Philippe had not had a single thought of Honneure last night. Of that Olivia was certain. All he had been aware of were her lips and hands, until they were both naked. And then all he had known was her body. A delicious shiver quivered upward from somewhere deep in her abdomen, and she rolled onto her side, the better to admire her lover.
Philippe lay on his back, one arm flung upward over the pillow. Thick black lashes curled against his cheeks, and long dark curls haloed his head. He snored softly.
There was no denying it. He was the most beautiful man she had ever had in her bed. Simply gazing at him rekindled her desire. His features were sharply drawn, from high, prominent cheekbones to the angular narrowing of his chin. His nose was thin and straight, perhaps a bit too long, but the overall picture was perfection with his generous mouth and full, soft lips. Her gaze wandered downward.
Though he was tall and lean, driving horses over the years had developed Philippe’s chest, shoulders, and upper arms to the proportions of a much larger man. A thin line of dark, silken curls ran from the hollow of his throat across the hills and valleys of his muscular definition to a narrow waist and hips, and down …The thin blanket halted Olivia’s hungry visual quest. Unable to resist, she placed the palm of one hand on his flat, hard belly and slipped her fingers under the cover. She encountered a dense mat of coarser hair, and something constricted in her breast. Philippe moaned and rolled away from her.
No longer caring if she woke him, thinking only of the delights of his body, Olivia kissed the smooth, pale skin of Philippe’s shoulder and pressed the length of her body against his. He stirred as she caressed his chest and circled the darker flesh of his nipple with the tip of one finger. She gasped when he suddenly caught her hand.
“Don’t tell me you want more,” he mumbled sleepily.
“Yes, I want more,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out to lick his earlobe. “And more and more. Always. I’ll never have enough of you.”
Though vaguely disturbed, for no reason he could name, Philippe smiled. Olivia was indeed insatiable and had aroused his exhausted body again and again long into the night. She was skilled in ways he had never experienced, and though she was voracious, he didn’t think he could complain. But he did have to set limits. He gripped her hand tighter when she struggled to free it.
“I have to get up,” he protested. “The horses are waiting.”
“Let them wait.” Olivia licked the nape of Philippe’s neck.
Philippe hunched his shoulders against the trill of pleasure she sent down his spine. He pushed her hand away, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and rose. Olivia groaned at the sight of his tight, rounded buttocks.
“I can’t let them wait, and you know it. Besides, I’m anxious to see if my sister has arrived yet.”
Olivia’s gaze slid away from Philippe as he pulled on his trousers. Honneure. Always Honneure. With effort she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
Damn Honneure. Philippe was in her bed now. And he would stay there. She would see to it. Honneure’s presence would affect her not at all. Olivia took a deep breath and coyly let the blanket fall away from her naked breasts.
“I … I forgot to tell you last night, but your sister has in fact reached Versailles.”
Philippe froze in the act of shrugging his shirt onto his wide shoulders. “What … what did you say?”
“You heard me.” Olivia’s gaze did not waver.
“Honneure is here, at the palace?” Philippe began to move again. He buttoned his shirt with hasty fingers. “How long has she been here? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She arrived last night,” Olivia replied slowly. “And I didn’t tell you because … when I am in your arms I can think of nothing but you.”
Philippe paused once more and regarded the woman on the bed. Something cold was replacing the warmth that usually infused his veins when he looked at her.
“Where is she now? Where is my sister?”
Olivia shrugged lightly, a faint smile at the corners of her sensuous mouth. “How would I know?”
“All right then, Olivia. Where was she last night?”
With a lazy finger, Olivia traced the curve of one breast. But Philippe’s gaze did not follow her hand. He stared straight into her eyes. Her smile slipped away.
“In her room, I suppose. The one I formerly occupied.”
Philippe did not respond. He watched the features of Olivia’s face slowly harden.
“How quickly you seem to have forgotten that your precious sister has displaced me,” she continued in a low, ominous tone. “You practically begged the dauphine to find a place for her … and she certainly did. My place.”
Philippe unconsciously took a step back as Olivia sat up. Her eyes had narrowed to two dark slits.
“So that is where she was last night, Philippe. She was in the palace. And then she followed me to the Commun. She was with me when you saw me and took me in your arms.”
Languidly, never taking her eyes from Philippe’s, Olivia rose from the bed. The blanket pulled away, and she stood before him naked. She lifted her arms to him. “Hold me again, Philippe. Take me. Now.”
Philippe’s throat constricted until he thought he might choke. He took another step back. His gaze flicked briefly over the lush form that had once inflamed him beyond restraint. He felt nothing. Until he looked back into her eyes.
They smoldered. But not, this time, with the embers of desire.
Gaze still locked to Olivia’s, Philippe grabbed his livery coat. He reached behind him for the door and opened it. Then he turned on his heel and fled down the hallway. He did not look back.
Madame Campan allowed herself the luxury of a long, slow sigh. The dauphine’s day was well under way. Prayers had been said, breakfast eaten, and a gown appropriate for the morning hours had been donned. Now the princess would visit with the king’s sisters for an hour. No doubt she would see the king. Without the du Barry. The ghost of a smile lightened the corners of Madame Campan’s thin mouth.
The little princess was well on her way to capturing more than just the prince’s heart. The king, always with an eye for a pretty young girl, had taken an immediate liking to Antoinette. The liking had blossomed into sincere affection. Louis joined his sisters every morning as a result, so he might visit with his grandson’s wife. His mistress, whose dislike of Antoinette was well known, remained in her apartments. Things were going well. It gave Madame Campan time to turn her thoughts elsewhere. Her gaze slid to a corner of the salon where the new girl plumped cushions on a collection of small dog beds.
For many years, almost all her adult life, Madame Campan had waited on members of the aristocracy and had quickly worked her way to the upper ranks of service. Her reserved nature had served her well. Much was revealed in her quiet presence, and over the years she had learned to listen and observe closely. Little escaped her notice, and she had become wise to the ways of those around her.
As much as she knew about others, they knew little of her. She gave away almost nothing of herself, and her stern countenance did not invite friendships. Almost all who knew her assumed her temperament was as severe as her expression. Those she served respected her, and those who answered to her feared her. But a sentimental and caring heart beat within her narrow bosom. She moved quietly in Honneure’s direction.
Busy. Just keep busy, Honneure admonished herself as she needlessly realigned the small dog beds. If she kept moving it was easier not to think, not to dwell on the knowledge that Philippe was in love. Their relationship as she had known it was lost to her forever. The ache, the pain, was nearly unbearable. She jumped when she felt the gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I think you are done here,” Madame Campan said softly. “And I also think you should eat something.”
“Oh, no, thank you. I … I’m not hungry.”
“No?” Madame Campan arched her finely drawn brows. “You certainly should be. You had no supper.”
Honneure glanced sharply at
the older woman. How could she have known?
“I saw you leave with Olivia. You came back almost at once.”
Honneure could not hold Madame Campan’s gaze. Her glance searched for a safe place to rest.
“Olivia must have said or done something to hurt you,” Madame Campan remarked shrewdly. When Honneure abruptly looked back in her direction, she allowed the flicker of a smile to touch her mouth.
“Don’t look so surprised, my dear. All who know her are well aware of Olivia’s … personality traits. If she offended you, I apologize on her behalf and urge you to forget whatever slight or subtle cruelty she inflicted.”
It was more than Honneure could bear. Tears rushed to her eyes before she could blink them away. She shook her head, as if to banish the memory, and bravely tried to smile. “It doesn’t matter … really.”
But it did, obviously. And it mattered more than Madame Campan had guessed. There was much more going on than she had suspected. If she didn’t know better she would think, by the expression on Honneure’s pretty face, that the tiff, whatever it was, had involved a man. But that couldn’t be. Madame Dupin had assured them the girl was unattached. There was only her foster brother …Madame Campan drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. So. She smoothed a pale, errant curl away from Honneure’s temple.
“The dauphine will return at eleven to have her hair done, and she will want you to bring her dogs to her. At noon she will attend mass and then dine with the dauphin. Following that she generally returns with the prince to his apartments to keep him company, if he is not too busy. If he is otherwise engaged, she likes to walk with her dogs … or drive her horses.”
The storm that had gathered in Honneure’s gray eyes suddenly lightened. Madame Campan continued.
“She has not seen her horses for several days, and I suspect you have not yet seen your brother.”
Honneure’s lips formed the word no, although she could not actually give voice to the lie.
“Then I will recommend to the princess we send for Philippe this afternoon. It will work out well for all, I should think.”
She did not need Honneure’s brightly affirmative response to know that she had correctly assessed the situation.
“Now please have something to eat. We have some lovely fruit and leftover pastries from the princess’s breakfast.”
She was, in fact, almost desperately hungry, despite her heartache. The mere prospect of seeing Philippe had reawakened her appetite. In love with Olivia he might be, but he was still her brother. She had missed him. She longed to speak with him, hear his voice, and feel his arms around her. Those things would not change, Olivia or no Olivia. Encouraged, though not free of the burden on her heart, she accepted Madame Campan’s offer.
All morning Philippe’s anger had mounted. For at least the twentieth time he ran over in his mind what Olivia had revealed to him.
Honneure had reached Versailles. She had been with Olivia last night. She had seen when Olivia had thrown herself into his arms. He did not know why the thought disquieted him so much, but it did. Worse, Olivia had not told him of his sister’s presence. He did not doubt for a moment that the oversight had been intentional. In spite of her protest, he knew Olivia far too well. Philippe snorted and brushed the mare’s already shining coat with renewed vigor.
Olivia’s little moues and pouts, her coy and petty deceptions had amused him once. He had been bored and lonely, and she had made him laugh. She had grown more possessive of late, and he found less and less humor in her machinations. The delights of her lush body and skilled caresses had bound him to her, however. Again and again he had returned to her. He would not do so again.
With a familiar chill, Philippe recalled the look in Olivia’s eyes when she had tried to seduce him back into her bed. She did not love him, but she desired him, and woe to any rival. Obviously she perceived Honneure as a rival. His own sister. Olivia must be mad.
Well, she would not have him to work her wiles on any longer. Someday, sometime, there would certainly be another woman in his life. In the meantime, and for all time, he had Honneure. If only he could find a time and place to see her!
“Ah, Philippe, I thought I’d find you here.”
Philippe turned toward the familiar voice. The master of the stables was a tall and distinguished man, aristocratic by birth, and compassionate by nature. He had a God-given talent with horses, and Philippe respected him.
“It’s a safe bet any day you’ll find me with my animals.”
“The princess’s animals,” Monsieur Rocard amended mildly. “And she would like to drive her pair this afternoon, as a matter of fact. In an hour. I have no fear you will not be ready as you keep your charges immaculate and constantly at the peak of their athletic ability.” He ran an admiring hand over the white mare’s muscular shoulder. “I am impressed with this breed, though I was unfamiliar with it until you brought the animals here. You do an excellent job with them, Philippe.”
Philippe bowed his head. Praise from the stablemaster was heady stuff indeed. But not nearly as inspiring as the thought of what might transpire in a mere hour’s time.
Honneure had come to Versailles to be a member of the dauphine’s household. Whenever the princess left the palace she was almost always surrounded by the majority of her entourage. Would Honneure be with her this afternoon? Would he finally actually get to see his beloved sister?
Imagining the sun-gilded highlights in Honneure’s hair, the deep, bold gray of her eyes, the tilt of her chin, and the smell of summer that always seemed to linger on her skin, he did not even notice Monsieur Rocard depart.
An hour. One hour.
His hands flew.
“You don’t really think so!” Antoinette raised her pale, delicate brows and held the reflection of Madame Campan’s gaze in the mirror. The older woman replied with an almost imperceptible shrug of her thin shoulders.
“My princess will decide for herself.”
“Yes. I certainly shall.” Antoinette watched Madame Campan’s skilled fingers restore order to the elaborate hairdo that had been created for her some hours before. It seemed a senseless thing to do, considering she was about to drive her horses and bring about even greater chaos to her tresses. But it had given them a few moments to speak privately. The rest of her women chatted among themselves in a corner of the boudoir and had paid no heed to the whispered conversation. She was glad. It was a delicious secret. Especially if it was true. Antoinette smiled conspiratorially at Madame Campan’s reflection.
“They don’t realize? You’re sure?”
“They are as innocent of it as babes,” Madame Campan said with quiet certainty.
Antoinette clasped her hands together and raised them to her chin. Her blue eyes sparkled. “An already beautiful day seems suddenly brighter. I find I am quite anxious to see Philippe. Shall we go?”
The instant the dauphine rose, Honneure’s heart began to pound. The princess’s words echoed her own thoughts. She couldn’t wait to see Philippe, really see him, not just glimpse him as he took another woman in his arms.
A familiar nausea rose in Honneure’s throat, but she quickly banished it. She was going to see Philippe. Nothing must spoil this moment.
In a graceful flurry of movement, Antoinette’s ladies arranged themselves in her wake. The train of women, courtiers, and a few chosen servants moved from the Petits Appartements into the long series of elaborate and shining reception rooms. Honneure was no less awed by them now than she had been the day before and with delight saw things she had not noticed earlier. The small dogs pranced ahead of her, tugging at their leashes, while the Boxer walked sedately at her side.
The day was cloudless, almost blindingly bright. Honneure blinked as they stepped out into the Marble Court. It had been cool in the dim corridors of the palace, but the sun warmed her at once. Her heart’s rhythm hastened again.
He had apparently waited at the far end of the wide drive until he saw the royal party emerge. As the
women moved into a ragged semicircle around the princess, Honneure saw the distant flick of his long buggy whip. The matched pair of white horses, mother and daughter, started forward as one.
The hours and days and months of work Philippe had put into the Lipizzans were evident. Their trot was slower, more precise, elevated, and airy. Their ears pricked sharply, expressively forward. White fire glinted from their coats. They were a living masterpiece. Honneure heard someone near her catch a breath.
“Magnificent. Truly magnificent,” someone else murmured.
Yes, they were magnificent. But not nearly as fine as the man who drove them, guided them, worked his magic with those large, strong, oh so gentle hands. Honneure’s heartbeat went from a rapid staccato to nearly stopping in her throat.
He seemed to be more handsome each time she beheld him. The breeze lifted the long, dark curls from his shoulders. Nearer and nearer they came, hoofbeats resounding on the pavement. His brown velvet eyes never wavered from her own. Her breath began to falter.
Madame Campan leaned ever so slightly into the princess, but she did not seem to notice. The whole of her attention was riveted on the scene unfolding before her.
So skilled were Philippe’s hands they seemed to possess knowledge independent of his brain’s. He continued to guide the horses flawlessly, but his every conscious thought was turned to Honneure. She stood amid a crowd of women, but he saw only her. He moved in the real, waking world, but the reality was as a dream.
How could she have changed so much in a few short months? She seemed taller but perhaps only because she was thinner. Highlights from the summer before had faded over the winter, but the honey color of her hair had deepened. Smoke and ashes smoldered in the remarkable gray of her eyes. The red and silver of the dauphine’s livery seemed pale and colorless compared to the brightness of her beauty. He had always thought her lovely, but now … He had drawn abreast of his princess. Familiar with the routine, the horses came to a halt. Philippe came to his senses. He jumped lightly to the ground and bowed before Antoinette. “Majesty.”
By Honor Bound Page 10