Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  She lunged at him from across the table, throwing her arms around his neck. “They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

  He gathered her in his arms and laid her down among the furs on the bed. A pile of clothes grew on the floor and when they were finally free of them, he sank down on top of her, nestling between her legs.

  She wrapped her legs around him and his kisses traveled down her neck, her collarbone. She sighed when he laved greedily at one breast, then the other.

  “I can’t get enough of you, Beauty. I could eat you up,” he growled and nipped her belly.

  She squealed and tried to push him away, but his hand covered her stomach. When he reached the juncture between her legs, she knew he meant to do just what he said.

  He cupped her buttocks in his hands and began to feast on her in earnest. He took one nether lip, suckled, and teased the other before thrusting his tongue deep inside of her, flicking it across the sensitive nub within.

  Mon Dieu, he knew what he was about.

  She gripped his head. It was as if he had brought the sun into her core, heat spread from within and burned her. When she climaxed, Roman burrowed into her, he would not leave a drop unattended. He entered her slowly and tears welled in her eyes.

  “me Soeur.” It was much more than what he made her feel. There was such adoration in his touch. He worshipped her with his body.

  “My love.” He cradled her in his arms and took her once more.

  Chapter 10

  The Pool of London, England – July 19, 1789

  Jacqueline was in the bath when they arrived in port.

  She dressed in the white empire waist gown and the sapphires Roman had given her. Ready to step onto this new land she’d studied every day this week on the hand-woven map, she hurried to catch her first glimpse of London.

  Now, on this windy, overcast morning, she stood at the ship’s rail staring down at the chaos all around her. The crew ran back and forth with various goods, using ropes and pulleys to unload the bigger crates.

  Roman stood on the docks, bargaining in Spanish with the jewel merchants. She did not know what he was saying, but the way his lips moved made her think of the way they moved over her.

  She walked further along the rail. The harbor was alive with languages she had never heard before. A loud group of merchants on the wharf caught her attention and she turned to listen, watching as they gestured to each other.

  “Phillipe, what language are they speaking?”

  “They speak Portuguese, Mademoiselle. They argue over the price of the black stallion.” His stark white teeth gleamed in contrast to his dark skin. His African accent brought thickness to each word.

  Though it was unspoken, she knew Phillipe, who always seemed to be nearby, acted as her bodyguard when Roman was not around.

  They laughed at the scowling face of the man who must have paid more than he wanted to for the spirited charger stamping its hooves and making ready to bolt.

  Someone was watching her.

  She turned her face toward the wind and saw a parasol threatening to take flight further down the docks. Its pink ruffles fluttered in the breeze as the bearer attempted to get the parasol under control. Blonde curls whipped about an unseen face, and then the wind shifted.

  She smiled; the parasol would not be lost, after all.

  The lady turned and lifted the parasol to look at her, but Jacqueline was too far away to make out facial features. She moved along the rail without a word to Phillipe. The woman turned away.

  She couldn’t say why, but felt sure that this lady had been watching her. The lady stepped into the crowd, the pink parasol bobbing through a sea of chaos, its bright color swallowed up by the drab, working class colors of the docks.

  “Welcome to England, my love.” Roman took her hand and they departed the docks in a coach.

  She craned her neck out of the coach window. “It is mad here, as it is in Paris.”

  * * * *

  The coach stopped in front of the Gunwalers Inn.

  The tavern seemed a dim cave until her eyes became accustomed to the dark. They were standing in a large, noisy hall. Lanterns hung from the ceiling beams. The hearty aroma of a spicy stew wafted over to them as a woman with an ample bosom wound her way through the tables.

  “Cap’n, you be a sight for sore eyes! And back with a lovely missus, I see. What be your name, sweetie?” the woman said.

  “Jacqueline. It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame,” she said.

  Roman kissed the woman’s hand. “Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair, my intended. Jacqueline, this is Biddy McIntyre. She makes the best stew in all of England.”

  “You came all the way from France, did you, dearie?” Biddy gave her a hug and turned to Roman. “And here I was thinkin’ you were a comin’ to take me sailin’ round the world at last!”

  “And leave John to fend for himself? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Och, and if I had those dimples to gaze at night and day, Cap’n, it would be worth it for my old seaman to cook his own supper.” Biddy led them to a table by the window. “Well dearie, you’ve got the most handsome man in all of England, you do!” She left them, promising to be right back.

  The servers bustled about, balancing trays laden with hot food, leaving mouth-watering aromas in their wake.

  A portly but nimble man shook Roman’s hand. “Cap’n, good to have you back. Have you those spices from the East with you?”

  “John, good to see you.” Roman made the introductions before answering the tavern owner’s question. “Indeed I do have your order. Jamie is in the back now.” The tavern owner shook his hand and went through the double doors into the kitchen.

  A server brought a tankard of ale for Roman and cider for her. Biddy followed with steaming bowls of stew, custard and clotted cream.

  “Tomorrow we ride to Windsor Castle,” Roman said.

  “Will I meet King George?”

  “He is in residence and has requested a report on the developments in France.” he took her hand. “He will want to know you are safe. He and your father were very good friends, you know.”

  “Is that why you came to France, to take us away?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. We had just returned from India when the king charged me to bring his old friend Claude back safely to England. Your father was preparing to leave, but it took longer than either of us imagined…”

  “His duty to King Louis,” she murmured.

  “Claude thought he was doing the right thing, my love. You are bitter, and for now, that is as it should be. It is only one stage of grief. I will be with you through the others as well.”

  “I hate him.”

  “There are many who hate the king. I do not envy a man who holds such responsibility in France these days. You are my only concern. This won’t be easy, but I would have you come to terms with your anger over this so that you are free to love the new life we build for ourselves in Yorkshire.”

  They said no more as Biddy returned to lead them upstairs to a large, rustic room overlooking the harbor. In one corner, the huge tester bed seemed honed from the walls and cradled a charming blue gingham bedspread.

  “If you need anything, just call.” Biddy closed the door behind her.

  “I feel better just being on English soil.” Jacqueline walked to the window and looked down at the busy street, teeming with people.

  Roman was taking off his jacket. “You will want to relax after the voyage. I will order a bath.”

  “No, monsieur, we can rest later.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Beauty, later you may be too tired for the kind of relaxation I have in mind.”

  She moved closer and said against his lips, “You will have as much relaxation as you want later, capitaine.” She buttoned up his jacket. “I want to see this land of yours.”

  He lifted her against him for a kiss that threatened to change her mind about going out on the town. He let her slide down his hard body and when she
opened her eyes, he was wearing a wicked smile. “Very well, Beauty. Ready to see London?”

  Gathering her wits for her first jaunt into the famous city, she took his hand and pulled him out the room.

  * * * *

  Their first stop was Madame Girard’s, an elegant dress shop in the heart of London.

  The lady was slight in build, and her large, pixie eyes dominated a small, alabaster face, giving her the look of a faerie queen. She wore her ash-colored hair piled high in a regal tower, which rivaled the headdresses of the ladies at King Louis’ court. It wiggled as Madame Girard talked in her energetic manner.

  “Oh, the soirées you will attend, there are still some very fine ones anticipated this late in the Season.”

  At the Madame’s words, Jacqueline frowned. “I have not had a Season.”

  “Oh, you won’t enjoy one of those,” Roman said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because there will be lots of dancing and primping…”

  “But I love to dance,” she interjected.

  “Your dance card is full, mademoiselle.”

  Her husky laughter dispelled the storm in his eyes. She pulled on his waistcoat, bringing him closer. “Don’t be a grim bear, mon cher, I was only joking.”

  “Minx.” He followed behind while the Madame showed Jacqueline fine lawn dresses, woolen capes and colorful hats on stands.

  The dressmaker pressed Jacqueline for news of France. They spoke in their native language about the uprisings against the monarchy. She gave the dressmaker a more palatable tale of her reason for coming to England, her impending marriage to her betrothed. They both turned toward him.

  Roman winked at Jacqueline and said to Madame Girard, “She must also be fitted for her trousseau.”

  The seamstress brought tea for him while Madame Girard led Jacqueline to a fitting room.

  She stood for what seemed like hours while being poked and prodded, measured and fitted. Silk, satin, cotton and cloudy gauze in glorious hues were strewn across tables and chairs. When the Madame and her assistants were finished with her, Jacqueline went out to Roman, and laughed at his expression.

  “Want to do this again tomorrow?”

  He lifted a brow. “Do I have a choice?” When she grinned at him, he said, “I was afraid of that. Well, I have been doing some research.” He showed her various dress designs from sketchbooks open on the table in front of him. “You would do justice to these, my love.”

  “You have an eye for couture, capitaine. How did you know I would like these styles?”

  “I know every line and contour of your body, from your delicious little toes to those auburn curls that rest on your hips when you are naked for me.” In his eyes was an unspoken promise of the night to come.

  * * * *

  Jacqueline was lying under the fluffy comforter in nothing more than the sapphire necklace cool against her skin.

  Outside on the streets below, the shops had closed for the day and the silence lengthened as everyone sought their own hearth. The rumblings of carriage wheels on cobblestones dwindled to the clip clopping of the occasional lone rider. A horse neighed as it was led around the back of the inn to the stables, signifying the arrival of a late night traveler.

  After dinner, Roman had taken her upstairs where a steaming hot bath waited. A quiet handmaiden washed Jacqueline’s hair with a gentle massaging motion that put her to sleep. She had experienced something she would never have thought possible just one day earlier: a peaceful, dreamless nap.

  Suppressing a vision of the blaze that took her family, she wiped away an errant tear and burrowed deeper into the bedclothes. She would not think such thoughts tonight.

  She had a new life with Roman now. She would soon be Jacqueline Cardiff, the captain’s wife. They would travel to all the places she had read about in her father’s books.

  Several months ago, she had felt such despair, resigning herself to a betrothal with the Marquess of Alsborough. That seemed like another lifetime now and her world was filled with possibilities, filled with Roman.

  A key sounded in the lock. The door swung open and he walked in.

  “Still awake?” He took off his waistcoat and hung it on a stand in the corner. “I thought you would be sleeping by now, tired from the journey and a full day of shopping in London.”

  “It is the strangest thing.” She stretched and the comforter rubbed against her nipples. She looked at him beneath lowered lashes. “I had a long nap, yet I am not at all relaxed.”

  He strolled over to the bed. The black curls on his chest peeked through a white cambric shirt opened to his waist. His dimples completed a knowing smile.

  Heat unfurled in her belly. It spread through her like a bonfire consuming dry brambles at a Saint Jean Baptiste Day celebration.

  Neither of them could go very long without a taste of the other.

  He lifted the quilt and stared as if he were choosing a sweet meat from a banquet. “Is this for me?”

  “Aye, Aye, capitaine.” She moistened her lips with her tongue, and with that, Roman was undone. She opened her arms and he covered her, as she so loved him to.

  Chapter 11

  Windsor Castle, Berkshire County, England – July 23, 1789

  Jacqueline tugged on Roman’s sleeve and he followed her gaze to the castle’s gold columns.

  The castle reminded her of Versailles with its exquisite architecture. There was intricate gold leaf on the walls where paintings from the masters hung. The finest handcrafted furniture in the world adorned the crowded halls.

  Ladies in glittering gowns waved gaily-painted fans. The men’s waistcoats rivaled the brilliant colors the ladies wore, trimmed in silver, gold and ermine.

  She wore a wine-colored velvet gown Madame Girard had altered for her while a new wardrobe was being sewn. She blended in well with her English counterparts, and yet she never felt so conspicuous.

  With a shaking hand, she smoothed the French braid the handmaiden at the Gunwalers Inn had fashioned for her.

  Superimposed over the nobles in attendance were wild, dirty faces contorted in rage. The men who had killed her family could surely feed their families for years with what the teardrop diamonds dangling from her ears were worth, gifts from Roman. She squeezed his hand. He was with her through this final show of ceremony, before they went on with their lives.

  “Are you nervous, ma petite?” He spoke in her native language, calming her. She could almost believe this was any other day with him on the ship, or in her mother’s beautiful garden in Asnières-Sur-Seine.

  “Is it not splendid, mon cher?”

  “It is, my love, though I’ve never quite gotten used to it. So much bother, but the first time I attended court I could hardly take it all in.” He smiled down at her.

  He stood out from the crowd with his un-powdered black hair. Taking her arm as they moved forward in the receiving line, he murmured, “I must confess, I am a country boy at heart.”

  “Très bien, monsieur, for I want nothing more than to be your country girl.”

  “Captain Roman Cardiff and Mademoiselle Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair,” the announcer called.

  They stepped up to the dais.

  Jacqueline curtsied and Roman bowed to the king and queen.

  King George kissed her hand in greeting. “Mademoiselle Jacqueline, welcome to England. You have my deepest condolences for the untimely death of your father and mother, and little Marguax. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”

  Jacqueline steeled herself against the tears. “Yes, your Highness, The Raven is a fine ship. I wish to thank you for all you have done for my family.”

  “We are thankful for your safety, my child. You must stay with us for a while, we have much to discuss.”

  “Thank you, your Highness.”

  “Roman, it is good to have you back. We shall talk in my study shortly.”

  “As you wish, your Highness.”

  They followed the line of guests into a music
hall for the entertainment, a ballet performed by a Russian troupe.

  Roman ushered her to a seat in the front row.

  “Good evening, Mademoiselle St. Clair,” the lady seated next to her said.

  The woman’s blonde curls were as bright as a halo and bobbed with enthusiasm.

  “Lady Rebecca Forsythe, may I introduce Mademoiselle Jacqueline St. Clair?” Roman said.

  “Lady Rebecca, it is a pleasure.” Jacqueline studied the woman. “Have we met before?”

  “Oh no, Mademoiselle. Why, you’ve only just arrived, haven’t you?” Lady Rebecca’s gay laughter turned a few heads in their direction as the performance started.

  Jacqueline kept silent. How had the queen’s lady-in-waiting known she had just arrived? But, of course, Captain Cardiff’s return to England would indeed be news. Her captain was a good friend of the English king.

  She was soon engrossed in the magical interpretation of William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The ballerinas swirled gracefully, looking heavenward. Their gauze skirts were a riotous whirling storm of forest colors, blending as they danced on stage and breaking away in time to the lilting melody.

  “It is so exciting to have another lady my age at the castle. We shall be great friends. I have been in residence for several months, you know.” Lady Rebecca hardly stopped for breath. “I promise to show you all there is to do and see.”

  “That is very kind of you,” Jacqueline whispered, praying Lady Rebecca would leave it at that.

  “Your accent is intriguing.” That started another discourse on numerous questions about France.

  Jacqueline promised to tell the lady how it was to grow up in France later, hoping she would cease her banal chatter and watch the wonderful ballet in quiet.

  “His Highness will see you now, Captain Cardiff.” A guard stood next to Roman, who nodded.

  “I will be back soon, my love.”

  Jacqueline squeezed his hand, entranced as the two lovers twirled gracefully on stage in celebration of their love.

  * * * *

  “Claude and Simone gone, little Margaux, it is tragic.” The king shook his head, his eyes fixed on some point outside the window on the east lawn. “I advised him to leave with all haste.”