Bitter Greens

by Kate Forsyth

  He dropped his head onto my shoulder. ‘Please, Charlotte-Rose. Just one more game.’

  ‘All right then,’ I said. ‘One round. If I win, I get the perfume that will make men fall madly in love with me. And then I’ll use it to find a man who will love me and care for me and marry me. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. The candles had all guttered out, so I could only see his face by the faint light of the fairy lanterns strung overhead. I could not tell what he was thinking, but the quick pant of his breath made me hope that I had him where I wanted him.

  ‘Very well, then, this is what you must wager. If I win, I get to see your breasts. I get to see you and I get to touch you.’ He ran one finger down my bare skin, towards my cleavage. My body jolted under his touch like a racehorse under a whip. I could scarcely draw oxygen to my lungs.

  I managed to shake my head. ‘The stakes are too high. I don’t believe in this perfume of yours.’

  ‘Trust me, it’s working. It’s working on me.’

  ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘I promise I’ll do nothing you would regret. I’ll not … take you. I just want to look … and touch … and maybe … taste.’

  My body was as hot and soft and malleable as melted wax. If he had wanted to, he could have taken me there and then, and I would have opened to him like a flower to a hungry bee.

  ‘If you win, you can look,’ I said harshly. ‘But no touching … and no …’ I could not say the word.

  He smiled and leant forward to kiss me, confident my mouth would open under his. It did. My head fell back and he sucked gently on my tongue. ‘But you taste so good,’ he murmured. ‘Sweet as honey. I’d like to taste every single part of you.’

  ‘That is not … part of the deal,’ I managed to say. Somehow, things had got away from me, rather like a carriage drawn by runaway horses.

  He smiled. ‘Perhaps another game,’ he said briskly, lifting himself away from me. ‘Shall I cut? Do we need more light? I think we do. Let me light some more candles. When I win this game, I want to make sure I can see … everything.’

  I lost the game. It’s no wonder, really, drunk as I was on champagne and brandy and love play. The Marquis made me undress for him, removing first my beribboned garter, then my silk stockings, then my outer skirts, then … very slowly and shyly … I undid my bodice and let it fall, standing before him in only my stays and chemise. He drew a deep shuddering breath.

  ‘You’ll have to undo my stays. I cannot unlace myself.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ he answered. He drew me down so I sat on the edge of the couch, my back towards him, his thighs on either side of my body. I was so aware of him, it was as if the space between our bodies sizzled and smoked. He lifted the great mass of my hair out of the way, kissing the small bones at the back of my neck one by one. Slowly, he unlaced my stays, kissing my back lower and lower till he reached halfway down my spine. Then he slid his hands forward until he cupped both my breasts, pulling me closer to him so my bottom slipped into the space between his legs. I was instantly aware of the hard bulge between his thighs, pressing against my buttocks.

  ‘I rather think I may need to stop now,’ the Marquis said thoughtfully. ‘Just let me …’ He ran his tongue slowly over my shoulder, then suddenly, so suddenly that I gasped, he lifted me and twisted me, bending me backward over his arm, his mouth finding my breast. He sucked and bit me, so I groaned and writhed, totally unable to stop myself. His hand rucked up my chemise, sliding unerringly for that most secret and feminine part of me. He found it and plunged his finger in, lifting his head to gasp. I moaned and twisted my body away, grasping my untied stays to my breasts.

  ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so … Charlotte-Rose, please, I need to …’

  ‘No.’ I gathered up my clothes and tried to tie them around me again.

  ‘I … please …’

  ‘No.’

  He caught me and held me fast, dropping down on his knees before me. ‘I think I’m going mad. I must have you. Would it help if I promised to marry you?’

  I stared down at him.

  ‘Please … I mean what I say.’

  ‘You mean it? You’ll marry me?’

  ‘Yes … if you’ll just let me …’ He drew down my bundle of clothes so he could caress my bare shoulder. One hand pushed me gently backward, the other slid around to cup my bottom through the crumpled linen of my chemise. His body was against mine, his weight pressing me down against the cushions, his hand pulling my thighs apart. It would have been so easy, so easy, just to lie back, to let him thrust between my thighs, to let him have his release.

  But I pushed him away, shaking my head. ‘We must be married first.’

  He groaned. ‘But it’ll take weeks … I need you now.’

  I closed my knees. ‘When we are married.’

  He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers writhing through the cropped curls. ‘Charlotte-Rose, you’ll be the death of me.’

  ‘Marry me quickly then,’ I said and leant forward to give his bare shoulder a sharp little nip with my teeth.

  He groaned, lifting up my face so he could kiss me again. ‘We could always make another wager. Now that I have the devil’s own luck myself.’

  ONE MORE GAME

  Versailles, France – June 1678

  The news of our engagement caused an absolute sensation at court.

  Smilingly, I handed in my resignation to the Duchesse de Guise, and I stayed at Versailles after she went huffing back to Normandy. Athénaïs was amused and told the King she had always liked me, so the King gave the match his approval. I was allowed to keep my stuffy closet of a room, though it seemed smaller than ever now. I could not wait to be married and have my own chateau in Paris and a country estate and a carriage and six. Roans, I thought.

  The Marquis’ family were livid with rage. ‘A Huguenot! Without a dowry! It’s a scandal! A disgrace! It must be stopped!’

  But the Marquis de Nesle was smitten. ‘Je t’aime, je t’adore, tu es mon amante,’ he whispered into my hair. ‘Ma belle, ma douce, mon seul amour.’

  It was enough to make me feel giddy. I began to think I was falling in love with him too. I ran to meet him when he came creeping to my room late at night and laughed breathlessly when he swept me up in his arms. I let him kiss me and fondle my breasts and suck on my earlobe, and once I let him take the glass stopper of his costly perfume and run it slowly down my cleavage, parting my clothes till my breasts were bare to his gaze and he could anoint my burgeoning nipples with the scent of roses and jasmine. He bent then and took my nipple into his mouth, and all I could do was clutch his head and try not to moan too loudly.

  It was true that he had the devil’s own luck at cards now. Step by slow step, I was persuaded to reveal more of myself to him. We played piquet every night, long past the midnight hour, and every night he won the chance to kiss and touch another part of me.

  ‘Another game?’ he would say.

  ‘What’s the wager?’

  ‘If you win, I’ll give you a necklace of jet to match your wicked black eyes. If I win, you have to sit on my lap.’

  ‘But I’m really perfectly comfortable here in my own chair,’ I answered.

  ‘I promise you my lap is very comfortable too.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be quite hard,’ I answered.

  He sucked in his breath. ‘Mon Dieu, Charlotte-Rose, you never fail to surprise me. If I wasn’t before, I am now. Please come and sit on me.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

  ‘I’ll take you to the theatre tomorrow night. And give you a ride on my roan. And a necklace of jet.’

  ‘Oh, all right then. But you know it’s only because I want to ride your horse.’

  He muttered something I didn’t catch – but which I am rather sure was a reference to wanting to ride me – and cut the cards. And although I won that game and the next, he did eventually win the right to perch me on
his lap. He drew me down slowly, spreading his legs, his arm like a vice about my waist, the other sneaking up to cup my breast in its padded bodice, and I could feel that he was, indeed, very hard.

  ‘You are not very comfortable at all,’ I told him, pouting.

  ‘No, I’m not. I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable in my life. Good God, don’t wriggle. Stay like that, very still.’

  So I sat very still, but he began to rock me, grinding me down against that stiff protuberance underneath me. I broke free, breathless and squirming inside, and fled to the opposite side of the room. ‘That was not part of the wager. I shall not play with you again.’

  He laughed at me. ‘Really? No more piquet? Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ I answered.

  He got up, straightening his waistcoat. ‘Very well then.’

  ‘All right, then, one more game. But I won’t sit on your lap again.’

  ‘What will you wager? I want your stockings, both of them, and I want to be the one to remove them. What do you want?’

  ‘A kiss?’ I said in a small voice, feeling a little like a dazzled child.

  ‘But then I win both ways. All right, let’s play.’

  He liked winning garments from me, taking first my garter, then one shoe, then the other, then my necklace, then one of my petticoats. He was just as happy to shed his own clothes, but I did not like to see that heavy little pouch hanging about his neck. I could not bear the smell of it, or the feel of it pressing against my skin. He began to lay wagers for me to undress him, but I never let him win those games. Once, we lay together on my bed, the Marquis nearly fully dressed and me nearly fully naked, with him trying to guide my fingers to undo the fastening of his breeches and me resisting with all my strength.

  ‘You’re driving me insane, Charlotte-Rose. I want to feel you against my skin.’

  ‘I can’t trust you,’ I said, and indeed I was right. The Marquis was always pushing me for just a little more. If he won the right to kiss my lips, his hands would be roaming all over my body even as he devoured my mouth. If he won the right to remove my stockings, his hands would slip higher, seeking to touch that secret part of me that so fascinated him. I was always wary, keeping my thigh muscles clenched against him, my knees locked close, and he was always seeking to soften me, making me drunk on Armagnac, inflaming my senses with perfume and delicious foods, inflaming my body with his kisses and his audacious touch.

  One night, we kept on playing till I wore nothing but my chemise.

  ‘One more game,’ he said. ‘Please. I want to see you naked. I’ll not touch, I promise. I’ll only look.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll wager my roan mare. I know you like her.’

  I was, I’m ashamed to admit, tempted. But I shook my head. ‘No. Else there’ll be nothing to look forward to on our wedding night.’

  ‘Please, Charlotte-Rose.’

  ‘No.’

  He slammed out of my room in a temper, and I felt sick with worry in case I had lost him. But the next morning he came with flowers and a rondeau to my eyes that must have kept him up composing till dawn. And if there were rather a lot of cries and sighs and thighs in the poem, no one but me was ever going to read it. That night, I let him kiss me till my knees were weak and my head lolling. I did not protest when he untied the ribbons of my bodice. I did not stop him as he kissed me down my body, parting my clothes, freeing my breasts, kissing his way down towards my belly button. I did not make him stop. I only lay back and sighed, and clutched his curly head to me, and wished aloud that we were married right now.

  ‘When?’ I asked. ‘When can we be married?’

  ‘Soon,’ he promised. ‘I need my cousin’s permission.’

  ‘But we have the King’s permission.’

  He bent his head again and swirled his tongue in my belly button. I lifted his face so he would look at me. ‘When?’ I asked again.

  ‘Soon, I promise.’

  I sat up and pulled my clothes about me again. ‘Soon is not soon enough.’

  ‘Set a date,’ he said, pulling me against him and kissing my bare shoulder. ‘Set a date and I’ll make it happen. Just let me touch you … down there.’

  ‘Down there?’

  With a swift movement, he had me on my back, my skirts rucked up, knees spread so he could kneel between my legs. His hands slid down my bare thighs till his thumbs were just touching the point where my thighs met my pelvis. His touch was like a branding iron.

  He smiled at my shocked face. ‘Midsummer’s Eve,’ I answered faintly.

  Slowly, slowly, he slid his thumbs inside me. Slowly, slowly, he parted the soft damp lips, then quickly, savagely, he thrust both thumbs as far inside me as he could. I cried out and arched my back. He pulled his hands away and took both my wrists in his, pinning them above my head. For a long moment, he looked down at me, his lips parted, breathing quickly. I twisted, drawing my knees towards my chest, feeling both unbearably aroused and also frightened. His face was so hard, so unreadable. Then he nodded. ‘Midsummer’s Eve,’ he said, and got up and left the room.

  During the day, we walked in the gardens, or we rode in the forest and picnicked among the trees. He loved to see my body by daylight. I swear he would have had me out there in the open if I had let him. At night, we danced and drank champagne and went to the theatre. If the lights were low, he would slide his hand under my gown, drawing slow circles on my silk-covered legs, higher and higher, ever higher. I’d have to rap him with my fan, blushing, and hastily straighten my clothes.

  One night, playing piquet in my little room, he wanted to brush my hair. I had already lost my garter and my stockings, my pearls and my petticoats and my dress; he had lost his coat and his waistcoat and his cravat and his shoes and stockings. I was languorous and smiling, deep in a haze of alcohol and scented candle smoke and anticipation. Although I could glimpse the bag of spells through his open shirt, I had got used to shutting my mind to it.

  ‘Come sit on the stool,’ he said. I obeyed, and he took my hair down from its pins, drawing it through his hands, bending to smell it. I only wore the perfume he had given me now, and the air was heady with its rich enticing smell.

  ‘Where’s your brush?’

  I gave it to him, and he brushed my hair slowly, sensuously. I sighed and bent my head forward. I felt so dizzy I might fall. He said in my ear, ‘Come lie on the bed, chérie. I want to see you clad only in your hair.’

  ‘Was that part of the wager?’ I answered drowsily. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Your hair is so long and thick, it’s like a cloak,’ he said. ‘You’ll be more modest than if you wore a chastity belt, I promise you.’

  I smiled, rather ruefully, but allowed him to draw me up and push me down on the bed. As he unbuttoned my chemise, I raised myself on my elbows. ‘Remember …’

  ‘I know. Only combing your hair. That’s all I’m allowed to do. No kissing.’ He leant forward and brushed my lips with his. ‘No touching.’ He slid his hand inside my chemise and stroked the curve of my breast. ‘No tasting.’ He put his mouth to my nipple and sucked it briefly through the cotton of my chemise.

  I rested my hands on his head. ‘Chéri,’ I sighed.

  He sat up. ‘I know, I know. Here, just let me slide this down. I won’t take it all off, I promise.’ He slid the chemise off my shoulders so it pooled around my hips, then drew my hair over my shoulders so it hung down over my breasts. He parted it carefully with his fingers, allowing my pink rosebud nipples to poke through. ‘There, perfect,’ he said. ‘That’s how I’ll expect you to dress at our wedding.’

  ‘Imagine what the Duchesse de Guise would say,’ I giggled.

  He reached forward and gently touched one nipple. ‘I love the way it hardens when I touch it. Won’t you touch mine too? Let’s see if a man’s nipple hardens the way a woman’s does.’

  Shyly, I reached forward and let my fingers push his shirt open. Avoiding the bag of spells,
which hung on its ribbon against his muscled chest, I gently touched his nipple. It immediately hardened into a nub.

  ‘Won’t you kiss it?’ he asked.

  I shook my head, closing the shirt so it covered the bag of spells. He sighed. ‘Let me kiss yours then. It’s too cruel to let me so close and not let me kiss you.’

  So I let him part my hair and take my nipple in his mouth. He laved it with his tongue, sucking gently, then suddenly bit me so hard I yelped and pushed him away. ‘Ouch. That hurts!’

  He looked contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve never kissed a woman’s nipples before. I didn’t know they were so sensitive. I know now. I won’t hurt you again. Please let me make it up to you. Lie down. I’ll be so gentle.’

  I lay down on my stomach, and he drew the chemise down over my hips and threw it on the floor. For the first time, I was completely naked before him. I pressed my body down into the bed, feeling vulnerable and a little afraid, but he did as he promised, taking my hair and spreading it over my back like a cloak.

  ‘So beautiful,’ he said. I felt my lips lift in a smile. No one had ever called me beautiful before. ‘Ravishing. Utterly ravishing.’

  Slowly, slowly, the Marquis brushed my hair, from the crown of my head to its curly tip. Slowly, slowly, I relaxed, resting my head on my arms, all my muscles loosening till I was as soft and malleable as clay.

  ‘Your hair’s so long,’ he whispered. ‘Look, it reaches past your bottom.’ He took the end of my hair in his hand and began to caress my bare buttocks with its silky tips, as if it was a feather. I sighed and my thighs parted involuntarily. He brushed the tips of my hair down the cleft of my buttock then teased me between the legs. I squirmed.