A Proposition for the Comte

by Sophia James

  She did not fight him but stilled, their battle held in truce. His good hand walked up the soft skin on her inner thigh and then delved deeper into the heat. He felt the pull of muscle and heard the quiet sob of breath.

  Them. Now. If she wanted words he did not quite know how to give them so he stayed silent, flicking her nipple with his tongue and enjoying the way her hand crawled to his nape and held him there. Joined by flesh and by something else, too. By destiny, he was to later think, or by sheer and brutal luck.

  The luck that she had found him in the street on a cold winter night needing help and warmth and faith. Then allowed him succour, without question or deceit.

  Lady Addington made his skin shiver. He was fully dressed and yet he could never remember a connection like this one. Today when he thought he might lose her and that he might not be quick enough, his heartbeat had faltered and stopped, the blade in the winter sunshine, her eyes closing in acceptance, the shriek of children playing behind the sharp closeness of death.

  She was holding things back. For what purpose or reason he could not tell, but he needed to give her the time and space to come to him in honesty.

  Not now, though. Now they needed different truths, truths that were not anyone else’s save their own.

  His hand went to the fall front on his breeches and he undid the buttons, feeling the solid hardness there.

  Would she allow it? Was this where the game ended and reality began? He waited and watched.

  When she opened her eyes he saw surprise and shock. But he also saw need.

  ‘I want you, Aurelian...’

  Her words were whispered soft and she did not quite say his name like anybody else, lengthening the last vowel and shortening the first.

  ‘Now?’

  She nodded and he lifted her leg so that he was nestled closer, more able to find home. His eyes did not waver as he fitted himself at her entrance, the sleekness of her satisfying. Then he was inside, sliding into heaven piece by piece, higher and deeper and further and as she watched him he felt his heart hitch again.

  Mine.

  He nearly said it, but the licence to do so was not there yet, so he whispered her name instead, three times into the night in the hope that it might become true.

  * * *

  She felt him at her centre, the thickness of him and the heat. Pain was a part of it, as well, because it had been so long since she had lain with a man that her body had become tighter, less accommodating.

  He said her name over and over and she could hear in the words an echoed ache as he began to move faster. Any noises after that were deep inside, each groan filling her with an all-consuming desire. Her fingernails dug into his back, the shirt lifted so that she could find bareness. There were scars there, the marks of battle torn into skin, ridging muscle with harder lesions.

  Not an easy life. As hard as her own, perhaps? She leaned across and found his mouth, opening her own to take him in.

  He was beautiful.

  Using her tongue, she explored him, his lips, his mouth, his depth. Owning what she wanted and allowing him to know it. There was no pretence in such a thing, the truth of need a raw and vital spark.

  She bit down on him as she withdrew. She did not want him to be gentle. She did not want to beg. She wanted to forget and feel and know all that she had imagined in her lonely marital bed for so very many long years. If it was just to be tonight she wanted the fullness of the sensual. She felt like a pod ready to burst into new life, the rains falling upon her dryness.

  Opening further, she tipped back her head as his tongue traced a line on the column of her throat. He’d taken her hands, too, threading them together and pulling them above her so that she was captive against the flame. Stretched out. Ready.

  And then he moved hard within her. No simple and quiet taking, but a reach into her centre, marking her, burning her, sending the cold quiet woman she had always been into frenzied rapture.

  Exactly this. She smiled in a way that held no humour and he saw it.

  ‘Come with me, Violet. Come with me now.’

  And she did, the throb of release building in her throat and in her stomach, until it lit her like a torch with unbridled passion.

  * * *

  She was like a flame caught in the stillness, breathless, stiff and pulsating, each small movement leading to a larger one until her whole body convulsed with need, squeezing him tight.

  He came himself in her final throes of release, reigniting all that was quietening and making her groan, loud and then louder, her face contorted in shock and wonder.

  His seed spilt within her, deep inside. He had never been so careless before and yet here...

  Sealing his mouth across hers, he let himself go, an unaccustomed slip in control, a coupling like no other he’d experienced.

  Heaven.

  ‘Hell.’ He swore because he felt both found and lost. Found in lust and lost in feeling. The cold part of him that had been frozen ever since he could remember loosened its hold, leaving him reeling.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Her question filtered through the mists of incomprehension and his hand came forward to frame the lines of her face, shaking his head as he watched her.

  ‘I cannot ever remember being less so, Violet, in all of my life.’

  The joining between them held, a connection that underscored everything. He felt the wetness of sex on his thighs and smiled. Her petticoats billowed out beside them like white sails on a darkened sea, her long slender legs burnished with firelight. Unmarked. Shapely. Opened to him. Available.

  ‘What does the name Aurelian mean in French?’

  ‘Little golden one,’ he replied and smiled. ‘Every one of my family is golden haired and small. I hearkened back to some other bloodline, from the northern climes I always thought.’

  ‘You have siblings, then?’

  ‘A sister. She lives here in England.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘With my two elderly aunts. They are, however, far more wily than one would think them and many have discounted their power and regretted it. Mama is buried in Normandy, but my father still resides in Paris.’

  He had rolled on his back now beside her, his good hand finding the wet warmth of her centre. She did not pull away, but watched him, her lips parting as he pressed in, one finger and then two.

  He came in further.

  ‘Here?’ he whispered and she groaned as the sweet spot he touched vibrated with heat beneath his fingers. ‘Or here?’

  Her eyes widened as he worked and then she groaned, reaching for him and bending her knees so that her legs fell full apart.

  This time he felt her stomach harden, his fingers each playing in tune, no small game, no quiet, easy ending.

  He turned her then and lifted her so that he could find what he sought. And then he was in her softly, feeling his way so that she could know the joy of this touch.

  She simply unravelled, right there in his hands, her muscles squeezing him with tightness, keeping him close, finding in the magic her way to the stars, a hitch of breath and the slick tang of sweat before collapsing, in heat and in exhaustion and in something else that he understood exactly.

  Wonderment.

  ‘How do you know of this, Aurelian? How can I learn?’

  Her lips were swollen from his kisses. The skirt she wore was bunched about her waist and the bodice fell to that place, too, the wool and underclothing framing skin of ivory.

  Her hair snaked around her waist and lay on the covers in stains of tousled red, silky and thick with auburn, cinnamon and flame.

  She looked like a fine courtesan, well used and satisfied. She looked happy.

  ‘Will you teach me how to please you, too?’ This came after a moment, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with amazement.

  ‘Are you
sore?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Then now is the time to show you something else entirely.’

  * * *

  He had tasted her then, taken her with his mouth and tongue, a softer assault, but so very reminiscent of all the others.

  Three times within an hour she had felt the burn of an orgasm when for all the years with Harland she had never understood it once.

  Tonight she was like a harlot, like a woman who was used wisely and well. She could have lain there for a hundred years and never moved as she sought to feel all that he gave her again and again, there in the bedroom and the night winding down towards dawn.

  She did not care. Aurelian de la Tomber was radiant and life-giving, a lover who understood every nuance of her body. She wanted to wallow in the feeling of it. She wanted to take him in her mouth just as he had taken her, without reservation or shyness. She wanted the break of the day to stay away until there was nothing left of them save feeling.

  Her muscles contracted again without his touch and he laid his hand palm down across her stomach.

  ‘You are like mercure, Violet. Unpredictable and changing rapidly.’

  Quicksilver, she thought, translating from the French and liking the word on his tongue, for the compliment in what he said was no small and vapid thing. For six years she had been so careful. For six years she had been frightened.

  Aurelian had freed her here tonight. Freed her body by valuing dominion over her own feelings. There was nothing between them that had been forbidden. No limits.

  Quicksilver.

  The clock at the end of the room struck the hour of three and Aurelian rose to place another log on the fire. Then he poured more wine and brought her over a glass.

  Sitting, she leaned against the headboard, making no effort at all to cover herself. Even that felt marvellously wicked for she saw him observe her in all the places no other ever had before.

  ‘Let us drink to the joy of sex, Violet. The elixir of life.’

  She took one sip and then another, but wished he might put his glass down and enter her again. She felt the pulsating, thick want as an ache.

  His eyes hooded as she moved and he removed what was left of his clothes so that the hard length of him was easily seen, dusky red in the firelight. The bandage on his hand was so very visible. ‘Come here.’

  She did.

  ‘Sit down upon me.’

  The engorged flesh of him came between her legs and then upwards into her. Upwards and upwards until there was nowhere left for it to go, save against the opening of her womb. He placed his hands on her shoulders and filled her to the very hilt. Only him. Only them. Only his flesh and the knowledge that she would remember this one moment for ever. Joined completely. Her head tilted back and he took her there, too, with his mouth, rasping into softness, a new heat joining the other one, so that rapture and ache came together to create a feeling that was dangerous and consuming. Like a small death. She even forgot to breathe.

  Slumped against him a moment later, she felt his fingers moving across her back, drawing circles. Shivering, she came closer, fire diluted now into tiredness. She wanted to sleep for ever.

  Lifting her, he drew back the blanket, her breasts pressed against his chest before he laid her down, tucking the warmth about her.

  ‘Go to sleep.’

  She nodded, all words gone, the stillness of the night like an echo.

  * * *

  She awoke alone and naked the next morning, her ruined gown draped across a chair beside her bed, nothing left of him save the wetness between her legs, the ghost of passion.

  Smiling, she stretched, feeling the ache in places she had not before and revelling in the difference.

  Could she love Aurelian de la Tomber after knowing him for such a small time? Did she trust herself to even think this? With Harland she had imagined the same within days of meeting him and then paid for such a stupidity for all of the next six years. Perhaps she was cursed?

  A shiver coursed through her. Love or lust? Truth or lies?

  She did know one thing, though, to the very centre of her core. She knew she wanted Aurelian de la Tomber to be here beside her with his magical hands and body more than she had wanted anything else in her entire life.

  But what would he be feeling? She had been wanton and forward and loose. She had offered him her body for safety and had come away from their tryst into a far more precarious position.

  Other bindings now tied her to him and she wondered how she would face him when she saw him at the next soirée. Would he acknowledge what had happened? Small tremors of doubt began to fill her certainty.

  Would he feel the same as she did, a man with a wealth of experience with women? A jaded and generous lover?

  She turned over in her bed and buried her face in the pillow. Could she survive indifference after this, she who had promised herself never again to be involved with anyone? She had told him her inner secrets and lies. She had allowed him knowledge of things that could destroy her. She had showed him the note and trusted in him.

  If he played her false...?

  No. She would not think that he might.

  It was safety she was after while she unravelled the mystery of who was trying to kill her. Surely at least their unusual bargain would extend to keeping the faith in that.

  Chapter Seven

  When she finally got dressed and went downstairs at lunchtime, Violet was surprised to find Amaryllis gazing out the windows, all the curtains drawn back.

  ‘I think Charles Mountford must have employed guards to stand out at the front of our house. I sent the butler out to enquire about them and he relayed a message that the men would accompany us on any outings we were to make. They are big men, too, Violet. Take a look.’

  Three strangers stood before the town house, each well proportioned and serious. She was certain that they would have carried weapons and also certain that any orders given to them would be well and properly obeyed.

  The plot had thickened, then, and Charles obviously did not suspect that the man arrested yesterday in the park was working alone and neither did Aurelian. He had implied that the one who had paid to have her killed was a powerful foe.

  Any thoughts of the delights of the night past were suddenly overtaken with the dread of what might come next.

  They were now, Violet thought, essentially prisoners in their own home. Swallowing away alarm, she turned to Amaryllis.

  ‘Have you had any further thoughts about going on holiday to Rome?’

  ‘I have. This morning I sent word to Charles Mountford to ask for passages for myself and the boys to Italy. I wish you would come but...well...’ She blushed then, giving Violet a good idea of what she was alluding to even before she spoke. ‘The French Comte was here last night? With you?’

  She should have known that nothing could be kept a secret. ‘He was. I asked him to help provide safety.’

  ‘My maid implied that there might have been more to it than simply that, Violet?’

  ‘I made love with him, Amara, and I do not regret it one little bit.’

  Her sister-in-law’s hands went to her mouth, the shock in her eyes almost comical.

  ‘What if you become pregnant?’

  ‘I am barren. Surely you heard Harland say that often enough?’

  ‘Perhaps it was a problem related only to my brother?’

  ‘No. He had two children out of wedlock with his favourite mistress in London. He held their portraits in his pocket and made it his duty to show me each time I saw him.’

  ‘I still hate him, you know. Even after everything that happened.’ Amara stopped.

  ‘Hate is a hard emotion to keep feeding. I did it for almost all of our marriage.’

  ‘How did you stop, then?’

  ‘I let it go when Harland died and then I withdr
ew from the memories.’

  ‘And last night you began other memories all of your own. How on earth will this end, Violet?’

  ‘Aurelian de la Tomber is not here this morning on bended knees pleading for my hand in marriage, I am well aware of that. But, his offer of protection for now is enough.’

  ‘Enough?’

  Violet laughed and faced her sister-in-law directly. ‘You loved your husband, Amaryllis. When he died you mourned him solidly for two years. You are still sad. I, on the other hand, found myself wishing that Harland might have died in the night every day that I awoke while he lived here. When he hit you, Amaryllis, so soon after you arrived at Addington, I understood exactly what sort of a man he was and how none of it was my fault or yours. I never forgave him, but I am trying to forget him.’

  ‘Yet he still haunts us?’

  ‘Well, don’t let him do so. Live your life and smile again. Go to Italy and laugh.’

  ‘He may be beautiful, this French Count, and I have never seen you look as fetching as you do this morning, but people are talking of him and it is not all flattering.’

  The footman knocked at the door just as Amara finished speaking, announcing that the Minister Mountford had come to call. Violet felt a slight sense of relief that the conversation between them could now be at an end.

  Charles looked older this morning than she had ever seen him, his hair a little untidy and the lines under his eyes deep.

  ‘Good morning, ladies. I have come to say that I’ve purchased your tickets for Italy already, Mrs Hamilton. But before I complete the sale, are you certain you will not also be joining your sister-in-law on holiday, Violet? I would recommend that you do so.’

  ‘I won’t be. I would, however, like to thank you for the arranging of guards outside our town house.’

  ‘It was not by my orders.’ He stood still as he said this. ‘I doubt our office could run to such an expense.’

  ‘Who, then?’ Even as she said it she knew the name that would follow.