The Lovely Duckling (Fiery Tales Book 8)

by Lila DiPasqua

  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 walked along the corridor that led to the grand dining hall. Her 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.

  Just then 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, hauling 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 Duc de Vernant’s three sons.

  Joseph continued to hold 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 Joseph pointedly, ignoring Vincent.

  Joseph couldn’t voice the words. He simply held Emilie’s hand, his thumb gently caressing it. His heart hurt so keenly, as if it were tearing in two.

  “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. Joseph.”

  “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.”

  Joseph smashed his fist against Augustin’s thick jaw, knocking t
he man to the floor. A gasp rippled in the crowd. Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, then calmly clasped his hands behind his back. Slowly, he strolled the perimeter of the large circle the throng had created around him, Emilie and Augustin, gazing out at the many faces within the mass. “None of the men here have had this woman. None of you have been that fortunate. But I have—Joseph of the House of Alumbert, heir of the Duc de Vernant. Anyone who finds amusement in that may step into the circle. I promise you, if you do, you will be joining the Comte de Coix on the floor.”

  He paused and took in the dead silence.

  Joseph continued. “Let me correct everyone on her name. You may call her Mademoiselle de Sarron. Or if she permits it, Emilie. But I have different names for her.”

  Joseph stopped and faced her. Her gaze nervously darted to the crowd, and back to him.

  “She is Emilie the Brave. Emilie the Beautiful. Emilie Who-Makes-Me-Laugh. Emilie Who-Gives-Me-Joy. Emilie Who-Has-Stolen-My-Heart de Sarron. And I want her to be mine for the rest of my life, more than words can say …”

  Another collective gasp rose from the onlookers, but no one was as stunned as the blond beauty before him.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked from the heart.

  Her chin dropped and he saw the glistening paths of tears she was too proud to show.

  “Out!” he commanded the crowd without removing his gaze from her. Reluctantly, people began to disperse, murmuring as they left.

  Joseph approached her, cupped her face, and tilted her chin up. When her gaze met his, he gently wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I’ve wanted to tell you for the longest time how sorry I am about what happened that night. I’ve wished a thousand times that I’d done something—anything that would have spared you the pain of that eve. Initially I wrote to you a year ago out of guilt—a troubled conscience—but I fell in love with you a little more with each and every letter, and every moment that we’ve shared here. I’m sorry for the deceptions, but I won’t apologize for being with you. I’m not sorry about that. There’s a connection between us and it’s wonderful. You know it, Emilie. You feel it, too. Say you’ll marry me. I love you, Emilie, and I know you love me. I can see it in the way you look at me. I can feel it in the way you touch me. Be mine, ma belle.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She shook her head. “How can you want to marry me? You don’t even know what I look like … what the scars look like.”

  He smiled tenderly at her. “I don’t care.”

  “You say that because you’ve never seen them …”

  “I say that because I’ve seen all I need to see to know unequivocally—you’re what I want. Whom I love.” Words tumbling from his mouth were flowing from his heart. Words that just felt so right.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. He took advantage of the moment, dipped his head, and kissed her. A soft gentle kiss, praying all the while she wouldn’t push him away.

  The moment he felt her return his kiss, her lips parting for him, he slid his tongue inside, reeling with jubilation. Tender yet passionate, it was filled with more emotion than any kiss he’d ever given or received.

  It heated his blood and warmed his heart.

  He needed her. They needed each other.

  Impatient to have her, he broke the kiss and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

  Joseph briskly crossed the vestibule, climbed the stairs, and made it back to her private apartments in no time. The moment he closed her door, he pushed her up against it and feasted on her sweet mouth, his fingers immediately at the fastenings of her bodice, undoing them before she could protest.

  But she didn’t protest. She softly moaned into his mouth, her hands moving to his back, fisting his justacorps.

  “Emilie … admit you love me. I can even feel it in your kiss. I’m the same man you corresponded with. Whom you wanted to share your most intimate thoughts and longings with. I’m the same man who’s made love to you every night since your arrival. Your hurt and anger at me for my part in that night so long ago is not unjust. If I could change that night, I would. Let me make it up to you—by loving you, by cherishing you the rest of our lives. Say it, Emilie. Speak the truth. Say you love me. Say you’ll marry me.”

  Emilie was trembling. It was the truth! She couldn’t believe she was deeply in love with Joseph d’Alumbert. That she had been all this time. “I do love you. But I can’t—”

  He cut off her words with a brief, hard kiss, then he stepped back and removed his justacorps. Then his vest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to have you. No gown, no stays, no chemise. Nothing between us.”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t expose myself that way.”

  “Yes you can, Emilie.”

  “No! It’s—It’s the reason I can’t marry you. If you were to see how ugly the scars are, you’d understand. You’d be repulsed. And you wouldn’t want me for a wife.”

  He smiled. “I could never be repulsed by you. But if you think you can drive me away with your scars, go ahead and try. It won’t work.” He opened his breeches and pulled off his linen shirt, discarding it. “Take your clothes off, Emilie.” He took her hand and brought it to his cock. She couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around his hard shaft. Arousal flared in her belly. He stroked her hand along his length. “I want you. Not just now. But forever. You’re mine. I’m going to come inside you. I’m going to stay inside you until the end.”

  Her sex clenched hard and moistened. Every fiber of her being screamed, Yes! Do it!

  Suddenly she was sick of hiding. Concealing. Afraid of her scars being seen. This was the man she’d shared so much with.

  He said he couldn’t be repelled. Could that miraculously be true?

  She wanted to be with this man. She loved seeing herself through his eyes. She loved how happy she felt around him.

  She loved him so very much. She wanted to hold on to the bliss he brought—for a lifetime. And her scars were the final obstacle in their path.

  Emilie pulled her hand away from his beautiful prick and began to strip. A slow grin formed on his handsome face. He helped her discard her clothing down to the final chemise.

  Her beautiful swan costume lay scattered on the floor.

  He picked her up in his arms and carried her to her bedchambers. Setting her feet down before the bed, he removed the last of his clothing.

  He stood naked, unabashed. “Your turn, Emilie.”

  Her heart pounding, she drew in a shaky breath. I can do this.

  Grabbing handfuls of her chemise, she pulled it up over her head in one quick movement, fearing that with a slower progress she’d falter.

  Standing naked, she met his gaze.

  He was smiling. “I just see beauty.”

  That’s because I haven’t turned around and showed you my back yet. Emilie swallowed hard and forced herself to turn her back to him.

  Facing him were her scars, covering her back, and down the backs of her arms to her elbows. Pink to dark red blotchy skin. Thick. And raised. And uneven.

  And horrible to behold.

  Not having the courage to turn back around to see his reaction, she waited for him to speak, her insides quaking.

  She felt his lips against her shoulder first. She lurched. He slipped his arm around her waist and bent her forward. She braced her palms against the mattress. Kiss after kiss was pressed against her back as he slowly made his way down her spine. Tears welled in her eyes and fell onto the bed. She was so stunned, so moved, she couldn’t believe what he was doing.

  He straightened, leaned over her, and near her ear he repeated, “I just see beauty.”

  Shaking, she couldn’t speak. Overwhelmed by emotion. Overwhelmed by him. Her only sounds were her ragged breaths.

  He captured her nipple between his strong warm fingers and gave it luscious rolls and tugs, instantly swamping her with sensations. His other hand reached around and he began fingering her with devastating
finesse. “I’m going to take you from behind—one of my favorite positions.”

  Already wet and feverish for him, she would have agreed to just about anything.

  “You want my cock, Emilie?”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes, Joseph. I want to hear my name from your lips.”

  “Joseph … I want your … cock.”

  He slid his shaft along her slick folds, grazing the engorged head over her pulsing clit. She gasped.

  “Joseph, I love you. Say it.” He was smiling. She could hear it in his tone. The rhythmic strokes across her private flesh were sublime, flooding her body with pleasure, inciting an all-consuming hunger.

  “Say it, Emilie,” he insisted.

  “I love you, Joseph.”

  “I will marry you, Joseph,” he said.

  “Yes! Yes, I will marry you, Joseph … Please … I want you inside me.”

  “There’s a request I cannot refuse.” Grabbing her hips firmly, he drove his cock into her.

  She cried out and fisted the counterpane, deliciously stretched and full by his possession.

  He thrust again. And again. Gliding his shaft over a sweet spot inside her slick walls, giving her a barrage of knee-weakening sensations. Making her moan and gasp.

  “Dieu, I love your tight grip on me. How does it feel? You like being taken this way, don’t you?”

  “Yes!” She’d love anything as long as it was him doing the taking.

  Pushing her bottom toward him, she was eager for more, reveling in the glorious friction of his driving sex. In the stunning depth of his every plunge. The pleasure was so keen, and she was fast approaching a shattering release.

  “You’re going to come, aren’t you? I can feel it,” he rasped. “You’re clenching around me … with those mind-bending little spasms.”

  Dear God, it was true. She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Her inner muscles were milking his shaft greedily, ravenous for more.

  “Come with me, Emilie. I want you to come when I do.”

  Oh, how she wanted that.

  He slipped his hand between her legs, paying homage to that tiny bud so sensitized with desire, sending torrents of scintillating sensations straight into her core. The strokes of his hand and the strokes of his sex were double the pleasure. And shot her into ecstasy, his roar of pleasure joining her scream as he pulsed inside her and poured himself into her depths.