Arrows of Desire: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 3

by Lynne Connolly

  The duchesse’s attention turned to where Lyndhurst stood frozen in time. “He is—” She never finished her sentence.

  Edmund raised his hand and pointed at her. A blue spark arced from his finger to pierce the duchesse. “I don’t need diamond arrows any longer,” he said silkily.

  The duchesse took her attention from him to Lyndhurst, and back again. Then she groaned. “You fool, what have you done?”

  “Did you think yourself immune from my gift?” His tone gentled, softened. “Precisely what do you see when you look at Mars?”

  “A man. Tall, dark.” She sighed. “The most desirable man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  She walked over to where he was poised in the act of dancing. After walking all around him, she stretched out a finger and carefully drew it down his left cheek. When she returned to them, yearning filled her eyes. “I want him.”

  “You want him more than you should,” he said. “But he doesn’t yet want you. You will make a fool of yourself chasing him across London because you can’t help yourself. You’ll be a laughingstock.”

  “No!” She shook her head. “I will leave. You can’t do this to me!” Her eyes flashed fury now, their blue reflecting every change in her mood.

  “I can and I have. I’ve bestowed the most powerful of my gifts on you, and the most destructive. You are hopelessly infatuated with him. In lust, so that you won’t rest until you have spent the night in his bed.”

  “I will seduce him without your help.”

  “No, you will not.” Edmund smiled. “For once I have the upper hand with you. I can enchant him so that you repel him. Where gods have a gift, they also have the opposite, and I can make it so. Or I can bestow the same on him as I have with you. You already want him, and he is attracted to you. I can help, or hinder.”

  “It will wear off.” She turned, as if to leave, and then back again, even her swishing skirts revealing her agitation.

  “Yes, it will, but you’ll be mad with desire long before then.”

  “Damn you!”

  “If you want him, you must promise to destroy that contract. You know the one,” Edmund said.

  “Yes.” She groaned. “Anything! I cannot bear this. Do it quickly. I swear as soon as I arrive home I’ll burn the wretched thing. And send to my lawyer to do the same.”

  “The contract is null and void?”

  “Dead as a hunted fox,” the duchesse said. “Do it!” She sounded in pain.

  The duchesse had lost interest in the conversation. What had engrossed her a moment ago was of no consequence now. All her attention was on the man squiring the nymph around the dance floor. With a twist of his wrist, Edmund sent a blue arrow of light flying in the direction of the Duke of Lyndhurst.

  The ballroom came back to life. D’Argento turned to them, frowning. “What have you done? I feel a space, an absence. You stopped time, didn’t you?”

  Edmund nodded. “Watch.”

  Lyndhurst paused, his back to them, as if smitten.

  Then he turned, and if looks could burn, his did now. Into the eyes of the Duchesse de Clermont-Ferrand. He took a step towards her, then appeared to remember his dance partner, now standing bewildered. If he abandoned Anthea now, Portia swore he would suffer.

  He did not, but it was a close-run thing. The orchestra drew the measure to a close, and Lyndhurst stopped long enough for Portia’s sister to catch up to him and place her hand on his arm. He squired her off the floor and restored her to her father with a perfunctory bow.

  Then he turned his attention to the duchesse and it was as if nobody existed but her. “May I take you in to supper?” he asked her.

  Portia wasn’t aware that supper was served. It was early yet. The duchesse didn’t seem to mind. Gazing at him with blatant adoration, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to take her off in the direction of the next room.

  “What have you done?” d’Argento repeated ominously.

  “Nothing matters except my wife,” Edmund said. “Nothing and nobody. No cause, no person, nobody. The lady would have exposed my wife to ridicule and scorn. That will not happen.” Privately he communicated with d’Argento. I gave them infatuation, not lasting love. A fierce shot of immediate attraction. It will not last.

  D’Argento watched the retreating couple. They were totally lost in each other, oblivious of anyone else. You enchanted two gods.

  I’d do it again for Portia’s sake.

  D’Argento shook his head. While I understand your action, I cannot condone it. But I cannot undo it, either.

  I wouldn’t be the first of the Ancients to enchant another. She lowered her shields. She thought she’d won. That gave me my chance. Mars wasn’t protecting himself from love, only from attack. So perhaps there’s some justice in that. He shrugged. I don’t much care. She has promised to do the right thing, and I am content, because she will not go back on her oath.

  People began to relax, the tension dissipating in the murmurs of quiet gossip. No doubt this intriguing exchange, especially the half-proposal by Amidei, would raise speculation. It had done its work, given Edmund a chance to work his magic.

  Amidei led Susanna onto the dance floor, as Edmund and Portia exchanged innocuous conversation with other guests. After they’d done, he led her around the floor and then out by the same door that they’d entered.

  “We have made an appearance,” he said. “Do you wish to remain? Is there anyone else you wish to see?”

  “Only you,” she said quietly, her heart in her eyes.

  They went home.

  Edmund took her straight upstairs and to the bedroom he considered theirs. He undressed her again, but this time carefully, rejoicing at each area of skin he uncovered. At the same time she helped him out of his clothes. Each time she touched him she sent him to new heights of pleasure, until his skin prickled with it.

  He laid her clothes carefully over the sofa at the bottom of the bed. Tonight would be for worship.

  He had learned the secret, but he knew he still had to convince her. She loved him, but he traced the trouble in her mind, a thread of concern. In time that would go because he was perfectly sure of his love. He touched her bare breast, delighted when her nipple tightened into a rosy tip, perfect for his mouth, as he proved a moment later. Talking to her would wait. Instead, he would pleasure his lady first.

  When they were both completely naked and his cock was hard and heavy, he lifted her in his arms and laid her on the pristine sheets. Unwilling to leave her there alone, he climbed up to join her. Blue suited her, but he longed to see the yellow bedroom she’d described to him. In time, he would. He’d make love to her in every bedroom they owned. They had a lifetime—multiple lifetimes—to accomplish that ambition.

  Taking her hand, twining her fingers with his, he bent and kissed her, pressing their linked hands on the pillow beside her head. Loving her taste, he touched kisses to her lips, her eyes, her ears, which he’d noticed were particularly sensitive, and her throat. Every part had a subtle change of taste. Tonight he would learn what the rest of her tasted like.

  It infuriated him to know that he’d been there before and was like never to remember, but for her, he wanted this experience to be perfect. She deserved it. He lifted his head from her breast and blew on it, smiling when it hardened further.

  She moaned his name and sent a shot of heat into his mind. They were closer now, and every year that would increase. He was determined on it. Their children would be immortal. He wanted to see her ripe with his child, but not yet. First, he wanted to celebrate what he’d discovered with her. Tonight he would send her mindless, persuade her to see what he had last night. She had feigned to understand, but she needed to feel it for herself. No enchantment remained. Not between them. Only truth.

  When he touched his tongue to her clitoris, she gasped and jerked, but he held her ste
ady and carried on. He linked their minds, as much as he could, letting his thoughts and emotions spread out, surrounding her with his love.

  True love, no taint of enchantment.

  She had the most adorable cleft. When he tasted her most intimate essence he nearly lost control of his own senses, but he held on, barely, as he took her up and over the edge. She cried his name as her passage clenched around his fingers, gripping him as if she would never let go.

  You’re sweet with spice, like tart apples. I love tart apples.

  Laughter rang around the room, shaky but she had found pleasure in his remark. It helped steady him as he took his cock in hand and guided it to her entrance. Relentlessly he pushed in, deeper and harder, until he found her centre. His balls rested against her skin, nestling between her thighs, and she opened to him, widening her legs and lifting her knees. Such a simple position, but he wanted more.

  Pulling out, he sat up, crossed his legs and beckoned to his startled wife. “Come here. Face to face, body to body. As equals.”

  “I’m not—”

  He cut off her self-disparagement. “Yes you are. You are every bit as important and invaluable as I am. If I am either of those things, then you are too.”

  She scrambled up and went into his arms. He closed them around her and lifted her to draw her closer, back where she belonged. Driving deep, he savoured every inch of his entry and then held her there, her legs draped over his and curled around his back. “You see? Equals,” he murmured against her mouth as he kissed her.

  Curving her hand around his head in the way he loved, she participated and took him, moaning against his lips, the vibration reverberating into his mouth, his throat. Pulling her close, he moved, undulating his hips. She shifted to move against him, lifting and dropping in a riding motion, but never had a woman risen to the trot so perfectly. Her wet passage eased his way and they moved without effort, until the rhythm became innate.

  He finished the kiss. “You see? We’re doing this without effort. Open your mind, sweetheart, let me in and give me everything. In return you have all of me. That’s why I’m sure this is real, our love. Instinct makes it so. It comes at a deeper level than reason. I told you, and now believe me and trust me.”

  With a gust of effort, she did it. Pure emotion flowed from her, and he took it as the precious gift it was. Then he gave her his own. They blended together, moving as one, their mutual peak building as naturally as a flower growing in spring. Just somewhat faster, that was all.

  Driving harder, he grunted with the effort and she smiled. “Yes,” she said, all she could say because they were moving at a fair pace now. Nearly at full gallop, one might suppose.

  As he exploded, jetting his seed inside her, she cried out. The convulsions of her orgasm served to take everything from him that he had to give her. Her juices flowed around his cock, bathing his balls in wet heat. He cinched her close. Never would he let her go.

  They remained sitting, recovering their senses and their breath.

  “I love you,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re right. I believe you.” Completely, with all her heart. No doubts remained in her mind.

  “That was all I needed. We will go on from this, yes?”

  She smiled, and he felt the movement of her mouth against his skin. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll leave them to their own devices in London now we’ve settled the matter of Susanna. I don’t think the duchesse will be a problem now.”

  She nipped his skin and he gave a yelp, making her chuckle. “That was naughty of you.”

  “Venus and Mars. It seemed inevitable. The enchantment won’t last long.”

  “Did it with us? If Bacchus hadn’t ripped you from the spell, would it still be in force?”

  He considered her question seriously. He could do nothing but tell her the truth now. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. It depends on the people. It’s only infatuation, sweetheart. It isn’t the lasting, pure love that really matters. That’s why. Infatuation, lust, they are ephemeral. Love sinks deep and endures.”

  She wriggled, reminding him that although he’d softened, he was still inside her. He moaned and turned his head to kiss her. “Tease. I want to take you to bed for weeks.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “I should take you to Scotland. What say you that we spend another two weeks or so here and then go north? It would get us out of London. Despite d’Argento’s grudging acceptance of what I did, he won’t be happy with me for a while yet.”

  “Before the end of the Season?”

  He laughed. “Absolutely. Leave your father to present his daughters to the ton, and Venus to her Mars. Susanna will have to look out for herself.”

  “Amidei seemed interested in her.”

  He stole another kiss before he spoke. He was addicted to her kisses. “You can never tell with him. Mercurial, remember?”

  “She’s very lovely.”

  “Is she?” He supposed Susanna did have a fineness of feature. He’d agreed to the contract as a favour to his mentor, but there was no need for it anymore. He expected to receive the pieces in the post, or at least to hear no more of it. He’d made his decision clear, and furthering the contract would lead to derision or annoyance. Before they left he’d ensure Portia was well established as his wife. She need only be herself and people would love her.

  As he did. He always would.

  “I won’t let you go ever again,” he said.

  “Yes. If you mean what you say.” Her smile belied her words. She knew he meant it.

  “Every word. I love you.”

  Author’s Note

  Arrows of Desire is based on the story of Cupid and Psyche. It was inspired when I went to the Louvre and saw the statue by Canova. It’s such a romantic image that I knew I had to write their story.

  In the classics, Cupid fell in love with Psyche, but his jealous mother, Venus, threatened to kill her. He meant to enchant her but accidentally pricked himself with his arrow and was caught. So Cupid built Psyche the most beautiful bower for her to live in and told her that she must not look at him. He only visited her in the dead of night, when it was dark. Psyche’s jealous sisters told her that he could be a monster and urged her to take a surreptitious peep. At first Psyche is happy, but one night she recalled her sister’s words and lit a candle. She saw that her husband was stunningly handsome, but a drop of wax fell on his chest and woke him up. Cupid sprang up, told her angrily that she had disobeyed him and disappeared.

  Psyche refused to give up. She travelled the world looking for him, and then when she found him, she reclaimed him.

  You can see the parts of the story I altered! Since it’s the spirit of the god that is reborn in this series, I could change relationships. That was needed, because in classical literature, brother and sister often married. Venus and Mars, Juno and Jupiter, were siblings. And I can take liberties with the stories. I’ve tried to keep the essence of the stories there, the essentials and the intent. Sometimes the story just falls into place. Venus as a mentor, for example, works well, and the smuggling operation worked its way in all on its own. Oceanus was always an independent god.

  Apart from echoing the stories, I have tried to keep historical accuracy as firm as I can. In a recent visit to London I chose the building that would become the Pantheon, just up the road from White’s. There was no reason why a ladies’ club shouldn’t be established, but it would undoubtedly create a scandal. However, I did predate the establishment of the grand hotels and places for women to meet. In this period they generally met in the drawing rooms of the wealthy—if they were invited, that is.

  I plan to develop the Pantheon Club in future stories, so I did as much research as I could into the building. The one that is on the site is a Victorian structure, so I could take the plan of a great London mansion from the
period and impose it there.

  Some of the problems sorted themselves out when I did more research. The mourning practices of people in this period, for instance, weren’t as proscribed as in the Victorian era, when even the number of flounces on a mourning gown were scrutinized. Men frequently merely went into black armbands for a time, and if a woman didn’t know the deceased, she wouldn’t be expected to go into deep mourning. However, certain customs seem to have been observed, like not drawing attention to oneself at public gatherings by dancing or wearing garish clothes.

  This story overlaps the previous one a little, but it’s told very much from Edmund’s point of view. When I was writing Mad For Love, Edmund became a vital part of that story, but he needed one of his own.

  Now the characters for the next book are emerging, but they will follow on directly from the actions in this one. You don’t have to read all the books in this series in sequence, but it certainly helps!

  About the Author

  Lynne Connolly has the best job in the world. She writes historical, paranormal and contemporary romance and she doesn’t seem to be able to stop. She has won a number of awards, including two EPPIES, and she lives in damp, rainy England with her family and her mews.

  Once a year she crosses the ocean to visit friends, attend conventions and other shindigs, and promote her books, so watch her blog if you want to meet her. She loves travelling and meeting people who she will then use in her books, but then, authors are like that.

  Her website is at www.lynneconnolly.com

  You can email her at lynneconnollyuk@yahoo.co.uk or lynneconnolly@lynneconnolly.com

  She tweets @lynneconnolly

  Her Facebook is at www.facebook.com/lynneconnollyuk

  And her blog is here: lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk

  One day she’ll grow up and get a proper job, but not just yet!