Awakened by a Kiss

by Lila DiPasqua

  Nicolas glanced back at the bed in the bedchamber. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t simply having sex with a woman. There was emotion involved. He was making love. And he’d found the intimate encounters and the time he spent with her far more pleasurable and gratifying than he could have ever imagined.

  He didn’t want what he had with Anne to be over. But he knew, as he stood holding the key in his fist, that their time together was running out.

  There wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  It sickened him to know that soon her warm looks, her soft words, her kisses would vanish. In their place, he’d have her disdain. It didn’t matter who Leduc was. No matter whom he arrested, she’d feel betrayed. Deceived. Despise him for his numerous lies.

  Thomas was right. Nicolas hadn’t been doing his duty. He’d procrastinated simply to delay the inevitable.

  He’d done the unimaginable; he’d allowed feelings to be fostered for a beautiful red-haired poetess who was like no woman he’d ever known.

  And a suspect.

  He was under the King’s command. If he didn’t do this, it would be done just the same.

  Pushing himself toward the desk, Nicolas approached it with dread. Slowly, he sat down, took a deep breath before he inserted the key, and unlocked the first drawer.

  Jésus-Christ, the best he could hope for in this dismal situation was that the author wasn’t Anne.

  Sliding open the drawer, he then pulled out the contents: a small stack of parchments. Upon close scrutiny, he realized they were poems. New poetry. Despite the trepidation he felt, a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. She’d been so joyful about her new poems. He’d been moved and honored that she’d wanted to show them to him.

  She had a gift for writing poetry, and they were as lovely as she was.

  He checked the next drawer, and the next, growing ever more hopeful with each one that yielded no evidence of Leduc.

  Turning the key in the lock of the final drawer, Nicolas opened it and found parchments and a ledger. He pulled them out. The words “Eléonore, Duchesse de Terrasson” were across the top of the first parchment.

  He scrutinized the writings on the loose parchments, and then the contents of the ledger, his heart sinking lower and lower. Each page that condemned her consumed him with grief and tore him apart.

  He closed the ledger.

  Closed the drawer.

  Closed his eyes, and hung his head.

  Anne grinned the moment she spotted Nicolas in her rooms. “There you are!”

  Seated near the hearth in her antechamber staring at the fire, he looked up at her and smiled. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. His light gray eyes were rueful.

  Her grin had completely dissolved by the time she reached him. “Nicolas, is everything all right?”

  He pulled her onto his lap and drew her close, his sad smile still on his lips. “It is tonight.” Lightly, he ran his knuckles along her cheek.

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “Something is bothering you and has been for some time. Tell me what it is. Perhaps I can help.”

  He shook his head. “No. In the morning . . . We’ll talk in the morning. This night belongs to us. I want nothing to interfere with it. Or spoil it.”

  What could spoil it? she wanted to ask, but he threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her forward. Their mouths met and her thoughts scattered. An intoxicating rush of arousal and emotion flooded her body. Her nerve endings sparked to life. Parting her lips for him, she welcomed his tongue into her mouth, stroking it, caressing it, loving his taste, his scent, the sounds of his escalating breaths. She loved his every heated reaction to her.

  She loved him.

  “Tonight you are all mine,” he murmured and kissed her harder, with enough intensity to make her head spin.

  Vaguely, she felt him lift her in his arms. He deposited her onto the bed with infinite care, then straightened. His hands moved to the fastenings on his breeches. Sitting up, she watched him undress, transfixed. Expectant.

  Nicolas yanked off his shirt. His sculpted chest, his strong body were mesmerizing to behold, and protruding from his open breeches was his sizable sex, the sight of which made her both hungry and weak.

  As soon as he was naked, she rose to her knees, her heart giving a small flutter of joy. He knelt on the bed in front of her, cradled her face between his palms, and gave her a long, languid kiss. It was only when he pulled away that she realized he’d released her cheeks and had opened her bodice. Anne quickly helped as he pulled and tugged, tossing off article after article until she, too, was naked.

  He moved his gaze over her, slowly, in a way he never had before. He took his time to take her in, as if he was trying to commit her to memory.

  “How will I ever stop wanting you?” he whispered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

  “You don’t have to stop.” She smiled. “In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

  “Ah, Anne, I’d love that.” He caressed the outside curve of her breast, then cupping her, grazed his thumb over her hardened nipple. She jolted at the lush sensation. “I’d love this to go on forever.” His thumb continued its delicious torment. Her sex moistened and contracted.

  “I have no objections to something more indefinite.”

  “I pray you’ll always feel that way.” He threaded the fingers of his free hand in her hair. “I never expected to find a woman like you here.”

  He lowered her onto her back and covered her with his hard body, the delectable press of his muscled form sending hot tingles through her.

  Resting on his elbows, he said in all earnest, “This passion, desire, the . . . emotions between us . . . are all real. I don’t want you ever to doubt that, no matter what happens. I want you to remember how good it is between us. Promise me you’ll always remember how you feel right now. How incredible it feels when we’re together.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Promise me, Anne.”

  “Nicolas, what are you trying to say?” She couldn’t quell the unease that was beginning to permeate her.

  “I want you to promise you’ll remember this night—all the nights we’ve shared—and how perfect they were. Promise me.”

  She stared up into his beseeching eyes, unsure of what to make of him tonight.

  He dipped his head and kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Promise, Anne.” Lightly, he bit her earlobe, his knees spreading her thighs wide apart. She shivered.

  “I promise. I won’t forget.”

  “Not ever.” He stroked his thick, solid shaft along her folds, her body bathing him with her juices.

  “Never.”

  “I need to have you.” He dipped his head lower still and gave her shoulder a tiny bite. She moaned and surged against him, the sensation of his cock gliding over her sensitive nub and needy flesh sending frissons of pleasure streaking to her core.

  “I need you right now,” he said.

  He’d planted the head of his shaft firmly against her opening and pushed inside. Thank God, he didn’t make her wait. Her body opened and gave way to his insistent possession. The steady pressure as he slowly filled her was glorious.

  With a flex of his hips, he butted hard against her womb. She gasped. He had her deliciously pinned to the bed. Her sex squeezed around him.

  “You feel so good,” he groaned, giving her slow, solid thrusts, increasing her fever. “So warm . . . silky . . . tight. Dieu, so tight. Let me feel it, Anne. Let me feel those delicious little clenches around my cock. Bear down on me, chère.”

  She tightened and released her inner muscles, reveling in the way he growled and groaned, lost to his desire for her, his cock driving into her faster and faster.

  He swore. “I’m having you again”—he thrust—“and again. All night.”

  “Yes . . .” she panted out.

  She loved him with her body, her hands, her mouth, kissing, tasting, lost to the friction,
the frenzy of their lovemaking. She relished the feelings he’d awakened in her, feelings that swirled around her heart. She relished him, without words, just actions, caressing him, milking him. Knowing she was barreling toward a powerful release.

  He captured her nipple between his finger and thumb and lightly pulled then pinched. A shock of pleasure shot through her. She came with a scream, uncontrollable shudders rolling though her body.

  He roared her name, his thrusts unrelenting. Just as the spasms inside her faded, he jerked his length out and crushed her to him. Grinding his cock between their bodies, he let out a primitive growl, hot semen pouring onto her stomach as a tremor and then another jolted him. She held him tightly until at last he relaxed, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Caressing his back, she felt sated and languorous, basking in a wonderful sense of peace in the quiet afterglow.

  He lifted his head. His tender smile moved her to one as well.

  “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked.

  “I think I have some idea.”

  He chuckled. She loved the sound of his soft laugh.

  Nicolas snagged his discarded shirt, rolled onto his back, and after wiping them both clean, tossed it to the floor.

  Lying on his back, he rolled her on top of him, her breasts pressing on his chest. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You are extraordinary” was the last thing he said before he kissed her.

  Anne lost track of time, unsure how long they lay naked, simply kissing, each kiss stirring her heart and reawakening her desire.

  I love you . . . The words were on the tip of her tongue. Words she never thought she’d utter to any man ever again.

  Tomorrow. She’d tell him tomorrow. He wanted to talk. And she decided she, too, had something to say.

  10

  Nicolas woke up in an empty bed. A sharp stab of disappointment cut into his heart. He wanted to wake up with Anne by his side. He wanted to squeeze out a final few tender moments before everything imploded on him. But Anne was probably with her sisters, writing.

  Writing under the name “Gilbert Leduc.”

  Closing his eyes, he felt grief stricken and cold. But not cold enough to numb or in any way lessen the suffocating misery inside him.

  There was no getting out of what he had to do today.

  What could he say to her? How on earth was he going to do this? He had no idea what the King would do with Anne once he brought her in.

  A week ago, being in the King’s Guard was everything to him. He never thought there would ever come a day when he hated being a Musketeer. But he hated it now. He loathed it. With all of his being and every piece of his breaking heart.

  Nicolas forced himself out of bed. His thoughts awhirl and his agony steadily rising, he went through the motions of washing and dressing. By the time he’d left Anne’s rooms and reached the bottom of the grand stairwell, the pain inside him was excruciating. He’d rather face his own arrest than arrest her.

  If only it were an option.

  Looking for Thomas—praying he’d say something to Nicolas that would make this easier—he crossed the vestibule and froze when he heard Anne’s voice.

  “I don’t believe it!” he heard her say. She was in the library.

  A woman responded, “I’m afraid it’s true.” Her voice was unfamiliar.

  Unable to turn back, constrained to push forward, Nicolas moved his leaden legs and approached the room he’d find his Anne in.

  Stopping just inside the threshold, he was met with a jarring sight. Anne stood with her back to the windows, her eyes glistening with tears.

  The moment her gaze met his, he lost his breath. She knew. It was etched on her expression and in the silent condemnation in her eyes.

  He had no idea how she knew. But she did. Dieu, she did.

  His eyes darted to his left. Henriette was seated on the settee with her arm around Camille. While Camille quietly wept, Henriette glowered at him with open contempt.

  “Well, who do we have here?” A woman’s voice snared his attention.

  Nicolas’s gaze shot to the right. There in the corner of the room stood a thin older woman. A lady, as her clothing indicated. His instincts told him this was the Comtesse de Cottineau.

  His grandmother.

  Anne approached him slowly, her breaths quick and shallow, her expression incredulous.

  She stopped before him and stared at him as though he were a complete stranger, as if she were seeing him for the first time. As if he’d never been her lover. Had never held her in his arms. Had never loved her through the night.

  “You’re . . .” She paused and took a deep breath before she began again. “Are you a Musketeer?” That last word was laced with a mixture of distress and disbelief.

  He wanted to lie. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until the pain inside him subsided. But he couldn’t do either.

  He swallowed. “Yes.”

  Her beautiful mouth fell slightly agape. “Why—Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Nicolas clasped his hands before him to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him. He knew it was the very last thing she wanted at the moment. “Because I was—am—on a mission for His Majesty.”

  “A mission?” Her voice escalated. “What sort of mission are you on?” Her tone and demeanor told him she knew the answer—or at least suspected it. He glanced at the Comtesse.

  Her expression hardened, and she had a knowing look in her gray eyes. He realized she’d been the one to tell Anne these details about him, but how did she know?

  “Answer her,” the Comtesse demanded. Nicolas would have done nothing, absolutely nothing the old woman asked of him, for he owed her nothing more than his disdain, but the request was for Anne. And for Anne, he’d do anything.

  “I’m to determine who Gilbert Leduc is and bring him before the King,” he said softly.

  “So your coming here had nothing to do with getting to know your grandmother,” Anne stated. It wasn’t a question.

  “No.” He answered just the same. He owed her the whole truth.

  “And you spent the entire time lying and scheming,” Anne accused. He could tell she was fighting back her tears, trying to maintain the semblance of composure. He knew this was going to be bad, but in the thick of it, it was far worse than he’d imagined.

  Nicolas lowered his eyes, because it was too painful to see her pain. “I have a duty to the King.” He found himself despising those words more and more each time he uttered them.

  “A duty?” She laughed, without mirth. “I see. And was it part of your duty to bed me?”

  His gaze shot up to hers. Her eyes were narrow and she trembled with outrage.

  “Anne, perhaps we can have this conversation in private.”

  “Why? My sisters and the Comtesse know what a fool I’ve been. What is there to hide? I must congratulate you. Your skill at duplicity is excellent. I actually believed you were different from other men. In truth, you are by far the most contemptible of the lot.”

  The lump welling in his throat rendered him momentarily speechless.

  “You did not answer my question,” Anne pressed sharply. “Was it part of your duty to bed me? Did the King request it of you?”

  Dieu. “No. Of course not.”

  “So you decided to indulge in some carnal diversions while you worked on your ‘mission.’ Is that it?”

  He hated the disgust in her tone, especially since she was speaking of their lovemaking. “What began as casual copulation became something . . . special. In the end it was not mere bed sport.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Spare me more lies. What we did meant nothing to a man like you.”

  “That’s not true. It meant—means a great deal to me. You mean a great deal to me.”

  She gave another hollow laugh. “Oh, of course. I mean so much to you that you have been conspiring and plotting against me, my sisters, and my patroness, stooping to trickery at every turn. Pray
tell, when were you going to tell me the truth?”

  “Today.”

  “And why today? What makes today so special?”

  He didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t have a choice. He forced the words from his mouth. “I have to . . . make an arrest today.”

  Camille let out an audible sob and buried her face in Henriette’s shoulder.

  Anne didn’t flinch. Stock-still, she said, “Well, it looks as though you are going to disappoint the King. Gilbert Leduc is not here. You’re mistaken.”

  “That’s right,” Henriette concurred. “You are sadly mistaken.”

  “He is here,” Nicolas gently countered Henriette. “He’s in this room.” He dragged his gaze back to Anne. “You are Leduc.”

  To her credit, she didn’t crack or crumble before him. “You have no proof.”

  This was only becoming more and more torturous. “The proof is in your room, Anne. In your desk drawer. Your latest story about the Duchesse de Terrasson is ready to be sent to the illegal press for printing.”

  She blanched. “You got hold of the desk key?”

  “On a couple of occasions, yes.”

  “Dear God . . .” She jerked back, her hand covering her heart. He saw the dawning on her cherished face. “You took it from me in the library, didn’t you?” Her bravado cracked, as did her voice. “After what happened in that room, after the intimacy we shared there, you stole the key from me?”

  Unable to speak, he simply nodded.

  She stepped forward and cracked her palm against his cheek. “You are vile!”

  Nicolas briefly closed his eyes. He’d never allowed anyone to strike him, but with self-recrimination slicing through him, he’d made no attempt to raise his hands and ward her off, even though he’d seen the blow coming. The sting from her slap was barely noticeable in comparison to the consuming anguish wracking him.

  “Henriette, go upstairs and burn everything incriminating in Anne’s desk,” the Comtesse ordered.

  Henriette and Camille rose together.

  “I’ll help her,” Camille said.