Bewitching in Boots (10 page)

“Yes. Tell the King that today’s ‘drowning’ was contrived, meant to fool His Majesty.”

Claire shifted her weight next to her, her nervousness tangible. Yet Elisabeth gave no indication of her agitation and dragged her gaze away from Veronique and to her father. Dear God, Veronique was making yet another attempt to ruin her before the King.

“Your Majesty,” Elisabeth began. “I have no idea of what she speaks.”

“Your Majesty,” Veronique injected.

The King silenced her by raising a hand. “Elisabeth, Veronique is under the impression that you are scheming, trying to have Balzac removed as Captain of the Musketeers.”

Elisabeth gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t need to scheme, Sire. Balzac does a poor enough job to have himself removed as Captain of the Guard.”

“Claire,” the King called out, making Claire jump. “Tell me how you ended up in the river.”

To Claire’s credit, she lifted her chin and met the King’s gaze. “I . . . I was refreshing myself when I slipped and fell in.”

“She’s lying,” Veronique accused. “She’d say anything, do anything, to protect Elisabeth, Sire. I saw how Tristan de Tiersonnier looked at Elisabeth today. You sent her to him to obtain an instructor for fencing—a ridiculous pastime for a woman, I might add.” Veronique tossed Elisabeth a hateful look. “I believe while she was there, they became lovers. It’s obvious that Elisabeth is plotting, trying to ensure that her lover holds the esteemed position as the commander of the Musketeers.”

“That’s amusing coming from a woman who beds Balzac,” Elisabeth drawled.

Veronique opened her mouth, clearly intent on venting her outrage, but the King intervened. “Enough!” He turned to Tristan. “Tristan, you have never lied to me. I want the truth from your lips. Are you Elisabeth’s lover?”

Elisabeth could scarcely breathe. She couldn’t look at Tristan, afraid her strong emotions for him would somehow be detected.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Elisabeth’s stomach plummeted.

“I see.” The King’s response was tight.

Terror gripped her. The last thing she wanted was for Tristan to be punished in any way. She wouldn’t allow him or her sister to pay for her mistakes and miscalculations. This was all her doing. The entire muddled mess. Her plans had always helped her and Claire. Elisabeth had become a master at them, successfully countering the constant jostling and plotting that were so a part of court life.

And she was good at it. It was all she knew. All she knew how to do in the circumstances she lived in.

There was only one thing she could do to protect Tristan and Claire and keep Veronique from succeeding with her plan to discredit and diminish her before the King—and that was to sacrifice her own plan.

What choice did she have?

Her chest immediately tightened in anguish. She fought back tears, knowing how dangerous it would be to shed a single one.

“Your Majesty,” Elisabeth said, forcing the words from her lips despite the knot in her throat, “I attended Tristan de Tiersonnier’s château with two intentions. The first was to obtain lessons in fencing from the greatest swordsman in the realm. The second was to bed him. I find him appealing and I seduced him.” She tilted her head to one side. “Surely this doesn’t surprise you, Sire? After all, such appetites are in our blood. In our very nature, Your Majesty. And the opposite sex simply cannot resist our charms. No?”

The words were like poison in her mouth. She felt ill having to reduce what she’d shared with Tristan to meaningless carnal moments—an empty conquest—when each kiss and touch had meant so much more.

Tristan stiffened, but he held his tongue.

The King studied her for a moment. Her heart pounded in her throat. Then his lips twitched and he tossed his head back in laughter. “Ah, dear Elisabeth. There are times I believe you should have been born a male.” He descended the steps chuckling, and then offered his arm. She took it, and somehow maintained her smile, though her heart was fragmenting into a million sharp, piercing shards.

“You are correct, daughter,” her father said to her, leading her out toward the gardens. “It is in our nature to crave and enjoy decadent delights.”

“But—But what about—” Veronique began.

“That will be all on the subject, Veronique,” their father tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to glance Veronique’s way.

Elisabeth couldn’t look at Tristan. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she let the King lead her outside into a throng of waiting courtiers, her heartache keen and suffocating. She’d thwarted her half-sister and managed to retain the King’s favor. Claire would be all right. As would Tristan. She’d managed to quell any ire the King may have had toward him as well.

But it had cost her dearly. She’d lost Tristan. He was an honorable man, honest and true—qualities she loved about him. He favored those qualities in others. She knew he despised those who deceived and schemed. She’d just confirmed in his heart and mind—with her own words—that his original perception of her was right—she was a hollow schemer, spoiled and looking for diversions.

Worse, for all her bravado, deep inside she was a coward. A woman who didn’t have the courage to speak the truth, let down her guard, and expose her true emotions to the man she loved to mend matters between them.

Elisabeth stared out the window of her private apartments at the palace the next day. Her eyes felt raw from lack of sleep and copious tears. Pacing most of the night, she’d thought of different things she could say to mend matters with Tristan. All of which were foolish. None of which professed her love. By morning she’d come to the conclusion that though she had the ability to give Tristan her body, she’d no ability to voice the words burning in her heart for him—knowing full well that if she tried to voice those three words, they’d lodge in her throat.

How was she to undo the training and ingraining she’d been subjected to her entire life? She had no idea how to wrestle down her fear of laying herself bare. Of making herself vulnerable emotionally. It was irrational, yet gripping and real.

Besides, she had no confidence at all that Tristan would even believe her if she tried to explain everything and told him she how much she loved him.

By early afternoon, Elisabeth didn’t have to torture herself any longer. Agathe had advised her that Tristan was gone, his rooms at Versailles vacated.

She swiped away a tear and rested her head against the window. Depending on who her father chose as her next husband, she may never see Tristan again. Not even so much as a passing glance.

The door to her antechamber swung open and slammed shut. She jumped and spun around. Tristan walked toward her, his cane in hand, taking her by surprise. Looking so beautiful.

A stab of longing pierced her heart.

He stopped mere feet from her. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You convinced your father to send you to my château for a fencing instructor, intending while you were there to get me to bed you. Is that accurate?” His tone was matter-of-fact. She didn’t know what to make of it or his presence.

“Answer me, Elisabeth,” he insisted.

She clasped her hands and looked down.

“Yes,” she responded softly.

“Then you decided to attend the King’s hunt, when you don’t like the hunts, convinced your sister she should jump into the river so I could save her, look like a hero, and reclaim my former position as Captain of the King’s private Guard. Is that correct?”

Oh, God
. “I . . .”

He hooked her arm with his cane and yanked her to him. She collided against him with a gasp. Her palms were suddenly flat against his sculpted chest. Slipping his fingers under her chin, he tilted it up. “I’ve obtained answers from Claire. I’ll have answers from you, too. Now then, I’m going to ask you again: did you contrive the incident at the river yesterday just so I could be reinstated?”

Clearly, Claire had confessed. What was the point of denying it? This was going badly. Anguished, she didn’t have any fight in her today. Being this close to Tristan, and knowing he wouldn’t kiss her or touch her the way she longed for, was torturous.

“Yes” was all she could muster past her lips.

“You think I needed your help in returning to the Guard?”

She looked into his eyes and said firmly, “No. You are highly skilled and respected. If you wanted to return, you’d succeed. You don’t need help from me.” She meant that. It was no lie.

His features and voice softened. “There you are wrong.”

“Pardon?”
she asked, perplexed.

“After the injury, I was filled with bitterness. Anger. I was not myself at all. I might have been that way indefinitely had you not arrived and wedged yourself into my life.”

Speechless, she simply blinked, surprised by his answer.

He released her chin and shook his head. “When the King dismissed me from my post as the Captain of the Musketeers, I made no attempt to speak to him about his decision. I simply left, reeling from the sting of it. I should have spoken to him then. I should have told him that, injury or not, I am still capable of commanding the Guard. Your antics yesterday inspired a conversation with him. A conversation that was long overdue. And I have you to thank for it. Who knows if or when I would have stopped brooding like a fool and talked to King.” The smile formed in his eyes before one touched lightly upon his lips. “I have been reinstated as the Captain of his Guard.”

Her eyes widened. “Truly? What about Balzac?”

“Veronique will be marrying Balzac and leaving the palace with him. He is being given lands to take away any sting
he
may feel from being replaced.”

She smiled, overcome with joy for him. “I’m so very happy for you, Tristan.”

He caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You didn’t look very happy when I walked in. In fact, you look like you’ve been crying. Tell me…why did you want me reinstated? Why did you want me to have you? Why have you gone to such lengths where I’m concerned?” His tone was as gentle as his touch. “We both know the answer. Speak the words, Elisabeth. Let me hear you say them.”

Her breaths slipped past her parted lips, shallow and sharp. Old familiar fears welled inside her and tightened around her throat like a vise. Unable to summon the words, they remained trapped inside her.

“Elisabeth, at the risk at sounding immodest, I have had a woman or two in love with me in the past. As clever as you are, some things are impossible to hide. Especially during and after sex. Tender looks, tender touches point clearly to tender emotions.”

Tears stung her eyes.

“You’ve spent a lifetime suppressing every emotion that would leave you exposed and susceptible. You’re afraid to be open and vulnerable”

Was it written on her forehead? Just how obvious was she to this man?

He slipped his fingers beneath her chin again. “You’re trembling. You can’t say it, can you?”

She lowered her eyes. Part of her wanted to so badly.

He lifted her chin, capturing her gaze. “Repeat after me:
Tristan.
”

He wasn’t serious?

“It’s just my name, Elisabeth. You’ve said it many times before.” The start of a smile pulled at the corners of his beautiful mouth. “At times you’ve even screamed it as you were coming. Let’s hear it now, Elisabeth.
Tristan
.”

She took in a ragged breath and ceded. “Tristan.”

“I.”

She remained silent.

“
I
,” he pressed.

“I.”

“Love.”

Elisabeth swallowed hard against the lump constricting her throat. “L-Love.”

He smiled. “You.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “
You
 . . . so very much!” The words tumbled from her mouth, surprising her.

His smile turned into a grin. “Excellent. Now then, let’s continue:
Tristan
—Say it.”

“T-Tristan . . .”

“I want you to be my husband.”

Tears flooding her eyes were making it difficult to see his cherished face. “I want you to be my husband,” she said, the words flowing out of her mouth, unhindered.

“Because I can’t live without you.”

Quietly, she wept. “Be-Because I can’t live without you.”

He brushed a curl off her damp cheek. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

She shook her head no. “Yes.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. “Elisabeth, you are one of a kind,
ma chérie
.” He gave her a soft kiss. A warm quiver shimmered down her spine.

He broke the kiss, leaving her wanting more.

Now that you’ve agreed to marry me,” he said, “I suppose I should tell you that my conversation with His Majesty included the subject of your future husband.” Dipping his head, he whispered in her ear, “You will be my wife.”

Her knees almost gave out. It was all too incredible. So glorious! She stepped back, stunned. “How—How did you convince him? What did you say?”

“That I am the best man for you and he should give the man who saved his life and the life of his daughter, Princess Claire, the hand of his favorite offspring.”

Oh, how she loved him!

“There is one more thing I want to hear you say.” He cradled her cheek in his palm. “Tristan, I really want you to . . .”

She was beaming now. “Tristan, I really want you to . . .”

He leaned in and brushed his lips along her neck, sending shivers of delight through her. “Make love to me right now and every day for the rest of our lives.”

She laughed. And cried. And reeled with happiness. “Make love to me right now . . . and every day . . . for the rest of our lives.”

That devilish grin she adored spread across his lips. “Now there’s a request I can’t deny.”

Then he led her to the bedchamber, her body heating up every step of the way. Once inside, they stripped away their clothing posthaste, and he tossed her onto the bed, his urgency snatching away her breath.

The press of his naked form against the length of her body was sublime. Her hungry core clenched and creamed, eager for him. He had her mouth, claiming it. Famished, she sucked his tongue into her mouth, thrilled by his groan.