Bewitching in Boots (8 page)

Claire’s brows shot up. “We are? Why?”

“Because I quite enjoy him and wish him to be back at the palace—where I can continue to enjoy him.” How she wished that was all there was to it. How she wished there wasn’t any emotional longing involved. But her feelings for Tristan had only deepened.

Last night, lying in Tristan’s arms as he slept, she’d decided the King’s hunt offered an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. One whereby Tristan could impress her father. With her affections now stronger, her desire for him keener than ever before, she couldn’t simply finish her week with Tristan and let it end there. She decided to cut the time short, gamble, and possibly gain something more permanent.

Thus, the need to escalate her plan.

Claire cocked her head to one side. “Is that the only reason? You’re going to have Balzac removed just to have easier access to your lover?” There was something in Claire’s eyes that gave Elisabeth unease. A certain knowing look—as though she was seeing inside her heart.
Impossible.
She hadn’t become that transparent about her feelings for Tristan.

Had she?

Dismissing the notion as absurd, Elisabeth continued, “No. As a matter of fact, there is another reason. Antoine de Balzac is no better than the rest of the men at court, and well you know it, Claire. He shouldn’t be the Captain of the Musketeers if he is corruptible, which he is. And what’s equally worrisome is that he and Veronique are now lovers.”

Not exactly the primary motivation driving her plan, but it was all she was ready to admit to and far easier to voice than her undying love for Tristan.

Claire frowned and gave a nod. “Veronique only welcomes Balzac into her bed because of his esteemed position. As the commander of the Guard, he is close to the King. She wants to get close to the King through Balzac. She wants to replace you in His Majesty’s affections, become his favorite daughter, and reap the benefits that come with it.”

Unfortunately, that was true.

Elisabeth had better apartments, better treatment from the courtiers, more influence than her lesser siblings. Veronique wanted to take that from her.

It worried her. In truth, deep down inside it terrified her. With the ruthlessness of Veronique and others at court, if she lost her standing with the King, God only knew what would become of Claire. Or her.

“We cannot let Veronique succeed in her schemes,” Elisabeth said. It was all about survival. Those who didn’t have the favor of the King were treated poorly and had a miserable existence at the palace.

Elisabeth had Claire to think about. To protect. Even when she was married to the Duc, Elisabeth had protected Claire and had kept her sister with her at the Duc’s château, away from the glittering corrupt court of Versailles.

If Veronique ever managed to win favor and any kind of influence with the King, she’d cause undue misery to Elisabeth and Claire, simply because she could. Simply to exercise her power. A power Elisabeth had, but never abused in her privileged position.

Born months apart, Veronique and Elisabeth had always been rivals. Elisabeth’s mother had replaced Veronique’s mother, Diane, as the King’s favorite mistress. Diane had spent the rest of her days trying to gain preferential treatment for her daughter she couldn’t get for herself.

Since her mother’s recent death, Veronique had not relented in her ambition to advance her status at court. It motivated her every action. Her every move.

Veronique was using the unwitting Balzac in her plot—positioning and angling—trying to get close enough to the King to affect his choice, to influence the King in selecting a powerful husband for her. Elisabeth didn’t care who Veronique married, though she suspected Veronique had someone high ranking in mind. If Elisabeth hoped to secure a better match for herself this time around—and a good match for Claire—she couldn’t lose her standing.

Once Claire had a good husband, she’d be safe. And Elisabeth could then breathe a sigh of relief. Elisabeth’s betrothal to the Duc had been a surprise. She hadn’t known her father had been in talks with the man or she would have delicately swayed the King away from Roussel.

This time she knew the King was looking for husbands for his unwed daughters.

This time she was doing something about it.

Elisabeth turned toward the window again and spotted Tristan once more. Her insides danced. She was beyond besotted with him.

Being wedded to Tristan would be heavenly.

Claire walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around Elisabeth’s waist. Resting her chin on Elisabeth’s shoulder, she said, “Why don’t you tell him you love him?”

Her heart gave a hard thud. Elisabeth twisted around to face her sister.
“
Pardon
?”

Claire dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. “Don’t bother to deny it, Elisabeth. You’re in love with Tristan de Tiersonnier. That is why we are here, isn’t it? You want to wed him. That’s the reason for the workers and gardeners. That is why you want Tristan reinstated—though I am not saying the other reasons aren’t valid as well. You are trying to convince the King that Tristan is a suitable husband for you .”

Elisabeth was gripped by fear. “How—How did you—”

“Know? I’ve caught you looking at him, not just here, but at Versailles when he was Captain. It is the briefest of looks—in a way you don’t look at any other man. Don’t worry, Elisabeth. Tristan can’t tell. No one can—except me. I’m your sister and I know you best of all. I’m the only one who sees it.”

Elisabeth’s heart pounded. “You’ll swear to me, you’ll not tell a soul. Do you hear me?”

“Of course I swear. I’ve known for some time and I’ve never breathed a word. I don’t understand why you don’t tell him of your affections. He seems to have grown quite fond of you. I don’t think he’d find the notion of marrying you disagreeable. Discuss it with him, then with the King.”

Lord, how naïve Claire was. Perhaps she’d sheltered her too much. “It isn’t done that way. Nor is it that simple. You cannot embark upon any course of action without first reducing the chances of failure. Even if Tristan were agreeable, the King likely won’t be. Walking up to His Majesty to request Tristan as my husband could and likely would be met with a resounding no. Then what? Once the King makes a decision, he’ll not change it. The matter must be carefully handled, steps taken that are well thought out.”

“Fine. Perhaps being more prudent with the King is a good idea, but why not tell Tristan how you feel?”

Elisabeth was aghast. “Are you mad? Claire, it is bad enough that I have done the unthinkable—fallen in love—when I know better. When I have seen the devastation that particular emotion causes women. We live at the whims of men. You know that. A woman under the influence of love who makes the mistake of declaring her affections pays the ultimate price. You know what happened to our mother when she professed her love to the King. Soon after, he became disenchanted and sent her away to the Convent of the Sacred Heart. This after she’d maintained his interest for
years
.”

Claire lowered her gaze to the floor, looking doleful. The subject of their mother was difficult. Claire had been young and devastated when their mother had been sent away. Elisabeth had consoled her sister as best she could, despite her own broken heart.

Placing her hands on her sister’s shoulders, Elisabeth sighed. She didn’t want to distress Claire by bringing the subject up, but God help her, she had to be made to understand. “You mustn’t ever wear your emotions on your sleeve.” She squeezed Claire’s shoulders. “You must remain guarded—with your thoughts and emotions. Never give anything away. Unless you wish to suffer. Unless you wish to lose the man you love.”

Elisabeth had come to Tristan with the hope of ultimately purging him from her blood. It was now clear, it would take much longer than a week to accomplish.

It would take several lifetimes.

She hadn’t wanted to love him so deeply, but she did. With all her heart. She always had.

She didn’t want to lose him, and so she was forging ahead with her plan.

“I’m sorry, Elisabeth. You’re right, of course.” Her sister’s eyes were large and sad.

Elisabeth hugged her. “You’ll help me tomorrow, then?” She purposely changed the subject, not wanting to distress Claire further.

Claire pulled back, a small smile on her lips. “Yes. Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

“Good. We’re going to show the King that Tristan is as capable as he always was to command the Guard.”

Until today, Tristan had been avoiding his former men. Elisabeth could make no sense of it until Gabriel had confided that it was a matter of pride. She couldn’t believe Tristan actually thought he’d been diminished by his injury. That he’d truly believe the King’s foolish physicians and their ridiculous notions about his being unfit.

Or that Tristan would take to heart the King’s misconceptions.

It only made Elisabeth want to see Tristan’s reinstatement all the more.

There was only one man fit to command the King’s elite corps, standing head and shoulders above any other candidate, and that was Tristan de Tiersonnier, Comte de Saint-Marcel.

The door opened. She pulled away from her sister and turned toward her visitor.

Tristan had walked into the room, filling it with his commanding presence.

Her heart swelled with joy.

Even with his cane, he still moved with a certain masculine grace that made her pulse quicken.

“Forgive me, I thought you were alone, Elisabeth.” His rich sensual voice was like a warm caress down her spine. She loved how he spoke her name. There was such sinful promise to it. It swamped her senses and made her feel dangerously reckless and out of control. As much as that unnerved her, it also had a certain astonishing allure. At the moment, she could barely keep from throwing herself against his chiseled form and claiming his mouth.

“I was just leaving,” Claire said after exchanging pleasantries with Tristan, and left the room.

A half-smile on his lips, he approached. Her insides danced with excitement. He stopped before her and slipped his fingers under her chin. “Have I kissed you good morning?” he asked.

She couldn’t hold back her smile. “Yes.” He’d done a lot more to her than kiss her that morning.

“Good. Because it’s afternoon.” Then his lips were against hers, his tongue possessing her mouth, and her arms by their own volition drew around him. She moaned.

She could make him a good wife. He would make her an excellent husband.

She’d failed to convince him to keep the workers and gardeners she’d sent, but she couldn’t fail in any part of her plan tomorrow.

This hunt was too important.

So much hinged on its success. Briefly, she wondered if she should wear her lucky boots. Then Tristan’s hand caressed the curve of her breast and her thoughts turned as heated as her body.

Claire peered into the streaming river at the water’s edge. “Have I told you how much I don’t like this idea?”

The sun was high in the sky. Standing in the glen, Elisabeth could hear the voices and laughter coming from the King and his party as they drifted down into the narrow valley. The hunt had ended an hour ago. Elisabeth and her entourage had arrived just in time for the feasting and gaiety that were afoot.

Tristan was up there. It had taken well-placed words and kisses to convince him to join the escort that would take her to the picnic after the hunt—not that she minded the kissing. Or the amorous encounter that ensued. Only when she lay weak from the second intense orgasm in a row did he advise her—with the most devilish smile—that he’d had every intention of seeing her personally delivered to the hunt all along.

How could any woman be angry at a man who was so wickedly charming and had just melted her with his carnal talents?

“Yes, Claire, I believe you’ve mentioned it more than a dozen times.”

Leaving his château that morning had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. She’d come to adore the crumbling stony structure. It too had charmed her as much as its handsome lord. In short order, it had come to feel more like home than any place she’d ever lived.

Because within its walls there was Tristan.

Tristan made it home.

And she already missed being there with him. Already missed their daily strolls—each one lasting a little longer than the day before—and the horseback rides she’d coaxed him to take. Only the finest horsemen in the land could be part of the King’s personal Guard. Tristan’s skill was no exception. To her utmost joy his leg bothered him a little less each day. He didn’t lean on his cane as much as before.

Then there were the wonderful picnics they’d had where he’d regaled her with stories about his military career. She’d hung on his every word—each battle he’d described, the concern and dread he’d felt. That he’d shared them with her meant more to her than he could ever imagine.

“Why do I have to be the one who falls into the river? Why can’t it be you?” Claire complained.

“Because I’ll look like a drowned rat. Not an enticing way for Tristan to see me.”

Elisabeth’s stomach had been in knots all day. And now as she stood with Claire, she was so nervous, her very entrails were quaking. This
had
to go well. She couldn’t fail. She couldn’t lose Tristan now.

Claire clamped her mouth shut, and frowning, glanced back at the river streaming past. “You think it’s cold?”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

Claire shook her head. “This is definitely not going to be as much fun as the time you helped me hem nasty Cecile de Brun’s gown up an inch each night to make her think she was growing at an alarming rate after she’d taunted me relentlessly about being short.”

Elisabeth patted her sister’s shoulder. “No time to reminisce about our girlhood pranks. You’re a strong swimmer, Claire. You’re going to be fine. I promise you, you won’t be in the water long. Now then, Agathe is up there on the top of the glen to your left. Do you see her by the large walnut tree?”

“Yes,” Claire said, spotting Elisabeth’s trusted servant. Agathe stood well apart from the King’s party. In point of fact, she was the only person in sight. The others were far from the edge of the glen.