Beauty

by Sadie Johnston

  Constance felt the tears building again in her chest and she let herself fall forward into his embrace. He caught her and folded her into the safety of his arms while she began to cry in earnest with hard, body-wracking sobs. He did precisely what she needed him to do right then: nothing, but hold her. He kept her close as the storm raged and spilled down her cheeks.

  Once the tide ebbed, she held on a little while longer until she felt like she could act human again. She leaned back so she could look up into his eyes and put her hands on his uneven face. “Do you still want me?” she whispered. His actions had shown the answer already, but she had to hear the words. She had to know, to hear, that he wanted her, tainted as she was.

  “Of course,” he said it for her. His expression was solemn. “I knew there was a pain very deep in your heart the first time I saw you, and it didn’t scare me then. It doesn’t change who you are to me. It just explains a few things. It lets me know you better and now that I know what you’ve survived and have overcome, it just makes me love you more and makes me want to protect you even more.”

  She smiled tearfully. “You don’t mind getting a damaged woman?” she asked, unable to resist a surge of self-deprecation.

  He laughed ruefully and leaned his scarred cheek into her hand. “You’re willing to take a damaged man.”

  “You’re just you.” She stroked his cheekbones with the tips of her thumbs, peering at him through the fuzzy veil of tears. “I don’t see you as damaged. This is your face. It is just a face, like anyone else’s. It’s you.”

  Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “You may be the only woman to think so, but I am grateful for it.”

  Emotions surged again in her chest, but it was different. She didn’t recognize what the feeling was right away, because she had never felt it before. She had to think about what the feeling was telling her to do. She wanted to kiss him. The power of it frightened her, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself as she moved her trembling lips onto his. He didn’t respond at first, undoubtedly surprised. But that only lasted for a moment before he moved, returning the kiss slowly, sweetly.

  She became acutely aware of their privacy here, and of another need growing inside.

  “Tristan,” she breathed, tearing her lips away and leaning her forehead against his. “Make me forget,” she pleaded. “I don’t want this to be my only memory of...” She trailed off, unable to say the words. “I want to forget. Right now. With you. I don’t know what’s going to happen or if we won’t be able to...” She stopped another thought she couldn’t bear to complete.

  He pressed a finger over her lips. “We are going to make this work, even if we have to stow away on a ship to the Americas and live with the savages, we will make it work. I will be yours and we will be together. No matter what.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe him, and she did. She was just terrified of something going wrong and making it all impossible.

  “Please, help me forget,” she repeated.

  “Are you sure?” He didn’t sound like he believed she knew what she was asking, but she knew.

  How could she not?

  Constance licked her lips and swallowed hard, trying to reclaim some of the moisture that had vanished from her mouth. “I know what I’m asking,” she assured him. “I know it’s not what proper young women ask for.” She smiled weakly. “But we both know I’m not that. Proper young women also don’t beg monsters in the woods to kill them. I needed you then and I need you now. Please. Help me.”

  “I don’t think I could deny you anything,” he said hoarsely. “But I want you to stop me if you get uncomfortable at any point. Promise me that you will.”

  “I promise.” She nodded shakily. “It’s you. I’ll be fine.”

  He still hesitated, but she stared at him pleadingly until he accepted that she was serious and knew what she was doing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tristan kissed her again, pressing his lips softly against hers. She slid her arms around his neck. Her breath was shallow and her heart hammered at the insides of her ribs. A muted excitement intertwined with tendrils of nervousness. She pushed through the anxiety because she knew that it would happen. She wouldn’t forget the past until she created the future, and she was going to with him. She felt safer in his arms than anywhere she had been in the last six years.

  They kissed, and his lips held hers for the lengths of heartbeats. Small sweet moments where they captured each other before the moments grew deeper. Where they held each other’s lips for longer. Then he opened his mouth, very slightly, in a quiet invitation that he didn’t seem to believe she would respond to, but she did. She opened her mouth too and followed his lead, let his tongue dart into her mouth and exchange the tastes of one another.

  His large, rough hands slid inside her night clothes and around her waist. They spread against her lower back, gently pulling her closer to his body so that they pressed against one another. He was firm and stable and solid. The simple touch made her body warm all over in ways she didn’t understand.

  Constance’s shoulder dipped and the fabric fell away, leaving her skin bare. He stroked her hair away from her neck and moved his kisses to her shoulder. She gasped with surprised pleasure at the tingling warmth left in the wake of his ministrations. Never would she have guessed that such a small gesture could cause little spirals of pleasing sensation to move through her entire core.

  Gently, he laid her back against the floor and kept kissing her. Lips and neck and shoulders and ear and face. One hand slid up and gently grasped her breast. She gasped. She wanted to touch more of his skin as he was touching hers. She tugged at his shirt and he leaned back, pulling it off and tossing it away.

  Constance admired the flat planes of his chest, sliding her hands over skin and hair and enjoying the warmth. Slowly, still watchful of her reactions, he pushed the rest of her clothing off her shoulders and bared her to the warm summer air floating through the loft. She watched him, anchoring herself in the present with his presence. Like the way his long, golden hair fell over either side of his shoulders or the curve of his neck where the scars stretched to places previously covered.

  He leaned down and kissed the mounds of her breasts, tracing a moist path over her scars as she tangled her fingers in his soft hair. “Tristan,” she breathed.

  Lifting his head, he looked into her face. “Are you all right?” His voice was hoarse with a need she was coming to understand more with each moment. She was beginning to recognize it as a tightly bound coil in the middle of her body, vibrating quietly between her legs in a way that she couldn’t recall ever feeling before.

  She smiled. “I’m fine,” she promised. “It feels good. Don’t stop.”

  With a smile of his own, he nodded and lowered his head again. She felt the rough side of his face press briefly against one breast while he massaged the other. It did feel good and it stirred at the coil within.

  He began moving one hand lower, sliding her clothing from her hips until she was completely bare. For a moment, fear made her tense but she forced herself to relax. Again, she looked at him as he touched her, and felt the way he felt against her. It was Tristan. It was her Tristan. Remembering that turned the tension back into pleasure.

  His hand ran down her hip and her thigh while hers slid across his shoulders and back, encouraging him. Tristan looked up at her, holding her eyes while he moved his hand to the inside of her thighs and slowly slid it upward. She worried that it was going to hurt, but she knew that it would be all right. He would make it all right.

  Still, she couldn’t stop her breath from catching when his hand covered her mound, but the warmth of his skin and the firm pressure of his flat hand felt surprisingly wonderful. It made it so that she could start breathing again. This seemed to be what he was waiting for and he drew one finger along the outer edge of her sex and then the tip began to nudge at her opening.

  Although the worry remained, she made herself smile because she didn’t want
him to stop. She really wanted to feel this, no matter how anxious this edge of anticipation was making her. Her muscles tightened as he began sliding the finger into her. Her body was taut and resisted him but he began kissing her again, holding her tight to him, and it reminded her body to relax. As it did, his finger slid inside more easily.

  She gasped softly. It didn’t hurt, much to her surprise. It felt... good. Strangely good, unexpectedly good. It filled her but it was slow, gentle, considerate. Whimpers slid out on every breath now. Tristan watched her closely but there would be no signs of discomfort on her face, just surprise.

  He began sliding in and out. Still slowly, and still watching to make sure she was okay as he did. Her body continued to relax, little by little, accepting him and the pleasure he was bringing her, pressing that inner coil to vibrate a little more deeply, warmly, melting around his hand as he encouraged her.

  Time was meaningless and was pointless. She had no idea how long he was doing what he was doing, but all she knew was that it felt wonderful.

  “Constance,” he said. His voice had gotten deeper and hoarser. “I’m going to take my pants off now.”

  “Thank you for the warning.” Her smile and voice were weak, though her words were in earnest.

  He removed his hand and did as he said he would, tossing his pants on top of his shirt. As he did, she let her eyes drop to his manhood and she gasped quietly. A new sense of anxiety leaped into place at the idea of that entering her. And yet even as the fear slid in, that nearly unbearable heat rose as well and she recognized the feeling as the desire to feel it in her. A strange sensation that she couldn’t explain.

  Slowly, he moved over her. His arousal touched her and she felt the incredible hardness, like he was made out of rock. He let his hand play inside her again for a few moments which quickly brought her attention back to her sex, the heat and the wetness there.

  “I... I think I’m ready for you,” she told him.

  Her impatience overcame her hesitance. The anticipation and the wait were killing her. Her body grew more demanding by the moment. Instinctually, it knew what it wanted, even if her mind had been left behind in the process. Nowhere in her thoughts were the past or Morangis. It was all Tristan. She was engulfed by him in all the ways that she wanted to be.

  The feeling was all-encompassing and perfect as he took his member and pressed it at her entrance. Her skin stretched and she gasped, but didn’t want him to stop. Constance clutched at his shoulders, holding on tightly as he slowly pressed inside. Her body grudgingly accepted the inward expansion, slowly but not unpleasantly. It pressed the breath out of her body until he was fully buried, and when he was, he held still and let her adjust.

  She was grateful and let her body have the moments it needed. And when she felt ready, she let him know by kissing him. This time, she braved to open her mouth and let her tongue dart past his lips. He returned the kiss in kind as he began to slowly move his hips, thrusting in and out with the same tender caution that he had shown her the entire time.

  The more that her body accommodated him, the better it felt. It drove her to respond to his movements with her own. She didn’t feel like she could stay still. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she lifted her hips, feeling him stroke her within more and more deeply and her breath came harder and faster, soft moans escaping on every one as she clung to him. His thrusts grew harder and more insistent, yet he kept mixing his kisses with looks at her face to make sure she was okay.

  At some point during the haze, she felt his body weight shift. Before she realized what he was about to do, he had already done it. He had flipped them over and she was on top with a small gasp.

  He smiled up at her. “It’s all right,” he said, gravelly. “You want... new memories.” He was focused, panting.

  Constance smiled tentatively and nodded. This felt strange but his hands were on his hips and he was guiding her. She slid carefully along his length, but his calm direction found a rhythm in time. He moved his hips too, and they met in the middle. Now he looked at her. His eyes roamed her body like his hands would have, and his expression was filled with such desire that it pulled her under and her earlier surprise faded away.

  This felt different, but a little better once she relaxed. Each down stroke dragged her body against his in a way that sent new pleasure flooding through her and toyed with that coil inside, building pressure to an unknown ending. She gasped and moaned, pressed her hands against his chest to steady herself as she rode him. His hands slid along her thighs and to her breasts. She whimpered and leaned into his touch. Everything was crashing waves and sensation until some strange inner explosion made her jerk and cry out. He held her through it and she shuddered, continuing to move.

  Finally, his invisible barrier was breached and his noises, which had before been quiet grunts, became louder. He released inside her with a loud final roar and single hard thrust, hands on her hips, holding her down against him. His body went taut for a long instant before sagging back into the floor. He stroked her cheek and pulled her down, arms wrapped tightly around her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked after a moment. He frowned, reaching one hand up to brush at her cheek. It wasn’t until he did that that she realized she was crying.

  “Yes,” she assured him with a weak smile. “I’m just... overwhelmed.”

  A moment later, he rolled them onto their sides and carefully pulled out of her, but he didn’t let her get too far. He kept her wrapped in his arms and pulled her to his chest. She was sore. Her back hurt from the hard floor and her legs hurt from the exertion, but she didn’t care. He had given her the moments she wanted, and needed, the ones she would cling to when the memories of the distant past threatened to rise up and pull her under.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m going to make this right and fix this for you, Constance.”

  She inhaled deeply and tilted her head up, looking into his face. It was amazing how quickly she had become used to the way he looked. It wasn’t frightening or repulsive. She thought he was beautiful. She stroked her fingertips over the taut planes and ridges of his scars.

  “I know you will,” she said.

  He smiled tenderly. “If we can help it, I don’t want to have to tear you away from your family. Let me try one more thing. I am going to talk to Morangis.” He must have seen her eyes widen because he explained quickly. “I’m not going to tell him anything about tonight. I am going to take it all on me. I will tell him that he can’t marry you, because I have decided that I want to. And I’ll use my rank if I have to and convince him that your family will like me better. I will not tell him anything of you.”

  Constance wasn’t sure that she liked the idea, but could perhaps accept it. It could work, because she knew that rank and power were important to her family and to Morangis. But still, she knew how he could be.

  “Just in case it doesn’t work,” Tristan went on, apparently reading her mind. “I want you to be safe and careful. Stay around your family or groups of people.”

  “There is a hunt tomorrow that the Marquis d’Apcher has organized,” she said. “I could meet you there. We could vanish into the crowd to talk and you can tell me how it goes.”

  “I had completely forgotten,” he said with an impressed smile. “That is a good idea. He might be angry with me and then with you, but if you stay with your family or in a large crowd then he will not be able to hurt you again during those moments when I will not be able to be there. But if this works, we will make it all okay.”

  Inhaling deeply, she didn’t have a lot of faith that it would work, but she had a lot of faith in Tristan. They would make it work, no matter what it took.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  18 June 1767

  By morning, Tristan hadn’t gotten very much sleep. Between being with Constance and seeing her safely into her house and the torrent of emotion he’d felt returning to Mor
angis’ house, there had been little time or ability to rest.

  He couldn’t get over the entire evening, but for many different reasons. There was the struggle with his rage, which last night had been entirely impotent because he’d known that she hadn’t needed his anger. She had needed his acceptance, and he had been able to give it, even if he’d wanted to charge off at that moment to find Morangis and strangle him.

  What kind of evil bastard does that to a woman in the first place, and then pretends to be a hero? And then tries to marry her, so that she has to live with him after what he’s put her through? It was beyond Tristan’s comprehension. He’d just felt that blind, murderous power threatening to overwhelm him. But he’d held off.

  And then it had been all different. The rage had to be put away, which was gladly done because he wanted to be with her, and it had been sweeter than he could have imagined. She seemed to enjoy it, and to get what she had wanted. And soon, he would save her from Morangis. They would be together and she would be safe.

  In truth, he just wanted to gather her up this instant and whisk her away to Vivarais, or even somewhere other than France. He didn’t care, as long as he was with her. But he didn’t hold as much love for his family as she did for hers, even if she was angry with them now, and he didn’t want her to be torn away from them if there was another option. So, he had to try.

  He came down to breakfast that next morning and concentrated on keeping himself in one piece, emotionally speaking. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to lose control.

  “Good morning,” Jean-François greeted as Tristan entered the room. His first glance at his guest’s face was brief, but then a second was more prolonged. “Did you not sleep well? You look tired.”

  “I am fine.” He walked in and took his usual seat. Of course, he wasn’t fine at all, but that was another matter entirely. “There is something I would like to discuss with you before we head out.”

  Morangis’ brows rose. “Oh?”