He had, of course, welcomed his sister and her party to Chermont, offering them a small wing of the chateau for their privacy. His priest, Pere Hugo, was delighted to have a congregaton at the early mass for a change. Then Jeanne Marie took him aside one morning, explaining what had been going on in Paris ever since King Louis XIII had died. Queen Anne, allied with the cardinal, struggled to keep the little king out of the hands of wicked men whose only desire was for personal power. His sister was dramatic in her speech, but he knew from the gossip that had filtered into the region that she was telling him the truth.
Then Jeanne Marie surprised him. The cardinal, she explained, had long ago assembled a network of people of goodwill whose sole desire was to see the little king safey educated and enthroned on his thirteenth birthday. But, she explained, there was a lack along the Cher of a good agent.
The conspirators wanted to keep young Louis ignorant of France, ignorant of God’s will, ignorant of the world. They wanted to make him selfish as they were. They wanted him seeped in pleasure so that it would be all he desired out of life. They wanted him useless so they might rule for him. The cardinal and the queen could not allow such a thing to happen to the boy who had been born to his parents when France had given up all hope of an heir. The boy the people called le Dieudonne, “the Godgiven one.”
“You are a good man, Sebastian,” his sister had said.
“How can you know that?” He had smiled at her. “We have hardly ever known one another, Jeanne Marie.”
“When my father died you paid my full dowry to the convent. You send gifts of grapes and wine yearly, as well as a generous purse, brother. And there are those who correspond with me here who tell me of you and your exploits, although I cannot say I approve of your mistress in Tours. Still in all, you are a man of honor, and God-fearing. The cardinal needs men like you, Sebastian. Will you aid him?”
“What would I be required to do?” he asked her. “You know I will not endanger the family, or Chermont.”
“You will be given a contact, and he will pass messages from the cardinal to you that you, in turn, will pass along to others. It is very simple. There is little if any danger involved. There are not so many of your kind that the cardinal can afford to lose them. As I have told you, he has no one in this area. It is likely you will hear from no one for months on end; but once in a while you may be required to act for his eminence. You will be here when that time comes, my brother.”
So he had agreed to act as the cardinal’s eyes and ears in his own small region, and Jeanne Marie had been right. He was not called upon often. Until the cardinal, had left France several months ago. After that, d’Albert had been on his doorstep several times. He usually passed his messages, which he memorized so there would be nothing to connect him to this intrigue, onto another person, always unknown to him. D’Albert had told him the cardinal believed it was better that his people not know one another. This was the first time he had been in a position to deliver a message to the final recipient.
Returning to Chermont, he assured d’Albert of his success and then mentioned Gaston d’Orleans. “I think he thinks me little better than some stupid farmer,” the marquis said with a chuckle.
“Probably,” d’Albert agreed. “His sense of self-importance is enormous. What did the queen say to you?”
“That she understood the cardinal’s instructions and will await his next message. She is in a dangerous position now, isn’t she?”
“She is,” d’Albert said, “but she will survive if for no other reason than to see the crown placed on her son’s head come September. I’ll leave before dawn, monseigneur. I do not know if we will meet again.”
“I understand,” Sebastian d’Oleron said. “I will now return to Belle Fleurs to pacify my betrothed, who will want to know why I thought the planting of new vines more important than her. I shall have to bring her an outrageous gift to assuage her irritation.”
To his surprise, however, he found Autumn quite reconciled to his absence, even as he offered her a small open box within which resided a pair of round ruby earbobs set in gold. “For you, cherie. I really do not think the vines more important than you are to me, but they are our livelihood. I would leave our heir an estate even richer than the one I inherited.” He kissed her lips tenderly.
“I agree,” she told him quietly.
“You do?” He was surprised. Had she not only recently complained about his devotion to his estates?
“Oui. Mama has explained it all to me. Now I understand. It is so easy for a woman to simply believe everything is as it is, and not question how it became that way.” Autumn smiled at him.
He smiled back. He realized that he hated lying to her, yet she was but a girl. She could know nothing of the political intrigues that had been washing over France these past years. Here, amid the peace of the vineyards, Autumn felt safe, and he wanted her to continue to feel that way. He pushed aside his guilt. It was unlikely that the cardinal would ever call upon him again. Autumn need know nothing of the schemes and machinations in which he had been involved.
But as the day grew closer for the young king to assume his majority, France boiled with plots. In March the Parlement had begun a trial against the cardinal in absentia. Mazarin had had his assistant, Monsieur Colbert, prepare an inventory of the cardinal’s wealth, which he then used to recruit reliable soldiers into his service. Once Louis was safely enthroned, the cardinal knew he would be recalled. The king of Spain publicly offered the cardinal a place in his government. Jules Mazarin publicly refused, saying he would be a servant of France in his thoughts and desires until his death.
The cardinal was willing to play a waiting game, for he understood better than any his opponents’ weaknesses. There was a great divergence of interests between the princes of the blood royal and those of Paris; a lack of common ground even among the aristocrats and the imminent declaration of Louis’s majority. Time was on his side, not on the side of his enemies. In Paris the queen would manipulate those about her as he had taught her; and Louis, he knew, was equally skilled at deception, a fact his foes could not anticipate, for they thought the king a mere child. They would soon learn that age had little to do with intellect, or the ability to wield power successfully.
This was the France to which Autumn Leslie had come, but because she was living safely at Belle Fleurs she knew nothing of the turmoil. “I love my earbobs,” she told him. “They are every bit as fine as Mama’s ruby earrings. Merci, monseigneur.” Then she kissed him in return.
How sweet she was, he thought as he put his arms about her and cuddled her against his chest. Autumn murmured softly as his hand brushed her breast, and she nuzzled his neck. “I am glad you understand my position,” he said softly, kissing her ear.
“I think we should choose a wedding day,” Autumn said, surprising him greatly with her sudden decision.
“What has brought this on?” he said, setting her back and looking into her face. Her odd eyes, the one blue and the other green, fascinated him.
“I do not think I can wait to lay with you much longer,” she replied bluntly. “When you touch me I both ache and burn, but I know not for what. It is very disconcerting, Sebastian! I think I need to couple with you, or at least that is what I can gather from speaking with Mama and her women. Do you not long to possess me entirely?”
He drew a very deep breath and then exhaled. “Mon Dieu, cherie, oui!” Then he enfolded her in his arms once again. “Autumn, my first marriage was a disaster arranged with the best of intentions by my parents and my wife’s parents. But from the moment she tasted passion, Elise wanted more. I could not satisfy her lusts, and she turned to other men with absolutely no discrimination at all. I love you! I want you! But I am also afraid.”
Autumn drew away from him, and he could see the look of absolute determination in her eyes. It was a look he had never before seen. “It is I who should be afraid, monseigneur,” she said. “What if I discover I do not like coupling?”
Then she chuckled. “But that is unlikely. The women of my family are noted for their passion . . . and their loyalty. We do not betray our husbands. Since I wish to be well married before I reach my twentieth birthday at the end of October, I think we should set our wedding day for the last day of August. And because I see the question in your eyes, cherie, I will tell you that I do love you, Sebastian d’Oleron. I should not have set a wedding date if I was not certain of that fact.”
“Why do you love me?” he demanded fiercely.
“Because your heart is good; you are loyal; you love your lands. Because you are outrageously handsome and you set my heart to beating wildly each time you enter my view. Because I have lain awake at night imagining what our children will look like. If that is not love, or at least its beginnings, Sebastian, it is good enough for me. I cannot conceive of marrying another man, but I know most certainly that I want to marry you. Love, I have discovered, is like fog. It is elusive. You cannot pin it down. You just know, and I do.”
He kissed her hungrily, and then he smiled down into her face, his eyes alight with his joy. “I knew that first day in the forest,” he told her again. “I knew, but I was afraid!”
Autumn reached up and gently stroked his smooth face. “You do not have to be afraid ever again, monseigneur.” Then she kissed him, yielding herself completely to his desires.
He felt, for the first time, the absence of restraint on her part. She seemed to melt into him, and her lips were soft beneath his, offering him everything. The marquis shuddered with his growing desire for Autumn. His hands tangled with the silkiness of her dark hair, holding her face so he might cover it with his kisses. His mouth touched her closed and shadowed eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, traveling back again to the lips that were his forever.
She slipped her arms about his neck, pressing herself hard against him. She sighed and soared with the pleasure he was giving her with his hot kisses. She made neither cry nor resistance as they slid to the floor before the fire. She wasn’t afraid as his hand slipped beneath her skirts, pushing them up so that she felt the evening air on her skin. His hand caressed her belly, her legs, the insides of her thighs. His fingers tangled themselves in the dark bush that covered her Venus mont. A single digit ran itself insinuatingly along the deep slash that divided her nether lips. Autumn trembled.
“I will stop,” he said low.
“No!” was all she replied.
She was already moist with her excitement. He pressed the finger between the plump folds of soft flesh, seeking her little bouton d’amour, easily finding it and rubbing it gently. He could feel it beginning to swell beneath his ministrations. She began to squirm beneath his hand. Suddenly she cried out softly, her body stiffening first and then relaxing with a gusty sigh. Leaning over, he kissed her mouth, his tongue darting between her lips to play but a moment with her tongue. His finger was still between her nether lips. He began to play with her once more.
“Again?” she asked, surprised but not displeased.
“We will take it a step farther this time,” he told her. She was so deliciously wet. He desperately wanted to put his head between her soft little thighs and taste her, but he knew she was not ready yet for such delightful sport. Instead he firmly but carefully began to push the digit into her love channel. She gasped, surprised, but he soothed her with little kisses and soft reassurances, ceasing his forward movement for a moment, then pressing forward again.
Autumn didn’t think she could breathe, but then she drew a long, deep breath. The invasion of his finger was so intimate, so possessive. She was not so innocent that she didn’t realize the long slender finger was imitating his manhood. She arched herself against his hand, wanting him to delve more deeply, yet just the tiniest bit afraid. The finger seemed to encourage her to open to him like a flower, but then he stopped. “No! No!” she cried softly. “More, monseigneur. More!”
But the finger withdrew gently. “Non, cherie, your maidenhead I will take as it should be taken. With my manhood.” He kissed her lips again and drew her skirts down.
“Then take it now!” she said recklessly. “I want to feel you within me, Sebastian! I do not understand it, but I need you!”
Sitting up, he gathered her into his arms and stroked her disheveled dark hair soothingly. “You are so new to passion, ma petite,” he said. “Do not doubt that I want you, for I do with all my heart, but on our wedding night you and I will begin to explore all the boundaries of desire. Not before then. I shall not again, before our wedding night, touch you, Autumn. It is all I can do to restrain myself from ravishing you, and you would obviously ravish me, given the knowledge, eh, cherie.”
She laughed weakly. “Oui!” she told him, totally unashamed.
They lay together silently for some time before the fire in the hall, and then finally she arose reluctantly. He followed her, and together they ascended the stairs to their separate bedchambers. Before her door he took her into his arms to again kiss her. She kissed him back, then smiled, shaking her head.
“Why is it that your kisses make me want to rip my clothes off?” she wondered aloud. “I want to rip your clothes off too.”
He laughed. “You are a lustful wench,” he told her.
“But only for you, monseigneur,” she reassured him earnestly, looking up into his handsome face.
The silver eyes looked back at her. “I know,” he replied, meaningfully. “And I know you are nothing like Elise, ma petite. Now listen to me, Autumn. Tomorrow I will return to Chermont. I cannot remain here at Belle Fleurs, for I desire you too greatly, as you desire me. I will want you and your mama to come to my chateau in a few days to see where you will be living, and the house of which you will soon be mistress. If you spend the next two months preparing for our wedding, it will go quickly. August thirty-first is a good time, for it is just before the harvest. We are agreeed, then?”
“We are agreed,” Autumn answered him with a smile.
Chapter 9
“You are getting as bad as I am, my dear Gondi,” the prince said. “You see conspiracies where there are none.”
“Better to be circumspect, Gaston, than careless,” came the dry reply. “Mazarin certainly has a network of spies and informants. He would be a fool if he didn’t, and we both know he is not a fool. He would also not be so well informed if he was not being sent information. It is too late in the game to destroy his network, but there is one way to dismantle and undo his influence with the king.”
“How?” Gaston d’Orleans demanded.
“The queen,” came the reply. “Power is like a game of chess, Gaston. If we check the queen, we have the king.”
“Are you mad?” the prince cried. “You cannot kill the queen! Even I, who have always disliked her, would not dare put such a stain on my immortal soul. Tell me, Gondi, do you ever consider your immortal soul?”
“Perhaps I shall one day, when I receive that cardinal’s hat I have been promised,” Gondi answered him. “I am not speaking murder, my poor prince. I am simply suggesting that if the queen was not about to influence young Louis—and we all know from where her ideas emanate—the king might be more amenable to our influence. The laws of France may stipulate a king can be crowned at thirteen, Gaston, but he is still an inexperienced lad. He needs our guidance. France needs our guidance.”
“What do you propose?” Gaston d’Orleans queried his companion.
“The queen will see her son crowned next month even if she must personally slay dragons to attain that goal. Let Louis be instated officially. It is to our advantage that he be so. If we attempt to stop the king’s investiture, we will be called traitors. But once the crown rests officially upon those dark curls, we will become advisers, and confidantes of his majesty, the king.”
“And my sister-in-law?” the prince demanded.
“Will disappear into retirement, my dear Gaston. Away from Paris. Away from her son. It must be a luxurious sequestration. I would not have the king tho
ught cruel to his dear and faithful maman. Where was that chateau you visited after Easter? On the Loire?”
“Chenonceaux, on the Cher, near Tours.”
“A lovely place, I am told,” Gondi replied silkily.
“But if the king knows she is there . . .”
“But he will not, Gaston, nor will the country lordlings about the region know she is there. She will be imprisoned, but most comfortably. I have great respect for her station. Her priest will be allowed to accompany her, but her servants will be pensioned off. Better our own people serve her. You do understand why?”
The prince nodded silently.
“The reason we will give for her sudden departure is that, having fulfilled her duty to her late husband, she is now allowing their son his freedom to rule as he sees fit; being an intelligent lad, and wise beyond his years. It is just the sort of twaddle she would say,” Gondi chuckled, well pleased with his plan. “Now that we have gotten rid of Mazarin, the playing field is ours, Gaston! All ours!”
“You forget that my nephew is not a child any longer, Gondi.”
“Neither is he a man, and he is most devoted to his dear maman. He will do what we tell him for her sake, and her safety,” Gondi said.
“And if he does not?” the prince asked bluntly.
“There is always his brother, le petit Monsieur.”
“Jesu! You speak treason, Gondi!” Gaston d’Orleans said, shocked. He had not realized before how truly ruthless his companion was.
“It will never come to that, my dear Gaston,” Gondi soothed the prince in dulcet tones. “Louis, for all his station, is a young boy, like other young boys. He will be delighted to be freed of the restraints placed upon him by Mazarin and his mother. He will believe he is finally and really king. He can be kept amused in any number of ways. Let him begin to design that palace he is always babbling about that he wants to build at Versailles. We will put the best model makers in Paris at his disposal. They will make his dream come alive before his very eyes. It will take months and months of work. While he is playing, we will be ruling in his name. And there are other ways to keep him from troubling us. Have you not noticed that the young king has a very powerful libido? I am told that pretty little serving wenches are not safe from his lustful adavances these days. We will see only the loveliest of girls serve the king’s needs in all ways,” he concluded with a rich chuckle. “And, of course, we must arrange a good marriage for the boy, Gaston. Another ploy to amuse our Louis.” Gondi’s foxlike face was wreathed in a smile, and he rubbed his hands together, delighted with himself and his own cleverness.
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