by Ann Vremont
“Marry me and I promise you there will always be such pleasure.”
“Yes,” I gasped, bright flames of climax burning my flesh from the inside out.
He slowed, almost withdrawing, and I whimpered from the loss of his fullness. He drove hard into me once and I jerked across the mattress in ecstasy. “Promise you will accept no cock but this one, Gabrielle.”
“Yes!” I cried out.
His hand worked the flesh surround my sex and I shuddered beneath him.
“No hands but these.”
“Only you, only you,” I groaned, my heart nearly bursting from my chest, my hearing all but gone. “I promise on my life that I will not love or accept another!”
His body shuddered as I spoke, his climax released into me to seal the vow I had made and proclaim me as his. Collapsing against the bed, he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him so that I was cradled against his chest, his rod still pulsing inside me.
He stroked my back, smoothed away the happy tears that fell from my cheek onto his chest. After a few quiet moments, we started to speak and, again, I marveled that I had won this man as my future husband.
“Did you think of me this week?” he asked, withdrawing from me at last and rolling until we were on our sides facing each other.
“Every day!” I answered.
Insatiable, he reached between my legs, fingering me to the edge of another peak. “And did you touch yourself when I was not there to touch you?”
“You do think I am wanton!” My accusation lacked any genuine indignation. I knew he had every reason to think me so, although my unexpected nature seemed to please him.
“Not so,” he assured me. “It is better, do you not think, for a woman to pleasure herself when her husband is away than to let the heat of her passions melt her reserve with other men.”
“I would never do such a thing, Sebastian!” Did he think I might seek another lover? He could not, but there was caution in his voice and I rushed to reassure him. “Other men are insignificant creatures compared to you.”
“But I must sometimes make long trips, Gabrielle, to see to the entire estate’s needs.” His fingers found their way into my core, their suggestive probing shocking me all over again. “And now, you have no fear of injuring yourself should you miss me.”
“Your father makes those trips.” I heard the weakness of my argument in my voice. It was not that I lacked conviction in what I said, but that he argued with his hands as well as with words and logic. My mind felt wrapped in a warm, wet blanket. I could only repeat myself as he brought me to climax so easily. “Your father makes those trips.”
Stiffening beside me, he withdrew.
“Shhhh…love, what troubles you?” My voice broke with concern.
“I will be absent. Show me how you will survive the separation.”
I could feel my cheeks flush and I drew my hands to my chest, unsure of how to respond.
“Roll onto your back, Gabrielle,” he ordered and I obeyed. “Good,” he said and took my hand, placing it between my legs. “Do you remember how I stroked this little button?” He asked.
I nodded and then remembered that he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
“When I am gone, you can stroke it when you find yourself missing me too much.” He held his hand over mine and forced my index finger straight. Lightly, he made me stroke the length of the button’s spine until I began to moan from the sweet sensation of it. “Do not stop rubbing that sweet pussy, Gabrielle,” he said and removed his hand from mine.
“How does it feel?” he asked, his breath warm against my ear.
“Heaven,” I confessed, my strokes growing more rapid, firmer.
Sebastian eased up the bed until his back was against the frame. Spreading his legs wide, he told me to roll over, onto my knees while I continued to touch myself.
When I was before him, like a cat, he presented his rod to me. He was hard again, deliciously so, and I took a tentative lick at the plump head that rested atop its thick length. He was still coated with my juices, and I licked the length of his shaft, groaning with need as my bottom pumped the air, my fingers vigorously working my sex.
He knotted his hands in my hair, making sure that, as my mouth covered him, I kept my strokes deep and thorough.
“Sweet Gabrielle,” he groaned, his body pressed tight against the bed’s headboard. “I will never forget how sweet your mouth, how sweet your pussy. I will always worship your taste and your body.”
His bold words drove me wild and I tightened my mouth around his shaft, letting my saliva pool so that my lips could work him at a faster pace, a pace that matched the hard strokes I delivered to my own body. I felt his hands clench my hair tighter, his whole frame stiffening.
“Ah, release me, Gabrielle, before it is too late!”
A disobedient wanton, I only clamped his rod more firmly in my mouth, stilling the strokes to the shaft that I might suck his seed from him as my own pleasure flowed warm down my thighs.
“Gabrielle…Gabrielle,” he cried, shuddering against me, filling my mouth with the taste of his lust and love for me. I sucked harder, abandoning my own exhausted pleasures to grab his hips and keep him from pulling away until the last of his desire rippled through his shaft.
He gathered me into his arms then, cooing my name, kissing me, running his tongue along mine before sucking at my lips. “Gabrielle, my treasure.”
I drifted into a light sleep, wrapped in his arms. He roused me a short time before daybreak.
“I must leave, dearest.” He pushed my hair back and kissed my cheek.
“When will I see you again?” It was shameful, the need that trembled in my voice, but already I felt a great weight settling on my chest.
“Soon.” He drew me to him and buried his face in my hair. “By daylight, when I come to take you as my own love.”
His hand found my cheek in the dark and he wiped a tear away. “Does that not make the wait bearable?”
“Yes,” I whispered, but clung to him until he had to kiss my hands away.
“It is almost light,” he said, sitting up and feeling around the floor for his clothing. “Veronique and a trusted servant are the only others who know I am here. I must leave now.”
Hearing my quiet sobbing, he turned back to me, cupping my head. “I would not leave you crying, Gabrielle. What is the matter?”
“You are too good. I fear that you will realize I am not worthy to be your wife.”
“Ah, part of me would tell you how silly you are.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. “But the other part, the selfish part, prays you will always think it so, that I need never worry about losing you.”
“Then say that it will be this week, Sebastian.” I was pleading, glad that, in the room’s darkness, he could not see me now even if it meant I could not see him.
He stroked my hair one last time and then moved quietly to the door. “I have every faith it will be this week, sweet Gabrielle.” I heard his hand on the door, heard him turn the knob. “Just remember your promise when I come to claim you.”
He didn’t wait for my answer, quickly opening the door and slipping out of the room. Wanting to catch a parting glimpse, I rose from the bed, but only an empty hallway awaited me on the other side of the door.
April 25, 1787
The week drags and I begin to despair. Each morning I rise early, taking such pains with my attire for the day. Each night I go to bed no closer to being Sebastian’s wife. What does this delay mean?
April 26, 1787
Still no sign of Sebastian but some hope! Papa, his manner so strange and his sentences so carefully phrased, first inquired of my plans for the morrow (as I often go riding on Friday) and then all but forbid me to go anywhere. But, perhaps Sebastian has abandoned me and Papa, learning my true nature, prepares to send me away!
I cannot imagine the horror of losing Sebastian now. I promised him I would take no other—and it is a promise my heart will not let
me disavow even if he rejects me!
April 27, 1787
How has this come to pass? A blindfolded child I have been, trying to play amongst the grown-ups! And Veronique, her name is “truth,” but she is a creature of lies and I shall make sure the truth of her nature comes back to haunt her.
As I had the last four mornings, I woke early and bathed. I had my maid Claire bring me breakfast before getting dressed. I so wanted to be spotless when Sebastian saw me, no stain on my clothing, person, or virtue. And then I sat in the drawing room with a book that I have had all week and still have not managed to read a single page!
Around two, when I was weak from an early breakfast and skipped lunch, Papa came into the drawing room, taking the chair opposite me.
“I have had a proposal.” His hands nervously smoothed the fabric of his pant legs. “Someone has asked for your hand in marriage.”
He stopped, waiting for my response.
I demurely closed the book I held and sat straighter. “What house?”
“L’Aigle.”
He held his breath, I believe, and it surprised me at the time. (Foolish child!)
I smiled, fighting to keep my hands primly folded in my lap, and set about allaying his apparent fear that I would refuse. “The du Quesne family would be well served by such a match, would it not, Papa?”
He nodded, the heaviness of his gesture at odds with an answer that he should have joyously received. He seemed almost to hope I would say no!
Suddenly, I had an inkling of what might be stressing him so. “Is the dowry too high?”
“No, child, it is remarkably low.”
Like an idiot, I smiled, although I managed not to cry. I went down on my knees, grabbing Papa’s hands and clasping them to me. “Then do not worry, Papa. This makes me happy.”
“You should take your time to carefully consider this, child.” He slipped his hands from my excited grasp and held me by the shoulders as his gaze searched mine. “It would not do to change your mind later.”
Ah, I could not tell him that, even if I had not long desired Sebastian, there was no right of denial left me! But my foolish heart was singing.
“I have no desire to prolong acceptance, Papa,” I answered and moved to the writing table. “Will you dictate your answer—that we might send it immediately?”
“You may tell him yourself, Gabrielle,” Papa answered. “He is waiting for you in the garden’s conservatory.”
I spun around to see if he was joking. There had been no sound of a carriage arriving, not even the jingle of a single horse’s livery.
“Oh, I did not hear that we had guests.”
“He wanted his arrival to be discreet,” Papa answered warily.
Yes, Sebastian certainly knew the art of being discreet! I curtsied low. “With your leave then, I will go and give him my answer.”
“Your mother and I will be waiting in the library for the two of you…” He stopped again, another long pause while I waited for him to finish. “I suggest you take the opportunity to speak with him at length this afternoon before giving him your final answer. I will instruct the staff not to disturb you.”
The shame of it…how my mind raced ahead to think what Sebastian and I, in the bright light of day but tucked safely in the conservatory, might do with that time!
I curtsied again, saying no more, and left the house at a near run. I had to count my steps on the path to the conservatory, else I would have flown across the lawn and into Sebastian’s arms. As it was, I threw the conservatory doors open forcibly, my step faltering as I realized that the man before me was not Sebastian.
“Marquis L’Aigle,” I said and curtsied. What was he doing here?
He looked stricken as he saw the surprise on my face. His hand reached out, stopping just before he touched me. “Gabrielle…”
And then he did touch me.
The voice, the hands…my body responded even as my mind and heart threatened to shut down. What a fool I had been to trust Veronique, to make love to a masked man in the dark! To open my legs to him a second time!
I could feel the tears pooling in my eyes, feel the tremble of my lips as fear and anger flooded into me, forcing down the brief fire his touch had kindled.
His face hardened and his hand moved up to grip my arm so that I might not flee.
“You have a choice to make, Gabrielle,” he said and reached behind me with one hand to push the doors shut. “And I will not phrase it in pretty words.”
He stopped, gave a hard swallow, and released my arm. “Your honor has been severely compromised and not, as you must already know, by Sebastian.”
“Why would you have done such a thing?” I softly voiced the accusation, tears beginning to spill down my cheeks. His gaze, if possible, grew sterner still.
“For the same reason you were willing to have it compromised…love.”
“You cannot think I would marry someone capable of such duplicity!” Reckless, I turned for the door, but he pulled me back and forced me against the wall.
He placed a palm against the wall on each side, trapping me against him, our bodies so close they touched, his scent curling around my senses. Ah, who was I to challenge him? He was, it was widely said, a mercenary in business who had rebuilt the family’s fortune when his father had left him little more than a title. “A cut-throat brute,” the other lords called him. Here I was a mere girl who had been stupid enough to hand him my only marker—my chastity.
His head dipped forward, his lips brushing my hair and temple. “Ah, Gabrielle, I have waited all week for just the smell of you.”
He pulled back and looked at me, his gaze hot and seemingly everywhere at once. Never had I seen his eyes so animated, the sky blue irises burning with life. Always when I had encountered him in the past, he had seemed to do no more than throw a vacant, cold glance my way. What had wrought this change? Did it start as some dark proposal by Veronique to have fun at my great expense? Or had he always worn a mask, that I might not see his true face, his desire for me?
“What do you see?” he asked and tilted his head, studying my expression as he waited for my answer.
I shook my head. I wouldn’t be taken in by the strong smell of him or the heat in his eyes. He had lied to me, plotted my downfall. “A liar,” I bit out. “Nothing more.”
His smile was hard, harder still his erection as he pressed against me, forcing me to breathe in short gasps.
“Your choice then, Gabrielle, is this,” he started and covered my mouth with his, stabbing his tongue past my protesting lips to draw me into his kiss. He broke the kiss roughly, leaving me more breathless than before.
For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten the ultimatum he was to deliver, but then he went on. “You can marry me, let me put you on a pedestal and worship you as I have worshipped you these last few weeks. You will never have to worry about your security or the safety of your family in these troubled times.”
He stopped, with a hesitant arrogance that hardened when I did not then give him my immediate consent.
“Or,” he continued, “I will revoke my offer and reveal the affair. Shall I tell you how much scorn that would subject you and your family to?”
I refused to let him see how the prospect frightened me, or how I struggled against my own body at his very nearness. Squaring my shoulders, I challenged him again.
“You came to me knowing I loved your son!”
One fine blond brow arched as I said “loved,” some mixture of hope and scorn pinning it there as he answered.
“My…my son would not know what to do with a woman if she was tied naked to his bed,” he answered. “I have spared you heartache in your pursuit of him.”
“Only to replace it with an even greater heartache!” I protested.
“Why? Do you think me too old?” he asked. “Too ugly?”
I stiffened against him, refusing to yield my opinion of his age or looks. If he had only touched my skin and felt its heat, he would
have known!
“No answer?” He backed away ever so slightly, still keeping me trapped between his outstretched arms. “You would have an old man like me, then, announce you a whore to the world?”
The barb sank deep and I started to cry again. “You think me such?” I whispered. How could I marry a man who thought me a whore? Why would he wish to marry me if he thought me such?
“I think I want you so badly I shall die from it,” he said. “Now answer me!”
“Your manners are rough,” I cast my eyes down so that he could not read the emotions warring within me.
“That was not the question.” His voice gentled and he pressed against me again, more softly this time, his body not as unyielding. “Do you think me old…ugly?”
“I think you only a brute and a liar,” I relented.
“Have I physically hurt you, Gabrielle?” His head tilted so that he spoke the words against my neck, his warm breath fanning the skin until the tips of my breasts tightened into hard pebbles.
“You have damaged me,” I answered. Oh, I could not look at him, could not let him see the truth lest he own me forever!
“It is only damaged if you deny me…if you do not fulfill your promise.”
“I promised Sebastian,” I cried. “Not you!”
He shook his head and grabbed my hand, forcing it to the crotch of his pants where his manhood surged against my palm, demanding that I surrender. I grew weak at the knees and had to lean against Ambroise for support.
“You promised me, Gabrielle.” He forced my hand to stroke the length of his covered shaft. “This cock.” He grabbed me through the skirt of my gown, cupping my mound and squeezing until I moaned against his shoulder. “These lips.”
God help me! I leaned against the wall, my legs opening against my will as he massaged my mound. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his victory completed.
“No more of this game, Gabrielle,” he warned, his voice clouded with passion. “Do you keep your promise…do you consent to marry me?”
I answered in the barest of whispers, my body beginning to tremble beneath the divine attack of his hand. “Yes.”
“Open your eyes,” he commanded. “I would not think you were picturing another lover touching you.”
