“Are you jealous?” he asked.
“Not at all, not at all,” she lied. Placing her cards down, she revealed her two Jacks. This time, Valmont’s hand consisted of a straight—five to nine.
“It seems I win again,” he said, watching her closely.
“You win the battle, Donation,” she replied warmly. “But I only need to defeat you once to win the war.”
He nodded his head in agreement and then gazed on her, his eyes half lidded with lust, as she stood up. The dress, so sheer and sleek against her body, had barely offered any protection against the warm, summer air, but for a moment Karla wondered about how she would react to her own nakedness in front of this man, her feet suddenly cold against the floor. Coming to a decision, she reached up boldly to her shoulders and slipped the fabric to the floor, feeling it slide against her skin. Almost immediately tiny goose bumps prickled against her flesh, though the room was not cool enough for her to feel a chill.
As she returned to her seat in nothing but a pair of lace camisoles, her confidence returning now, she looked at Valmont slightly defiantly, her nipples stiffening as she saw his eyes rove over her torso, taking in her slender shoulders, her smooth, firm breasts.
“Magnificent,” he breathed.
Karla felt her chest swell slightly at this. “I may not match Eloise—” she began, but he scowled slightly as he raised a hand to interrupt her.
“Please,” he said. “There is no comparison. You are beautiful, Jeanne. And you know that.” His eyes were glowing as he spoke.
“Shall we continue?” she asked, gesturing to the cards. “I still have your emerald to win.”
“Are you really so confident?” he asked. “I see that already you only have one more item of clothing to barter.”
“Oh, I have much more than that, Donatien,” she told him, passing cards to him.
This time Lady Luck was kinder, offering her three tens, but the second draw offered her nothing better and now Valmont showed his own hand, three queens and two fives. “I am sorry,” he said in mock consolation. “I seem to be blessed by your presence this evening.”
Karla did not mind losing the hand as much as she would have expected. She was losing herself in the game, enjoying the sound of Valmont’s voice as he spoke to her. Though he remained fully clothed, she was aware that his breathing had quickened, that a faint bead of perspiration was forming on his brow as he looked from the cards to her. With a smile, she stood once more and slowly, very slowly, placed her thumbs beneath the edges of the camisoles. Bending forward so that her breasts hung down slightly, her nipples still stiff with excitement, she slipped the lace along her thighs, taking an age to push them down her calves until they lay at her feet. Kicking them to one side, she returned to her seat again.
Valmont nodded in appreciation. “I had hoped that perhaps I could admire more of your beauty,” he said, his voice suddenly thicker.
Lifting the deck of cards, she stared at him intently, her lips parted ever so slightly. To her surprise, she felt a certain dampness on the seat, and realised that the Marquis was not the only one excited by this game. “You will have to play for that,” she told him. “I still want that ring.”
The Marquis smiled at this, his eyes on her face as she dealt once more. “And what will the stake be this time?” he asked.
“I’ll decide that—if you win,” she replied mockingly.
This time she was sure she couldn’t lose. Now it was her turn for a full house, with three fours and two sevens. Resisting the temptation to reach out her hand and wait for Valmont to place the ring in it, she watched as he lowered his cards one by one.
The ten was followed by a jack. She frowned slightly at that, but even more so when the next card was a queen. He paused only slightly to reveal the king, and then for a longer moment before he placed an ace beside it.
“A royal flush,” he said very quietly. “A fitting end to our game, don’t you think? And what will be my prize now?”
Standing, he came towards her and leaned over. She was aware of the lump in his trousers, his desire swelling, and her own heart was beating more quickly as he bent over her. Before he could place his lips to hers, however, she reached out with her hand and firmly pushed against him. A brief look of annoyance flashed across his face, but he rested against the table as she slid the chair away from him with her foot.
A little distance away, she then raised that foot onto the chair, balancing her heel against her sex which was bare and bald, her lips opening slightly. Watching him slightly, she placed one finger in her mouth and sucked on it for a moment, making it wet with her saliva.
Neither of them spoke as she sucked that single digit, the skin of her breasts taut now, her whole body alert and ready. Arching her back a little, her long, black hair falling across her shoulders, her eyes never leaving Valmont, she slowly lowered her foot to the floor again, spreading both of her legs wide now so that he could see her opening up with lust. The Marquis didn’t move but simply rested his hands against the table, the muscles in his arm visible beneath his shirt, the front of his trousers full of his own signs of lust.
It was then that Karla realised just how much she wanted this. The frustrations with Hayden began to melt away, replaced by rising waves of desire that flooded the pit of her stomach, causing her rib cage to rise and fall more rapidly as she moved her finger down herself slowly, the tip rubbing at her pubis just above her clit, pressing it slightly so that sparks flew down below. She felt herself rippling inside as she parted her thighs even more, exposing herself wantonly. She was dimly aware of a shadowy reflection of herself in a mirror, her skin glowing in candlelight as she began to rub herself, tracing the moisture that trickled between her legs.
Valmont was breathing heavily now but didn’t move as she touched herself, sliding a finger between her open lips, dipping inside herself before stroking the velvet folds and teasing her clitoris with her other hand. She watched him with fierce determination as her fingers began to move faster, biting her lip and almost snarling. “Beautiful,” he muttered to himself, resisting the urge to touch the straining, thick lump in his trousers, holding himself back.
She said nothing, but began to mewl and whimper a little. Damn! She had been frustrated—more than she thought. It hadn’t been so very long since she and Hayden had last had sex, but in between that moment and this there had been betrayal and heart break. Fuck him! she thought to herself angrily, and that rage became a burst of lust, a flame that pulsed in her loins and made her flood her fingers. Her nipples were so hard now, and when she touched one with her other hand the ripples inside her pulsed with even greater ecstasy.
All the time she kept her eyes locked on Valmont’s face, holding his eyes to hers, dominating him almost silently, the occasional gasp escaping her lips as her climax began to flower. He may have been master of the cards only moments before, but now she was the one in charge now, exulting in her passion and power as her orgasm built up…
With the greatest self-control, she caught hold of the wildfire inside her and clenched it in her belly, dominating that orgasm and refusing to allow it to take her completely. Not yet, not yet, she told herself. Instead, lifting one wet finger to her lips, she slid the salted honey tip into her mouth and sucked it, her eyes shining as she regarded the Marquis.
“I want you,” he growled, his hands falling towards his waist now, beginning to unbutton his trousers as he bent forward to kiss her. Rapidly, she lifted her other hand and placed it gently but firmly on his chest.
“You’ll have to make another bet for that, Donatien,” she told him, her voice thick in her throat. “I still want that emerald.”
For an instant, frustration and black rage shot across Valmont’s face, and then he laughed, backing away as though he suddenly realised the rules of the game. “Very well,” he said and turned around to take up his seat on the other side of his table.
As her eyes followed him, Karla caught sight of another figure i
n a mirror. Her shock when she realised it was Hayden was quickly followed by a sweet satisfaction of revenge. With the utmost composure, she calmly folded one leg across the other as he walked into the Galerie, Valmont apparently only becoming aware of him at that moment.
Hayden said nothing. His face was white with barely suppressed anger and he didn’t look at the Marquis. Instead, he glared at Karla, moving across until he was less than three feet away. She was about to shrug and make some mocking comment when she looked into his eyes. The pain she saw there made her feel strange for an instant.
“Ah, Sebastian,” said Valmont. Karla could just recognise the disappointment in his voice, heavily disguised by a layer of velvet irony. “And did you enjoy yourself with Eloise?”
“She had to go somewhere,” Hayden snapped, his jaw flexing as he stared at Karla.
Damn it! she thought to herself, unable to hold his eyes for a moment. Why should I feel guilty? Gathering up her self-confidence once more, she rose to her feet silkily, lifting her shoes from the table but leaving her dress and underwear on the floor where they lay.
She was about to walk away when she felt Hayden’s iron grip on her arm. It hurt a little, though she was sure he wasn’t aware of how strongly he gripped her. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.
Lifting her eyes to his, she could see that they were pools of anger and pain, and inside her something cried out. That, however, was weakness.
“I didn’t fuck him,” she said quietly. Shocked, Hayden’s grasp loosened and she walked away, ignoring Valmont’s laughter that followed her from the room.
Chapter Ten: Hayden
Hayden couldn’t believe that it had been less than a week since he had met Valmont.
At the time, he’d seen nothing more than a likely mark—and one so rich that Hayden had felt on top of the world.
If a week was a long time in politics, it was even longer when it came to grifting, especially when Karla Steel was involved.
Unable to sleep and feeling utterly miserable with himself, he’d come down to breakfast and picked at a few items from the vast array that the maids had started to lay out when they’d seen him. While his appetite had been enormous the night before, now everything tasted like ashes when he bit into it. His self-pity had not been helped by the fact that he’d been hovering around Karla’s room for an hour or so before, hoping to catch her. When the hulking, ugly form of Latour had appeared, he’d been unable to face his own shame and so had skulked off with his not inconsiderable tail shrunken between his legs.
How had he screwed up so royally? When he thought of Karla, so naked and perfect the evening before, with that bastard Valmont laughing at him as he left the room, his heart shrivelled into a dry, pitiful knot. Of course he knew the answer. Technically, he may not have fucked Eloise if one stuck to the strictest definition of the verb “to fuck”, but he’d been more than willing.
So why had he been so reckless? Sure, that was part of his nature, but he’d never let a woman get under his defences so easily before. It hadn’t helped that he’d been more drunk than he could remember for a very long time, and when he thought of the stupid, selfish reasons for hitting the juice so hard his anger found its proper focus: himself.
He had been reckless—and selfish too. He’d worked by himself for so long that he’d forgotten the first rule of being a con artist: trust your shill. Karla was to be the perfect accomplice, but for her to trust him he should have trusted her with his plan. He hadn’t because, deep down, he knew that it was a low, callous, despicable thing to have done.
And boy! Was he paying now! He had never wanted her as much as when he’d seen her last night—and never had she seemed so far away, so untouchable. He’d never been so wrong in his life, and in the pit of his stomach was a sick feeling that things were about to get worse—much, much worse.
Sooner or later Valmont was going to insist on their wager. Whatever he’d interrupted last night, there could be no doubt that Karla as Jeanne Duval was more than happy to accommodate the wishes of the Marquis. And why shouldn’t she? He was richer than anyone else Hayden knew, with generations of aristocratic breeding behind him. It didn’t help that the bastard was just a little too good looking for Hayden’s purposes. When he thought of the state of Eloise, however, as she’d stripped off in front of him, his stomach churned: if Valmont was willing to wager ten million, he was also willing to do terrible things to Karla.
What also made him feel so sick was the increasing conviction that he couldn’t win. The Marquis was meant to be the sucker, the easy target for an artist such as Hayden. Yet Valmont had defeated him before a single card was laid on the table.
It didn’t matter what the game was—baccarat, poker, blackjack—Hayden’s secret weapon like any other master gambler was confidence. Eloise had been the joker in the pack, but that alone, while damaging, was not enough to shake Hayden. Karla’s reaction to his pathetic, stupid mistake had begun the real damage, a wound which Valmont was rubbing salt into via his masterpiece, the daunting confines of Chateau de Tour. Hayden had no idea what the real secrets were behind the door of that old tower but none of it mattered: he’d been defeated already.
As Karla entered the room, looking fresh and lovely in a pale, twenties-style dress and with a dainty hat on her dyed brunette hair, he looked at her sheepishly.
“Cheer up Sebastian,” she said in that rolling French accent she’d adopted. “You look awful.”
“Jeanne,” he replied weakly. “About last night.”
“Is there anything to say?” she asked dismissively. “You were with your slut and I was finding alternative pleasures.”
“Goddamit!” he hissed. “It wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t touch her, do you hear?”
Perhaps surprised more by the vehemence of his tone, a momentary loss of control that was very unlike his usual demeanour, rather than his words, Karla’s eyes widened slightly and her lips parted. Before she could speak, however, Valmont entered the room.
“Ah, Jeanne,” he said warmly. “You look ravishing.” He stepped forward and took Karla’s hand which she willingly let him hold, kissing it and murmuring further compliments in French. Eventually he deigned to glance in Hayden’s direction. “Monsieur Rider,” he added, his voice still carrying a hint of the mockery he’d revelled in the night before, “I trust you slept well.”
I’ll make you sleep well, you bastard! Keeping his murderous thoughts silent, he nodded his head stiffly.
“Is… Eloise to be joining us?” Karla asked.
Valmont’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Hayden. “It appears that she and Monsieur Rider had a lover’s tiff last night. But I do have plans for all four of us after breakfast.”
Because he was facing Hayden, the Marquis didn’t notice Karla’s expression, which was one of shocked surprise and a plaintive, almost painful look towards her lover. She quickly stifled it however before Valmont turned to her once more.
“That won’t be a problem, will it?” he asked, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated he hoped it would be another wedge between the two. Karla feigned diffidence.
“Of course not,” was her curt reply.
Hayden dreaded what those plans would be, and was relieved when Valmont led them to the front of the chateau after they had eaten (or, more accurately, once the Marquis had dined: he alone seemed to have an appetite that morning). There a car was waiting for them. It did not improve Hayden’s mood, however, to see that it was a vintage Bentley, the sheen of its deep red body shining in the bright, mid-morning sun.
There was still no sign of Eloise, which made up for the fact that Valmont had impeccably good taste in cars. No doubt the three of them would be driven out wherever the Marquis’s whims desired. Unexpectedly, however, Valmont walked to the front of the car and held the door open on the front passenger seat.
“If you would be so kind, Jeanne,” he said. Glancing back at Hayden, she nodded and smiled briefly before walking to the door.
“I’m sure you won’t mind if Jeanne sits beside me. No need to look surprised, Monsieur Rider. This car I like to drive. A 1939 Bentley Mark V, four point two five litre engine, Rolls-Royce designed suspension… there isn’t a great deal I like about your country, but once upon a time you could make the most wonderful cars. And I’m sure you’ll be happy in the back while we take a tour.”
More than a little riled, Hayden opened the back door and began to climb inside…
...only to find Eloise sitting in the back already, directly behind the driver’s seat. While Karla was dressed in a cool, retro Summer white, Eloise was clad head to foot in a tight-fitting, slightly fetishistic black costume that threw her pale face and blonde hair into vivid contrast, her whole body looking like some perverse toy. Her eyes were hidden behind dark shades and she smiled ironically as Hayden paused in the door of the car.
“Oh,” Hayden heard Karla say. Eloise’s smile broadened and she patted the seat next to her.
“Won’t you join me?” she purred.
Somewhat reluctantly, Hayden sat down beside her. There was less room than he would have hoped for in the vintage car, and as his knee brushed against Eloise’s PVC-covered thigh she seemed to sigh slightly, reaching out with a gloved hand to stroke him gently. Primly he reached across and removed her fingers to what he hoped was a safer position. All of a sudden he felt like a trapped animal.
The Bentley slid along the gravelled drive as Valmont turned away from the entrance to the chateau. “Donatien told us that you two had a falling out last night,” said Karla tightly.
“Did he?” Eloise asked innocently. “You’re such a naughty boy, Donatien!”
Valmont laughed. “I had thought you two had hit it off so well that I was sorry to be mistaken.”
Eloise smirked at this. Hayden turned his head directly in front of him, staring intently at the back of Karla’s brunette head, willing her to turn around and save him but saying nothing. “I think Sebastian was tired last night, that was all. So very unlike the first time we met.” Without warning, she leaned across the seat and Hayden attempted to ignore the fact that the tightly bound bodice of her outfit had rubberised nipples moulded into the engineered cups. His treacherous cock twitched slightly in his trousers, very much against his conscious desires.
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