She started to leave him and then she turned back at the door and smiled at him. “You’ll have fun tonight,” she said. “I promise.”
“I want to believe you.”
She smiled. “Do you really want to leave? If you do, you can go. I’ll have a driver take you back to Paris right now.”
He believed her. If he asked to leave, she would make sure he was in a car in ten minutes. He’d already talked to the colonel’s nephew. The boy didn’t seem to be in distress at all—far from it, in fact. Why not leave? Because he didn’t want to, that’s why. He told himself he was “information-gathering.” Sure. That sounded like a good enough excuse.
“I’ll stay,” he said. “If only to meet this mysterious Colette.”
“Oh, you’ll do more than meet her,” Polly said. “You know what happens after a wedding, right?”
“A reception?”
Polly winked. “The wedding night.”
After Polly left, Kingsley paced the room like a caged lion. He only stopped when he realized that was the sort of thing a real groom would be doing. Pantomime? Really? A play ceremony? Insane. But he’d done stranger things for this job before. There were certainly worse ways of earning a living than getting dressed up and fucking girls at parties.
As Polly had promised him, it wasn’t long before someone came to fetch him. It was Leon, also in a tuxedo.
“Are you my groomsman?” Kingsley asked, looking him up and down.
“You don’t look happy. If you knew Colette, you’d look happy.”
“I don’t know Colette, but I’m already sick of her. I’m annoyed Madame is putting me through this stupidity.”
“I told you they fuck with you here,” Leon said. “Didn’t I? They fuck with all of us all the time.”
“Then why do you want to stay?”
Leon looked at him like he was crazy. “Everyone fucks with everyone all the time. Might as well get fucked with by beautiful women who let you fuck them after. Really, what’s there to complain about?”
Kingsley shook his finger at the boy. “You make a point.”
Leon waved Kingsley into the hallway, which had been transformed during the day from a decorous passageway into a gauntlet of ornate paper lanterns on every table surrounded by hot house flowers. Orchids and irises and winter roses overflowed from gilt vases. The stair railing was also decorated with flowers and lights and emanating from the walls of the house was the low hum of music playing somewhere. Kingsley couldn’t help but stare agog at the transformation the château had undergone. Holly hung from the ceiling and tall white candles glowed in the mirrors.
“How decadent,” Kingsley said, trying to fight off the spell the house was putting him under. His heart was racing with anticipation, excitement, and nervousness. When he passed under a hanging garland of roses, he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t actually getting married.
“Maybe so,” Leon said. “But Madame likes to indulge her favorites.”
“Am I a favorite already?”
“I meant Colette.”
Before Kingsley could respond something to the effect of Fuck Colette, Leon ushered him through a set of heavy wooden double doors. They entered a glittering ballroom, the sort Kingsley had only seen in films from the thirties. Once he entered the room, exuberant applause erupted from the assembly. Polly had said there were nine men in the house and ten women, but Kingsley counted at least forty people in the ballroom, all in various costumes. Louis XV ball gowns on some of the women. Nineteenth century breeches and boots on several of the men. But some were wearing contemporary formalwear. Some were wearing almost nothing at all. One woman, resplendent in her white powdered wig, had on a pale peach dress so sheer and tight that he could see the freckle on her delectable bare posterior as she passed him by.
“Who are all these people?” Kingsley asked Leon as they were both greeted with kisses on their cheeks by the delighted—and likely inebriated—crowd.
“Friends of Madame.” Leon grabbed two glasses of red wine off a passing server’s tray and handed one to Kingsley, who downed half of it in three swallows.
“That’s Henri and Jean-Michel,” Leon said, pointing to two men—one white and one black, both wearing formal tuxedos but without the tails.
“Henri is Madame’s driver?” Kingsley asked.
“Right. And he does everything else for her. He’s been here with her for fifteen years. Jean-Michel’s mother is Senegalese. He’s been here ever since he graduated from the Sorbonne. Five years here, I think. Polly’s favorite. But don’t tell. They’re not supposed to have favorites.”
“Hmm…” was all Kingsley said. Kingsley wanted to be Polly’s favorite.
“That’s Nadine and Jacques,” Leon said, pointing to a pretty pale lady in a blue velvet Empire-waist gown.
“I know Jacques. We’re old friends now,” Kingsley said, smiling at the little baby boy in the blue velvet suit. Jacques had a white ruff around his neck like a seventeenth-century prince. Jacques was getting cuddles and goodnight kisses from a few people in the crowd. Must be his bedtime.
Leon pointed out others and named them. Louise, another of the ladies of the château, a woman of about forty with fiercely intelligent eyes looked haughty and marvelous in a Givenchy gown of black. Even that fierce-looking lady couldn’t stop herself from smiling every now and then. And Amal, Leon’s lover from last night brushed past them both without saying a word…though she did give Leon a little wink.
“Isn’t it great here?” Leon asked, beaming. “I don’t care what my father says. I’m never leaving.”
Kingsley eyed Leon. The young man was a puzzle. He thought about that American phrase he’d learned long ago, the one about drinking the Kool-Aid. Leon had clearly drunk the Kool-Aid. He hadn’t even asked Kingsley how his family was, or if his mother had sent a message. Brand new cult members were like happy brides on their honeymoons. Everything was perfect. Everything was a dream come true. Nothing was wrong. Everything was right. True love prevailed and would last forever.
The room they stood in was octagonal, with gray marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows all around. Outside everything was white with snow—trees and shrubs and statues. Lanterns hung from the rafters, and it seemed the entire party glowed with their light. The string sextet he’d heard echoing through the house sat on a dais playing lively waltzes. Not all the men were handsome and not all the women were beautiful, but every last one of them glowed like they were lit from within by wine and song. It was joie de vivre if he’d ever seen it and even Kingsley’s lingering suspicions began to wither under the light.
The crowd parted, and Kingsley spied lovely Polly coming to him. Her low-cut red dress was adorned with so many sequins that he could hardly tell the outline of her as she shimmered like a mirage in the desert.
“Magnifique,” he said to her as she reached for his hands and kissed both his cheeks.
“You like my dress?”
“I meant your breasts.”
Polly laughed, and he joined her in her laughter.
“Merci.” Polly grinned, her face flushed with happiness. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
“If I was I wouldn’t admit to it,” he said. But he smiled when he said it.
“It’s about to be more fun.”
She nodded toward the center of the small ballroom and there stood Madame looking both blithe and lithe in her black double-breasted tuxedo dress, her white hair expertly coiffed in a low knot that gave her a sleek androgynous silhouette. She was a slight woman, but there was no denying she held the gathered in her thrall. The wine flowed and the music played and the partygoers danced and laughed and kissed, but the moment Madame raised one thin arm into the air and snapped her fingers…
Silence.
“Bonsoir, mes amis,” she said, as she turned a slow circle to greet all and sundry. “Welcome to Midwinter.”
Everyone applauded and cheered.
“For fifteen years we have held this
celebration,” she continued, “on the first full night of the first true snow of the new year. What we honor tonight is life. And what better night to honor life than a night when it is cold and snow covers the land? Life is out there, under the snow, sleeping, yes, and waiting to wake. And life is in here. Warmth in the midst of coldness. Light in the midst of darkness. Beauty in the midst of bitterness. And to rebuke the barrenness of this season, we, as we have for three decades, offer up fresh and fertile young blood.”
“I said no human sacrifice,” Kingsley whispered to Polly. “Hard limit.”
“Hush, it’s symbolic,” she whispered. Kingsley rolled his eyes.
“And so we bring together our Midwinter King,” Madame said, holding out a hand to Kingsley. Polly nudged him and he walked over to her. “And our Midwinter Queen in marriage.”
Leon and Henri opened the double doors. A girl stepped into the hall. She was wearing a Renaissance-style dress of black and gold. Her dark hair fell down her back in rolling waves and her dark eyes danced in the lantern light. She wasn’t more than eighteen or nineteen and she was undoubtedly the loveliest girl he’d seen in his life.
And he would have recognized her in a heartbeat even without the red cap and beauty mark.
23
No one had bowed to him, but as Colette, the girl he’d met at the phone booth, walked over to him, every man bowed and every woman curtsied. Kingsley probably should have bowed as well, but he was too overcome by the sight of her to move lest he break the spell. Her eyes were on him alone, as if the people she passed were nothing but shadows and only he was present in flesh and blood.
“You,” he said as she came to stand in front of him. She held out her two small hands to him and he took them instinctively. They shook in his grasp. For all her apparent composure, she was nervous.
“Me,” she said in a whisper. Then she gave him a smile, the exact smile every groom wanted his bride to give him the moment before the marriage. The smile that said, You, only you, always you.
He wanted to ask her a thousand questions. Why him? Had there been a test? Had he passed it? Who was she really? How had she found him at the phone booth? And, most important of all, could he kiss her right here right now and never ever stop?
Before he could open his mouth, Madame began to speak again.
“The Midwinter Queen has chosen her King, and now we join them together with ribbons of white to symbolize our Queen’s purity, ribbons of red to symbolize the blood of rebirth, and bands of gold to symbolize the endless cycle of life.”
Madame brought his right hand together with Colette’s and she wrapped a length of white silk around their joined wrists, a length of red silk over the white, and then placed gold band on their left ring fingers. Kingsley wanted to find it ridiculous. He wanted to laugh at the silly paganism of it all. And he might have, if Colette’s eyes hadn’t been shining with unshed tears. If there was a man in the world who could remain unmoved by the sight of a beautiful girl trying not to cry with happiness, Kingsley didn’t want to know him. This—whatever this was—meant something to her, and if it meant so much to her, he would at least pretend to take it seriously. The longer he looked into her eyes, at her quivering bottom lip, so soft and kissable, the less pretending he had to do.
“And now,” Madame said, her words cutting through Kingsley’s reverie on Colette’s lips, “let there be kissing and let there be laughter and let there be new life.”
“You’re supposed to kiss me now,” Colette whispered.
She didn’t have to whisper twice.
Their right hands were still joined by the white and red ribbons, and Kingsley lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles, her palm, and all her fingertips. As his lips brushed the back of her hand she made a little sound, a little intake of breath that told him she desired him almost as much as he desired her.
He hadn’t expected the girl who’d asked him if he was circumcised at their first meeting to be timid, but she kissed like she’d never been kissed before. Her lips trembled and her breath hitched in her throat as he explored her mouth. She tasted sweet as strawberries and he chased that taste with his tongue. Her head tilted back and she moaned softly in the back of her throat. Around them people clapped and cheered and oh-la-la-ed but they might as well have been a thousand miles away for all Kingsley heeded them. He had one purpose in that moment and that was to make Colette moan like that again. And again. And again…
Colette broke the kiss, but only, it seemed, because she had to or she would faint. Her cheeks were pink and eyes damp and wide. She was young, terribly young, and it must have been overwhelming for her to be kissed like that in front of so many.
“Children,” Madame said to them. “Let us be about Midwinter’s business.”
As the music struck up again, Madame untied the cords from their wrists (though she left the plain gold bands on their ring fingers). As soon as they were no longer joined by ribbons, the women of the house—Polly and Nadine and Louise—took Colette by the arms and swept her from the room.
“Shall we?” Madame asked Kingsley, and offered her his arm. They followed at a slower pace behind the ladies, who were running far ahead of them down a long torch-lit corridor. As they left the ballroom, one final cheer went up just as the lights went down.
Things were going to happen in that room.
“Did you enjoy that?” Madame asked once they were alone in the hallway. The ladies were long gone.
“I have no idea what just happened in there,” he said. “But I got to kiss a gorgeous girl, so I can’t complain.”
“You’ll do more than kiss her.”
“I’m really going to sleep with her?”
“Do you mind?” Madame asked.
Kingsley laughed and the laugh hit the rafters. “No. Not at all. If the lady is willing.”
“Oh, she’s more than willing. She did choose you. There were, of course, many other options.”
“Why me?” he asked.
“All the obvious reasons. You’re close to her age. You’re very handsome. You made her laugh. You laughed at her. You offered to father her children and convert to her faith.”
“Flirting,” Kingsley said. “That’s all. She’s never been flirted with before?”
“Not by the likes of you,” Madame said.
“I’ve had some practice.”
“And you have this face,” she said, patting his cheek. “Pretty words and handsome faces have been making the hearts and loins of girls come to life since the beginning of time. Plus…she said you offered to let her use the phone even though you were waiting on a call from me, and you’d been waiting for six hours.”
“It would have been rude not to,” he said.
“Even ladies like us can have our heads turned by chivalry. Especially ladies like us.”
“I’m glad I pleased her. I look forward to pleasing her all night.”
“Polly said you were a very good lover. Colette needs that.”
“Has she had bad experiences before?”
“No.”
“That’s good.”
“She’s had no experience before.”
Kingsley stopped midstep and stared at Madame.
“She’s a virgin?” he asked.
Madame smiled. “Not for long.”
Kingsley looked for words. He looked for them and didn’t find them.
“Don’t worry,” Madame said, patting his arm. “I’ll be there the whole time.”
“That’s not comforting,” Kingsley said.
“You’ve never had sex while someone watched before?”
“I have, yes,” he said, “but this is a little different.”
“How so?”
“For starters, I’m not stoned out of my mind.”
“I’ll give you champagne.”
Kingsley had certainly had sex in front of other people before. At seedy clubs for fun. Once on a mission for business. This was different.
“She’
s never had sex before,” Kingsley said. “Don’t you think it’ll be better for her if we’re alone? She might like her privacy. I know I would.”
“She wants me there,” Madame said. “She wants you there. This is her night. She gets what she wants.”
“If I’d known she’d never done this before…” Kingsley groaned. “There is an epidemic sweeping France where people are rendered incapable of telling me the important part first.” He raised his clenched fingertips in imitation of his Italian grandfather when irritated.
“Unless you’re a brute, which you aren’t, you won’t hurt her. She’s already open. We don’t let men near hymens. What’s that English saying—like bulls in China shops? We don’t let cattle near the good dishes.”
“What do you mean you don’t let men near hymens? Am I supposed to take her in the ass?”
“You can if she wants you to. What I mean is that she’s used a vibrator,” Madame said. “And a dildo. Often.”
“Christ, how many dildos do you have in this house?” he asked, smiling despite himself at the thought of Colette opening herself with a vibrator.
“Enough that were you to suddenly disappear, you would not be missed.”
Kingsley heard the warning, and kept his mouth shut.
“Colette is very special to me,” Madame said. They turned a corner and walked up a curving staircase. “She was born in this house, like Polly. When her mother fell in love with a local barrister, they moved to the village. But Colette came by every day after school as she got older. Came for tea, came for my company, came to learn. She was drawn here the way some seabirds are drawn to the place of their birth. She’s my goddaughter. We’ve been looking a long time for the right man to be her first. I know you won’t disappoint us.”
“Another English saying,” Kingsley said. “I’ll give it the old college try.”
“Good boy.”
“You should know, however, that I never went to college.”
That got a rare laugh out of Madame. “Officer training will do,” she said. “I know you can take orders.”
Kingsley exhaled—loudly.
The Chateau_An Erotic Thriller Page 13