Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
The Marquis’ New Clothes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
The Lovely Duckling
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Princess and the Diamonds
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Glossary
Praise for Awakened by a Kiss
“Lila DiPasqua’s lushly erotic writing is sophisticated, sensuous, and deeply romantic. If you love historical romance, this is an author to watch!”—Elizabeth Hoyt, New York Times bestselling author
“The most luscious, sexy take on classic fairy tales I’ve ever read! The three heroes are delicious!”
—Cheryl Holt, New York Times bestselling author
“An erotically charged retelling of classic stories. Steamy yet sweet, DiPasqua expertly melds emotionally charged erotica with fantasy, love, and hope, leaving no doubt as to the happily ever after. These are not your mother’s fairy tales!”
—Kathryn Smith, USA Today bestselling author
“Lila DiPasqua brilliantly pens three unique stories filled with mirth, passion, and sinfully charming heroes.”—Romance Junkies
“Awakened by a Kiss is a sinfully erotic collection of multilayered plots and characters that’s sure to please.”
—Lovin’ Me Some Romance
“I would highly recommend this book to anyone who loves HOT romance filled with sumptuous fantasy.” —Bookaholics
“Three fantastic stories that will take you away into a world of fairy tale romance, capturing your heart as well as your emotions . . . Love scenes that will light the pages on fire. Simply delicious.”
—Book Junkie
Berkley Sensation titles by Lila DiPasqua
Awakened by a Kiss
The Princess in His Bed
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control
over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2010 by Lila DiPasqua.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / November 2010
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
DiPasqua, Lila.
The princess in his bed / Lila DiPasqua.—Berkley Sensation trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-46612-4
I. Title.
PS3604.I625P75 2010
813’.6—dc22
2010031426
http://us.penguingroup.com
To my children and my very own Prince Charming, Carm.
To my editor, Kate Seaver; editorial assistant, Katherine Pelz;
and my agent, Caren Johnson Estesen, all of whom work magic
every day in their own special ways. To Carolyn Williams,
Donna Jeffery, Franca Pelaccia, Vickie Marise, and
Mary Barone, who are the best critique partners
anyone can wish for.
And to my readers who share my love of fairy tales
and a happily ever after.
A Historical Tidbit
The court of Louis XIV was as decadent as it was opulent. It was a time of high culture, elegance, and excesses. The pursuit of sinful pleasures was a pastime. Sex, an art form. Louis was a lusty king. He and his courtiers were connoisseurs of the carnal arts.
It was during this wicked time period that authors first began writing down fairy tales—the folklore that had been passed on verbally for generations. It wasn’t long before fairy tales became a highly fashionable topic of discussion in the renowned salons of Paris. Though the fairy tales in this collection were made famous by Hans Christian Andersen, a Danish poet and author, perhaps his muse was stirred by hearing stories about characters such as these . . .
Happy Reading!
Lila
The Marquis’ New Clothes
1
“My life is over!” Louise d’Arcy exclaimed the moment after she’d yanked Aimee inside her elegant private apartments and slammed the door shut.
Aimee de Miran sighed. She’d just arrived at Versailles. Her sojourn at the palace was only ten minutes long and already she was rethinking her plan to attend court and visit with her cousin.
Dear Louise was always in the midst of chaos. It seemed now was no different.
Parched from the long carriage ride, Aimee walked over to the pitcher of water and orange slices on the ebony side table and promptly filled two crystal goblets. “Louise, darling, I’m certain your life isn’t over.” She held a goblet out to her cousin. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong? Renault is what’s wrong. He’s cast me aside!” Wringing her hands, Louise began to pace, completely oblivious to Aimee’s extended arm and the goblet of fresh water being offered.
Aimee availed herself of the refreshment instead and set the goblet down.
A lovers’ spat. Nothing new.
“I see.” That would be all she’d need to say for the next hour while Louise ranted. When she was done, her cousin would collapse in a chair, quite theatrically, and weep for at least twenty more minutes.
Aimee had been through this before. Many times. Louise was always having spats with her longti
me lover, Renault de Sard.
Louise stopped dead in her tracks. “No, you don’t see. You’ve no idea what has occurred. Everything is a mess. And it’s over this time! Truly over!” Her hazel eyes filled with tears. “He’ll not have anything more to do with me. He’s said so!” She dropped her face into her palms and sobbed.
Aimee approached and put a consoling arm around her cousin. Of similar age, they’d always been close. She did adore Louise, despite her histrionics. “Louise, it will work out. You’ll see. He always comes back.”
“Not this time,” she said without lifting her head, the words muffled by her hands.
“You say that every time.”
Her cousin’s head shot up. “This time it’s true!”
“You say that every time, too.”
Louise let out a sharp breath. “Aimee, he favors another! I have been replaced. He’s with Diane de Millon. I’m no longer his mistress at all! I tell you, he is a horrible, horrible cad! He purposely misled me.”
“Oh? Misled you how?”
“I was positively thrilled when he asked me to accompany him to the palace for his regular official visit with the King. He’d been so cold and distant lately that I didn’t think he’d permit me to attend this time. In truth, his plan was to bring me here to end our affair. He thought I wouldn’t pitch a fit at the palace. And do you know what I did?’
“You pitched a fit at the palace.”
“No. Well . . . yes.” Louise waved her hand dismissively. “But that was in private. And that’s not what I’m talking about.” Her cousin began to pace and wring her hands again. “I did something. Something terrible. Something I regret.”
Trepidation was mounting in Aimee. Louise always had a flare for the dramatic, but . . . Aimee couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling tightening in her stomach. There was a certain look in Louise’s eyes that made her a little anxious.
“What did you do?”
Her cousin smoothed her hands down her gown. A habit. Something Louise always did when she was nervous. Or uneasy. Or terribly guilty.
“Well, you see . . .” Louise began and smoothed her hands down her gown again. “You must understand, I was quite angry with Renault at the time, and very hurt by his cutting coldness toward me. So I . . .”
Aimee braced herself. Having no idea what she was about to hear, her instincts told her it was going to be bad. Quite bad. “You what?”
“I took something of his.”
“Took?”
“All right, I stole. There, I said it. Is that better? I stole something he holds dear.”
Good Lord. This was a new low, even for Louise. “What on earth did you steal?”
Louise threw up her hands. “The man has never given me anything , Aimee. In all these years, no lover’s trinket. No jewelry at all! I felt he owed me at least that much.”
Aimee struggled with her patience. “Louise . . . What. Did. You. Take?”
“His jeweled ring. One of the ones given to him by the King.”
“Oh, Louise, you didn’t.”
“I did!” Louise flopped down onto the nearby chair, dropped her face into her palms again, and wept audibly.
Aimee shook her head, dismayed. Of all the predicaments Louise had landed herself in, this one was by far the most shocking. “Didn’t it occur to you that Renault is the King’s Lieutenant General of Police? A man who is overzealous when it comes to the duties of his post and would arrest his own mother for the most minor infraction?”
Louise looked up. “Well, not at the time, but it certainly has over the last few hours . . .” She choked on a sob. “What am I going to do? My life is over! He’ll throw me in one of those horrible cells without batting an eye. If he’s angry enough, he could have orders drawn up against me, and I’ll be held without trial—for who knows how long.”
Aimee took in a fortifying breath and let it out slowly. She walked over to her distressed kin and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Everything is going to be fine. We can remedy this problem. This really isn’t as great a dilemma as you think it is.”
Her cousin swiped away the tears on her cheek. “Oh, but it is.”
“No it isn’t. You will return the ring with a sincere apology—”
“I can’t.”
“You’re right. The man is so rigid and uncompromising, he won’t understand. I have it,” Aimee said as an idea occurred to her. “You’ll sneak into his rooms and put the ring back, without him being the wiser.”
“I can’t do that either.”
Aimee frowned. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I lost the ring.”
“You what?”
Louise rose from the chair. “Well, it’s not entirely lost. I know where it is. Sort of.”
“Where in the name of God is it—sort of?”
“When I was in the Hall of Mirrors yesterday, it was very crowded, as usual. I was bumped from behind, and it fell out of my hand and into the pocket of one of the courtiers.”
“Do you know who?”
“I do. The Marquis de Nattes.”
Aimee’s heart missed a beat. “Adam de Vey, Marquis de Nattes?” she questioned, hoping she’d heard wrong.
“Yes. Exactly.” Her cousin grasped Aimee’s hands and squeezed them. “Aimee, I can’t let Renault learn what I did. If the ring is found on the Marquis de Nattes’s person, Renault would never believe he stole the ring. He has one of his own from the King. You must help me get the ring back before Renault discovers it missing. He’ll not stop until he uncovers the thief. Me!”
This was only getting worse. She didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “What exactly are you suggesting I do?”
For the first time since Aimee entered the room, her cousin smiled. “You know as well as I do the Marquis de Nattes would be receptive to any attention you would give him. Since Marc died, he looks at you ‘that’ way. You could easily get close enough to him to search his clothes.”
Aimee’s brows shot up. “Have you gone mad? You want me to encourage that libertine just so I can dip my hands in his pockets in search of your ring?”
“Precisely. And perhaps you can search his armoire in his private apartments, too. The man does have a rather extensive wardrobe . . .”
“No. Absolutely not.” Adam de Vey was the worst sort of man. The very type she detested. He was no different from her late husband. Beautiful as sin. A master at seduction.
And completely faithless.
A man who believed women were interchangeable. Who cared nothing of what he did to a woman’s heart. Only what he did with her body.
It was no wonder that the Marquis de Nattes and her late husband, Marc, Comte de Gremont, had been friends. They were of like mind and poor character. Since Marc’s death on the dueling field three years ago—a duel over his favorite paramour at the time—Aimee thankfully had had nothing more to do with her late husband’s licentious friends.
Louise’s bottom lip began to tremble, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “Renault will show me no mercy. He cares nothing for me at all now. If—If you don’t help me . . . then I will surely be arrested, Aimee. You won’t let that happen, will you? You’ll help me, won’t you?”
The pitiful look on her cousin’s face tugged at Aimee’s heart fiercely. She wanted to help her, but . . . she’d noticed the lingering looks Adam had given her since Marc’s death, too. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him believe she’d be receptive to him.
“Louise . . . There’s got to be another way . . .”
“There isn’t! Oh, please, Aimee. I haven’t anyone else who can help . . . I know you don’t care for Adam de Vey, but think of it this way: You can do something most women cannot. You can easily flirt with Adam, yet resist him, and in the end do what no female has done—rebuff him.”
Now, that did have a certain appeal. Men like the Marquis de Nattes toyed with so many women, luring them with their polished manner, potent sensuality, their fals
e affections. She would definitely love to play him. Lure him. She could flirt a little. Draw close enough to locate the ring and save Louise.
She was likely one of the few women in the realm who’d resist his allure.
After giving herself over to her husband—heart, body, and soul—leaving herself open to the humiliation and heartbreak she’d ultimately endured, Aimee knew she’d never fall into the arms of another rake like Marc again.
“All right,” tumbled from her mouth.
Louise squeaked with joy and threw her arms around Aimee. “Thank you! I knew I could count on your help.”
Aimee sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what he was wearing when you dropped the ring?”
“I do!” Louise was finally smiling again. “He was wearing a blue justacorps.”
“Blue? That’s it?”
“I know how much the man adores fine clothing, and I did hear he had a new wardrobe delivered two days ago, but really, how many blue justacorps could he have in all?”
True. But given the number of knee-length coats he owned, what were the chances he’d wear the same blue justacorps again anytime soon? Just how mindful was he of such things?
“Between the two of us, we’ll be able to locate the ring quickly and easily,” Louise said confidently.
Aimee couldn’t believe she’d become embroiled in this mad plan. Outfoxing a seasoned roué; locating and lifting a ring out from under the nose of a man who, by his very womanizing nature, was highly attuned to the opposite sex. Reading women was his forte. He knew how to detect signs of amorous interest and sexual desire. Her performance would have to be believable and flawless, despite her limited skills at being a coquette.
Success hinged on her ability to stay focused. The problem was, she hadn’t been touched by a man in over three long empty years. Though she’d never admit it to anyone, she yearned to have a man’s arms around her. The press of his hard body against hers. His body inside her. Her marriage bed had been most satisfying. Too satisfying. There had been many nights she wished her late husband had never introduced her to the pleasures of sex. That his conjugal visits had been more typical of his peers—brief. Obligatory. For the purposes of procreation only.
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