Joseph smashed his fist against Augustin’s thick jaw, knocking the man to the floor. A gasp rippled in the crowd. Calmly, he placed his hands behind his back and slowly strolled the perimeter of the large circle, looking out at the crowd. “None of the men here have had this woman. None of you have been that fortunate. But I have. Joseph d’Alumbert. Anyone who finds amusement in that may step into the circle. I promise you, if you do, you will be joining the Comte de Coix on the floor.”
He paused and took in the dead silence.
Joseph continued. “Let me correct everyone on her name. You may call her Mademoiselle de Sarron. Or if she permits it, Emilie. But I have different names for her.”
Joseph stopped and faced her. Her gaze nervously darted to the crowd, and back to him.
“She is Emilie the Brave. Emilie the Beautiful. Emile Who-Has-Stolen-My-Heart de Sarron. And I want her to be mine for the rest of my life, more than words can say . . .”
A collective gasp rose from the onlookers, but no one was as stunned as the blond beauty before him.
“Will you marry me?” he asked from the heart.
Her chin dropped, and he saw the glistening paths of tears she was too proud to show.
“Out!” he commanded the crowd without removing his gaze from her. Reluctantly, people began to disburse, murmuring as they left.
Joseph approached her, cupped her face, and tilted her chin up. When her gaze met his, he gently wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I am sorry about what happened that night. I’ve wished a thousand times that I’d done something. Anything that would have spared you the pain of that eve. Initially I wrote to you a year ago out of guilt—a troubled conscience—but I fell in love with you a little more with each and every letter. I’m sorry for the deceptions, but I won’t apologize for being with you. I’m not sorry about that. There’s a connection between us and it’s wonderful. You know it, Emilie. You feel it, too. Say you’ll marry me. I love you, Emilie, and I know you love me. I can see it in the way you look at me. I can feel it in the way you touch me. Be mine, ma belle.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. She shook her head. “How can you want to marry me? You don’t even know what I look like . . . what the scars look like.”
He smiled tenderly at her. “I don’t care.”
“You say that because you’ve never seen them . . .”
“I say that because I’ve seen all I need to see to know unequivocally—you’re what I want. Whom I love.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. He took advantage of the moment, dipped his head, and kissed her. A soft gentle kiss, praying all the while she wouldn’t push him away.
The moment he felt her return his kiss, her lips parting for him, he slid his tongue inside, wanting to shout with jubilation. Tender yet ardent, it was filled with more emotion than any kiss he’d ever given or received.
It heated his blood and warmed his heart.
He needed her. They needed each other.
Impatient to have her, he broke the kiss and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”
Joseph briskly crossed the vestibule, climbed the stairs, and made it back to her private apartments in no time. The moment he closed her door, he pushed her up against it and feasted on her delectable mouth, his fingers immediately at the fastenings of her bodice, undoing them before she could protest.
But she didn’t protest. She softly moaned into his mouth, her hands moving to his back, fisting his justacorps.
“Emilie . . . admit you love me. I can even feel it in your kiss. I’m the same man you corresponded with. Whom you wanted to share your most intimate thoughts and longings with. I’m the same man who’s made love to you every night since your arrival. Your hurt and anger at me for my part in that night so long ago is not unjust. If I could change that night, I would. Let me make it up to you—by loving you, by cherishing you the rest of our lives. Say it, Emilie. Speak the truth. Say you love me. Say you’ll marry me.”
Emilie was trembling. It was the truth! She couldn’t believe she was deeply in love with Joseph d’Alumbert. That she had been all this time. “I do love you. But I can’t—”
He cut off her words with a brief, hard kiss, then he stepped back and removed his justacorps. Then his vest.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to have you. No gown, no stays, no chemise. Nothing between us.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t expose myself that way.”
“Yes you can, Emilie.”
“No! It’s—It’s the reason I can’t marry you. If you were to see how ugly the scars are, you’d understand. You’d be repulsed. And you wouldn’t want me for a wife.”
He smiled. “I could never be repulsed by you. But if you think you can drive me away with your scars, go ahead and try. It won’t work.” He opened his breeches and pulled off his linen shirt, discarding it. “Take your clothes off, Emilie.” He took her hand and brought it to his cock. She couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around his hard shaft. Arousal flared in her belly. He stroked her hand along his length. “You’re mine. I’m going to come inside you. I’m going to stay inside you until the end.”
Her sex clenched hard and moistened. Every fiber of her being screamed, Yes! Do it!
Suddenly she was sick of hiding. Concealing. Afraid of her scars being seen.
He said he couldn’t be repelled. Could that miraculously be true?
She wanted to be with this man. She loved seeing herself through his eyes. She loved how happy she felt around him.
She loved him so very much. She wanted to hold on to the bliss he brought—for a lifetime. And her scars were the final obstacle in their paths.
Emilie pulled her hand away from his beautiful prick and began to strip. A slow grin formed on his handsome face. He helped her discard her clothing down to the final chemise.
Her beautiful swan costume lay scattered on the floor.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her to her bedchambers. Setting her down before the bed, he removed the last of his clothing.
He stood naked, unabashed. “Your turn, Emilie.”
Her heart pounding, she drew in a shaky breath. I can do this. Grabbing handfuls of her chemise, she pulled it up over her head in one quick movement, fearing that with a slower progress she’d falter.
Standing naked, she met his gaze.
He was smiling. “I just see beauty.”
That’s because I haven’t turned around and showed you my back yet. Emilie swallowed hard and forced herself to turn her back to him.
Facing him were her scars, covering her back, and down the backs of her arms to her elbows. Pink to dark red blotchy skin. Thick. And raised. And uneven.
And horrible to behold.
Not having the courage to turn back around to see his reaction, she waited for him to speak, her insides quivering.
She felt his lips against her shoulder first. She lurched. He slipped his arm around her waist and bent her forward, her palms bracing against the mattress. Kiss after kiss was pressed against her back as he slowly made his way down her spine. Tears welled in her eyes and fell onto the bed. She was so stunned, so moved, she couldn’t believe what he was doing.
He straightened, leaned over her, and near her ear he repeated, “I just see beauty.”
Shaking, she couldn’t speak. Overwhelmed by emotion. Overwhelmed by him. Her only sounds were her ragged breaths.
He captured her nipple between his strong warm fingers and gave it luscious rolls and tugs, instantly swamping her with sensations. His other hand reached around and he began fingering her with devastating finesse. “I’m going to take you from behind—one of my favorite positions.”
Already wet and feverish for him, she would have agreed to just about anything.
“You want my cock, Emilie?”
“Yes!”
“Yes, Joseph. I want to hear my name from your lips.”
“Joseph . . . I want your . . . cock.”
He slid his shaft along her slick folds, grazing the engorged head over her pulsing bud. She gasped.
“Joseph, I love you. Say it.” He was smiling. She could hear it in his tone. The rhythmic strokes across her private flesh were sublime, flooding her body with pleasure, inciting an all-consuming hunger.
“Say it, Emilie,” he insisted.
“I love you, Joseph.”
“I will marry you, Joseph,” he said.
“Yes! Yes, I will marry you, Joseph . . . Please . . . I want you inside me.”
“There’s a request I cannot refuse.” Grabbing her hips firmly, he drove his cock into her.
She cried out and fisted the counterpane, deliciously stretched and full by his possession, which was exquisitely deep.
He thrust again. And again. Gliding his shaft over a sweet spot inside her slick walls, giving her a barrage of knee-weakening sensations. Making her moan and gasp.
“Dieu, I love your tight grip on me. How does it feel? You like being taken this way, don’t you?”
“Yes!” She’d love anything as long as it was him doing the taking.
Pushing her bottom toward him, she was eager for more, reveling in the glorious friction of his driving sex. It was sheer rapture, and she was fast approaching a stunning release.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you? I can feel it,” he rasped. “Your sweet sex is sucking me in with the most delicious tiny spasms.”
Dear God, it was true. She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Her inner muscles were milking his shaft greedily, ravenous for more.
“Come with me, Emilie. I want you to come when I do.”
Oh, how she wanted that.
He slipped his hand between her legs, paying homage to that tiny bud so sensitized with desire, sending torrents of scintillating sensations straight into her core. The strokes of his hand and the strokes of his sex were double the pleasure and shot her into ecstasy, his roar of pleasure joining her scream as he pulsed inside her and poured himself into her depths.
She sobbed with joy and rapture, her sex wildly contracting around his plunging shaft, milking him until he’d spent his final drop.
Her breathing and her thundering heart slowed; her legs and arms were lax.
Emilie’s entire body hummed with satisfaction. And bliss.
He swept her up in his arms and deposited her tenderly on the bed.
Lying beside her, he pulled her to him. “You’re going to let me stay the night.”
She smiled. “Is that an order?”
Joseph returned her smile. “Take it any way you wish. I’m not leaving.”
“I know. That’s why I love you.” Slipping her hand behind his head, she pulled him to her for a kiss. She was lying completely naked and comfortable in his arms—loved and in love.
The transformation was complete.
By the magic of this man, Emilie de Sarron had indeed changed from an ugly duckling to a most beautiful swan.
The Princess and the Diamonds
1
“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this, Montfort? You’ll be turning on your peers,” Renault de Sard asked from behind his desk.
Mathias Paul Thomas de Tesson, Marquis de Montfort, found himself seated in the home of the Lieutenant General of Police of Paris, sequestered in his private study—rather than at his public office.
This was no ordinary meeting. Its secrecy paramount. The mission at hand was to topple some of the highest-ranking nobles of the realm, aristocracy that considered themselves untouchable. Above the law.
Unfazed by the Lieutenant General’s comment, Mathias sat back in the silk upholstered chair.
“You need a spy. The King wants his ban on Basset enforced. And I am at your disposal.” He’d been eager since Sard approached him two days ago. In fact, this was the first time since Charles’s death that he’d felt any fire at all. “Besides, you know as well as I do they turn on each other every time they sit at a Basset table.” He couldn’t keep the disdain from his tone. His disgust wasn’t simply directed at those breaking the King’s new law, but at himself.
He hadn’t been any different from those who still gambled at the game. Lord knows he was no stranger to the gaming tables. Women and gambling had been his favorite forms of recreation. He’d enjoyed vice. And with his wealth and skill, the monetary losses had been minimal and without detriment.
Gambling had never really cost him. Until five months ago. Five months ago Basset had cost him the life of his closest friend.
“Yes, well, I have finally impressed upon His Majesty that if we don’t make examples of men of high rank, his edict will continue to be ignored—and more prominent families will be brought to their ruin,” Sard said.
Mathias didn’t need anyone to explain to him the damage Basset caused. The card game wildly popular among those wealthy enough to play with high stakes, Basset could make or break fortunes in minutes. He’d seen both men and women lose staggering sums.
Lose everything.
He’d stopped playing when the King had issued his decree. He only wished Charles had done the same. He’d be alive now. His wife wouldn’t be a widow, and his young daughter would still have her father.
Charles would never have lost all that he owned—or committed suicide.
“I quite agree,” Mathias said. “Unless you bring to heel those involved who are of the highest rank, the wealthy will continue to pay the King’s edict no mind.” He stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you wish me to do, and how soon may I begin?”
“I like your enthusiasm, Montfort.” Sard smiled. “I need you to gather names. Tell me who the regular players are, who the biggest players are. And of course, most importantly, who the dealer is—the one that minds the bank—and reaps the biggest rewards at the game.”
Mathias gave the Lieutenant of Police a mirthless smile. “No problem.”
“Do you have anyone in particular in mind we can focus on? If we’re to make an example of him, he must be highly notable.”
Mathias’s smile broadened. “I’ve the perfect man to suggest. The Duc de Navers. Is that notable enough for you, Sard?”
Sard lifted his brows. “A duke?” His brown eyes danced with delight. “Oh, Navers will do just fine. Perfectly, in fact.”
It was perfect. In so many ways. Charles lost his wealth to Navers. In his very own mansion in the city—Hôtel de Navers—the Duc was making a fortune from his biweekly private gaming den. Right under the nose of the Paris police. Without concern. Or regard for the royal edict.
Navers wasn’t the only noble who hosted Basset games. But he was the one Mathias wanted to focus on.
“Navers’s games are masked,” Mathias added. “Only those with funds enough to play are permitted. That includes any wealthy merchants from the bourgeois. The mask allows for anonymity, and makes everyone equal while playing Basset, regardless of title. Money is the only thing that is held in esteem at the gaming table. If you lose everything, then and only then are you unmasked. Before you’re permitted to leave the table, you are made to sign your ruin.”
At that Sard frowned. “How will you know who is who?”
“I’ve played many years with the same people. It won’t be difficult for me to determine who is in attendance. Mannerisms, expressions of speech are not covered by a mask. Neither is a man’s or woman’s style of play. No one will go unreported.”
“And you’ve no conflict of conscience or qualms in advising me of each and every person there?” Sard pressed. Clearly the man wanted to be assured of his commitment to the mission.
“None,” he said without hesitation. “The rule in Basset is that you have no friends.” He didn’t have any friends left. At least none like Charles.
For him and his family, for others who’d suffered the same fate, and for any further such tragedies, he was going to put an end to Basset once and for all.
Nothing and no one was going to stop him.
“Is there anything I can say that will stop you from doing this?” Bernadette asked, worried.
“Or I?” Caroline looked just as concerned.
“No.” Gabrielle’s response was unequivocal as she studied her attire in the mirror with a critical eye. “I think it looks perfect. The binding around my chest is a tad too tight.” She squirmed, uncomfortable. “But overall, I think I’ll pass for a man.”
She was taller than most women. For once, her height was an asset.
Bernadette sighed. “I’ll loosen it a bit, but you do have breasts, Gabrielle. You are a woman. For God’s sake, you’re a princess wearing men’s clothing. This mad plan of yours has me worried sick.”
“Everything will be fine.” Gabrielle removed the blue satin justacorps she wore and handed it to Caroline. She fumbled with the closures on her breeches a bit before opening them and pulling out the shirttails.
Her plan had her more than a little anxious, too, but she refused to show her unease to her two closest confidantes, her ladies-in-waiting. Both distant cousins, they were a few years older than Gabrielle and the only ones she trusted to take with her on this secret trip from Versailles to Paris.
The only ones she’d divulged her true intentions to. There were only three people she trusted in the world, her half brother Daniel and the two women before her.
“Hold up your arms,” Bernadette said, slipping her hands under the shirt and loosening the binding around Gabrielle’s breasts. “There, is that better?”
Gabrielle took a deep breath. “Much better.” She readjusted her clothing and accepted the justacorps Caroline handed to her.
“What if the King realizes you’re not in the country with your uncle at his château?” Bernadette asked.
“Never mind that.” Caroline waved off Bernadette’s comment. “What if His Majesty learns you stole some of the royal diamonds and intend to gamble them at the Basset table? He’s put a ban on the game.” She shook her blond head. “I don’t even want to think about what he would do!”
The Princess in His Bed Page 20
