Bewitching in Boots (3 page)

They wouldn’t be there long.

She was leaving.

*****

She wasn’t leaving, she told herself.
You are going to collect yourself and not allow him to overwhelm you. Not with his size. Not with his scratchy temperament, and most especially not with his potent allure
. It was bad enough she was having a difficult time thinking clearly with him near, her thoughts dominated by the shameless fantasies he inspired.

“Well, at least the inside of the château looks better than the outside,” Agathe remarked, glancing around. Standing in the vestibule, Elisabeth gazed up at the grand staircase, caring little about the condition of Tristan’s home at the moment. Not when she needed to steel her resolve so that she didn’t run back to Versailles like a coward. In a few moments, Tristan would enter the château and she had to be ready for another round of wits and wills.

She was supposed to be seducing him. Have him mindless with hunger for her. She thought she’d seen heated interest in his eyes. Or was that simply wishful thinking? Her senses were so frenzied, she couldn’t say for certain if she was having a warming effect on him—beyond anger.

Claire placed her hand on Elisabeth’s shoulder. “Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

Elisabeth forced a smile. “It’s this terrible heat. I’m fine.” Nothing could be further from the truth. She was in over her head and drowning fast.

Tristan entered with the same two men who’d been with him outside, both men bearing a striking resemblance to him, though one gentleman was at least twenty-five years Tristan’s senior.

The second Tristan spotted her in the grand entranceway, he marched to her, his cane aiding him along.

Anytime he entered a room, his male beauty took her breath away. Now was no exception. Her breath stuck in her throat for a moment and her heart gave a flutter.

Oh, Elisabeth, you are so under his spell
. She was all but ready to throw herself at him and beg him to take her just so she’d have some relief from the yearning throbbing through her core. Anything that would put an end to this attraction and affinity.

She dropped her gaze briefly and couldn’t help but notice the pronounced bulge in his breeches. Dear God, he . . . desired her! It was indisputable. It was incredible.

A sudden surge of much-needed confidence welled inside her. Her insides danced.

Frowning, he halted before her.

Smiling, she looked up at him.
Oh, yes
 . . .
This is going to happen.
He was going to be her lover.
Maybe even more
 . . . her heart whispered.

“I don’t know what game you are playing, Duchesse. Nor do I wish to know,” he said. “If you’re looking for new forms of amusement, I suggest you seek them out at court. Not here.”

“Please excuse my brother. He has completely forgotten his manners, madame.” The younger man elbowed past his older sibling. He had the same dark hair, but his eyes were not as vibrant as Tristan’s blue eyes. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Gabriel de Tiersonnier.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “This is our uncle, Richard de Tiersonnier.”

The older gentleman stepped forward and kissed her hand, too. “
Enchanté
, madame.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” She introduced her sister. Her nerves were beginning to settle as she became surer of herself. If Tristan desired her, even a little, she had him.

Tristan simply glowered silently at her, then reluctantly murmured an apology and a greeting to Claire.

“Now then, about my lessons.” Elisabeth leaped back into the subject before Tristan could begin a new tirade. She stepped close to Tristan again, this time leaving less room between their bodies than she had outside. Something flared in his eyes, something she read as hunger.

Her fever spiked.

Praying he couldn’t tell just how undone she was by him, lest she lose ground, she managed to state firmly, “You’ll provide a lesson every day. First thing in the morning. You see, I’ve challenged someone. By week’s end, I expect, thanks to your instructions, to be able to best him.”

He held her stare for a moment. “Whom have you challenged?” There was skepticism in his tone. He thought she was lying. Well, she was lying. Normally, she didn’t give a whit what people thought of her. Would she have taken up fencing if she had? But Tristan’s low opinion of her bothered her.

Had always bothered her.

“That is none of your concern. You’ll be paid generously for your time and skill.”

“Madame. . . .” he began, his voice low and thick with ire.

“Please call me Elisabeth.”

“
Madame
,
”
he repeated, this time sharply. The man was beyond stubborn. “If I cannot command the Musketeers, I most certainly am not fit to be your instructor—the King will quite agree with me.” Each word was laced with bitterness. She couldn’t blame him for being bitter. Elisabeth hated how quickly her father had dismissed and replaced Tristan. His years of devoted service completely ignored. That his injury had occurred during an assassin’s attempt against the King, Tristan saving his life, had been seemingly inconsequential to her father. “Get back in the carriage and return to your palace. Your father—”

“Was right to send you here,” Gabriel injected. “Tristan
is
the best swordsman in the realm. And of course, we wouldn’t want to offend the King, now would we, Tristan?” He patted his shoulder. “You and your lovely sister are most welcome.” Gabriel smiled.

Tristan dragged his gaze away from Elisabeth to give his brother a murderous glare.

Gabriel’s brows shot up. “
What?
It’s but a week. Only seven days. A flash of time, then it’s over.” Gabriel glanced at Claire then back to Elisabeth, his smile returning. “Such a short time to spend in such charming company.”

“I agree with Gabriel,” Richard said. His uncle was a man of few words. This was a fine time for him to start voicing his opinion. “You are most welcome to stay . . . and if you change your mind and want a different fencing instructor, you may look to me, madame. I taught Tristan everything he knows.”

Tristan strived for patience. His uncle and brother didn’t know what kind of woman they were dealing with—although her mode of dress should have alerted them to the obvious—she was trouble. Willful. Acting as though society’s mores didn’t apply to her because she was the King’s favorite daughter. A week with Elisabeth running about in her tight-fitted stirring attire. Of her trying to garner the very physical reactions she’d wrought from his unruly cock.

Christ
, of her entertaining herself at his expense.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Yet, if she wished to stay, he couldn’t toss her out—just as she’d gleefully pointed out. He may not be in His Majesty’s employ any longer, but was still obliged to his King. And he had to oblige the King’s favorite daughter, because of it.

However, the key here was
if
she wished to stay.

This was his home. His domain she was under. And there were a number of highly appealing ideas flitting through his mind on how to sway her into wanting to leave and abandon the fencing lessons she was demanding.

For the first time since she’d arrived, he found himself fighting back a smile.

“Are you sure you’d be comfortable staying here for these lessons, madame?” he asked. “This isn’t Versailles.”

She smiled at him, though it didn’t reach her large hazel eyes. “I’ll manage,” she said tightly. For the first time he saw a break in her façade. He’d irked her. She didn’t like his comment that suggested she was pampered. Odd. Why would the obvious annoy her?

“I’d like to refresh myself now. Could you order me a bath?” Elisabeth’s features were schooled once again, and she was speaking as though the matter were settled. As if there were never any doubt he’d comply with her demands.

Normally he’d be vexed, but he wasn’t, not while plans were taking shape in his mind. By the time he was through with her, she’d bend to
his
will. And leave, taking his former men with her.

“Of course,” Tristan ceded, and caught the surprised looks on his brother’s and uncle’s faces. Tristan called to his majordomo standing in the vestibule. “Please escort our guests upstairs to the east wing.”

“The
east
wing?” Gabriel said. “But, Tristan—”

“The. East. Wing.” Tristan gave his brother a look of warning, silently ordering him to hold his tongue.

Once the women were upstairs, Gabriel didn’t waste any time in questioning his decision. “Why did you give them rooms there? In the summer those rooms hardly get any breeze at all. They’re terribly hot.”

Richard shook his head. “That is exactly why he chose them, isn’t it, Tristan?”

“Precisely. I want them gone. The sooner the better. I don’t want to be responsible for any more of the royal brats. Especially Elisabeth de Roussel. She’ll be uncomfortable and she’ll flee for the palace.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to shake his head. “Brother, you are daft. She is beautiful, and in case you missed the way she looked at you, she’s all but begging you to fuck her. How could you have missed the signs?”

“I missed nothing, Gabriel. She’s not begging for anything of the sort. She’s flirtatious with no intent on carrying through with an amorous encounter. It is nothing more than a coquettish act. One I’ve seen her play many times.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, clearly disappointed. “Are you sure, Tristan? She certainly looked as though she’d be willing . . .” Clearly, his brother didn’t want to let this go.

“She’s not. And even if she were, I am not fucking the King’s daughter.”

“Why not? You bedded Veronique.”

“Veronique is not the King’s favorite daughter. Elisabeth is. And she holds no appeal for me.”
Liar.
His stiffened cock proved otherwise. Before she put him through any more discomfort, he was getting rid of her.

There were a number of ways to chase her away. If the hot rooms didn’t work, he could start responding to her sexual attempts. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more appeal it held for him.

He just might teach her a lesson on the folly of arousing sexual interest with no intention of finishing what she started.

“She’ll be here a day, two at most.”

She wouldn’t last the week.

Elisabeth was miserable. It was early in the morning, the sun still new in the sky. Waiting for Tristan and her first lesson, she stood in the gardens—if the weed-ridden expanse littered with poorly tended shrubs and bushes could be considered a garden. Her scabbard rested against her hip, her precious sword sheathed within.

He was late.

She was exhausted.

She hadn’t slept at all last night. Tossing and turning in her bed, thoughts of Tristan, images of his aroused body warming her, added to the heat in the stifling rooms. In fact, she suspected that if she’d slept in the kitchens near the cooking fires, she’d have been more comfortable.

She was no fool. It didn’t take long for her to realize he’d selected the “east wing” for a reason. To make her stay as uncomfortable as possible so that she’d pack her trunks and return home. Elisabeth was willing to wager the other rooms at the opposite end of the château were much cooler.

Yesterday, she’d bathed. She’d primped. Spent the better part of the afternoon preparing for supper and had donned one of her favorite and most becoming gowns. With her pulse racing with nervous excitement, she’d made her way to the
Salle de Buffet
with Claire, only to find Richard and Gabriel there.

But no Tristan.

Gabriel had offered Tristan’s apologies, claiming that his leg was troubling him. But she didn’t believe it. She was troubling him. He was avoiding her.

And if he was avoiding her, then she was affecting him strongly. Good.

That made the time she spent with him during the fencing instruction all the more important to advancing her plan.

From the moment she’d laid eyes on him years ago, she’d been hopelessly enchanted. Other men paled in comparison. She’d tried not to look his way at the palace. She tried not to think of him. She’d tried to silence the errant emotions her heart had attached to him.

She’d failed.

This was her final opportunity to quell this infatuation.

The sooner he bedded her and diminished his hold on her, the better.

Then, if she succeeded in marrying Tristan, she’d have the civilized marriage she’d always wanted to a husband she respected and shared common interests with, like fencing—without the unsettling influence he presently had on her.

The sound of footsteps snatched her out of her thoughts. She snapped her head up and saw Tristan approaching, cane in hand, his baldric across his chest. He looked strong, despite the cane. And fierce. A formidable opponent on any battlefield, she often heard others say. He was well respected by his men. Admired by the realm. A highly decorated officer, his valor in battle was legendary.

His tan-colored breeches outlined his powerful thighs, his plain white shirt hung loosely from his broad shoulders, yet she could still detect the dips and ripples of his chiseled chest. A tiny thrill shivered down her spine when he stopped before her.

He looked so good, it made her ache.

“Good morning, Tristan.” She smiled.

“Let’s begin.” Again no mincing of words. No exchange of pleasantries. She tamped down her irritation. Would it kill him to be less abrasive?

He unsheathed his sword. “I trust you know the basics?”

She knew more than the basics. Her passion for fencing was great. As a young girl, she’d watched the Musketeers practice as often as she could sneak away. Whenever they entertained the court with demonstrations of their skills, she’d been transfixed. It had taken carefully planned, carefully worded conversations with the King over a period of months before she’d finally managed to secure her first fencing instructor. That was years ago. Prior to her marriage. She still fenced. Still took it seriously. Practiced every opportunity she could.

She’d become so good at swords, she’d bested all of her instructors.