"My bum is sore but feels loved!"
"Ah yes! Nothing like discipline to keep things in line. A child needs discipline."
She struggled off of him as they both laughed.
"Ah," said the Marquis. "You are a good and beautiful woman. You deserve fulfillment."
"Thank you, Citizen Charles. Charles. My friend. Somehow, though, I think at times I seek more than mere orgasm and release. I seek much more..."
The Marquis managed to push himself off his chair. He bowed as deeply as he could manage.
"If there is anything I can do to help in any of your efforts, I am at your disposal."
He took up her hand and kissed it.
"Thanks you, Marquis. I shall need your advice. And perhaps more."
CHAPTER SIX
Weeks passed.
Janice enjoyed her salon in Paris. She enjoyed the attention of men and she enjoyed accruing wealth and influence. And, under the tutelage of both the Marquis de Sade and Talleyrand, and of course, the many men she slept with, she gain not just a reputation, but notoriety.
It happened late into one of her salons. She was winning at cards even though Talleyrand was not her partner. He was off in Austria somewhere, attending to diplomatic matters.
There was a commotion at the door, and moments later a servant hurried up to her, flustered.
"Madam, madam! Oh madam!"
"Well, what is it, Beatrice? I'm holding a winning hand and gentlemen eager to give me their money!" The others at the table laughed.
Beatrice's round face was flushed with excitement.
"He is here! He is here!"
"Who is here? Speak up, girl!" Oh, she loved to command servants like this. Perhaps it appealed to the dominant side of her nature.
"The First Consul!"
It was her turn to be stunned. "What?"
"It is Napoleon Bonaparte. Himself!"
Inside, Janice felt as though a volcano was pushing up. A volcano of excitement and alarm. And yet, she'd been in French society long enough to know how to control her emotions at the correct time.
"Thank you, Beatrice. I will attend to him." She nodded to her fellow game players, rose up from the chair and slowly made her way to the front door.
Standing there was Napoleon Bonaparte, First Consul of France, with a small retinue that included a towering dark man in Eastern garb. The bodyguard he'd brought from Egypt, of course.
Bonaparte was frowning. He was dressed in comfortable garb. He was not wearing his famous hat. However, his hand was tucked into his vest by his chest. It was fiddling with a button, betraying either his impatience... or perhaps nervousness.
"Why Napoleon! What a pleasure," said Janice. She held out a hand and beamed a coy smile. "I trust you have a formal invitation with you!"
"What!" Bonaparte barely managed to suppress a screech. His hair was shorter than last time, but he still had dark romantic curls. His eyes blazed with some inner fire beyond anything she had seen before meeting him. He drew his hand from his vest and gestured dramatically. "I am First Consul. My arrival deserves to be celebrated!" But then, suddenly, as he looked at her he noticed the look in her eyes and the mocking smile on her face. For a moment, he was taken aback, but then a smile flickered on his lips, quickly to be suppressed. "I am sorry. Talleyrand mentioned it was an open invitation. To be cashed in when I cared to cash it in."
"Of course," said Janice. She stepped back curtseying and gestured to the sets of players. "I'm sure we can find a space for you at one of the tables. It sounds as though you are hungry for a very good game, and all our players here are very good... very good indeed, I know!"
All the players--men all them--were all standing at attention, staring at the newcomer with astonishment.
"Here!" said a voice.
"Here, First Consul!' said another. "I was about to take a break anyway."
A slight smile still stayed affixed to Napoleon Bonaparte's face. "Ah, but my dear--I had rather hoped to play at your table."
"Oh? As a partner--or as an adversary?"
"I'm sure either case would be a delight. But in truth, Talleyrand has assured me of your prowess at whist and it would be foolish to play against you. I wonder--"
He glanced toward her table.
A soldier--Colonel Jasques--happily bowed and vacated. "I too need a break. You may assume my place, First Consul."
Napoleon nodded curtly. He was obviously a man who well appreciated being obeyed in all things, with rewards for those who did so.
"Thank you... Colonel..."
"Colonel Jasques." Heels clicked and there was another low bow.
"I will remember this, Colonel." Napoleon looked at Janice. "That is, of course, if our hostess is content with the switch."
"But of course, First Consul. I hope though, you have brought some francs, because I have spent all mine on dresses today!"
Napoleon Bonaparte laughed. "Ha! Just like Josephine! Why the women buys so many dresses! I have no fear of an English embargo, because my wife alone will keep the French textile factories in business herself!"
There was a round of honest laughter from his ‘troops’.
He held up a benign hand. "Now then, go back to your evening's entertainment, all of you. I assure you I have plenty of work for all of you in the future, and I would scarce be a spoilsport about you taking pleasure when you can!"
"Hear, hear!" cried a voice in the background.
"He is still our general, even though he is now more than a General!"
said another voice.
"Well then," said Bonaparte. He held out an arm. "Perhaps you will escort me to my new chair, madame?"
"I will indeed, my Lord."
"Please. I would ask you to call me Napoleon, but all my friends just call me Bonaparte."
"Bonaparte. Much as Talleyrand prefers his own last name."
"Great men enjoy similar traits."
"I am only concerned with great card players at the moment," said Janice. She slid her arm into Napoleon’s. "But please, do come this way... Napoleon."
Together they stepped toward the table.
Napoleon took his place. He accepted the wine offered him without question, quaffing only a small sip before setting it down beside him. Authoritatively, he drew up the cards and assembled them into a fresh deck. "I assume we may start at some beginning?" he said to his opponents.
The opponents of course had no objection.
Janice took her place at the other end of the table, opposite Napoleon.
She watched, sipping her wine, as bets were made and one of Napoleon's people sat down a bit behind, with a piece of paper and a quill, scratching away number.
"Excellent! We begin!"
He dealt the cards.
It is said that if one is lucky at cards, he is unlucky with women. If she had anything to do with it tonight, her new guest, Janice knew, would be lucky with a woman. So she was prepared for bad hands, hoping that her female consolations would help a man so used to victory.
However, that was not to be.
Over the course of slightly over an hour, she and Napoleon won most of the hands. Even Napoleon seemed puzzled as to his luck.
"You are playing, madam," he said at one point, "as though you can read my mind!"
"I am merely playing with my feminine instincts," she said. "Which seem very aroused tonight, I must say, in the presence of such a great man."
Napoleon bowed a bit in deference but it was clear that he absorbed the compliment as though it was due him.
During the course of the evening, one by one the other men there made their excuses and departed, making sure to bow farewell to the surprise and most notable guest. Napoleon took each bow in stride, duties owed and accepted. But it was clear he was absorbed in his cards. Janice, in fact, was a bit taken aback back this. She'd thought he'd come to see her, but seemed more interested in the whist hands than her ample charms.
She smiled demurely at him. Winked. Flirted. She mig
ht have put her toes up his leg and into his crotch, as she'd done with Talleyrand, but for some reason she felt that it was... well, simply the wrong time for that.
Finally, the only people in the apartment were Napoleon's retinue, Janice's servants and the four whist players.
Their opponents were both Captains. They had been winning before Napoleon's arrival. Now they were losing. Even though, Janice noted, they were playing very well indeed.
"You have a way with cards," Napoleon said, raking in another hand.
The comment was to Janice, and she smiled at him.
"Somehow... Somehow, First Consul I feel as though I am getting messages from you. Mind to mind. Spade to spade. Heart to heart."
She wished her eyelashes were very long. She'd bat them at him.
Napoleon grunted. "Nonsense. Skill. Strategy. Tactics. That is the true stuff of cards, as it is with battle and warfare."
Captain L'Escadrille shook his head. "To the expense of my salary, I fear."
"And mine, alas," said Captain Lyon. "First Consul, I enlisted to fight by your side, not against you!"
Napoleon smiled broadly. "Oh, but gentlemen. It is but a bit of fun! You would have spent your francs on booze and whores. Instead, you have here fine wine and a beautiful woman, and the company of... Well, me."
They all laughed. It was nice to see that sometimes Napoleon Bonaparte had a sense of humor. Obviously, it helped for him to be winning in a game of cards.
"One more round then, gentlemen? One more chance to take back some of your losses?"
It was obvious that this was what Napoleon wanted, and so it was what Napoleon got.
They played another round and the Captains were soundly thrashed, as Janice could have predicted.
"There!" said Napoleon, slapping down his final card. "Oh magnificent! Well played. We almost lost, didn't we Janice?"
"Yes, I fear so!" she said.
"And now we need but tally our winnings."
The captains were digging in their pockets. “And our losses."
For his part, Napoleon seemed as pleased to have won at this game, as he was to have won the battle of Austerlitz.
Wait a moment, thought Janice, amused at her own thought. That hasn't happened yet!
"Yes, and I will be sure to donate it to the cause of retired old French Generals. My goodness!" said Napoleon. "I suppose I am a candidate!"
The officers coughed up their dues, and all was settled. Napoleon was all smiles as he bid them adieu and they trundled off, looking not so much forlorn as bemused.
Napoleon looked up from his pile of franc notes and coins.
"I suppose now I should settle up with you."
She took a long sip from her glass of red wine as she watched the other men file out.
Then she let her eyes play over the First Consul.
He wasn't short. No, not at all. True, Murat and the others might tower over him. But she'd been with men just as tall as he--here and back in the 21st century. And generally, the sheer truth of the matter was that back here, everyone was shorter than in the 21st Century. Why? Because, quite simply, of nutrition.
She remembered now, of visiting museums and seeing armor that was worn by knights of the Middle Ages. Why, she'd realized, these folk were short! They weren't quite midgets or dwarfs but often as not the armor didn't top much more the five feet! Once in a while, she imagined, there was a tall man. Six feet? Seven? Why this, of course, was nothing in the 21st century.
Sevenish was pretty much basketball height.
Nutrition.
Still, as she looked at him, he was remarkable. He simply glowed. Nor was it the glow of his yellowish skin. Certainly it was not so much a glow of health. No, it was a glow of absolute and total conviction. Napoleon Bonaparte's star was rising and he well knew it.
Next step?
Empire!
Emperor!
"Oh, please," she said, finally setting her wine down. "You may settle with Murat. That is his job. You see, he pays for all this."
"Oh? You are kept by Murat?" Napoleon had been drawn in. Good!
"What? Of course not!" she said sharply, and with much spirit! "I am a guest! Murat is my host! I am a foreign female who has..."
She searched for the right words, and remembered some.
"I am a stranger, cast upon the charity of others."
Napoleon leaned back and barked a laugh. "Ah ha! I like that! I like that very much. I shall, perhaps, use that sometime myself."
"In fact, I stole it from a playwright?"
"I do not recognize it from Moliere."
No. Actually, it was Tennessee Williams. A Streetcar Named Desire.
"No," she said. "An American playwright who has not been translated into French yet!"
Ha ha. Good answer.
"Hmm. Well." He snapped his fingers and his own retinue were suddenly out of the room, herding her servants with them. He looked back as the door closed behind them, and then he leaned forward.
"You have done very well for yourself, Janice. Each time I hear from my people of your exploits, I question my earlier decision when I met you."
"Oh? You are most gracious."
"Nonsense. I am... I am... a man."
"I am... I am..." she responded. "A woman."
"And yet... when we first met I felt... I felt strongly drawn to you. And I have, believe me, met many a fair woman."
"You were afraid, my lord, of loving me. Are you no longer afraid?"
She took a sip of wine and stared into his eyes.
What she found there was a dark and turmoiled sea.
He ground his teeth and he took his own wine. He tried to drink some and, finding it not to his taste, he flung the glass down. It smashed off to the side. No servant came to pick it up.
"Who, Janice, who has been struck to the quick by love and then wrenched and gutted... Who is not afraid?"
"I do not ask for love, my lord."
Napoleon cocked his head. "What?"
"Why love me? I am a whore. You have paid for me. Murat has paid for me. Many men have paid for me. I am a whore. And yet although you have paid for me--in your company here, in your interest, in your tolerance--you do not seem to care to collect the spoils." All this she said, of course, with high sarcasm in her voice.
"You have no inkling of what rumbles inside me," said Napoleon.
"Really, I should like to know. But more to the point, I want to assure you I do not want your love. I merely want your body!"
Napoleon laughed. He laughed again. "Pah! This poor thing! I drive it hard. It is but the vehicle to my destiny."
"Well, I should like to have use of it," said Janice. "I truly think you will enjoy the experience.
From his vest pocket, Napoleon drew out a time piece. He clicked it open and consulted it. "I was hoping to put in a few hours work tonight. But I suppose I can give you an hour."
Janice smiled, thinking, Gosh, he is a workaholic, isn't he?
She stood up and smoothed her skirts. She extended a hand to him. "Follow me, then, my lord. If we only have an hour, then we should not dawdle."
He nodded and smiled. He took her hand, kissed the back of it and allowed her to take him toward her bedroom.
"Just a moment, Janice," he said. He hurried over to the tall dark Eastern man and whispered something to him. The dark man nodded and began to search the apartment for souls who should be hustled out. Napoleon returned to Janice. "Now then. Your boudoir, I believe."
Fortunately, she now had servants. Back in the 21st century, the place would be a mess. But with servants, the place had been tidied up tremendously. Crisp satin pillows sat up, properly awaiting resting heads. The place smelled of a delicate mix of perfume and talcum powder. Everything was clean and neat. It made Janice feel very good and gave her a bit of jolt to her confidence. It was a strong four-poster with a frilly canopy. It looked like the bed of royalty, all red and blue and purple. Janice went up to it and pulled the sheet down. "My Lord,"
she said.
Napoleon slammed the door shut. He walked toward her staring intently at her. As he walked, he first took off one boot and then the other. He took off his coat and threw it to one side.
"Janice," he said, breathily and earnestly.
He took her up in his arms and embraced her. His lips, at first, smelled of wine and garlic. But as they crushed into hers and overwhelmed her with their fervency, the smell and taste disappeared into a writhing of lips and teeth, of tongues and need.
They kissed.
At first, Janice was overwhelmed. Napoleon had taken her lips as a he might take a position in battle, dominant and overwhelming. She succumbed and for a moment felt dizzy. She devoured them even as those lips devoured hers, and it was, quite simply, the most remarkable and overwhelming kiss she'd ever felt. She felt a pressure and the next thing she knew she was being pushed back onto her bed. Napoleon hoped on top of her and began raping her neck, her chest, her breasts, his hands ripping at her clothing.
It was truly like the heights of a Beethoven symphony. Nonetheless, she had the sense to pull back for a moment.
"Oh my Lord," she said, and she pulled down her dress as he began to gnaw hungrily at one of her nipples, which was thick and red with excitement. "At this rate an hour is far too much time!"
"My need... my need is great!"
Gently she pulled him up, her hands bracketing his face. She nuzzled his nose with hers.
"Do you fear your need will not be slaked?"
"No."
"Passion is all very well. But I think that in this case I deserve at least an hour with you in my bed."
"We can talk afterwards!"
"Trust me, Napoleon. Trust me." She laughed gaily and she felt her eyes sparkling at him. "At the very least you can take off your clothes."
"Ah. Yes. A detail."
"An important detail!"
He smelled clean and fresh, and she cherished that. Many of the men she had taken into her bed had not bathed for a while, and it was a difficult thing to make love to them. But she knew bathing habits were not the same now as they were in her own time.
Napoleon took hot baths all the time. It helped sooth some of his soreness, he claimed, and also helped him with his insomnia. A bath was a simple pleasure, and so why deny a general or a First Consul or certainly an Emperor to be?
The French Affair Boxed Set Page 20