The Princess in His Bed

by Lila DiPasqua

  “Tell me, Aimee, have you been looking for this?”

  She wasn’t going to lie. Not a single falsehood would pass her lips. Whatever he asked, she was going to give him the truth. No matter the consequences, and she had a terrible feeling all was lost anyway.

  “Yes. I’ve been looking for that.”

  “Why is Sard’s ring in my pocket?”

  “Because Louise dropped it there by accident in the Hall of Mirrors.”

  “And what was Louise doing with the ring in the first place?”

  Aimee’s gaze dropped to her lap.

  “Look at me, Aimee.” She lifted her gaze and met his dark eyes. “I want to hear the whole truth from you, and I want you to look me in the eye when you speak it. Understood?”

  She nodded. She hated the situation she was in. She hated it that he hadn’t put his arms around her this whole time.

  “Good, now answer my question. What was Louise doing with the ring?”

  “She . . . took it from Renault. She was quite distraught and wasn’t thinking at the time. By the time she was in her right mind, she’d dropped the ring in your pocket. She begged me to help her. You know how Renault is, Adam. Or perhaps you don’t know. He puts on a very different face with you than he does with Louise or me.”

  “So your reason for drawing near to me was the ring.”

  “Initially, yes, but—”

  “And the day I first caught you in my room, you came not to give yourself to me but to search for the ring, is that correct?”

  Dear God, that sounded so much worse coming from his mouth. “Yes, I will admit I didn’t come here to give myself to you on that day, but I gave myself to you then and every day since because I wanted to.”

  There was a knock at the door. Adam rose, snatching the ring up off the table and taking it with him to the door. The moment he opened it, he stepped aside and muttered an oath. For the first time since she’d entered his rooms, she caught a glimpse of true ire in his eyes.

  A somber man about her age stepped inside. He had two other men with him. She recognized one as being a lieutenant of Renault de Sard. She tensed.

  “Monsieur le Marquis, the Lieutenant General of Police has sent us. He felt Madame de Gremont”—the man nodded toward her—“would be here. We’re to escort her back to her apartments.”

  Aimee rose. Her stomach dropped. “Oh? Well, you may tell your superior that I am busy at the moment and whatever he wants will have to wait.” Her heart pounded in her throat. Her mind spun. Her thoughts were of Louise.

  Where was her cousin? What did Renault want?

  Meeting Adam’s gaze, she found once again he’d schooled his expression. She couldn’t tell if he had something to do with the presence of these men or not.

  “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, madame. It’s an order,” the young lieutenant said.

  Fear iced through her body.

  She glanced at Adam again. He said nothing. Did nothing.

  He didn’t believe her. Anything she’d said. No doubt including that she loved him.

  How could she blame him?

  Without further ado, but with shaky legs Aimee followed the three men sent for her. Afraid. And heartbroken.

  Standing before the door to her apartments, Aimee watched as one of the men opened it for her and asked her to step inside.

  Her stomach tightened when she saw Louise in her antechamber, seated on a chair, weeping into her hands, and Renault standing above her.

  His usual cold glare was fixed on Aimee.

  “Well, welcome, Madame de Gremont,” the vermin said.

  “What are you doing in my private apartments?” She managed to utter the question without her voice quavering.

  “Let’s not play any more games, madame. My ring is missing. And your cousin has confessed to stealing it.”

  Louise looked so utterly defeated, Aimee’s heart went out to her. Crossing the room, Aimee sat down beside her and put an arm around her cousin. Louise immediately turned into her shoulder and wept some more.

  “Your cousin says you are not involved in her thievery,” Renault said. “That she acted alone. But I don’t believe her.”

  It was Aimee’s turn to glare. “She knows where the ring is. It can easily be retrieved and returned to you. There’s been no harm done. You need not torment her this way!”

  “I gave her proper warning of the consequences. She chose not to heed me. As usual.” He threw a hateful glance at Louise. “I believe a Lettre de Cachet is not out of order here. Two, in fact, one for her and one for you.”

  That shot Louise to her feet. “Aimee did not steal the ring. I acted alone!”

  “Yes, words from your mouth are ever so believable,” Renault replied dryly. “I’ll have the orders signed by the King in the morning.” With that he turned and left, his men following him out. Leaving Aimee and Louise alone.

  “I hate you!” Louise screamed at the closed door.

  Aimee rose. “Louise, that’s hardly helpful.”

  “I don’t care. I do hate him. I can’t believe I ever loved him. He isn’t half the man Robert is!” Louise dropped onto the chair again, her face falling into her open palms. She cried anew. “I finally meet a decent man, one that’s attentive and interested, and now I’m going to prison,” Louise wailed.

  Aimee moved to the door and opened it a crack. Just as she suspected. The three men were in the corridor, guarding them. She closed the door and slumped against it.

  Aimee thought she, too, had finally met a decent man that was attentive and interested. Thanks to her multitude of errors and deceptions, his interest had waned. And she couldn’t blame him for how he felt. She’d sufficiently earned his disdain and tainted their experience together. Sorrow surged inside her chest. She wrestled it back as best she could. Unlike Louise, she couldn’t allow herself to succumb to the sadness.

  Right now she needed to think of a way to untangle them from this mess.

  She needed a miracle. Or three.

  At dawn there was a knock at the door. Louise started awake from a light sleep, while Aimee simply rose from her chair, gripped by trepidation. They had spent the night in the antechamber, too unnerved to retire to bed. Louise had drifted in and out of sleep. Exhausted, her muscles taut, Aimee had been up the entire time. It was now morning and she still hadn’t come up with a viable plan to escape the trouble they were in.

  Aimee cleared her throat. “Come in,” she said, without glancing at Louise, knowing she’d see fear in her cousin’s eyes.

  The young lieutenant from the night before stepped into her antechamber, offering a bow and brief greeting to both women. “Monsieur de Sard wishes to advise you both that you are free to leave your chambers. There will be no Lettre de Cachet drawn up against either of you.”

  Louise gasped, her mouth falling agape.

  Aimee was stalk still. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Why the change?” she felt compelled to ask.

  “I don’t know, madame. All I can say is that the Lieutenant General of Police had a discussion with the Marquis de Nattes before changing his decision. Perhaps you should speak to him?”

  Adam spoke to Renault and got him to change his mind?

  A surge of hope and a spurt of joy jolted her forward. She bolted from the room and raced out of her outbuilding, across the grounds all the way to the outbuilding where Adam’s apartments were located.

  By the time she reached his chambers, she was flushed and out of breath. Not bothering to knock, she burst into his antechamber. Finding it empty, she rushed through his bedchamber—also vacant—to his private cabinet room. There she heard a splash. Without a moment’s hesitation, she ran into the salle de bain and came to an abrupt halt when she found the Marquis de Nattes in his large copper tub.

  Very naked.

  Magnificent to behold.

  She froze, her gaze sweeping over his stunning form, the sight of him inspiring an instant longing in her body and heart.

 
Adam fought to keep a straight face. Her expression was as amusing as it was arousing. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good—Good morning . . .”

  He lifted a brow. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  She dragged her gaze from his body up to his face, her blush turning her pink cheeks a darker hue. Clearly realizing she’d been openly ogling him.

  He sat up straighter, his chest rising out of the water.

  “Oh, my,” he heard her say softly, before she tore her gaze from his body once more and dropped it to an errant thread on her gown, plucking at it nervously. “Adam . . . I came to thank you for what you did. Whatever you said to Renault spared Louise and me an indefinite incarceration. I cannot express the depth of my gratitude.”

  Looking fatigued from a night of little sleep, her hair mussed, and her gown crinkled, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You’re welcome.”

  Still fidgeting with the thread, she said, “That’s not all. I know you don’t believe me, but I wish to say it again—from the heart—” She met his gaze. “I never ever once gave myself to you without desire as my motivation. It wasn’t because of the ring. It was because I wanted you. I’m sorry that I lied and deceived you. I was in a difficult situation and”—she shook her head, self-disgust etched on her lovely features—“I made a mess of it all . . . including the ridiculous way I told you I loved you. It was . . . is the truth, whether you wish to believe me or not. I do love you. Very much.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes widened. “Pardon?”

  “I said, I know. I know your affections are sincere.”

  “You believe me then?” she asked, incredulous.

  “I believe you. When you told me you loved me in front of the King’s apartments, you never tried to search my pockets as before. It was a pure utterance from the heart.”

  A smile lit up her face. “No, I never did! That’s very true!” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Come here, Aimee.”

  She approached, stopping beside the tub. Taking her hand, he pulled her down for a kiss. As she bent forward, her eager mouth met his. Adam grasped her shoulders and yanked her closer, purposely knocking her off balance and into the tub. She dropped in with a yelp and a splash.

  Holding her tightly against his side, he cupped her cheek and gave her a deep, soul-quenching kiss, halting any words. Soft and languorous, he kissed her until her body yielded, her arms encircled him, until she grew hungrier, her kisses more urgent, no longer caring that she was in a tub full of water, fully clothed.

  He grazed his lips along her jaw to her ear. “I know what you need.”

  Her hand slid down his chest, moving ever lower to his stiff prick. “What is it I need?” He heard the teasing in her tone. He caught her wrist, halting her eager hand. There were things he wanted to say first, without those delicious distractions.

  Lightly he bit her earlobe. “New clothes.”

  She lifted her head. Her delicate brows drew together. “New clothes?”

  “A new wardrobe, only the finest fabrics, for the Marquise de Nattes.”

  She pushed against his chest to get a better look at his face, obviously searching for sincerity behind his words. “The Marquise de Nattes? Me?”

  He grinned. “Yes. You. I told Sard he wasn’t going to imprison my future wife. Or her errant cousin. I pointed out that asking the King for orders of arrest for his former mistress would make him look weak. It wouldn’t foster much confidence in His Majesty if his Lieutenant General of Police of Paris, a man in charge of maintaining order in a city of one hundred thousand souls, couldn’t control this one woman.”

  She burst into laughing, and he loved the sound of it. Aimee rose up and straddled his hips. His cock jerked with delight, despite the clothing between them. “You’re marvelous,” she said. Cradling his face between her palms, she gave him one of her tender kisses that he felt down to the bottom of his heart.

  “Since we are sharing truths,” he said, opening the front of her sopping wet gown. “I have been in love with you for so very long, I couldn’t even say when it began. You’re mine. This was meant to be.” He brushed a wet strand off her cheek.

  “I am yours,” she concurred. “Today and forever.” Her lips met his again, and she anxiously aided in the removal of her wet clothes, tossing each article onto the white marble floor.

  “You’ll stay inside me this time?” she murmured against his mouth.

  “You won’t be able to stop me,” he promised, slipping his hand behind her head, gently securing her soft lips more firmly to his.

  Abruptly, she pulled away. “Wait, Adam. There is one more truth I want to share.”

  He frowned slightly. “What is it?”

  “It’s about your justacorps. They are indeed splendid, but to be quite honest . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “You look your best when you are wearing nothing at all.”

  He laughed and pulled her close. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he kissed his golden-eyed beauty with heated intensity and all the love he had in his heart for her.

  Epilogue

  In the city of Paris, there have been many weddings throughout time. But none, they say, was more beautiful or more enchanting than that of Adam de Vey, Marquis de Nattes, to his beloved Aimee.

  What made this union so noteworthy was not the opulence and splendor of the nuptials, for there was definitely that. No, what brought spectators out in droves, lining the streets all the way to Notre Dame, was to see—love.

  “True love” were the two words that rippled through the throng. A noble union not for political gain or advancement of power.

  Just plain love.

  A power unto itself.

  It was said that the bride arrived wearing a magnificent golden-colored gown in a white and gold open carriage pulled by white horses. But it was her smile that people craned their necks to see. The smile of a woman in love. And she didn’t disappoint the masses. Hers was as radiant as the sun.

  In the spring a babe was born. A tiny boy with his father’s dark hair and eyes, their little son added to the joy in the hearts of the Marquis and Marquise de Nattes.

  Some say there was magic involved in the tale of Adam and Aimee; whispers of a magical ring abounded. Others believed a miracle brought them together at the palace. While many insist it was simply written in the stars.

  Destiny may have caused their paths to cross that summer.

  But it was their love that made their tale romantic, repeated throughout the realm.

  And ensured their happily ever after . . .

  The Lovely Duckling

  1

  An “ugly duckling” is someone who blossoms beautifully after an unpromising beginning.

  —Eric Donald Hirsch et al., The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, 2002

  “Details, Vincent. You cannot simply state you had two women last night without offering details,” Gilbert complained, sporting his usual lazy smile.

  Joseph d’Alumbert rose from his plush chair and strode across the floral carpet over to the window in the antechamber—away from his twin brother Vincent and younger brother Gilbert. He knew full well Vincent wasn’t about to withhold a single salacious detail of his evening of excess.

  He simply wanted their younger brother to beg a little.

  “Ah, the details . . .” Without turning around, Joseph knew his twin was grinning. He heard it in his tone. Though he and his brothers ordinarily shared the particulars of their carnal encounters, at the moment, Joseph didn’t care a whit how Vincent’s evening had unfolded.

  He was on edge. Worse, since his arrival yesterday at the Comtesse de Saint-Arnaud’s country estate, he found himself looking out the window at the courtyard one too many times.

  And here he was. Doing it again.

  Joseph braced his hands on the window frame as he gazed down at the empty cobblestone courtyard. It was late afternoon. The Comtesse’s week-l
ong masqueraded affair was into its second day. Well under way. She’s not coming, he mentally willed.

  “Well?” Gilbert prompted Vincent, impatience in his tone.

  “He had the d’Esseur sisters, Gilbert,” Joseph responded for his twin. “There’s nothing new there. Everyone has fucked them.”

  “I haven’t!” Gilbert said. “How were they, Vincent? How can you be certain it was them? Everyone’s identity is disguised.”

  Vincent chuckled. “Dear brother, you have been away in the campaign too long. Marie and Jeanne d’Esseur are known for two things. Their talented mouths. And their unfortunate, distinctive laugh . . .”

  The Comtesse’s parties were never short on decadent diversions—to suit just about any taste. Yet last eve, instead of indulging in some debauchery of his own, Joseph had spent it in the company of the Comtesse’s fine brandy. Unable to focus on the amusements at hand, he’d actually turned down women who were eager to engage in just the sort of impersonal copulation he preferred.

  His thoughts were being pulled toward a female who wasn’t even in attendance.

  “Fine. Wonderful. They had a distinctive laugh,” Gilbert said. “What else, Vincent? Out with it. Tell me before I stop asking altogether.”

  At that, Vincent laughed. “We both know you won’t,” he needled Gilbert. “But since you insist, I shall tell you . . . I had them in the gardens, behind the statue of Zeus . . .”

  A black carriage pulled into the courtyard, capturing Joseph’s attention. His brothers’ voices immediately faded into the distance as he watched it halt before the main doors of the Comtesse’s château. Sunshine glinted off its top.

  He tensed.

  Moments later, a figure alighted with the aid of the footman. She wore a mask. And a wig. But it didn’t matter. It was her. He’d know her anywhere. The way she was dressed—the multiple layers of fabrics—made him certain.

  Merde.