by Flora Dain
An angry male voice cut thorough the room, pinning the marquis to the spot. Flushed and breathless, I pulled free of his grasp.
Henri Toulon was standing in the doorway, his expression stony. “Be off, sir.”
I gave him a grateful look but now the room was filling up with people—footmen bearing luggage, maids with pitchers of water and to my surprise, Madame Junot.
She hurried over and murmured in my ear, “Your guardian is gone, milady. He ’ave urgent business in Paris. This apartment is allotted to Monsieur Toulon. Come. I’ll see you to bed.”
Stunned, I followed her to my rooms. I’d found it hard to warm to Madame Junot before I learned of the sadness in her past. Now I feared her less and trusted her more, but our feud still thrived.
I knew her to be brisk and efficient and Jacquard’s most trusted companion. She missed nothing and rarely creased her boney face in a smile.
But she knew young women well, Jacquard had said. She understands their needs.
My heart sank at the thought that I was entrusted to her care. Care was hardly the word, if I remembered her six-month stint as my governess. Our fights were legendary, her discipline harsh. But this time I gave in.
As she disrobed me and brushed out my hair, I simmered with indignation, desperate for news. “Why didn’t he tell me he was going? Does he mean to leave me to the mercy of the marquis and his cronies?’”
“Not at all, milady. His business was urgent. He leave in a hurry. He was discreet for fear of spoiling your evening. But he leave instructions. You are still under ’is protection. You are to be confined to your room at night.”
Her eyes flashed with an unpleasant gleam. “For your own safety, you understand. He was most particular.”
I glared at her. “Nonsense. I’m sure he said no such thing. You’re just taking advantage… Wait. What are you doing?”
Too late. She’d seized my arms and stretched them wide to loop my wrists to the bedposts at the foot of the bed, using two lengths of soft rope she’d held hidden at her back.
I aimed a kick at her shins. Instantly she gripped my ankle and fastened it loosely to the foot of one post, then did the same with the other.
Furious, I opened my mouth to scream, but she muffled my mouth with a thick silk scarf.
“Be quiet, milady. Do not attract attention.”
Her low whisper, so close to my ear, made me shiver.
“There are some very excitable gentlemen staying ’ere who would be delighted to find you like this. They would take full advantage. You want the marquis back in ’ere, drooling all over you till dawn?”
She leaned over me, her black eyes agleam. “Patience, milady, and my instructions include much you may enjoy. You will not be ’ere for long. An hour or so every night is all. Just to keep you at your peak, you understand.” Her sudden grin revealed sharp, yellow teeth, like a hungry snake’s. She dropped her voice to a murmur. “Just think what pleasures await you when he return.”
I was to be restrained? Outrage flared, quickly followed by a flame of hot, burning arousal. How like him. Controlling even in his absence—teasing me from as far away as the capital.
Now Madame walked slowly around the room, dousing the candles one by one. Soon only one was left, the smallest, on the gilded table by my bed. Its flicker shed a dim glow on the satin pillows and the heavy damask coverlet and drapes.
The rest of the room grew dark, full of deep shadows and strange shapes. But it seemed I had yet one more shame to endure.
While I glared and writhed in my bonds, she advanced on me with a flask of ointment. It seemed Jacquard’s instructions had been precise and detailed. It was to be applied to my breasts, my rear end and my private places. Every night.
Damn the man. To shame me like this before my servant… But the shame was even worse than I’d feared. The stuff had a heady scent. A blend of spices and rose oil, I guessed. But it also had some powerful magic of its own.
As it warmed and settled on my tender skin, I became seriously aroused.
I began to pulse and tingle. Soon I glowed all over with a low, burning flame, all the hotter because my hands were tied.
“Release me, Madame. This is unbearable. Why does he do this?”
“Hush, milady. It is for your own good. He was most insistent. He wants you primed and ready at all times, or you will lose your taste for pleasure.”
I bit back my curses and squirmed as I assessed my situation, pooling with lust, desperate for Jacquard’s touch.
Soon she wished me goodnight and left the room, pulling the door carefully shut behind her. As it closed, a waft of air blew out the candle and plunged me into darkness.
I cursed again. Had she done it on purpose?
The minutes passed. Arousal throbbed. My breasts, my rump and my inner places all felt on fire. And I had no hope of release…
I hauled on my restraints, desperate. The movement made things worse, tensing all my lower muscles. Arousal flared higher.
My rage turned slowly to despair. How could Jacquard do this to me? Abandon me to the mercy of strangers here in this bordello?
Was this what he’d intended all along? To sell me for a harlot and take over my fortune? Who would know? Who would believe me?
I’d stay here forever, forced into a life of sin until I was too old and ugly to please—two years, maybe? Three?
By twenty-one I’d be an old maid. Even supposing I lived long enough to get away from here, I’d never find a husband then…
I froze. Somewhere in the room behind me I heard a sound, a kind of rustle.
Oh no…mice? That’s all I need.
Angry tears prickled behind my eyes.
Next moment I felt a shift in the air, coolness as if a window had opened and closed.
Then…a hand.
Chapter Four
Cold fear prickled along my skin. All over my body, my soft hair stiffened like frost on grass. I growled low in my throat—the primal reflex of a trapped animal.
The hand stayed where it was.
Pictures flitted through my mind—the white shadow I’d seen earlier—a ghost? I recalled snatches of the maids’ chatter about the château being haunted.
I’d closed my ears to such nonsense. But now I shivered.
“Exquise. Delicieuse.”
The hoarse, low whisper brought up tiny hairs all down my back. I felt hot breath on my skin. The hand slipped lower, skimming my bare flank. It eased deep into my splayed, oiled slit. It lingered a moment, making me tremble, then moved lower still.
Slipping between my soft inner thighs, it caressed me gently, exploring the places where my treacherous moisture had oozed my shame.
And as it moved, I also made a discovery.
This was no specter. It was a man.
He was French, clearly. The accent was faultless, his whisper was harsh and breathy, barely a movement of lips and air. But his touch was mesmerizing—warm and sure. Arousal surged through me.
But my mind raced. Where had he come from? The door was locked. I’d heard Madame turn the key.
The only other possible answer chilled my blood.
He’d been in here waiting.
And I was about to find out why.
If he wanted to torment me, I was easy bait. I was firmly tied. Madame Junot was good at this. If he wanted to ravish me, I was all his—except the torment would be far less. Jacquard had kept me primed for days.
A ravishment suited me perfectly.
But who was it? The man slid his hand over me again in a slow, sensuous sweep down my other flank.
This was an expert. Who cared who it was? I’d soon catch a glimpse of him. Then I’d know all.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I was beginning to see a little. From outside the windows, moonlight gleamed in thin silver lines at the edges of the tall drapes.
But at that moment everything went black. A soft fold of fabric blotted out the light. I felt the touch of warm, sure fingers as some
one knotted the blindfold behind my head.
Now my torment started in truth.
I felt the stranger’s hot hungry mouth as he landed on first one shoulder blade then the other. I could almost feel his hunger, his heat fueling mine.
Just as I was relaxing into the mesmerizing rhythm of his kisses he ducked under my aching arm to face me. I felt his hot breath on my throat as he stooped and fastened on my breasts. He let his hands roam over my soft curves, as he explored the places his mouth had already found.
Soon I was moist with his eager kisses, arching to reach his tongue, writhing under his deep, probing fingers. I could float forever on this sea of softness…
All at once I felt something sharp—his fingernail, drawn very deliberately over my nipples, moving lower, down past my navel and slowly, agonizingly over my throbbing, swelling little bud.
I whimpered, partly from fear, partly willing him to do it again. All at once I felt something else utterly unexpected—something feathery.
Rigid, sweating slightly, I tried to work out what it was. An insect of some kind? An animal?
The thought made me want to scream out in panic and frustration, but all my efforts were stifled. The scarf over my mouth muffled my moans. Crying out wasted air and made it harder to breathe.
With a massive effort, I willed myself to relax, to accept every new feeling simply for what it was—just a feeling.
My time with Jacquard had taught me enough to know that this was simply a prelude. My visitor was testing my reactions, sensitizing my skin to heighten my responses.
The thought was a comfort, and his touch was sure. This stranger was an expert.
With a sigh I gave myself up to his power—and to pleasure. The full opera of feelings would come later, when the true torment he had devised for me would arrive in a crash of full feeling.
I could almost hear Jacquard commanding me to submit, to endure. Be patient…
Now my mystery visitor tormented me with his mouth every so often, its soft, moist heat so tender that it almost made me sob.
Whenever I slumped in my bonds, something new and shocking jerked me back to attention—a spray of iced water, a few well-placed drops of stinging hot wax from the candle, lit again now, its dull glow all I could see through the blindfold.
For a few blissful moments, he quested deeply in my pulsing slit, slick with Madame’s lotions and my own juices. He used one warm, strong finger to circle my throbbing little bud, stiff now with need, aching with lust. I moaned with pleasure, throwing back my head at the warm breath brushing my shoulder—hot, hard air now as he breathed out in a long sigh—then I felt something new—and terrifying.
A whip.
Long strands of leather snaked slowly over my pulsing body like skeleton fingers. But I well knew what it was. I could even smell the leather.
It slid over my back in a long, slithery diagonal and passed slowly under my splayed slit. It made me jolt in excitement as it grazed close to my pulsing center. Cruelly it moved on, trailing up my belly and over my breasts like a team of lazy snakes poised to strike.
Entranced under its spell, I held my breath so long that when the lashes finally left my skin, I bucked with real shock as they actually landed.
The sting shot through me. I screamed against the gag.
It landed again and again but in different places—sometimes on my back, sometimes on my breasts, then on my legs—sometimes harsh, sometimes soft.
At last it paused. Now I felt his hungry mouth on the vivid stripes he’d made. He used his tongue to trace them with a sweet, stinging sweep that made me shudder. Each mark stung afresh as the wet trails from his tongue-tip tingled and prickled across my skin.
Slowly he moved lower. He fastened eagerly on first one cheek then the other as he fondled my rump. Using his hot, eager cock he began to probe, drawing long teasing paths from my twitching little clit all round my splayed, open groin to my clenched and quivering ass cheeks. And at last, just as I thought I could bear it no more, he prodded my opening and plunged inside me in a single glorious thrust.
He lingered a moment, filling me deep then reached round to seize my breasts. He eased his shaft away as my lustful muscles hauled at him, willing him back in. I heard him chuckle deep in his throat as he started to tease my nipples, pinching and pulling to make them swell. As they stiffened to attention, he surged back inside and began to pound, his breath rasping and ragged.
At each thrust of his hard, muscular loins, my body jerked, my aching slit still no closer to relief but my body yielding to every nuance of his. Just as I thought he must have to spend, he pulled away.
Now he eased his scorching rod back a little and prodded it hard at my rear.
I was so aroused and so slick with moisture that nothing, even had I clenched my tight-furled little bud with every atom of strength I had left, would have kept him out. But to my delight, he reached around to fondle my pulsing, throbbing apex just at that moment. I screamed against the gag—not with surprise but with triumphant pleasure—as he pushed against my tightest and most private opening with his long, hard girth and entered.
Rigid with shock, I quivered, breathless. He kept edging in inch by inch until he was fully up inside me. The outrage was so unusual and so overwhelming that I was giddy with arousal, letting sensation after sensation wash over me.
To my joy, he maintained his mission of mercy with his fingers. In seconds I was overcome with a violent orgasm, bucking and writhing in ecstasy against my bonds. My juices flowed in a steady trickle down the inside of my thighs as he continued to pound.
But my rippling belly undid him. In seconds he came too, spending his thick, cool cream into my ass with a solid, satisfied grunt.
We hung together as he regained his breath, holding me tightly. I felt his weight and his warmth all around me. For an instant he touched my face with his own and his cheek—a firm, smooth man’s cheek—lay briefly against mine.
It was barely a moment, but this fleeting tenderness made me weep. I spluttered though my nose and rocked my head in panic, unable to breathe. He sensed my distress instantly. At once he removed the gag. I breathed through trembling lips while he soothed me with his hands, gentle now, till I stopped shaking and my tears ceased.
He unfastened my wrists and ankles, gathered me up in firm, strong arms and laid me carefully on the bed.
“Qui êtes—vous? Who are you?” My voice was barely a whisper, my curiosity aflame.
“Silence.”
He underlined his fierce hiss with a sharp nip of his teeth on my breast and now I felt him lie along me and cover me with his body. I thrilled to the feel of his muscles, his long, firm legs and his sturdy column, still large and plump against my belly but softer now as his climax ebbed.
Who is this? Whoever it was, he was powerfully built, his muscles hard and honed, his manhood a marvel. As I arched to reach it he twitched it away, holding me down firmly with his leg and one arm, gripping my wrists over my head.
He sought my folds and cupped me tenderly with his hand as he found my mouth with his. He made short work of my slippery bud and in minutes I was awash with another orgasm, almost as intense as the first.
He held me for what seemed an age while my rapture rippled away, leaving me limp as a doll. He kept his mouth firmly clamped on mine, his kiss more effective than any gag. And at last, still in his arms, sheer exhaustion overcame me.
As he released my lips and held me tightly, I rolled my head against his shoulder with a great sigh and fell instantly asleep.
* * * *
The following morning I woke bleary and nauseous. I had a sharp pain in my back, doubtless from the jolting coach, too much dancing and far too much pleasure.
‘Be sure your sins will find you out.’ Mine must be experts at it.
Maids scuttled around the room drawing the drapes, laying out my clothes and pouring water into a basin for my toilette. Meanwhile, Madame poured hot chocolate from a tall silver pot into a daint
y porcelain cup.
Over the next hour she supervised my magical transformation from spent caterpillar to fully-fledged butterfly. I emerged in a floating morning dress of sprigged muslin with matching slippers and a dainty lace-edged handkerchief.
If she was surprised at the marks on my aching body, she made no comment. And if she gloated at my shame at being tied to the bedposts, she mercifully kept her sharp tongue silent.
At around noon I made my way down to the reception rooms to find the marquis gathering a small party around him.
He hailed me cheerfully. “Ah, her ladyship has arrived. Bonjour, milady. You look mighty pleased with life. A secret lover perhaps?”
I tried to hide my instant blush by smiling serenely. “Perhaps, Monseigneur. But if I said so, he’d hardly be a secret.”
I caught an irritated flash from Henri. I blithely ignored him, determined his sour looks would not spoil my day.
But I found myself looking with new eyes at each of the gentlemen guests. Was one of them my lover? None of them looked tall enough. And none of them had that air of raw power I’d sensed in my tormentor.
I tuned back in to what the marquis was saying and at once snapped to attention.
“So this morning we’ll visit the dungeon. I’m sure you’ve all heard of our famous phantom and the legend of La Dame Blanche—the White Lady.”
The ladies around me exchanged eager looks. Clearly their maids had been extra talkative during the morning toilette.
The men looked on, amused.
Now the marquis had our attention. We all listened, spellbound.
“I knew something of it, of course,” he said airily. “But I heard the full story for the first time in the last few days. It’s said a former marquise fell in love with a handsome Huguenot general during the time of the great persecution. They were discovered in flagrante.
“He was chained in the dungeon because he was also a royal favorite. The furious queen spared him a traitor’s fate but had him confined here in a secret room until his death. The distraught marquise was desperate to free him but never found him. She still roams the château looking for him. And this morning we shall visit the very dungeon where he was first imprisoned.”