravating ribbing he was going to endure from them.
Joseph drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “The lady is Emilie . . . de Sarron.”
Gilbert and Vincent exchanged curious looks until dawning changed their expressions to mouth-gaping astonishment.
“You fucked Emilie Embers?” Gilbert exclaimed.
Fury rocked Joseph. He grabbed a fistful of Gilbert’s justacorps and yanked him forward. Their noses butted. “If you ever—ever—call her that again—or anything similar—you will rue the day, brother,” he hissed out through clenched teeth.
Gilbert’s dark brows rose. “All right. I’m sorry, Joseph . . . It . . . It’s just a shock . . . That you’d bed someone who has . . . er . . . who hasn’t been seen in years.” He quickly corrected himself.
Joseph released him.
Gilbert had the good grace to look contrite.
“Let me see if I have this correct.” Vincent rubbed the back of his neck. “You had a woman no one has seen in a decade, who you knew was both a virgin and Emilie de Sarron? And you used my name. Why?”
“Because she doesn’t much care for Joseph. And I don’t blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t either. Neither of you were at that party that night at the Marquis de Sere’s château. Sere and his wife raised Emilie. Since their daughter was of similar age, they were both introduced to society that night. It was a grand affair. One that eventually garnered the Marquis’s daughter her future husband. It turned out wonderfully for her and disastrously for Emilie.” Joseph raked a hand through his hair.
“Augustin and Henri were well into their cups when the nasty commentary began,” he continued, his tone sharper. “Comments about Emilie’s likelihood of finding a husband. About her always wearing cloaks. Comments that drew a crowd around her and those two fools.” Joseph shook his head. “I’d had my share of merrymaking and drink. I’d laughed along with the others around her at some of the things Augustin said. In my brandy-soaked mind, I actually thought Augustin’s comments were to her benefit. That maybe the laughter and comments would cause her to finally cease wearing the unflattering garb. I behaved like a colossal ass. Sh
e kept looking at me, glancing my way. She knew a word from me would have silenced Augustin, Henri, and the crowd. I did nothing.”
Those three words were as bitter as bile on his tongue. As always, whenever he thought about that night, his stomach clenched. “That party changed everything for her,” he said. “She’d finally had enough—and withdrew from everything and everyone. After having to tolerate names like Emilie Embers and worse all her life, who can fault her?”
“And you’re making amends by lying to her and—despite being the last man she’d ever want, aside from Augustin and Henri—by claiming her maidenhead.” It was Gilbert’s turn to shake his head. “She isn’t going to be very happy if she ever learns the truth.”
No, she wouldn’t be. She’d be deeply hurt. “That’s why we’re going to make certain she never learns the truth,” Joseph countered and couldn’t ignore the sharp pang of regret he felt. She’d cried out Vincent’s name twice last night in ecstasy.
Joseph didn’t know how much more of that he could take.
For the first time in his life, Joseph was caught in his own web of lies. He couldn’t stop wanting her. Couldn’t get her forgiveness. Couldn’t find peace without it.
“Joseph is making amends—in his own way. He’s pleasuring the lady.” Vincent turned to him. “You are pleasuring the lady, aren’t you? I do have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
By the mischief in his twin’s eyes, Joseph knew Vincent was trying to leaven the moment. And he loved him for it.
Gilbert threw up his hands. “All right. I must know. You’re going to get angry, Joseph, but I simply must ask. It’s driving me mad . . . her scars. Everyone has heard rumors about how disfigured she is. How badly is she injured?”
A smile tugged hard at the corners of Joseph’s mouth. There was nothing wrong with Emilie. It was time his brothers knew that. Joseph moved between his two brothers, hooked his arms around their necks, and drew their heads closer to him.
“I’ve seen nothing but the softest, most perfect, lavender-scented skin.”
The Princess in His Bed Page 17
