by Shana Galen
“Patience,” he murmured against the soft flesh of her breast. “I know what you want. You shall have it.”
“Now,” she begged. “Please.” Her hands were in his hair, her nails raking the back of his neck.
Patiently he slid his lips to her other breast, taking that nipple in his hot mouth and scoring it lightly with his teeth. She swelled against his tongue, and his hands shook as he moved his fingers against her sex.
Her hips moved again in a rhythm he knew well, a rhythm he desperately wanted to be part of. But he kept his movements slow and contained, drawing back when she grew close to climax and giving her more when she grew discouraged.
Minutes that felt like hours dragged on, their bodies so close, his mouth on her breasts, her shoulder, her lips. His fingers learned the shape of her tender flesh, learned what she liked, what drove her mad. A sheen of perspiration dotted her flesh, the light salty flavor on his tongue when he finally gave her release.
He rolled his thumb over that little bloom, then rubbed upward until her cries grew frantic. She pressed hard against his hand and he allowed it, keeping his touch light as her cries grew louder and louder. He might have tried to silence her, but he did not care if she was heard. The sound of the pleasure ripping through her gave him pleasure. The feel of her muscles contracting hard against his fingers as she pulsed against him over and over again was almost enough to satisfy him.
With a strangled cry, she fell back onto the bed, her lush body glistening pink with her release.
One look at her, and he knew he wanted more. He wanted her skin against his. He wanted to be inside her when she came again.
Laurent reached for his cravat.
HONORIA’S BODY FELT heavy and limp. She lay in a daze, her skin tingling from her toes to her fingers and back down again. What had Laurent done to her? He’d tormented her for what seemed like hours, keeping her on the verge of she knew not what. And then her entire world had shattered into a thousand tiny, glimmering lights. Everything sparkled like raindrops on leaves after a rainstorm. She sighed and might have curled into a ball and slept if she hadn’t felt his hand cup her thigh.
Honoria opened her eyes and blinked at the picture Laurent presented above her. He really was the most beautiful man, especially now with his hair mussed and his eyes focused so intently upon her. “Don’t fall asleep, mon ange.”
My angel...When had he started to call her that? She liked it, though she was far from a perfect angel. Their scandalous behavior a few moments before was testimony to that.
“Maybe just a cat nap,” she said. He’d loosened his cravat, and the burnished skin of his throat had caught her attention. She didn’t feel quite as sleepy.
“I think you will want to stay awake for this,” he said, shrugging off his coat. “You will enjoy it.”
She blinked. “I don’t think I could possibly enjoy anything more than what happened a few moments ago.”
“Must you challenge me at every turn?”
Honoria smiled. “I was not challenging you. Are you...disrobing?”
He unfastened his shirt. “Yes.”
Honoria sat up, once again alert and awake. She’d seen him without his shirt, but she hadn’t paid nearly enough attention. Then she hadn’t wanted to feel attracted to him. Now she’d accepted it, even embraced it. He drew the shirt over his head, and she gazed at his broad shoulders and toned chest. His skin was a shade or two darker than hers. He had no roundness or extra flesh to be seen. His skin stretched tautly over muscle and sinew, making her draw in a breath when he moved and his biceps flexed.
“What are you thinking, mon ange?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I can form a coherent thought at the moment,” she answered.
He stepped out of his boots and reached for his trousers. Flicking open the fall, he pulled them down and she had the first look at his manhood, jutting out from his drawers. The linen fabric seemed to barely contain him, and Honoria had a moment’s hesitation. The act of copulation had hurt the first time or two, but it had been pleasant enough after that.
But Laurent seemed somewhat larger than she’d expected. Surely all men were about the same? Or perhaps she was simply anxious because it had been some time since she’d done this, and already Laurent had shown her that she knew far less than she had thought.
“Your eyes have grown wide, mon ange,” he said, tossing his trousers on the floor. “You aren’t about to inform me you really are a virgin, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, but I don’t remember the”—she gestured toward him—“male organ being quite so large.”
He looked as though he might make some sort of arrogant retort, but closed his mouth and seemed to reconsider. That was wise because she might have hit him if he’d chosen this moment to resort to his usual haughtiness.
“I won’t hurt you.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “I promise to be gentle—or have you reconsidered?”
At her hesitation, he took a deep breath. “It won’t be easy to walk away with you sitting there looking like the cream one pours over ripe berries, but I can summon the strength. Somehow.” His voice was tight, giving her an idea as to just how much strength would be required.
She glanced up at his eyes again, at his skilled lips and she forgot all of her concerns. She wanted him. She loved him—despite his arrogance. She’d been trying to ignore this attraction since the first time she’d seen him, but she’d fallen in love with him anyway. How could she not, when he insisted on saving her life and acting honorably and rescuing children?
“Ah.” His hand caressed her hair. “I like that look better.” He bent and kissed her gently, but as soon as his lips touched hers, the banked heat within her ignited again. His lips were gentle and undemanding, but Honoria could not contain her own need. A moment before she’d have sworn she was sated for days. Now she craved his touch again.
She devoured his mouth, loving the feel of his lips sliding against hers. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth, stroking his tongue until his hands gripped her waist. The feel of his hands on her caused her to catch her breath, and then she was on her back and he was kneeling above her, taking control of the kiss.
Her entire body felt tightly coiled, ready to spring. The skin of his chest against her tender breasts was a new sensation, and she wriggled to move closer to him, unable to get close enough. She wrapped her legs around him, disappointed that he still wore the drawers, and she could not feel his bare hips under her calves.
“You need to learn patience,” he said on a groan. His lips moved to her jaw, then her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. His hands slid up her ribs to cup her breasts, which felt heavy and aching with need.
“I have waited for you long enough,” she countered. “I want you now.”
“I know the feeling.”
Lowering her legs, she slid her hands over his smooth back and down to his slim hips and taut buttocks. With a flick of her fingers she unfastened the drawers and slid them over his hips. His member, hot and hard, rested against her inner thigh. At that first contact, he growled into her mouth.
He moved, kicking the drawers off so they were both naked and entwined, skin sliding over skin, breath mingling, bodies straining each toward the other.
“I wanted to take this slowly,” he said.
“Next time.” She took his rod in her hand, running her fingers up and over its velvet length. He was thick and long and so very hard. His forehead rested on hers, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity she felt as well.
“I am not even certain I will survive this time. Your touch is...” He closed his eyes and she slid down to his root. “Honoria, give me leave.”
She nodded, already arching toward him.
“Say the words. I want no confusion between us.”
“Take me,” she whispered and guided him to her entrance. Her body shook as the first inch of him penetrated her. She was wet and ready, but it was still an invasion. A welcome invasion
, but strange all the same. His hands cupped her cheeks, and she met his gaze.
“Keep your eyes on me, mon ange.”
She did, losing herself in the green depths of his irises as he gently pushed deeper. She moaned at the first thrust and closed her eyes, but he kissed her. “Eyes on me.”
He moved again, pushing deeper, and she feared she would not be able to take all of him. And then his eyes darkened, and she knew he had buried himself to the hilt.
His hands left her cheeks and linked with her hands so their fingers entwined. He lifted her arms, pinning her to the bed. “Move with me, mon ange.”
He slid out, then back in again, his movements slow and measured. She caught the rhythm easily, lifting her hips to match his thrusts. Pleasure spiraled through her, making her tingle and causing her center to coil even more tightly. Though it had seemed impossible she would experience a release like he had given her earlier so soon, she felt her body straining for it.
“Not so quickly,” he murmured. “Take it slowly.”
“I am not so patient,” she replied, her voice thick with desire. “Next time we go slow.”
“Always next time with you.” He swallowed hard. “Mon Dieu, when you move like that you almost convince me.”
“Then let me do it again.”
He groaned. “Who am I to fight you?” he said through clenched teeth. His thrusts grew harder and faster, taking Honoria’s breath away. The rhythm of their bodies faded away, and she simply moved with him, allowing him to take her where he would. The coil inside her tightened until it strained to the point of discomfort. Tears stung her eyes, and she heard herself begging him in English.
“Please, please, please.”
His mouth came down on her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She arched up to give him access and he drove into her, pushing her over the edge until she was flying. With a cry, she soared higher and higher, her body going rigid and then straining against him to take more and more.
“Look at me,” he said from somewhere far away. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, letting him see just how high he had taken her. “You will be the death of me yet, mon ange,” he all but cursed, and then he thrust hard into her, making her cry out with more pleasure. She clenched around him, her body resisting as he pulled away. A moment later he collapsed on top of her, and she realized he’d spilled his seed on the bedclothes rather than inside her. With a groan, he rolled onto his side, taking her with him.
Her body still convulsed in pleasure, and she could not quite stop the purring in her throat. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “More?” she murmured.
He chuckled. “Little wanton. Sleep now. I promise to meet your demands when I can breathe again.”
She closed her eyes, but though she’d expected to dream of him, instead she dreamed of a pale girl dressed all in white and reflected in the blade of the guillotine.
Nineteen
Laurent stood near the window, staring at the Temple. He’d watched all afternoon, leaving Honoria to sleep. After he’d cleaned up, he laid a blanket over her, dressed, and took up his position at the table. Marie-Thérèse had gone back inside, but he’d drawn her from memory and noted everything else he could before the memories faded.
Now he had nothing to do but to watch the shadows grow over the medieval fortress as afternoon faded and turned slowly to evening.
He wanted to go back to the bedchamber, draw the blanket off Honoria’s lovely body, and take her again. He resisted, telling himself he had better watch the prison and ensure the procedures had not changed from yesterday to today.
But duty was only part of what kept him from going to her again. The other part was fear. Honoria had completely undone him. He’d lost all control, all sense of finesse and skill. He’d forgotten to behave like a gentleman and taken her with a savagery reminiscent of some sort of wild beast.
He’d tried to maintain command of himself, but the way she moved, the sounds she made, and the feel of her clenching around him were too much. Not that she’d seemed to mind. He’d watched as she climaxed, her eyes darkening to purple and her lips parting in wonder. In that moment, she truly resembled an angel. His angel. He wanted to see that look on her face again and again in all its forms. He wanted to hear her beg him in coarse English, cry his name as she came, purr with contentment when he’d satisfied her.
He should not care so much for her or her pleasure. Not that he was a selfish man, but he and Honoria had no future together. Perhaps they had another night, perhaps not that much. There would be no again and again for them. He would never know her body, her likes and dislikes, intimately. What they’d shared was all he was likely ever to have with her. It should have been enough.
Short liaisons, as sweet as they were brief, had always been enough for him before. What more did he want from Honoria? What more could he have? She could not become his lover, even if she would consent. No, she was the sort of woman who would insist he marry her.
For once the idea of matrimony did not annoy him. He allowed himself to briefly consider marriage to Honoria. Her body would belong to him. Her smiles, her laughs, her scowls would all be his. She was a remarkable woman, as brave as she was intelligent. In another world, marriage might have been possible. But not in this world. Not in a Paris whose streets ran with blood and whose citizens paraded severed heads through the streets.
Marriage, family, even love had no place in this world. And he could not allow himself to imagine otherwise.
He heard a sound behind him and tensed as he realized Honoria was awake and emerging from the bedchamber.
“You should have woken me,” she said, her voice husky from sleep. Mon Dieu, was every moment with her to be a torment of unfulfilled desire?
He turned and immediately wished he hadn’t. Her eyes were hooded from sleep, her cheeks pink, and though she had donned her chemise, she hadn’t bothered with the rest of her clothing. The thinness of the linen meant he did not have to use his imagination to picture her lush hips or rounded breasts.
Laurent turned back to the window. “You need to rest.”
“As do you.” She moved beside him, still out of sight of anyone outside the window. “Why don’t you rest, and I shall keep watch?”
He was tired, but he would not sleep if she sent him to the bedchamber. Her scent was on the pillow and the sheets, and he would only want her more.
“I can’t sleep right now,” he said, keeping his eyes on the Temple.
“Very well. We shall keep watch together.” She moved behind him and wrapped her arms around him. It was a gesture of affection and one he wanted to welcome, but one to which he could not allow himself to succumb. Hating his own weakness, he took her hands and unclasped them, then moved out of her arms. He caught the flash of pain on her face before she smoothed it over.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice formal.
“I don’t want distractions at the moment,” he said, sounding exactly like a pompous noble whose head should be chopped off.
“Of course.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “In that case, perhaps it is best if I look over your notes. I may be able to add to them.”
“If you like.” He didn’t look at her. He could not bear the temptation. Already he wondered how he would ever let her go when he finally rescued the princess and the dauphin. He would have to take the children to safety in Austria. There was no place in that plan for Honoria. Even if she wanted to accompany them, he could not allow it. She’d already risked her life one time too many. Better to keep some distance between them.
If only he’d anticipated the way their lovemaking would affect him, but how could he have known she would make him want her even more?
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said. “It’s colder in here than I expected.” She withdrew to the bedchamber, probably to dress. He hadn’t missed her double meaning, and he welcomed her anger. If she was angry with him, it would make parting that much easier.
She return
ed at the changing of the guard, and she was dressed in the same garments she’d worn earlier. He tried not to remember his hands on her skin as he’d unpinned the fabric, revealing her silky skin. He tried not to picture his mouth on her dusky nipples as she arched in pleasure.
With a sigh of annoyance, he sat at the table and noted the time and the appearance of the new guard. It was the same man as the day before, and the change had occurred at the same time.
“Would you like tea?” Honoria asked.
“I’m busy right now,” he snapped, scratching the quill across the parchment.
“Forgive me. It’s late, and I thought you might like refreshment. I’ll leave you to your work.” The ice in her words finally cut through to him, and he stood.
“Honoria.”
Her back was to him as she prepared the tea. She held up a hand to stay him. “I can see I am an unwanted nuisance. I suppose now that you’ve had me in your bed, you want nothing more to do with me. I’m only angry I am such a fool as to have believed it might ever mean anything more than that.”
“Honoria.”
“Oh, stubble it,” she said in English. “I know what you’re doing. You don’t have to apologize or explain. It makes sense, I suppose.” She turned, seeming to give up on the tea she’d been attempting to brew. “Once you have the princess, we will have to part. You think taking me to bed a mistake. We’ve made that parting more difficult.”
She did understand, more than he’d expected. “I don’t want to be cruel.”
“No, please, go on with it. Hating you is preferable to loving you.”
He staggered, but caught himself with a hand on the table. Loving him? She’d spoken in English, so perhaps he’d translated wrong.
But he knew he hadn’t. His English was heavily accented, but he could understand it perfectly. She’d admitted she loved him. No woman had ever told him she loved him—well, not said it and meant it. What was there to love about him? He was the dissolute son of a noble who had been disloyal to King Louis XV. It was only Louis XVI’s weakness that had permitted Laurent back into the court of Versailles when everyone knew his father had taken the side of Britain during the Seven Years’ War. That he had spent several months in the Temple and left disgraced.