Before she could comment on his rather absurd statement, he stroked his cock along her wet folds, grazing her clit and making her gasp.
“Second,” he continued. “As much as I’d love to have my cock in that beautiful mouth—and I most definitely will next time—I have to get back inside that slick tight sheath of yours. Now.” He lodged himself at her entrance and pushed.
She lost her breath the moment the crest of his shaft slipped inside her. A groan rumbled out of his chest, shimmering through her. He bore down on her, deliciously forcing her sex to stretch as he fed her a glorious inch at a time. His slow and steady possession incited a fresh, fierce hunger.
“Dieu, I love how you’re even tighter after an orgasm.” His voice was hoarse.
He withdrew, and just as he was sliding back in, she became impatient and jerked her hips upward, forcing the head of his cock to collide with her womb, making them both gasp.
He growled her name and buried his face in her hair, his labored breaths matching her own, warming her neck. Softly he said, “You feel so good . . . I’m throbbing so hard.”
So was she. Her feminine walls pulsed around his large thick cock.
Lightly, he bit her earlobe then the sensitive spot under her ear. “Lovely Princess Emilie, you are an enchantress . . . and more heaven than any mortal man has the right to.” He began to slide in and out of her.
She laced her arms around him.
She didn’t know how he did it, but his words were like a balm. Taking away years of pain. Transforming her. Had any other man uttered those words, she would have dismissed them, convinced he was mocking her. But from Vincent’s mouth, he made her believe the unbelievable.
Because she trusted him.
Because she loved him.
She sought out his mouth and kissed him with a mix of love and lust. Pulling her arms from around his neck, he pinned her wrists to the ground, picking up the pace, giving her deep solid thrusts. Pinned under him, all she could do was take each one, sensations radiating out from her core to her entire body in dazzling waves with each downstroke. She reveled in his strength, in every plunge and drag as he rammed her with unbridled abandon. Violently aroused, she was swept up in his sensual storm.
Light pulsing inside her sex signaled the beginnings of her climax. She strained against him, trembling on the edge. “I’m going to . . .”
Her orgasm slammed into her, ripping a scream from her throat, sending violent spasms through her core and around his thrusting cock.
He growled and grunted, driving into her unrelentingly until the spasms began to ebb. Then he jerked his cock out, crushed her to him, and groaned long and hard against her neck. His body shuddered, his muscles tense and taut as he spent himself on the grass between her legs.
Languid, Emilie caressed his back, holding him until his body relaxed and his breathing slowed.
Lifting his head, he gazed down at her. His blue eyes were soft, his smile moving her to one as well.
“I loved that,” he said.
I love you . . . She caressed his cheek. “Me, too.”
She couldn’t reveal her feelings any more than she could reveal her scars. There were some walls she just couldn’t scale. Despite the recent changes in her, she couldn’t lay herself that bare. She hadn’t survived this long by exposing herself completely. No doubt if she did, he’d run.
Holding her tightly, Joseph rolled, pulling her on top. She tensed. Smiling, he slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his, kissing her sweet lips. Skimming his free hand under her chemise, he followed the lush curve of her bottom upward until he touched upon rough, thick, bumpy skin.
She shrieked against his mouth and jumped away so quickly it stunned him.
He snapped open his eyes to find her sitting several feet away, looking positively stricken and ready to bolt.
“You said you wouldn’t!” Her beautiful eyes were full of hurt and panic.
Merde. If his brain hadn’t been so foggy in the afterglow of a powerful orgasm, he wouldn’t have made the blunder.
Joseph raised himself up onto one elbow. “I’m sorry, Emilie. I wasn’t trying to remove the chemise. I like touching you. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’ve got to go.” She dropped to her knees and was about to stand.
“Wait!” He sat up. “Don’t go. Come here, ma belle.” He patted the spot beside him. “On your back, beside me.” He reclined back onto his side. “The night is young still. Stay with me.” Joseph held out his hand.
Silently he beseeched her.
She looked unsure, and he hated seeing the mistrust in her eyes.
“It won’t happen again. I promise.” Seeing the look on her face made him realize just what a daunting task it was going to be to have her discard the chemise. One that he was even more determined to take on. But it required a gentle hand. And a good deal of patience and understanding.
She rose. He held his breath.
Emilie walked over and lay down beside him. Joseph wanted to shout with joy.
She snuggled closer. “Never again,” she warned.
He leaned over and lightly kissed her. “Emilie, I’m certain it’s not as bad as you believe.”
She stiffened. “It’s very bad.
“Why not let me be the judge?”
“No! It would ruin everything between us.” She lifted her head and tried to sit up, but he quickly claimed her mouth and eased her back down. Capturing her sweet face, he gave her a long unhurried kiss, cherishing her mouth, her taste, his tongue giving hers slow, swirling caresses.
When at last he ended the kiss, her body was no longer rigid, but soft and wonderfully yielding. She gazed up at him with touching tenderness in her eyes, the sight of which filled his heart with a deep sense of contentment.
“I didn’t mean to get so upset with you earlier, Vincent. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I understand.”
A smile formed on her lovely mouth. “I’m so glad you’re nothing like your brother.”
Joseph’s chest tightened. He hated the low opinion she had of him. Her disregard for him, though not unfounded, bothered him to the core of his being. “You know,” he said, brushing an errant blond curl off her cheek, “Joseph is sorry for what he did or rather what he didn’t do that night. He told me so himself.”
Still smiling, she rose up onto her elbow, matching his pose. “No he didn’t, Vincent. But I do adore you for wanting to offer an apology on his behalf. The mighty Joseph d’Alumbert would never admit to any wrongdoing against anyone.”
She was right. He never would. Never had. Until tonight when his brothers had managed to do something rare—corner him.
“Men like Joseph don’t change.”
That was just the thing. He had changed. He hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t expected it, but it had happened. And it was all because of one flaxen-haired beauty—a woman who stirred soft sentiment during sex and all the time in between.
8
Joseph put on his gray justacorps and secured his black demi-mask. It was midafternoon, and he was anxious to see Emilie.
He still hadn’t coaxed her out of the final article of clothing—her chemise. Still hadn’t managed to convince her to let him stay the night, that she shouldn’t worry if in her sleep he caught a glimpse of her scars.
Yet despite his failings, over the last four days they’d shared in the most soul-satisfying sex. It was the greatest bliss he’d ever known. Not to mention he’d taken her in every position she favored in her naughty book. At least twice.
She was the first person he sought out upon awakening and the last person he saw before retiring for bed—usually in the early hours of dawn. He’d taken up eating supper by her side—away from his brothers and friends, his brothers making a point to walk by every night to bid “Vin-cent”—stressing the name between chuckles—a bon appetite.
Joseph smoothed his vest and smiled. Emilie had told him she’d be
wearing a very special costume this night. He couldn’t wait to see it. Couldn’t wait to take her out of it.
Dieu, she’d look comely in anything. Even barefoot wearing sackcloth.
He snatched open the door and was surprised to find a solemnlooking servant, a much older man, standing at his door ready to knock.
“My lord.”
“Yes. What is it?” Instantly irked, he wanted no delays in seeing Emilie.
“Madame de Naylon, Comtesse de Saint-Arnaud, wishes to speak to you.”
His hostess?
“Can this wait? I’m rather busy.”
“She insists you join her immediately in the library. Please follow me.”
The elderly man gave a short bow and, turning on a heel, made his way down the hall.
Merde. What on earth could Emilie’s aunt want?
The Comtesse de Saint-Arnaud rose from behind her desk the moment Joseph entered the library.
The servant closed the doors behind him.
Joseph pulled off his mask. “Madame, you wished to see me?”
She walked around the desk in silence and stopped before him. “I presume I’m speaking with Monsieur Joseph d’Alumbert?”
“You are.”
“Good, then let me be plain and to the point.”
“I’d appreciate that, madame. What is this about?”
“My niece. I believe you are toying with her.”
Joseph’s heart gave a small lurch. He schooled his features, affecting a look of indifference. “Possibly. The ladies are wearing masks. I couldn’t say exactly who I’m ‘toying with.’ Isn’t that the point to your gatherings? Anonymity?”
“Don’t try to be clever. My niece is very dear to me. Her experience with men has been sadly limited. She believes she’s having an affair with Vincent d’Alumbert.”
“Then you should speak with him.” Joseph turned to leave.
“He has a scar on his shoulder, doesn’t he?” the Comtesse called out.
That stopped Joseph dead in his tracks. He faced the older woman once more. “Pardon?”
“You heard me well enough. Apparently there aren’t many ways to tell the two of you apart. But according to your very good friend, Augustin de Coix, who was well into his cups earlier, as boys he and Vincent climbed a tree. Vincent fell out and suffered a rather nasty gash to his shoulder. It left quite the mark apparently. What do you suppose my niece will answer if I ask her whether her lover has any markings on his shoulder?”
Joseph’s stomach dropped. “I don’t know which niece you speak of, since it is my understanding you have more than one. However, if my brother is truly fucking her, her answer will be, ‘No.’ I was the one who fell out of the tree. Not Vincent,” he lied. “Augustin is a fool who can’t recall what he did yesterday, much less an incident that occurred many years ago.”
“You’ll show me your scar, of course.”
Joseph walked up to the Comtesse. “Madame, I suggest you remember whom you are speaking to. I’m going to ignore the insulting request you’ve just made. I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened, for your sake.”
He marched out.
Merde. He had to find Vincent. He had to change clothes with him.
He had to speak to him. Fast.
Emilie’s gown was white with tiny pearls embellishing the bodice. On her demi-mask, there were more pearls and soft white plumes. The square neckline was adorned with the finest, sheerest gauze. She felt beautiful in her costume.
As beautiful and elegant as a swan. And that was exactly what she’d chosen as her masquerade attire this eve. A swan. She hadn’t even bothered with a wig. She felt so changed, she was certain no one would recognize her.
She couldn’t wait to see Vincent. Couldn’t wait to see his reaction to her lovely costume.
Walking along the corridor that led to the grand dining room, she spotted him stepping out of the library. He was wearing exactly what he said he’d wear—a black demi-mask and gray justacorps and breeches.
Rushing through the crowd, she walked right up to him, beaming. “Vincent.”
He looked startled to see her, then he glanced over his shoulder. Her aunt stood in the doorway of the library, closely observing them.
“You have me mistaken for my brother,” he said and stepped around her.
She laughed and caught his hand, halting his progress. “Vincent, what game are you playing?” She stepped in close and lightly ran her finger along the side of his neck. “You sport the love bite I gave you last night.”
“Good evening, Vincent,” his twin said, grinning as he approached with the youngest d’Alumbert, Gilbert.
Vincent lowered his head and squeezed her hand. She heard a very clear “Merde” slip past his lips.
“Good sirs, will you kindly step into the library,” Pauline said to the three Alumberts before Emilie. “Darling, you come, too.” Her aunt was looking straight at her.
Emilie was seized by an uneasy feeling. One she couldn’t shake as she entered the room with the three men.
Joseph held Emilie’s hand, refusing to let it go just yet. Knowing his lies were about to be revealed, he wanted her touch until the moment she’d likely rip it away from him.
“Do you have anything to say, Monsieur Joseph d’Alumbert?” the Comtesse said.
“Indeed I do,” Vincent responded for him. “I’d like to know why I’m in here. There are festivities I’m missing out on.”
Madame de Saint-Arnaud let out a sigh, clearly exasperated. “I’m speaking to Joseph d’Alumbert.” She looked straight at him.
Vincent responded, “And I’m answering. I am Joseph.”
“Are you still going to try to deceive her?” Madame de Saint-Arnaud asked him.
Joseph couldn’t voice the words. He simply held Emilie’s hand, his thumb gently caressing it.
“What is happening?” Emilie spoke, her soft green eyes on him.
Gilbert strolled up to the Comtesse, smiling. “Dear Madame de Saint-Arnaud, you are clearly confused. But don’t be embarrassed by it. They look so much alike that I, their own brother, sometimes confuse them. A common mistake. Now, why don’t we put our masks back on and enjoy the rest of the evening. What say you?” He spoke to the group before him.
“I say that this man”—the Comtesse pointed straight at Joseph—“just entered this very room moments ago and admitted to me he was Joseph d’Alumbert.”
“Did you do that?” Emilie asked him, but before Joseph could respond, Vincent interjected with a laugh.
“Vincent does that all the time.” Vincent shook his head. “He envies me, you see. I am, after all, the firstborn. The heir. Pay him no mind.”
“Forget it, Vincent.” At last he found his voice, simply because the lies had become too much to bear. Joseph looked at Emilie, cherishing the last moments her soft delicate hand rested in his. “I am Joseph. He is Vincent, a good brother, and a poor liar.”
“Really? I thought I was a good liar.”
“And I am Gilbert d’Alumbert.” Smiling, Gilbert walked up to Emilie and gave a short bow. “Apparently, I’m the only one who hasn’t kissed you, but I’m happy to accommodate—”
“You’re not helping,” Joseph cut him off sharply. This was no time for his brothers’ usual foolery.
Her sweet lips parted, she stepped in front of him, her hand still absently in his, her eyes moving from Vincent back to him. She was a vision in her white gown. He hated it that he couldn’t pull her to him. He hated the distress etched on her brow, her breasts rising and falling with her quickened breaths.
“The only one who hasn’t kissed me?” she said softly. Incredulous. Shocked.
“Good Lord, you haven’t shared her without her knowledge, have you? I’ve heard that you gentlemen have been known to do that, but—”
“No!” Joseph quickly silenced the Comtesse’s rant. He squeezed Emilie’s hand to gain her full attention. “It wasn’t like that. You’ve been with me. Just me. Jos
eph.”
“Except our kiss in the hallway . . . Which was quite delicious indeed,” Vincent said. “I’ve never touched you.”
“Merde, Vincent. That’s not helpful,” Joseph exploded.
Vincent held up his hands. “Sorry, Joseph.”
Emilie pulled her hand from his grip. Tears glistened in her eyes. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? A cruel game.”
“No, this is no game. The letters, what happened between us here, were real. Sincere.” Joseph caressed her cheek. She jumped back.
“Don’t touch me, Joseph.”
Those words sliced him deeply.
“Do not speak to me about sincerity when you’ve done nothing but deceive me! What are you going to do now?” she asked him. “Run about and tell all your friends how you had Singed Emilie de Sarron?” She angrily swiped a tear that ran down her cheek. “Just think of all the laughs you will have. We all know how much you love to laugh at another’s expense.”
She turned and walked out of the room.
Joseph felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He placed his hands on his hips, trying to breathe.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” the Comtesse said.
Joseph’s gaze shot up to hers. Teeth clenched, he growled, “Madame, if you were a man, I’d lay you low for what you’ve just done.”
“What I’ve just done? Sir, you blame me for your poor conduct?”
The commotion outside grabbed Joseph’s attention. There was laughter. And he could hear Augustin’s booming voice.
Joseph stalked from the room. Entering the hallway, he noticed a crowd had formed in the grand vestibule. He gravitated to it. His heart missed a beat when he saw Emilie in the middle of the crowd with Augustin beside her.
He was laughing along with the throng. Emilie was unmasked; the beautiful swan’s mask lay on the floor.
She cracked her palm against Augustin’s cheek. “You are vile and a fool.”
The crowd roared.
Joseph pushed his way through the mass and entered the center.
Augustin rubbed his cheek, no longer looking as amused as before. “Ah, Joseph!” He pointed to Emilie. “Look who has been at the gathering. Some of the men may have actually fucked Singed de Sarron.”
The Princess in His Bed Page 19