Bitter Greens (35 page)

He smiled at me and my heart gave a sudden unexpected hop in my chest. ‘Not tomorrow night. I must go to Paris. But the night after? A private game? In my quarters, perhaps.’

‘You forget my family’s good name.’

‘I’m sure we could find a quiet corner somewhere.’

I eyed him quizzically. ‘In Versailles? Really?’

He laughed. ‘Anything is possible.’

‘Very well … as long as you don’t expect to have your wicked way with me.’

‘I live in hope.’ He bent to take my hand, turning the palm upwards so he could press a kiss into its soft centre. I felt a sharp stab of desire low in my belly. He must have felt my pulse leap, for his fingers were on my wrist. He gave me a lingering smile and bowed as he left the room.

Two nights later, he led me from the palace to a small grotto in the gardens. Tiny lanterns strung the tree branches. A table had been set up with fine china and silver and a three-branched candelabra glowing with candlelight. Two high-backed chairs with scrolled arms and gold velvet seats were set in place. A fine Persian rug had been spread on the lawn, and set upon it a gilded couch laden with gold velvet cushions.

‘I am speechless,’ I said, staring around.

He smiled. ‘Not a word I usually associate with you.’

I pouted. ‘I know, I know. Maidens should be mild and meek, swift to hear and slow to speak. Such a shame I’m not like that, isn’t it?’

‘A shame you’re not mild and meek, or a shame you’re not a maiden?’

I tilted my head. ‘That doesn’t seem a very gentlemanly question, sir.’

‘Won’t you call me Louis?’

I gave an internal shudder. I could not bear to call him that. It was the King’s name and seemed laden with menace to me. ‘That seems a little familiar, don’t you think? We’ve only known each other a few days.’

‘It seems like much longer.’

I repressed a smile. ‘Is that a compliment or an insult?’

‘Oh, absolutely a compliment.’

‘Perhaps it could be more prettily phrased?’ I suggested.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll try and do better next time.’

‘Perhaps a rondeau to my eyes?’

‘I don’t even know what a rondeau is. Some sort of poem, I’m guessing.’

‘Oh, ignorant man. It’s a poem of fifteen lines with a rhyming scheme of two. And “eyes” is so easy to rhyme with. Skies and pies and guise …’

‘And thighs,’ he suggested.

‘How about “unwise”?’ I returned swiftly.

‘How about “tries”?’

‘There’s always “despise”.’

‘Or “implies”.’

‘You’re really rather good at this. I fully expect a rondeau to my eyes next time we meet.’ I allowed him to pull out my seat for me. The Marquis took a bottle of champagne from a silver ice-bottle and uncorked it with a deft gesture. I raised my eyebrows. ‘No servants?’

‘I thought I’d serve you myself tonight.’

‘Unusual,’ I said. ‘Did you cook the meal as well?’

‘That would be rather too unusual. I don’t want to make you ill.’

‘It’s delicious,’ I said, tasting the oyster soup carefully.

‘I have a very good chef,’ he answered.

I remembered a story about his cousin, the Grand Condé, and his chef. Apparently, the King had once been invited to Chantilly, the Grand Condé’s country estate. When the fish had failed to arrive, the chef had killed himself with his filleting knife. His body had been found by a lackey who had rushed to tell him the fish had just arrived.

A little chill ran over me, and the Marquis at once got up and brought me a shawl, draping it around my shoulders. His thumbs lingered on my collarbones, and I shivered again. He tucked the shawl closer about my throat.

‘You think of everything,’ I said.

‘More champagne?’

The oyster soup was followed by a succulent
confit de canard
, served with pear and walnut salad. ‘I know how you Gascons like your ducks,’ the Marquis said.

‘There are more ducks than people in Gascony,’ I said with an exaggerated sigh.

The Marquis poured me another goblet of sparkling wine, then cleared the table by dint of shoving the dirty plates into a large picnic basket. He then brought out a dish of raspberries and cream and two long spoons. At first, I dipped my spoon in the bowl shyly but soon was laughingly duelling him for the last raspberry, our spoons clashing.

‘Now, to play,’ the Marquis said.

I eyed him quizzically. He laughed and brought out a pack of cards. ‘Piquet, I meant. Though I could be persuaded …’

‘Piquet it is.’

He cut the pack and shuffled quickly. ‘You say that you are lucky at cards and unlucky in love. Well, I thought I might give you a chance to change that. How would you like to wager your lucky charm against a perfume that I guarantee will make men fall head over heels in love with you?’

I was intrigued. ‘And how do you guarantee such a thing?’

‘I’m willing to let you experiment on me.’

I laughed. ‘I’ll need to smell the perfume first.’

He brought out a beautiful crystal bottle with a glass stopper. ‘Give me your wrist.’

Obediently, I held out my wrist. He withdrew the glass stopper and slowly swiped it along my wrist. ‘It is made with the oil of roses, for Charlotte-Rose, and rare jasmine and basil and elderflowers and other things I can’t remember. It was very costly.’

‘It smells divine.’ I lifted my wrist to my nostrils and sniffed delicately.

‘You must take off the lucky charm, though. This must be a fair game. And if I win, I’ll claim not only your lucky charm but a kiss as well, that kiss you’ve been denying me all week.’

My heart was beating faster. I felt a little giddy. Slowly, I slid my fingers into my bodice and withdrew the satin bag. With a breathless laugh, I tossed it onto the table. He put the perfume vial next to it, and then expertly dealt the cards.

I was determined not to let him win too easily, but to my surprise I found myself fighting to stay in the game at all. The Marquis played with absolute dedication, first taking off his wig and tossing it on the couch.
‘Easier to think without my wig,’ he explained. His own hair was dark and cropped very short. A short while later, he loosened his cravat. ‘Constricts the blood vessels to the brain,’ he explained.

‘You should try wearing stays,’ I said.

‘I’d be happy to loosen them for you,’ he offered.

‘Enough.’ I pointed at the cards on the table. ‘Focus on your game.’

Rather to my surprise, he won the first round.

‘You should play without your wig more often,’ I said.

‘The King would banish me from court. He did not like my coat last week. He stared at me all evening, then sent a lackey to tell me never to wear it again.’

‘Not enough lace?’ I asked.

‘No lace at all.’

‘Well, you know the King makes a great deal of money from the tax paid on lace.’

‘It’s so infernally uncomfortable. I can’t bear the way it flops over my hands all the time.’

‘Wear it on your cravat.’

He made a face. ‘Must I? I suppose I must. Shall we play again? If I win this round, I’ll have won a kiss from you, and I must admit I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Don’t get too cocksure. I want to win that perfume. I very much like the idea of making men fall madly in love with me.’

‘You don’t need a perfume for that, Charlotte-Rose.’

‘Oh, very pretty. Well said. I’ll be hearing a rondeau from you soon.’

‘You don’t need the perfume, but I think I really do need that kiss. You have the most fascinating mouth I’ve ever seen.’

‘Really? Always in motion, I suppose.’

‘Mmm-hmmm,’ he replied, staring at it.

I drank down the rest of my champagne, partly to hide my mouth from his intent gaze. No one had ever called my mouth fascinating before. Too big, too bold, too full-lipped, too red, too loud, too cheeky, too talkative. Never fascinating.

The Marquis cut and dealt the cards deftly, then, smiling, poured us both goblets of Armagnac. I gulped a mouthful, all my attention on the game.

‘You intrigue me,
mademoiselle
. You ride like a man, you drink like a man and you play cards like a man. I think you must be utterly without fear.’

I cast him a quick irritated glance. ‘What is there to be frightened of?’

‘Falling?’

‘I haven’t fallen off a horse since I was a child. And if I did, I’d just get back up again.’

‘That’s what I mean.’

‘Really, women are not as weak and nervous as you men seem to think. Indeed, if we were allowed to, we could do anything you men can do.’

He was amused. ‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. We could be great writers, artists or scholars. We could be doctors or scientists or inventors. We could rule a kingdom if we had to.’

‘Then why is history not filled with accounts of women doing such things?’

‘Because we’re not allowed to. Women aren’t allowed to study, or go to university, or own their own property. I think men are afraid of what we’d achieve if ever we were allowed to learn.’

The Marquis tilted his head, considering his cards. ‘Well, there can only ever be one master, you must admit the truth of that. Are we talking or playing?’

I was so incensed by this that I won the next round by a long lead, which made him frown and bend his attention to his cards once more.

The third round was hard fought. If I had not regained my temper, I may well have won the game. I was, however, more determined than ever to win my independence. That the only way to get free was accepting the shackles of matrimony was an irony I recognised ruefully. However, as the wife of the Marquis de Nesle, my position at court would be assured. I could go to Paris whenever I wanted. I could maybe even find time to write as I so desperately longed to. Perhaps I could even begin my own salon.
It would become famous for its wit and brilliance. Poets and philosophers would flock there. I would be famed for my clever tongue, my quick wit and my astounding tales that swept the reader away …

‘I declare six,’ the Marquis said.

I wrenched my attention back to the game and realised that I had stupidly cast away a card that I should have kept. Though I fought back, it was too late. When we added our points, the Marquis had won the round.

He grinned and picked up the small satin bag, tossing it in his hand. Deftly, he slung it about his neck, tucking it inside his shirt. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘for my kiss.’

He rose and came swiftly to my side. I pressed my back into my chair in instinctive denial, but he dropped to one knee, slid his hand round to the back of my neck and drew me forward. I pressed both hands against his chest, but he was too swift for me, pressing his mouth hard against mine. I think I gasped in surprise. He took instant advantage, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth, plundering my mouth ruthlessly.

I felt desire twist in my stomach. One part of me wanted to go down before him like wheat before a thresher; another part resisted. His hand gentled, slid down to cup my shoulder. His mouth followed. For just one moment, I let my body respond. His hand found my breast, squeezing it through the silk. I remembered the padding and pushed his hand away.

‘I think a kiss was all you won,
monsieur
,’ I said. My voice was unsteady.

‘You will not be so cruel,’ the Marquis pleaded. ‘Surely just one more? A little one?’ Even as he spoke, he kissed me on the mouth again. It tasted unbearably sweet. His lips were soft and gentle, his hand slowly caressing the back of my neck. I think I sighed, melting a little in his arms. Once again, he took instant advantage, nudging my lips apart with his tongue, drawing me up so he could caress my waist, sliding his hands down to cup my bottom, pressing his leg between mine, taking me deeper than I had ever intended to go. I felt a surge of desire in my loins, felt the roar of it in my ears.

I tore my mouth away. ‘Stop. Please.’

He stared at me hungrily, his breath coming rapidly. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just … I don’t think I can resist you. I’ve never met a girl like you.’

‘I’m not that unusual.’

He reached out one finger and traced my mouth. ‘One more kiss?’

I shook my head. ‘You’ve already taken much more than we ever wagered.’

He bit his lip, eyeing me, one hand fiddling with the ribbon about his neck. The ribbon the pouch hung on. I wondered if the bag of spells could already be working on him. Perhaps he could smell its faint unpleasant odour. Perhaps it was because it contained the ashes of his hair as well as my own blood.

‘Another game?’ he suggested.

‘What shall we play for?’

He bit his lip. ‘Another kiss? Perhaps … not only on the mouth. Somewhere else as well.’

‘Where?’

He pressed his thumb against my nipple, which at once hardened against the silk of the gown. I hoped the padding of my bodice would hide it from him, but I fear he felt it nonetheless.

I stepped away, shaking my head. ‘No.’

‘Then how about … here.’ He touched the hollow between my collarbones.

‘All right … but you must wager that bottle of perfume that will make men fall madly in love with me.’ I was not really sure what I was doing now. My seduction of the Marquis seemed suddenly fraught with danger. I just knew I was determined not to succumb to him as easily as I had to Michel. All Michel had done was kiss me and tell me that he had wanted me, and I had leapt gladly to my ruin. This time, I was playing for higher stakes.

The first round I won. The Marquis frowned and poured us more Armagnac and squinted at his cards. He won the next round, but only by a few points. The last game was filled with tension. We both played with intense concentration, barely noticing that the candles were guttering in their sockets and the moon was low.

The Marquis won. As he slammed down his cards, his face filled with
jubilation. ‘Ah-ah! Another kiss. Come here to me, Charlotte-Rose. Come and kiss
me
.’

He flung himself down on the couch and held out his arms to me. I rose and went slowly towards him, searching his face, my stomach fluttering with nerves. His face softened. ‘I will not hurt you,
chérie
.’ He drew me down so our mouths met and clung.

It was a long, long kiss. Somehow, I found myself lying back on the cushions, the Marquis’ body half-covering mine, his hand tangling my hair, one shoulder bared to the cool night air. He lifted his mouth from mine, smiled at me and then shifted his body so that his mouth was at the junction of my collarbones, his tongue tracing lazy circles in the hollow. I sighed. My bones seemed made of honey, my skin dancing with a million tiny stars.