She squirmed, frustrated by his slow progress.
“Don’t fight me. Just enjoy it.” He was going to squeeze out every ounce of pleasure he could from the encounters they had left, hoping it would be enough to silence the maddening turmoil whirling inside him.
The head of his shaft butted against her womb. He gasped. She whimpered.
Buried to the hilt, his cock throbbed inside her snug sheath. She encircled him with her legs. Adrien closed his eyes and held her still. Enveloped by her, he basked in the moment.
Endearingly impatient, it wasn’t long before she was rocking her hips, fanning the fire, making his heart pound. She clenched her inner muscles around his cock. A groan shot up his throat.
Kissing his face, mouth, neck, she told him how much she wanted him, needed him, needed what he could give her. Adrien’s control snapped. In an instant, he had her on her back, giving her deep, steady strokes, using his body to shield her from the rain. Holding her gaze, he increased the tempo and force of his thrusts with each downward plunge.
Desire shone in her golden eyes. Yearning was etched on her lovely face.
“You’re so very beautiful,” he murmured.
Her hands moved tenderly down his back, despite her fervent state. “So are you.”
Her artlessness during sex was adorable.
The tension coiling tighter and tighter, they were racing toward a shattering release. Shaking with effort, he held his back, the need to let go and discharge his aching cock immense.
She sucked in a sharp breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and arched hard against him. “Adrien,” she cried. He braced himself. Her orgasm shuddered through her, tearing a scream from her throat.
Fisting the blanket on either side of her head, Adrien thrust fiercely, glorious spasms rippling along his length. His climax triggered, his release shot down his cock with such volatile force, he barely pulled out in time. Collapsing on top of her, he pressed his forehead to hers and groaned long and hard as he drained his prick onto the blanket with mind-melting intensity.
Spent, trembling, they held each other, the rain drizzling onto his back, their breathing slowly calming.
This was bliss. How fortunate was he to be given this taste of Heaven.
Another roll of thunder sounded in the sky.
Catherine and Adrien stopped outside the servants’ entrance to the château. Catherine sighed as he gave her a deep, stirring kiss. They were drenched, their clothing ruined, and neither of them cared. They’d walked back in the heavy rain, hand in hand, occasionally stopping for kisses and caresses.
“I’m sorry our picnic was spoiled,” he murmured. “The food was ruined.”
“I don’t think the picnic was spoiled at all. I enjoyed every moment.”
A smile formed on his lips. “So did I.”
She cocked her head to one side. “I’m sure the rain has nothing to do with the fact that you’re cursed,” she teased.
His brows shot up. “Don’t tell me you’ve heard about that. What version of that foolish tale was recounted? The one with magical fairies at my christening?”
She laughed. “I missed that version.”
“There is no curse,” he assured. “I don’t get along with my father. Plain and simple. He doesn’t approve of the way I live my life. He thinks me too reckless.”
“And are you?”
He brushed his mouth against hers. “I’m just reckless enough.” He kissed her again, a slow, inflaming kiss that warmed her blood, heating her from the inside out.
Thunder boomed. She jumped.
Adrien looked up at the sky, rain drizzling on his face. “We’d best get inside.” He took her hand. “There will be more of the same on your dry bed,” he wickedly promised.
The moment they stepped into the kitchens, Odette swooped in on them. “Madame!” Concern etched on her face, she wrung her hands.
Catherine tensed. “What is it, Odette?”
The older woman looked around to ensure none of the servants in the kitchen were listening.
“It’s the Comte de Baillet,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
Her words hit Catherine like a blow to the belly.
“He’s arrived? Early?” Adrien asked the questions she couldn’t force up her throat.
“Yes, monsieur. Early.” Odette looked at Catherine. “He’s asking for you. He’s eager to see you.”
Adrien tightened his hold of Catherine’s hand. “It’s too soon. He’s not supposed to be here now,” he growled.
Tears burned in her eyes. Catherine turned to him, overcome by a sense of cold grief and sadness. “I know,” she managed to say without collapsing into complete discomposure. Their time together was over. She’d have to leave. Every fiber in her being screamed “no!”
“Madame, we must get you upstairs, bathed, and changed into some dry clothes. I told Monsieur le Comte that you were taking a nap. He’ll expect you up soon.”
Catherine gazed at Adrien’s cherished face, a lump welling in her throat.
He cupped her cheek. “I’ll see you later,” he stated firmly and kissed her trembling mouth.
“Come, madame.” Odette pulled at her hand. “You must hurry.”
Her chest tight, her heart constricted, she let Odette lead her away.
Time was up. There’d be no later.
10
In the Salle de Buffet, flanked by his uncles, Adrien held his goblet in a white-knuckle grip. He hadn’t touched any of his meal. At the opposite end of the long table Catherine sat with Baillet and Suzanne. The dimwitted Madame de Noisette and Madame de Bussy were nearby, enraptured by Baillet’s tales of his recent visit to Versailles.
Adrien was drowning in emotions he’d forbidden himself to feel. Choking on his own misery.
Catherine was leaving.
Too damned soon.
Damn Baillet and his early arrival. Adrien felt cheated and furious at the situation. And at himself, for allowing feelings to foster.
“Perhaps we should check on Charlotte?” Paul suggested. “She was quite overwrought after her visit with Baillet this afternoon.”
Charles shook his head. “Leave her be. She sleeps, the seasoned wine thankfully aiding in that regard.”
Wine seasoned with the juice from unripe poppies. A concoction Adrien’s mother had often consumed, especially after visits from his father. Today Baillet advised Charlotte that he wasn’t interested in her company any longer—of course, only after a final fuck.
Charlotte was devastated.
News of his sister’s distress only added fuel to Adrien’s ire.
Eyes narrowed, Adrien drained his goblet as he watched Baillet dip his head toward Catherine in conversation, blocking her from his view. Seeing his proximity to her was torture. The thought of Baillet claiming his conjugal rights was all consuming.
“I should call him out,” Adrien snarled. A murderous rage burbled in his blood.
“For what?” Robert asked. “For dismissing his mistress? Does a man not have the right to end an affair when he wants, Adrien? Let it alone. Dueling Baillet over something like this would definitely set off the King.”
His father could go to hell, for all he cared.
“Your contempt for Baillet isn’t simply over Charlotte,” Paul said. “The lovely Catherine de Villecourt plays a part, no?”
Baillet sat back and covered Catherine’s hand with his.
The possessive gesture was a stinging sight.
Adrien looked away. “I need to speak to her.” He rose, his chair dragging across the wooden floor.
Charles’s eyes widened. “Now?”
“Yes. Now. This minute.” Merde, the anguish was unbearable. “Have Suzanne escort her to the library—alone. Keep Baillet busy in the meantime. Perhaps expressing some dismay over his treatment of Charlotte, regardless of his ‘rights,’ would not only be warranted, but will also keep him occupied.”
Adrien paced in the library, his heart beating in hard, rapid thum
ps. He was on unfamiliar ground. For the first time in his adult life, a woman had slipped past his defenses. The fact that an affair was dwindling down was not new—only the reactions he was having.
The door opened.
He stopped dead in his tracks as Catherine stepped inside and Suzanne quietly left, closing the door without a word.
His eyes devoured the sight of her. His midnight temptress. An angel. In but a simple yellow gown, her hair up with long auburn ringlets teasing her shoulders, she was ravishing.
Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, her sorrowful expression stabbing into him.
The next thing he knew, he’d crossed the distance between them and was holding her in his arms. “Catherine . . .” he breathed, pressing his cheek against her soft hair.
She trembled. So did he.
Adrien looked down at her upturned face and swooped in for a hungry kiss, needing her mouth with shocking desperation.
She broke the kiss sooner than he wanted. “Adrien . . . I’m leaving tomorrow.”
His stomach clenched. “Why so soon? You are not getting married for another two weeks.”
“He wishes to return to Baillet. I must go with him.”
Don’t go. Stay with me. Adrien swallowed down the words just in time. He hadn’t uttered those words in years. Not since a life-altering day. He wouldn’t beg. Or plead. Or lay himself emotionally bare that way. He’d never utter those words to anyone again.
“One last time.” He caressed her cheek. “I need you one last time.” He prayed for a miracle. For it to be enough to sate his need for her at last. Somehow, someway, he had to silence what he was feeling. Her leaving was tearing him apart. “I’ll come to your rooms—”
She shook her head and pulled free of his embrace. “I can’t. Now that he is here—”
“He’ll be in your bed tonight?” The question tumbled from Adrien’s lips, uncensored.
“No. He’ll not come to my bed until we’re wedded. He has said as much. But . . .” A tear slipped down her cheek. She swiped it away. “Getting in that carriage tomorrow and leaving here, leaving . . . you . . . will be difficult enough as it is. If I spend the night in your arms . . . then tomorrow . . . the departure . . . will be unendurable torture.”
Adrien turned away the moment he felt the mortifying sting of tears in his eyes. He was horrified by them. He was heartsick. The pain was so keen, like a blade slicing through him by slow, excruciating degrees. This pain he knew. This was the pain he’d spent much of his life avoiding.
He spotted the brandy decanter on the ebony side table and stalked to it. Snatching up a goblet, he filled it with the amber liquid, his hands shaking. Merde, collect yourself!
By strength of will he’d master his emotions. He’d done so before. There was no reason to believe he couldn’t do it again.
Adrien downed the fiery fluid, desperate for it to numb his insides. He heard her approach.
Catherine stopped beside him. He could see her from the corner of his eye, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Instead, he stared at the goblet in his trembling hand as he fought to calm his sharp breaths.
She pulled the goblet from his grasp and placed it on the side table. “Adrien.”
Against his better judgment, he met her gaze. Her lovely golden eyes were still filled with tears.
“I know this was supposed to be nothing more than an interlude of bliss,” she said. “I understand the nature of our arrangement. I tried to hold to it, but couldn’t separate heart and body. Sex and . . . love.”
A lump welled in his throat. He wanted to tell her to stop, to say no more, but couldn’t summon his voice.
“I love you, Adrien. What you have given me are memories I will treasure for the rest of my days.”
He flinched. Women had uttered those words to him before. Why, when she spoke them, did he feel his soul tear? From her lips they had a stunning impact.
She cradled his face between her warm palms. Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she kissed him, her tears on her sweet lips.
The kiss was soft, poignant. It made him ache, heart, body, and soul. His eyes closed of their own volition and he returned her kiss, unable to resist. Yet somehow, someway, though he yearned to touch her with every fiber of his being, he managed to keep his hands to himself, fearing that if he put his arms around her now, he’d never let go.
She broke the kiss. “Forgive me, but I wanted you to know how I felt. How much you mean to me. Thank you for what you’ve given me. I will think of you every day. And every night. You will be in my fondest dreams and most cherished thoughts.” She stepped back.
He knew she was about to leave the room and walk out of his life.
Say something. Don’t let her go. The voice rose from the empty chambers in his heart. But as Adrien stared back at her, he felt familiar walls rising up, steeling his resolve.
He cleared his throat before he croaked out, “I . . . wish you . . . much happiness.”
With a woeful smile and a soft “thank you,” she spun on her heel and walked out of the library, closing the door softly. With finality.
The silence roared in his ears.
In muted misery, Adrien stood alone for countless minutes, his chest heaving from the sheer exertion it took not to run to her.
Finally, he drew in a ragged breath and let it out slowly. He left the room on shaky limbs, forcing each foot forward, the decanter of brandy clutched firmly in one hand.
Cold water splashed him in the face. Adrien sat bolt upright, startled out of slumber. A sharp pain ripped through his head.
Clutching his throbbing skull, he shot a string of expletives out of his mouth.
“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Charles said, holding an empty pitcher in his hand.
Adrien turned a dry raw eye to him. “Merde, what are you trying to do? Drown me?”
“I thought that is what you were doing to yourself—with brandy.”
He was in no mood for this. He’d spent the night and into the early morning hours imbibing, trying to obliterate visions of Catherine in Baillet’s arms.
In Baillet’s bed.
“Go away,” Adrien snarled. Thanks to his uncle’s antics, he and his bed were drenched.
“We need to talk. About women.”
Adrien closed his eyes, willing the pounding in his brandy-soaked brain to stop. “You explained ‘the mysteries of a woman’s body’ to me years ago, Uncle. I know everything I need to know about sex.”
“Don’t be so damned sarcastic. What I have to say to you is important. It involves your very happiness and future.”
At the moment, the words “happiness” and “future” didn’t seem to fit together.
The only thing greater than his headache was his longing for Catherine. Looking into the future, he had no idea when this torment would end, though he had every intention of ending it, by any means necessary.
Charles stalked to the windows and threw open the curtains. Adrien squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding sunlight and cursed softly.
He heard his uncle pull a chair up beside his bed.
“I was much like you at your age,” Charles said.
Jésus-Christ, he was serious about his desire to talk.
“Only I was better looking,” Charles added.
Adrien pried open an eye and cast him a sidelong glance.
Seated, Charles chuckled and crossed his arms. “I see I have your attention. Good, then I’ll continue. Like you, I too had my share of women. Still do, by the way.”
“Uncle.” Adrien opened both eyes as far as a squint, the light still too bright to tolerate. “I am well aware of your impressive sexual prowess. We are in accord on that point. What say you to ending this conversation?” All he wanted to do was sleep. Not think. Not talk. Or feel. Just sleep. Judging by the amount of sunlight in the room, the day had begun hours ago. He’d had very little repose.
“I say no. I also say you’re a fool. I know fools. I am one, too. Like
you, I fell in love once.”
Adrien was about to rebut when Charles held up a hand. “Say nothing. I saw your face last night when you looked at Catherine de Villecourt. You are in love with her. As in love as I was, am still, with her aunt, Elise—even these many years after her passing. I was about your age when I met her. She, like her niece, was beautiful.” Charles’s smile was woeful. “I used to think that love was as repugnant as an affliction. I’d seen it turn the brightest men into dimwits, while others writhed in agony when it slipped from their grasp. In short, love held no appeal for me.” Charles unfolded his arms and briefly looked down at his hands. When he raised his gaze, Adrien saw his own anguish mirrored in his uncle’s eyes. “I let her go, Adrien. I was madly, deeply in love and I let Elise go. I could have married her. We would have had joy-filled years together, perhaps even a child. Instead, I’ve had years of empty encounters and meaningless moments.”
Adrien was speechless. This was a side of Charles he’d never known.
“Don’t be as imbecilic as I, Adrien. Don’t let Baillet have her. He doesn’t deserve her. It isn’t too late. She left a few hours ago. They’ll be stopping at the town of Maillard for the night. Go to her. Tell her you love her.”
The door burst open.
Robert and Paul entered, anxious expressions on their faces.
“Charlotte is gone.” Paul held up a letter.
“What do you mean, gone?” Adrien rose from the bed, ignoring the stabbing pain that hit him between the eyes. His empty stomach roiled.
Robert snatched the letter from Paul’s hand and brought it to Adrien. “When we went to check on her, we found this. She says she’s going after Baillet. She refuses to let him go. She blames Catherine for everything. She’s intent on ‘removing the obstacle’ from her path. ”
Adrien forced his eyes to focus on the parchment in his hands, scanning its contents. Charlotte’s venom astounded him, his heart quickening with each incensed, irrational word she wrote. Her final phrase knocked the breath from his lungs.
. . . and I have the means to do it.
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