Now his lips were moving down her torso, slowly, very slowly. His tongue licked at her belly. “You are delicious,” he groaned, repeating himself.
“I want more,” she teased him softly, writhing beneath him.
Immediately his head moved lower and lower, until he was positioned between her soft thighs. His teeth nipped her provocatively, then he kissed the tender flesh hungrily.
“Much more!” she goaded him, pressing her mount into his face.
He complied, pulling her nether lips apart and expertly arousing her bouton d’amour until she was sobbing and shuddering her pleasure. Only then did the king mount her and push slowly into her hot, wet love channel until he was fully sheathed. “Now, you naughty little bitch, I am going to fuck you until you are begging me for mercy!” he growled at her.
“Yes!” Autumn told him in a breathless voice. “Yes!” And when he began to move upon her, thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing, she realized that this man astride her was indeed an expert in the arts of love. Every bit of his reputation was more than well deserved. He pushed her legs back, driving into her so deeply that she could swear he had entered her very womb. “Ahhhh!” she cried, and he laughed. “More!” she begged him, and he complied. Her love passage seemed to widen as he grew harder and thicker within her. “Oh, yes, sire! Yes! Yes! Yes!” She shuddered violently.
“Ah, little bitch! What pleasure you give me! Ah!” the king cried out as he reached his peak and loosed his love juices.
Autumn was half fainting with the delight he had offered her. It had been so long since she had been with a man. Was she fated to go through life like this? Her head spun slowly until finally she could feel her heartbeat returning to normal. The king lay sprawled across her body, panting. Finally regaining control of herself, Autumn pushed him off her. “You are too heavy for me, Charles Stuart. Recover upon your back like a large sea turtle. I will wash us so we may be ready for our next bout of Eros.”
“Madame, how many times do you expect me to service you tonight?” he demanded, half-jesting, half-serious.
“Your cousin manages to tire even me, five or six times in a night,” Autumn told him sweetly. Once he had passed twenty, however, Louis began to flag in his enthusiasm, although Autumn would have never said it aloud to anyone. He was, after all, the father of one of her daughters.
“I am older by eight years than my French cousin,” the king protested. “Have mercy, madame.”
“If you are through then, your majesty, I must tell you that I prefer to sleep alone, don’t you?” Autumn said in dulcet tones.
“I am not yet through,” he said. “I simply need a small rest, and perhaps some wine as a restorative, madame.”
“At once, your majesty,” Autumn said, springing from the bed and moving across the room. But by the time she had poured the wine and returned with it, the king was asleep, snoring softly. With a smile Autumn set the goblet on the bedside table. Then she bathed their private parts. The king would indeed have her again before he left, if for no other reason than his pride.
The evening, Autumn considered, had gone very well indeed. She had captured his interest, and no other woman would be able to do that while Barbara Palmer grew fatter and fatter with the king’s child. It was due, Autumn knew, in February. I shall have at least six or seven months with the king, Autumn thought to herself. It is time for me to gain an English title and a home of my own.
The king slept several hours. When he awoke he awakened Autumn so that he might take his pleasure of her again. When he had finished he arose and, going out into the day room, dressed himself. He returned, fully clothed, to kiss her a final time. “I expect you at court later today. And tonight we shall try my bed, my darling.”
“Perhaps,” Autumn told him, pretending exhaustion, her eyes closing.
“I think I shall have to spank you into obedience,” the king muttered low, but loud enough so she might hear.
Autumn’s eyes opened lazily. “Do not be ridiculous, Charles Stuart. You know as well as I do that no woman has ever pleasured you as I did last night. Even Lady Barbara, for all she holds a place in your heart, if indeed you even have a heart. But if it pleases you that I join you in your bed tonight, then I will do it this once.” Then Autumn rolled over and smiled to herself as she heard the door close behind him. She was in complete control of this situation. She intended to remain in control. She wasn’t going to allow any king to take advantage of her again. This time she would gain what she wanted! Autumn slept.
Betts, told by his master the earl to wait up until the king had departed, escorted his majesty down the dew-damp lawns to the quai, where the royal barge was waiting.
“Good night, your majesty,” Betts said.
“Good night, Betts,” the king responded and, stepping into his barge, gave the order to return to Whitehall.
Betts was astounded that the king should know his name. He hurried back up the lawns to lock up the house for the night. The tall clock in the hall struck three hours after midnight. Betts yawned. He would have quite a tale to tell his wife on the morrow.
The Duke of Lundy arrived shortly after the noon hour and hurried up the staircase to his sister’s apartments. Autumn was sitting up in her bed, a lacy shawl covering her naked breasts. She was sipping from a saucer of green tea and munching upon a thick slice of freshly baked bread, lavishly buttered and topped with a slice of Cheddar cheese.
“You look like the cat who swallowed the canary,” Charlie said, pulling up a chair by the bed. He accepted the goblet of wine that Lily offered him, smiling at the maidservant in thanks. “So he came.”
“He came,” she said, savoring the cheese on her bread, her tongue snagging on an errant crumb.
“Do you think you held his interest?” Charlie queried her. God’s blood, he was indeed sounding like the pimp Garwood had accused him of being. Still, he had to know. It would have been dreadful if the king bedded Autumn once and then ignored her.
“I indeed held his interest, Charlie. No woman has ever taken the initiative with the king. Lucy Walters was his sweet victim and ended up drinking herself to death in Paris, poor wretch. And while Barbara Palmer uses him to her own advantage as I do, she has not my experience with kingly lovers.” Autumn laughed. “He adored my arrogance. I treated him as an almost equal and he loved it! I was, however, wise enough to allow my own passions to run riot, thus giving him the impression he was in full control. He says tonight I must sleep in his bed. I have said perhaps, but I shall not. I shall go to court today and leave early with the headache.” She laughed again. “He will be very disappointed. He will worry. He will even grow angry, for I have truly engaged his lust and he wants more of me.”
“Do not outsmart yourself, Autumn,” her brother warned her.
“I won’t, Charlie. I may play the sick card once. Best I use it to my advantage. Denied my presence, he will only desire it,” Autumn told him, smiling.
“How did my little sister become so cynical?” he said.
“I must play the hand fate has given me, Charlie. I played it badly in France. I will not make that same mistake here in England and once more be a royal casualty. I refuse to be this king’s convenient prey, brother. I should disgrace all my female relatives and antecedents if I were.”
“I think you have grown older than Mama,” he said quietly.
“Speaking of Mama,” she replied, “when are you leaving for Scotland, Charlie? If Mama hears of my situation before you can bring her grandchildren to distract her, she will come pell mell to London and spoil everything.”
“I’ll leave in a few days. I want to be certain your situation is as you think it is. Then I will go,” he told her.
“Help me pick out a gown to wear to court today,” Autumn said. “I think black velvet with diamonds. What say you?”
“That my cousin Charles will need all of God’s help to survive you, Autumn,” Charlie laughed. “I never thought I should feel sorry for the k
ing again, as he has been returned to his rightful place, but by God, sister, I do!”
“Don’t be so damned dramatic, Charlie,” Autumn said, and yanked upon the bellpull to summon her servants.
Chapter 18
There were very few secrets at the court of King Charles II. Within several days it was known that the beautiful widowed Marquise d’Auriville was the king’s new mistress. Ambitious and unimportant courtiers sought her favor. Autumn was charming but noncommittal. Certain men eyed her speculatively, particularly as it was known the Marquise d’Auriville was a wealthy woman in her own right. Autumn ignored the gentlemen, her full attention being given to the king. There were women, jealous the king had not chosen them for his new companion, who made spiteful remarks in her presence, but Autumn just laughed at them. She was more than well aware that when Barbara Palmer had had her child and recovered from its birth, she would return to court and into the king’s affections.
After Charlie had departed for Scotland her two gallants were the Duke of Buckingham and the Duke of Garwood. Buckingham was quick-witted and humorous. Garwood glowered a great deal, speaking little, but when he did, his words were often harsh when directed at her. His attitude irritated her, but she knew she would not have to put up with it after she gained her own title and departed the court. So she teased George Villiers and sparred with Gabriel Bainbridge, much to the king’s amusement and that of the court.
There was something about the duke of Garwood that tugged at the back of her mind. Some memory she could not quite pull up. Yet she knew that she had never met Gabriel Bainbridge before. He had certainly never been in Scotland at Glenkirk, and he had not been to Queen’s Malvern. What was it about him that seem familiar, and yet was not? Autumn shrugged, and pushed the troubling thought away. She needed to concentrate upon her goals of a house, and an English title; for when the time came that Barbara Palmer returned to court, Autumn knew she must step gracefully aside, and yield her place in the king’s bed back to the woman who had already born his child.
Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh, was visited in December by a neighbor on his way home from London. The neighbor could hardly wait to unburden himself of the latest gossip concerning the marquis’s sister who, it was being said, pleased the king better than any woman he had ever had, knowing certain erotic secrets she had learned from King Louis of France, her former lover. The neighbor did not remain long before he was on his way again.
“I am going to London,” Henry Lindley told his wife, Rosamund.
Rosamund had listened to their neighbor’s scurrilous scandal-mongering. “I think you must, my dear,” she said worriedly. “Do you think your mama knows what is being said about Autumn? And where is Charlie in all of this? Should he not be guarding his sister’s reputation?”
“Being the king’s blood, I fear, Charlie’s authority is overruled by his kingly cousin, but I do not want our sister taken advantage of by the king. Mama has told me how French Louis forced her to his bed. Now for our king to attempt the same coercion is outrageous. I doubt Mama knows, or she would have been over to Cadby as quick as a wink in a temper. I must go up to London before she learns of Autumn’s latest behavior and takes it upon herself to correct it.”
The Marquis of Westleigh took to the road the following morning with several of his own men riding with him. He arrived in London several days later, and before even seeking lodgings for himself and his men, went directly to Whitehall and his brother’s apartments. Charlie, however, was not there.
“He has gone up to Scotland to fetch his children, my lord,” the under valet said politely. “He means to bring them home to Queen’s Malvern for the dowager duchess to help him raise.”
“Do you know where my sister is currently residing?” the marquis demanded of the man.
“Yes, my lord. She is in residence at Lynmouth House on the Strand. She will be there now, for she does not come to court this early in the day,” the under valet answered nervously, suddenly suspecting why the Marquis of Westleigh was here at Whitehall.
“Thank you,” Henry Lindley said and hurried off once again. He rode with his men to Lynmouth House, wondering why Autumn was not at Greenwood. Lynmouth belonged to cousins he had met long ago. Well, at least Autumn was not ensconced at Whitehall like a strumpet.
The gates to Lynmouth opened for him when he identified himself. Reaching the house, Henry dismounted, tossing his reins to a stable lad. Entering the dwelling, he was met by a pompous servant who offered a scanty bow.
“I am the Marquis of Westleigh, come to see my sister, the Marquise d’Auriville. Where is she?”
“Her ladyship is not receiving as she has not yet risen,” the servant said.
“I did not ask you whether she was awake,” Henry said in even tones, “I asked you where she is. I will not ask again.” His face was dark with his anger, his manner quite threatening.
Betts bowed again, but he stood his ground to a certain degree. “I will go and tell her ladyship that you are here,” he said.
“You will take me to her immediately,” the Marquis of Westleigh said, grasping the servant by the arm and pushing him up the wide staircase.
Finally cowed, Betts complied, leading Henry Lindley to his sister’s apartments. He knocked upon a wide door. Then, with a third bow he scurried off before it could be answered.
Lily opened the door and quickly curtsied. By the grim look on the Marquis of Westleigh’s face, she knew very well why he was here. “M’lord,” she said, and then she stepped back.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“Her bedchamber, my lord,” Lily quavered.
“Awake?” His handsome face was angry.
Lily nodded.
The Marquis of Westleigh moved past her and, opening the door to Autumn’s bedchamber, stepped into the room. “Good morning, or perhaps I should say good afternoon, sister,” he said.
“Lower your voice, Henry,” Autumn replied, her eyes closed, a cloth across her forehead. “I have the headache and my temples are throbbing.”
Her assured manner took him aback somewhat, but he pressed onward. “Is it true?” he said. “And do not fence words with me, Autumn.”
“If you are asking me if I am the king’s current mistress, Henry, then the answer is yes, and again I plead with you to moderate your tone. I must be at court soon. If I have to go with the headache, I shall not be a happy woman.”
“Jesu!” he swore and sat down, his hand running through his faded gold hair. “Have you no shame, Autumn?”
“Why? Someone had to take Barbara Palmer’s place while she has her little royal bastard. Why not me?”
“Because you are too good for such a life, sister,” Henry said desperately. “Barbara Palmer is not a duke’s daughter. You are!”
“Barbara Palmer has an English title and a home of her own, Henry. I have neither. I am, to be absolutely correct, the Dowager Marquise d’Auriville. The title of marquise actually belongs to Madeline, although she is far too young to use it. Chermont does not belong to me; it is my daughter’s home. I have nothing. When Barbara Palmer comes back to court in the spring the king will dismiss me. When he does he will be generous, as he is wont to be. I will have an English title of my own and a house that I may call my own,” Autumn told her brother in a hard voice. “Oh, I know I could buy my own house, but I cannot buy an English title for myself other than by bartering my honor to the royal stallion. When men compromise their honor for gain of one kind or another, there is little fuss, Henry. Why is it women must be so damned different? Well, I choose not to be.”
He was astounded. “You have grown cynical,” he said.
“Charlie accuses me of the same thing,” she said quietly, “but what else is there for me to do?”
“You could remarry,” Henry said.
“I will remarry only for love,” she told him, “but I doubt that love, the wonderful kind of love I had for Sebastian, comes more than once in a lifetime. Nay, Henry, I shall be
content with my new English title and my own home. I shall live quietly, spending most of the year in England and the summer in France. I cannot deny Maddie her heritage. As for Margot, she will one day be able to choose between France and England. It will be her decision, although Louis says he will find her a husband. I think now he is wed he will conveniently forget, but that is all right. I can take care of my own.”
Henry Lindley shook his head despairingly. “What has happened to you, Autumn?” he asked her. “Where is the sweet girl I knew?”
“Long gone, Henry,” she told him. “So long gone I can scarce remember her myself. I think I began to grow up the day Bess was murdered. Nothing has ever been the same since then for me.” She took the cloth from her head and handed it to Orane.
“I cannot persuade you to give up this life and come home with me?” he asked her.
Autumn laughed, genuinely amused. “Dearest brother Henry, you are indeed very provincial. Charles Stuart’s mistress does not leave him. She is dismissed when it pleases the king, and not a moment before.” She reached out and patted his arm. “I am quite happy, Henry. I cannot be harmed, as my heart is not involved. Kings have no hearts, you see. It is better not to love them.”
Her words brought tears to his eyes, and he turned away. How unhappy she must be underneath it all, he thought intuitively. Yet in a strange way she was very brave, and he admired her for it. It was not the life he or her father would have envisaged for Autumn, but like all the women in his family, she was a survivor. He could not help but be proud of her for it. “Mother doesn’t know,” he said.
“I don’t want her to know until it is all over. Then she cannot worry me over it. I am far too old to be fretted about, Henry. That’s why I sent Charlie up to Glenkirk to fetch his children back. Mama will have her hands very full with those three. I understand that Sabrina is quite a wood’s colt and will need a great deal of polishing. If they expect to marry her well, she will have to mend her wild ways. Mama is just the person to help her, and it will keep her so busy she will forget about me entirely. With my two and Charlie’s three, there will be a house full of children again, and that is just what Mama always liked, Henry, eh?” Autumn smiled at him, and Henry Lindley realized she was the most beautiful of all his sisters.
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