Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  The duke followed his gaze to the double doors leading out to one of the many terraced gardens of Versailles and nodded. Argo had names and information, which would be useful in setting the scene for the Comte’s escape from France.

  Outside, Argo handed him a small package.

  Roman slipped it into his jacket. He put a hand on Argo’s shoulder when the man turned.

  “A moment. What do you make of this?” He took the dragon pendant out of his vest pocket.

  Argo leaned in for a closer look and then stepped back. “A gift?”

  He nodded. “Curiously bright. They glow from within.”

  “Blood rubies. Destroy them”

  “I’ve heard the phrase in my travels but what does it mean?”

  “I can tell you nothing based in fact. In my country, they say if you keep these rubies – the gift—you will die. It may be too late already.”

  He put the pendant back in his vest pocket. “How so?”

  Argo glanced at Roman’s hand and then back to his face. “You have touched the rubies. Evil knows you now.”

  Glancing at the double doors across the garden and the festivities within, Roman chuckled. “Evil has known me for a very long time.”

  Argo stepped into his line of vision. “King Louis’ realm is nothing compared to what follows the rubies. Have a care, my friend.”

  “Where do they come from?”

  Rings glittered on Argo’s hand as it rose in the Gallic gesture of his country. “Those who have sought that truth never lived to tell the tale.” He paused and his eyes lightened in welcome as he glanced over his shoulder. The Princess of Lamballe stood just inside the double doors.

  Argo faced him and his sober expression was back in place. “My father once knew a man who had a blood ruby. Someone gave it to him as a gift. Soon after, the man disappeared. Why would a man leave a beautiful young wife and children along with the land and riches he covets? Destroy the blood rubies, Captain Cardiff. Part ways with whoever gave them to you.”

  Duke Argo went up the path. In the unspoken language of lovers, he placed the Princess of Lamballe’s hand on his arm. They entered the King’s ballroom, where the musicians began a lively set.

  * * * *

  Jacqueline’s satin slipper tapped against the ballroom’s gold-veined marble floor.

  Gowns and waistcoats encrusted in jewels were blinding, reflecting in the crystals of huge chandeliers. Headdresses and tiaras swayed in time to the dulcet tones of a minuet.

  Mortified that she was looking for a black forelock in the crowd, she pushed Captain Cardiff from her mind. She joined her mother and sister in discussion of the royals in attendance.

  Marchese Falco greeted them, requesting a meeting with Papa. A dark complexion made his green eyes seem luminous as he stole glances at Margaux. It was not long before they danced off into the crowd.

  She smiled wistfully as Margaux attempted to keep her composure being so close to the Marchese. Margaux had dressed to impress in a white empire waist gown with columns of gold embroidered from waist to hem. Anyone could see they were enamored with each other. Theirs would be a happy union.

  “Good evening.” Captain Cardiff stood next to Papa. He wore a grey satin waistcoat and white breeches. His black curls were queued back however the forelock was rebellious as ever.

  She looked away from the forelock and curtsied.

  “Did your meeting in Paris go well, Captain Cardiff?” her father asked.

  “Very well. Perhaps we can talk later?”

  “I will meet you after dinner.”

  Of course, they would not speak of such matters in front of her. She was a daughter of the house, a prized showpiece for whom decisions were made. Since her betrothal, it seemed the only decision that was hers to make was which gown to wear for the appropriate hour.

  She hid a smile. She already knew their secret. When the captain left for Paris, she had approached her mother about this secret business. Maman had confided that Papa was investing in the trade industry and worked with the captain on these ventures.

  The musicians began a new set and more couples surged onto the floor. Her parents melted into the crowd.

  “Mademoiselle Jacqueline, may I have this dance?”

  A week ago, she had decided never to touch him again, accidentally or otherwise for all his secret nonsense. She hesitated only a moment before placing her gloved hand in his. He was her father’s houseguest and this was just one dance.

  It wasn’t really a touch. She could not feel his skin with the soft kid glove on her hand. She would not think about that now.

  “How do you find Versailles, Jacqueline?” He was staring at her lips.

  Her eyes dropped to his white silk cravat. The intimacy of her given name on his lips always warmed her. She had come to know it signified his satisfaction of being alone with her. It was a forbidden pleasure, quite like the dance they shared now.

  “It is a wonder,” she replied. “I have never seen so many striking jewels in my life.” His hand at the small of her back sent tingles down her spine.

  “I am looking into the most striking jewels I have ever seen. Your eyes shine like emeralds.”

  She studied the fine silver thread on his waistcoat.

  “Did you miss me?” he whispered in her ear.

  “I did not know you would be here tonight.”

  His laughter was a soft rumble that made her dizzy. Or was it the way he whirled her around the floor?

  “Ah, Beauty, I missed you too.” His hand slid further down her back across the turquoise silk, but stopped before reaching the curve of her hip.

  She could not stop the shiver of anticipation but managed to hold her serene expression in place.

  “You look lovely tonight.” The mild smile curving those warm lips did not deceive her. If she looked up now she would see that familiar craving in his eyes. The silence lengthened and still his probing eyes devoured her upswept curls, her neck, and finally moved over the low neckline of the square-cut bodice to the exposed rounded halves of her breasts.

  She had been holding her breath and now inhaled because she felt faint. “Devil take you, why don’t you say something?” She tilted her face upward. They were too close. His lips brushed her cheek.

  His playful smile vanished and in its place was a look of such heat that she missed a step. They came to a halt.

  Without a word, he led her off the floor and out through the double doors into the gardens of Versailles.

  * * * *

  The captain walked her down a dark, rose-bowered trail, which ended in front of a flower-garlanded gazebo. He left her there and walked a few paces away.

  “Do you know what you do to me, Jacqueline?” His blunt, calmly spoken words did little to put her at ease. There was a wicked light blazing in his eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to…”

  He advanced on her.

  She took a step back. “I am sorry…”

  “I am not sorry, Jacqueline. I see you like this; your innocent eyes asking questions you dare not, wanting to know what these feelings are that you feel. It is your body responding to me, Mademoiselle. You want me. I want you. I will not stand aside and let that insolent pup have you.”

  He took her in his arms and there was nothing gentle about this kiss. He crushed her to him and his tongue delved into her mouth on a quest to conquer, rolling over hers. Like a snake charmer, he coaxed her until she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  There in the fertile darkness of King Louis’ gardens she shed her inhibitions. She would not stop him now, she no longer wanted to. His honest passion spoke to her more fluently than words.

  She leaned back in his arms and he trailed his tongue down her neck, taking light nips as if just merely kissing her was not enough. His other hand kneaded and cupped her breast through the silk. His mouth traveled farther still, to the swell of flesh above the silk, his tongue working her nipple free from restraint, licking and sucking.

&nb
sp; Jacqueline moaned. Her whole being centered on his ministrations. Fear of the future had no place in this paradise, and when the last cerebral barrier fell away like a chrysalis, she belonged to him.

  She rubbed against his erection where she ached the most and he scooped her up and carried her into the gazebo. Laying her down on the cushion, he knelt before her.

  When he lifted her skirts there was a breeze on her wetness before his hand covered her. The sensation of his warm hand massaging her mound was hypnotic.

  She bucked against his hand. “Mon cher…” She wanted something. There was pressure building inside of her, right under his hand.

  “Yes, my Beauty.” He slipped one long finger inside of her, in and out, faster and faster and she moved her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. The pulsating pleasure mounted, robbed her of breath, and then delicious waves crashed over her, sweeping her up and tossing her about again and again as he drained from her every drop of essence, until she was falling, floating, gently down in surrender.

  He covered her mound with his palm, rubbing as she jerked against him through the delicious aftershocks. She clung to him as he kissed her, wishing they could stay this way forever in this garden paradise. She could not conform to a society that would see her married to a man she did not love.

  She stirred when Roman covered her bare breasts. “You will not wed Lord Alsborough. Say it.”

  She kissed him. “I will not.”

  “We will find a way to be together. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, my mon cher.”

  She trusted him with her life.

  Chapter 5

  The Paris Docks – June 9, 1789

  Roman sat in his office aboard The Raven looking over the trade accounts. Wrought iron, raw silks, cottons, drugs, and saltpeter were side by side in the hold with English staple commodities such as woolen goods, tin, lead, hides and corn. The Raven had turned quite a profit this trip, and he had gained much needed information.

  Duke Argo had provided him with the names and locales of several key insurgents against the monarchy. The crew kept a watchful eye on these individuals, and reported to him. What he had learned made him want to leave the country today.

  He’d told the Comte what his network of informers had discovered. Claude thought it best to attend several more legislative sessions and then let it be known he would be away on a journey with his family. It was understandable the Comte did not want to alarm his family, but Roman’s sense of urgency grew with each report of unrest and every time he thought of Jacqueline, which was constantly. He had to get her away from all of this.

  Once they were away from France, he would speak with her father. The Comte would not take it well. It would mean going back on his word to the Marquess and the House of Alsborough, and the Comte was a very proud man. There was also some explaining to do for King George, but Jacqueline would not marry another.

  If all went well, The Raven would be ready to return to England within the month with a cargo more precious than any other.

  * * * *

  Château de Vaujours, Asnières-Sur-Seine, France – June 14, 1789

  Although Margaux was an accomplished player, tonight her rendition of Mozart’s Piano Sonata in C was not at all recognizable. Her fingers attacked the keys with a vengeance. Jacqueline, Roman and Maman sat on the edge of their seats as the notes twanged out in a most disagreeable manner.

  Finally, the Marchese walked into the music room with Papa and Maman stood her eyes moist.

  Margaux immediately stopped her assault on their ears and turned toward the door.

  “Ma chérie, Marchese Falco would like to have a word with you. Perhaps Captain Cardiff and your sister would like to accompany you for a walk on this most pleasant evening,” Papa said.

  Margaux was rooted to the spot with an inane smile on her face. She had a fearsome grip on the pianoforte.

  The Marchese went to her, loosening her hold on the white, baby grand. “Mademoiselle?”

  Margaux gazed at him. Now that the moment was upon her, she resembled one of the marionettes Roman had given Jacqueline as a gift from Madagascar. Margaux stood woodenly with the Marchese’s assistance.

  Jacqueline exchanged an amused look with Roman and followed the couple from the room.

  The affianced couple did not spare a glance at their escorts, but walked swift, deliberate steps across the green toward the Seine and the deepening purple sky.

  She and Roman walked down to the first level of the garden and crossed the moat. She was delighted for her sister, but she had forgotten her own engagement, and now it stuck like a thorn in the side to mar her happiness.

  “He never stops talking about her.” Roman took her hand and led her to the gazebo. They stood looking out over the dark waters of the Seine.

  “They are a lovely couple, aren’t they?” She took his other hand.

  He pulled her in his arms and took her lips in a searing kiss. “I have been waiting to do that all night.”

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. When he ran his fingers through the auburn waves down her back, his touch was so sensually soothing that she was lightheaded.

  “Will you come with me to England, my Beauty?” He played this game with her often, speaking as if she did not have a fiancé.

  She looked up into his eyes, a mysterious blue in the dark, and pushed back his forelock. “Let us go now, on The Raven.”

  “Anxious to leave your parents? Your home?”

  She turned in his arms and faced the water. “There will have to be agreements made, appeasements to the house of Alsborough, Papa’s anger and Maman’s tears…This is such a happy time. I don’t want it to end.”

  “It won’t, Beauty. It won’t.”

  She held on to his arm wrapped around her. “You’re right, of course. I have never been on a ship. Do you think I will get seasick?”

  He tightened his hold on her. “Not if you stay in my arms the entire voyage.”

  They watched the swirling waters below in silence, her head resting against his chest. She closed her eyes and imagined they were on his ship, sailing to the exotic ports he frequented. It helped calm her anxiousness. Worry walked with her these days, a feeling of impending doom. Somehow, she must escape the marriage to Lord Alsborough.

  She frowned as the dark waters lightened to blue, red and then fiery orange as another vision formed in her mind. The familiar ice of fear prickled over her skin.

  This was wrong. She shouldn’t be seeing this now, safe in her capitaine’s arms. Her nightmare was out of place. She was awake, the vision could not be real but something in her acknowledged it as truth.

  …White robed men walked to the platform. Flames licked at their feet. One by one, they stepped off, into the fire as those around them chanted the dreaded words of her nightmares, “Not worthy…”

  She opened her eyes and the dark waters flowed by. Lifting the ruffles at her wrist, her fingers found the dragon bracelet and glided lovingly over ruby chunks in the dragon’s eyes. “Not Worthy,” she murmured.

  * * * *

  The pit of fire below reflected on the press of naked bodies so that their gyrations were cast in an orange glow. Fiery tentacles crawled out of the pit and over drums, the musician’s beat, reaching for the cavern’s ceiling.

  From where they stood in front of the throne, she could see the darkness ooze across the ground, a black fog flowing over men’s ankles as they pounded into women lying prone on rock slabs. Cries of ecstasy mingled with the wails of the dying on this night of celebration.

  “Isolde, it is almost time.” He nipped her neck as his thought slid into her mind, so open for him, her consort.

  She waited until the last golden vessel was in place. There were scores of them, full of jewels and gleaming in nooks carved out of the rock walls all around the cavern. Everything was in place, ready for the master.

  She turned in his arms for the kiss.

  Yes, it would be soon.


  Her deflowering would be the final ritual before the master’s arrival. He would come for her. She was an Artisan. Only her kind had the power to call him into the world again. She was born for this.

  She clasped his hand in hers. Glancing behind him, she said, “Bring the final offering forward.”

  The man screamed as the brown robes dragged him past the throne to the edge of the platform. He kicked one of the brown robes and that one doubled over in silent pain. The other brown robe was having trouble getting him under control. His will to live was too strong.

  The man broke free of the brown robe’s grip and ran straight toward her.

  She watched him and let him run, enjoying his fear and desperation. He was bound to look into her eyes as he searched for the alcove that led off the platform. She smiled as he spied the doorway in the shadows behind her, and then their eyes met.

  He slowed to a walk and came to stand directly in front of her, arms at his side. He was breathing hard and she admired his will. He did not want to obey, but he turned slowly and walked back to the edge of the platform where both brown robes now stood with arms folded, waiting patiently for him. They parted, opening a space for him and the man stood between them.

  His hands flexed as he wavered on the edge of the platform.

  “Such a strong mind,” she smiled and without turning, directed the thought to her consort.

  “Have done with this play. The master waits, Isolde,” her consort intimated.

  He was impatient with desire. She leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around her. She focused on the man’s back and he catapulted forward as if an invisible hand pushed between his shoulder blades, sending him over the edge.

  The fire roared up with the meal.

  She closed her eyes, savoring the man’s screams. The ruby-encrusted crown swayed on her head as she gyrated her hips in time to the drumbeat. The dancing below grew more frantic. The man’s agonized howls slowly died.

  She sighed and breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of burning flesh.