“Mademoiselle Marie-Rouge de Tournières, Sire.”
“And your family? Is your mother as charming as you are?”
“My mother is dead. She was a Desportes, on her father’s side. My father is Chrétien Louis, Marquis de Tournières.”
“Ah yes. Desportes, your cousin, spoke to me on his behalf. I’m pleased that we were able at last to find room for you here at Versailles, rather than in the town. Is that why we have not seen you often in our presence until now?”
“No, Sire. I’ve spent most of my time at Sans-Souci, our estate in Orléanais, near Montoire. Since my mother’s death, three years ago, the burden of running the château has fallen on my shoulders.”
“Hélas! But they are such lovely shoulders… Were I younger, mademoiselle…” Louis’s dark eyes sparkled. “Well, now that you’re here, I look forward to your continuing presence at court. A little supper, perhaps, at Monseigneur’s party? The charm of young women brings an old man joy.”
Rouge curtsied again. “There is so much to do at home, Sire. I had hoped to have your leave to retire from Versailles within the week. Indeed, my visit here was only to remind my father of his obligations to his tenants, and to urge him to follow my example.”
The king’s brow darkened. “I should find it fort mauvais, very bad, mademoiselle, were you to quit the court before Monseigneur’s festivities! I am an old man, God knows”—he brushed aside the bleats of protest from several courtiers—“an old man, who may not live much longer. Monseigneur, my son, will be your king! Is this how you honor him? Fort mauvais, mademoiselle!” Eyes flashing in anger, he turned to one of his ministers. “Come, Torcy! I faint with hunger!”
“Sire.” Trembling at his majestic presence, Rouge sank into an obedient curtsy, her gray eyes cast down, as the king and his entourage swept from the galerie. She dared not rise until she had heard the closing of the heavy doors at the end of the long room.
There was a low laugh. “Fort mauvais, mademoiselle. You’ve angered the king. But at least he was able to use his favorite turn of phrase!”
Startled, Rouge looked up to see a handsome courtier standing before her. He was dressed splendidly from his curly black wig to the silver buckles on his shoes. A bright sash encircled the waist of his broad-shouldered coat, and his ceremonial sword was crusted with jewels. His eyes, deep blue in a well-tanned face, admired her openly. “His majesty has good taste. I shouldn’t care for you to return home too soon.”
She smiled, accepting his praise without humility, and a small dimple appeared beside her beauty mark. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss the king’s petit couvert?”
“The king will not miss me. And I shall be twice as attentive tomorrow, so he will snap his fingers and insist that I hand him his napkin. Which will earn me the right to snub the Duc de Saint-Simon for a whole week!”
Rouge laughed. “Yet you have given up your place with the king today. What do you hope to earn in return?”
He smiled, revealing even white teeth. “I’ve seen you from afar, Marie-Rouge de Tournières, and didn’t even know your name. And now you speak to me, you smile upon me. My joy is complete.”
“And you are content?”
“For today. Tomorrow I might ask for more!”
“And if I…refuse?”
“I should find it fort mauvais.”
She laughed again. “You’re a wicked man, monsieur. And I don’t even know your name.”
He bowed low, making a flourish with his tricorn so the plumes brushed the floor. “Comte Arsène Henri de Falconet. At your service, mademoiselle.”
“Monsieur.” She nodded, acknowledging his salute.
“How may I serve you, my charming creature? Will you come for a drive in my coach this afternoon?”
“Alas. My day is filled.”
“Supper, then. Tonight.”
Despite the size of Versailles, Rouge knew that most courtiers were allotted no more than a small room or two. Supper in such crowded quarters might turn out to be embarrassingly intimate. She smiled but asked cautiously, “In your bedchamber, here in the palace, monsieur?”
“Not at all, mademoiselle. I have a small hôtel besides, in the town just outside Versailles. I shall entertain you in my drawing room. Of course, perhaps later…?”
“But what if I’m a woman of virtue?”
“In this court? With that face and form?” Arsène laughed. “But if that’s how you wish the game to be played, you shall find me a gentleman at supper, asking for nothing save the sweetness of your presence.”
She giggled. “In this court?” she teased. “You wouldn’t even ask for a kiss? And you a brave cavalier?”
His black eyebrows knotted into a scowl. “Don’t mock me, mademoiselle! I told you I’ve watched you from afar. You’re a pretty coquette, and you break the hearts of all the men who traffic with you. But I don’t intend to be a passing admirer. I’ll play your game for now, but when the time comes, I’ll want more than just a kiss. Much more!”
Curse him! she thought. For a moment, she’d found him charming: more interesting, more worth encouraging than any man she’d met so far at Versailles. But she wasn’t about to give herself away for a few sweet words and supper! Her gray eyes were like cold steel. “Then sup alone, monsieur,” she said, and sped out of the hall, leaving him still frowning in consternation.
Spirit of the Mist
Janeen O'Kerry
Destined for a king…
Muriel is living under a family curse which states she must marry no man but a king. On a storm-wracked night, Muriel helps to rescue a man who has been deliberately set adrift in a small boat. She soon learns that the handsome mystery man is a prince named Brendan who was captured in battle and then exiled.
It is not long before love begins to grow between Muriel and Brendan, and they plan to marry. But Brendan was not born a prince after all, but is instead the son of slaves. When the truth comes out, Muriel will have to choose between the man she loves and the powerful curse which lies over her family.
This Retro Romance reprint was originally published in July 2002 by Dorchester Love Spell.
eBooks are not transferable.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Cincinnati OH 45249
Spirit of the Mist
Copyright © 2013 by Janeen O’Kerry
ISBN: 978-1-61921-199-5
Edited by Heather Osborn
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Original Publication by Dorchester Love Spell: July 2002
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2013
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapte
r Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pronunciation Guide
About the Author
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