Intrigued

by Bertrice Small

  Autumn sighed with the pleasure his lips were so generously bringing to hers. The pressure of his mouth seemed to almost communicate his desires to her. She felt her lips parting slightly, as did his, their perfumed breaths mingling, adding to their growing arousal of each other. His tongue, to her surprise, if not shock, suddenly pushed through into her mouth to touch her tongue with a fervent and heated caress. She jumped at the first contact; but then, realizing the wave of enjoyment sweeping over her, followed his lead, caressing his tongue in return.

  Her lack of fear, her obvious enjoyment, all worked to set his senses reeling. Their lips had yet to unlock. Now his hand moved to undo her bodice, slipping it quickly off and laying it aside. Autumn said nothing, and her eyes were tightly closed. He kissed her eyelids in a gesture of reassurance; then his fingers undid the ribbons that held her chemise closed. His big hand slid beneath the fabric to fondle a small but decidedly shapely breast. He was almost trembling with his excitement and the overwhelming love he was feeling for this exquisite girl.

  Autumn purred as the hand fondled her. Her head rubbed against his shoulder. Her torso arched against him, straining against his arm. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears. She quivered with open anticipation as his hand caressed her gently, teasing at her nipple with the ball of his thumb. Their lips parted, and Autumn drew in a deep breath. Then she sighed gustily.

  “You like being touched,” he said quietly.

  She opened her eyes and looked into his. “Oui,” was all she said. Then she closed her eyes again, relaxing against him.

  He shifted her slightly and, lowering his head, his mouth closed over her nipple. He sucked hard upon it, his arm tight about her.

  Autumn’s eyes flew open again, surprise filling them. The tug of his mouth was incredible, engendering feelings within her that she had never known existed. She wasn’t even certain she understood them! There was something masterful about him. Yet she quickly realized that he was at her mercy even as she was at his. The tingle of excitement she felt between her legs was absolutely brand new and utterly revealing. She wanted a name for it. She thought she knew that name. “Is this lust?” she asked ingenuously.

  He lifted his head from her breast. His eyes were practically glazed with his open desire. “Oui,” he said softly. Then his head dropped again to her nipple. He suckled. He licked. He nipped ever so gently, then licked again. His hand squeezed her breast, forcing the flesh upwards so he might put more of it in his mouth. He groaned at the obvious pleasure he was receiving.

  Her slender fingers tangled themselves in his thick, dark hair. “Show me what else there is,” she demanded of him. “I want to know!”

  In answer he lay her back onto the sheepskin. She could see the fire blazing, just above her head, it seemed. His fingers tore at her chemise, ripping it open to bare her torso to his hot silver eyes. He began to kiss the flesh in an almost frantic manner. His mouth seemed to score her flesh wherever it touched. His dark head moved lower, lower, until finally he stopped; and as suddenly began to lick her skin with long, sweeping strokes of his tongue.

  “Ahhh,” she sighed, feeling a shiver, which was a mixture of both excitement and chill where his tongue had touched. Then she felt his hand pushing up her skirts, fondling the curve of her calf, sliding up, up, until his fingers were brushing at the inside of her thigh.

  “You do not wear les caleçons?” he said, not certain whether to be surprised or shocked.

  “Only when I ride, beneath my breeches,” she murmured. “I did not grow up with them, and drawers are difficult to get to when one needs the necessary and is wearing twelve petticoats.”

  He removed his hand from beneath her skirts. She was really too inexperienced for what he had in mind. Not tonight. But one night soon, he thought.

  “Why have you stopped?” she asked him, genuinely curious.

  He kissed her lips lightly, and began to retie her half-torn chemise, shaking his head at the rip he had inflicted upon the material. “How will you explain this to your serving woman?” he wondered aloud.

  “I shall dispose of it so she does not see it,” Autumn said. “Why did you stop, Sebastian? I was very much enjoying your attentions.”

  “Because,” he half-lied, standing and pulling her up with him, “I did not think I could control myself where you are concerned, cherie. You are far more tempting than I had anticipated, Autumn. Had we gone further, I do not think I could have stopped.” He picked up her bodice and helped her into it, fastening the laces and jeweled buttons for her.

  “Perhaps I did not want you to stop,” she said.

  He stood up and pulled her up after him. “You are an innocent, cherie. You will have to trust me for now to make such decisions.”

  “You will be a very French husband, n’est-ce pas?” she teased him; and then, standing on her toes, she kissed him a quick kiss.

  “Oui,” he agreed with a laugh, “and you, not being a good French wife, will drive me to distraction, eh?”

  “Oui,” she acknowledged with a smile. “Come, monseigneur, if you are not going to continue your seduction of me, then I might as well show you to your chamber. You are next to Mama. I am on the other side of her. Think of how close we are before you sleep.” Then she led him upstairs, pointed to a door, and was gone.

  With a rueful smile, Sebastian d’Oleron entered his bedchamber. A small fire burned in a corner fireplace. A taper flickered by the bedside, and upon the bed his nightshirt had been laid out. On a small chest at the bed’s foot, a basin of water and a cloth sat awaiting him. Undressing, he washed himself as best he could and lifting, up the night garment, put it on. As he slipped it over his head and down his long, lean frame, he saw that beneath it was a small slip of neatly folded parchment. Picking it up, he opened it and read, “I will be at Chermont tomorrow.” It was signed “d’Albert.”

  “Merde!” he swore softly. Why now? Why when he was in the midst of a budding courtship with Autumn? What possible excuse was he going to use to leave Belle Fleurs for even a short time? And it would not necessarily be a short time, since d’Albert was involved. Still, he had no other choice, Sebastian d’Oleron thought to himself as he climbed into his bed. He would have to think of an excuse even if it angered Autumn. Just a few more months, and the king would be installed upon his throne for good and all. Then they could all take their ease.

  He awoke just before first light, as was his habit. He dressed quickly and left his chamber. There was no one in the Great Hall, but in the stableyard he met Red Hugh.

  “Good morning, monseigneur,” the Scotsman said.

  “Bonjour, Hugh. Tell Mademoiselle Autumn I have gone back to Chermont to oversee the planting of some new vines. I will be back as quickly as possible. I apologize for leaving without telling her, but I only just awoke a little while ago and realized this task awaited me. They are a new variety of vine. I would be certain they are planted properly in the right field.” He smiled, and then without another word mounted his horse, which the stableboy had brought him.

  It was a poor excuse, he thought as he rode off, but it would have to do. D’Albert was a part of his life he would hopefully never have to share with Autumn because it would be over and done with by the time they wed in late summer. Reaching the main road, he pushed his mount into a canter. Soon he was passing the entry to Archambault. Then, finally, as the sun climbed above the horizon, he reached Chermont. He slid from his mount as a groom took the horse to lead him into the stables, and entered the chateau. In the hall he found d’Albert, already up, breaking his fast with fresh baked bread and cheese, a goblet of wine in his hand. He gestured with the goblet in greeting.

  The marquis joined him at the highboard, asking as he sat down, “How did you know where I was?”

  “Your valet. Was it a secret, Sebastian?” He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

  “I’m getting married, d’Albert, I have been courting my soon-to-be wife,” the marquis said. He took a deep swal
low of wine.

  “What’s she like?”

  “Beautiful, adorable, a Scot, and utterly impossible,” came the answer. “She’s going to be furious to find me gone when she awakens.”

  “Sorry,” d’Albert replied sanguinely, “but you have some work to do for the master, monseigneur. The lady is still at Chenonceaux, but they depart tomorrow for Paris. The popinjay is terrified of losing his nephew. Nothing can be written down. You will have to memorize everything so you may tell the lady.”

  “And how the hell am I supposed to do that, d’Albert? If you had come a few days ago, before I went to Chenonceaux with all the rest of the local gentry to pay my respects, I might have been able to steal a private moment with the lady,” the marquis told his companion. “Now it will be very difficult, if not impossible.”

  “You have to do it,” d’Albert said. “The next few months are critical to the success of the master’s plans. If the king is to be crowned, as his late father wished it, we must act now, before that popinjay d’Orleans and his troublesome friends in Paris cause any more difficulties. You have no idea how hard it has been to keep those wolves and foxes at bay these past eight years. They have wanted nothing more than possession of the king so they might circumvent his father’s will and rule France in his name. Do you know what a disaster that would have been?”

  The Marquis d’Auriville nodded in agreement. Then he said, “The lady likes perfumed gloves. I could take her a pair and say I meant to bring them to her the other day.”

  “Do you have such an item?” d’Albert asked.

  “Oui. I intended giving a pair to my soon-to-be mother-in-law. I shall simply take the pair for the lady and send to Nantes for another pair.” He arose from the table. “Come along now, d’Albert. We will go to my library, where you will instruct me. If they are leaving tomorrow, I shall have to go this afternoon.”

  “Shall I tell the master you are marrying?” d’Albert asked as they walked from the hall.

  “Oui, and tell him once I have a wife I can no longer play this game. It would be too dangerous. I do not want to involve Autumn. Besides, she renders me vulnerable, which makes me too risky an ally. He will understand. We plan to wed in late summer.”

  “I will tell him, but you know if he wants you to continue in his secret service, monseigneur, you will have no choice,” d’Albert replied. “Besides, it is for France!”

  Sebastian d’Oleron laughed. “Tell me what I must know,” he responded. For France? He almost laughed again. The only difference between the princes of the royal blood and Cardinal Mazarin was the fact that the cardinal was truly devoted to the young king and his best interests. That that devotion brought him the power the others wanted was irrelevant in his eyes.

  In the late afternoon he approacheed Chenonceaux. By incredible good fortune he met the king and his mother returning from the hunt with their retainers. Sweeping his hat from his dark head, he bowed from his saddle, and the king greeted him.

  “Monsieur le Marquis d’Auriville, is it not?” Louis said. “What brings you back to Chenonceaux, and how is the beautiful Lady Autumn? She has promised to come to court when I build my new palace.”

  “So she has told me, your majesty. We are to be wed in late summer, at the end of August. I returned because I have a gift for your mother. I forgot to bring it with me the other day. I did not want you leaving Chenonceaux without it, your majesty,” He smiled his charming smile.

  “You are gracious, monseigneur,” Queen Anne said as she brought her horse abreast of them, squeezing between her son and the marquis. “Come and join us for some wine. Then you may give me your gift.”

  “I thank you, your majesty,” he replied jovially, suddenly dropping his voice to quickly say, so only she might hear, “I have a message for you from d’Albert.”

  Queen Anne nodded imperceptibly and then turned to her son.

  They entered the inner court of the chateau and from there moved into the beautiful palace. In the Great Hall the servants scurried to and fro with wine and sugar wafers. They chattered about the hunt, which had taken up a good deal of their day. When d’Orleans began to hold forth in his pompous manner, the marquis found himself drawn aside into a corner by the queen.

  “Quickly!” was all she said.

  “You have done well, recalling Pierre Seguier to be chancellor, taking the royal seals from Chateauneuf, and giving them to Mole. Now you must name the Comte de Chavigny, who holds the confidence of Conde, as your first minister. This will infuriate d’Orleans. Gondi will find himself isolated, as it will appear the princes of the blood royal have regained royal favor. In another month Conde’s influence must be decreased. You will meet with the bishop to promise him a cardinal’s hat. The political factions will be totally confused by all of this. In July you must appear to sacrifice all to Conde’s ambitions and dismiss the cardinal’s three allies, Servien, Lionne, and Le Tellier, in order to lull Conde into a false sense of security. By month’s end you must somehow manage to pick a quarrel with Conde, making him the aggressor. I shall get further instructions to you before then.” As he finished speaking, the marquis presented Queen Anne with the exquisitely wrapped gift and bowed low to her.

  The queen made a great show of opening the silk wrapping with its cloth-of-gold ribbon. She lifted out a pair of gloves with a cry of delight. “My dear marquis, how absolutely beautiful,” she said as she tried on the gloves, holding out her hands to admire them. They were of the softest cream-colored kidskin, embroidered with pearls and tiny pink crystals, and lined in rose-colored silk. She sniffed. “They are scented! It is my favorite violet! Ohh, you could not have given me a lovelier gift! Louis! Come and see the beautiful scented gloves monsieur le marquis has brought me!” She smiled up at Sebastian and said low, “I understand and shall await his next message. Thank you. I did not think he had friends here among the vineyards.”

  “He has friends everywhere, madame. Never doubt it. I know at times it must seem as if you are alone, but you are not. Courage! It is but a few months more, and the king will be in full command. It is toward that day we all endeavor.” Then the marquis kissed the queen’s hand and bowed once again.

  “Let me see your new treasure, Maman,” the king said, coming up to them and taking his mother’s hand. “Ah, exquisite! The workmanship is marvelous. Where did these gloves come from, monsieur le marquis?”

  “They are made in Florence, your majesty, but I purchased them through a merchant in Nantes who imports them,” Sebastian replied.

  “I will want his name. I have not ever seen gloves so fine.” The king turned his head slightly. “Maurice, obtain the information needed from the marquis before he leaves us.” Then he looked to Sebastian again. “Will you stay for dinner, monseigneur?”

  “If your majesty will forgive me, I must return to Belle Fleurs. I left before dawn. Autumn will be expecting my return today. If I leave now, I can just get back before nightfall. With your majesty’s permission I beg leave to withdraw.” He bowed to the young king.

  “She is very beautiful and equally tempting, monseigneur,” Louis remarked. “I cannot say I blame you. I should far prefer her company to that of a king. You may withdraw with our thanks for the lovely gift you have brought my mother.” Louis inclined his head slightly, indicating that the interview was over.

  The marquis bowed again to the king and Queen Anne, then backed away until the royals turned from him. One of the king’s secretaries, Monsieur Maurice, came and was given the information regarding the source for the gloves in the town of Nantes. As he hurried from the chateau he was approached by Prince Gaston d’Orleans himself.

  Blocking the marquis’s way, the prince said, “Why did you come here today, monsieur?”

  “I had a pair of scented gloves for the queen that I meant to bring the other day but did not. Hearing you were leaving tomorrow, I returned with my gift this afternoon. Why do you ask, monsieur le prince? Is something wrong?”

  “Why would y
ou bring her a gift?” the prince demanded.

  “Why would anyone bring a queen a gift? In hopes that if one day a royal favor was needed, it would be given, although I hardly believe a pair of kid gloves is worth much,” he chuckled. “Why do you ask?”

  “The king is in danger,” the prince said, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial fashion. “The queen cannot be trusted, and her minion, the cardinal, lurks just beyond tomorrow, waiting to rule France.”

  “I would not know about such things, monsieur le prince. I am a simple man whose family has lived here along the Cher for over two thousand years. We were here when Rome came, when the Vikings came, and now when King Louis has come. My passion is for my lands, for the vines I tend, the wine I produce. Politics is not for a man like me. I am soon to wed. My next concern will be for an heir to Chermont. What happens in Paris is long past by the time we hear about it along the River Cher.” He bowed to Gaston d’Orleans. “God will protect the king, monsieur le prince. Have faith, and do not worry.” Then he turned and moved into the courtyard where his horse was awaiting him.

  “Fool!” the prince said. “A simple country bumpkin for all his ancient title and name. I am beginning to see plots where none exist. Damn Mazarin to hell! He has me so on edge!”

  The marquis mounted his horse and rode from Chenonceaux. The prince could know nothing, of course, but still such was the mood of the conspirators that even the most innocent event frightened them. He smiled to himself, almost amused. The cardinal was obviously a force to be reckoned with by those whose motives were disloyal. He had never met Jules Mazarin but had become involved in the cardinal’s intricate network of informants and spies through his sister, who was a Cistercian nun. Jeanne Marie admired the cardinal’s devotion, piety, and honesty. Having been raised a sensible country girl, she also liked the cardinal’s practical nature.

  She was his elder by five years, and he had not seen her in ten years when she one day appeared at Chermont for a “visit.” She was, she said, inspecting a proposed site for a new convent her order was considering building in the area. She would, she said, stay with him, so they might catch up on old times. This was said in the company of her companions, half a dozen dour-faced nuns who could not possibly know that he and Jeanne Marie had never had any “old times” worth reliving. He had been five when she had gone to the nuns. He had been ten when she decided she wanted to dedicate her life to God’s work.