Destiny's Kiss (2 page)

She rushed past the bed and through the huge bedchamber. Her next task would be to replace the sheets so Madame's husband or next visitor would not suspect she had been entertaining another man. No one dared to call Madame the whore she was.

As Lirienne went to the balcony overlooking the gardens, the marble floor was cool, although the day was hot. She gripped the iron rail which was as intricate as the lace on Madame's favorite wrapper and took a deep breath of the rose-scented breeze.

How could the
vicomte
be so deceived by Madame? In the three days Lirienne had been in these chambers, Madame had entertained two other lovers. Lirienne guessed they meant little to Madame, for she spoke endlessly of her special lover. Yet, if the
vicomte
was so special, why did she welcome other men to her bed?

Lirienne leaned forward and settled her chin on her palm. Staring at the stables, she sighed. She had loved helping Papa there, or Maman at her sewing. Even when she had been sent to work in the kitchens, she had found time to visit her parents. Now she must await Madame here, save when Madame was with a lover. Then Lirienne must stand in the antechamber, not sitting on the benches or on the floor.

Yawning, she rubbed her eyes, then moaned as she touched the bruise left by Madame's fist. Madame had been furious when a bottle of perfume broke this morning. Even though Lirienne had been halfway across the chamber, Madame had blamed her and struck her viciously.

“Girl?”

Lirienne spun. She had not heard anyone enter. Vicomte de Villeneuve's crystal blue gaze shifted icily over her. It offered no compassion for the punishment ahead of her for being discovered enjoying the view.

Recalling herself, she said, “Madame is not here, Vicomte. If you wish—” She gulped when she saw Madame behind him.

Madame motioned for Lirienne to come inside. Before she could move, the
vicomte
caught her arm. She winced as his fingers closed around it, but remained silent. If the
vicomte's
broad hand struck her, she would suffer more than a ringing skull and a bruise.

His face could have been carved of the same marble as the columns. His unadorned tan coat stretched across his broad shoulders. Since the first time she had seen him, Lirienne had not been able to forget this handsome man.

Finding her voice, she whispered, “If you wish me to leave,
mon seigneur
, I shall.”

Madame said, “This is insane,
mon cher
. Your brother was a weak-minded fool. Do not be the same.”

“I shall not,” he answered in a low voice that reverberated through Lirienne, “for I have no interest in sacrificing my head to the Republic.” His intense gaze captured Lirienne's eyes. He squared his shoulders as if facing an unpalatable task. “Charmaine, I think this young woman and I should have some privacy.”

“If you continue with this mad plan—”

He smiled. “I shall succeed.”

“Philippe, you must—”

With a low chuckle, he pushed Lirienne away. He tugged Madame to him. He kissed her with a passion that begged Lirienne to close her eyes and turn away. She did not dare. She watched as the two bodies seemed to meld into one.

Madame whispered, “I trust that was not a farewell kiss,
mon amour
.”

“Saying good-bye to you is something I never shall do.”

Lirienne clenched the drapes, fear coiling within her like a serpent. This was all wrong. The
vicomte
wished to enjoy Madame in the mirrored bed where Madame had welcomed another lover less than an hour before, the very lover who had fled moments before the
vicomte
arrived. Yet he was sending Madame away so he could speak to Lirienne. Speak to her of what? What had she done that was so appalling Madame had turned her punishment over to him?

Lirienne's hand rose to cradle her aching cheek. She said nothing as he watched Madame close the door.

“You shall never change,” he murmured, and Lirienne knew he was not speaking to her. “You think only of your pleasures. Mayhap we are not so alike, after all.” All amusement left his voice as he turned to her. “Sit.”

She chose the nearest bench, although Madame forbade the servants from using the furniture meant only for their betters. When she looked up, she wondered if he had grown to twice his impressive height. His head seemed to brush the blue and indigo ceiling paintings.

“Do you know who I am?” He folded his arms, and she sensed he was uneasy. She could not guess why, but suspected she would find out soon.

“Yes.” Under other circumstances, she might have laughed. How many nights had her dreams been haunted by his face? Then he had been smiling as his mouth neared hers. His hands had been strong, but as gentle as a mother's.

“Name!”

“Excuse me,
mon seigneur
?” She flushed as his question shattered her silly fantasies. “'Tis Lirienne Gautier.”

He cursed under his breath. “No! Tell me my name.”

“Philippe de Villeneuve. Vicomte de Vi—”

“Enough. At least, you have more wit than the previous girl. She never seemed able to recall as much as my name.” He began to pace.

Folding her hands in her lap, she tried to guess why he was agitated. He fired the next question at her so viciously, she flinched.

“Are you married?”

“No,
mon seigneur
.”

“Betrothed?”

“No,
mon seigneur
.”

Stopping in front of her, he crossed his arms over his chest again. A hint of a smile curved his taut mouth. “No lover, Lirienne?”

“No,
mon seigneur
.” She lowered her eyes as heat edged up her cheeks. Was this a horrible jest he and Madame had devised? She could imagine no other reason for him to ask. He could not be interested in seducing her, for Madame would not allow her lovers to be unfaithful. If the
vicomte
was taunting her, he was not the man she had thought he was.

His mouth twisted into a caricature of a smile. “Then you are perfect, Lirienne.”

“Perfect?”

“How would you like to better yourself in exchange for doing a favor for me?”

“It would depend on the favor,
mon seigneur
.”

“Depend on the favor?” His eyes became sapphire slits. “You do have some wit. Mayhap too much.”

He reached toward her. She stiffened, afraid she would pull back or, worse, reach out to him as if to give her dreams life. Lifting her loose braid off her shoulder, he laced his fingers through it. His other hand cupped her chin and tilted her face toward him. The rough caress against her skin was the sweetest she could imagine.

“Say ‘yes,'” he ordered.

“To what?”

“To what I ask.”

“But I do not know what you ask.”

“I ask you to be my wife.”

Lirienne stood, staring at him. What had unhinged his mind? When his eyes narrowed again, she held her breath. When she had been young, a madman had come into the stables one night. Her father had been able to slay him only after the madman had killed two other men and injured nearly a dozen.

“Where are you going?” the
vicomte
demanded.

“I—” If he were mad, he might focus the fury in his eyes on her.

He laughed. “Sit. I assure you I am not deranged.”

“But to ask
me
to marry you?”

“Amazing, is it not?” His smile became a scowl. “These are, as even you must know, amazing times. So what is your answer?”

She gripped her skirt. Through countless nights on her lumpy pallet, she had imagined when a man might ask her to marry. Each time, he had the
vicomte
's deep voice and his compelling eyes. Each time, he had drawn her into his arms and kissed her until she whispered of her delight in spending her days—and all her nights—with him.

“Why do you wish to marry me?” she asked.

“I have no wish to marry you.” His finger tipped her chin back, and she gasped to discover his face close to hers. “Do not take insult, for I wish to marry no one now.”

“I understand.” That much was the truth, for she guessed his heart was Madame's. As long as Monsieur Fortier remained alive, much to his wife's irritation, the
vicomte
would wait for a woman he believed loved him. If he knew the truth …

“You are a maiden, aren't you?”

“Yes,
mon seigneur
.” She yearned to turn away, but his cobalt gaze held her captive.

“Do you find me distasteful?”

If she spoke of her dreams, he would find her infatuation amusing. “No,
mon seigneur
.”

“But you cannot understand why a
vicomte
would propose marriage to a serving wench?”

She squared her shoulders. Mayhap she had been right from the first. She would not be a pawn in their heinous games. “Only moments ago, you asked my name. I find it unlikely fondness for me has grown in your heart since then.”

“You are right.” He shoved her to sit on the bench. “And you shall answer me. Will you marry me?”

“But why do you ask this?”

“I offer my name in exchange for your assistance in saving my head.”

“Your … head?” He
was
mad.

“Can you be so isolated you have not heard of the punishment for being well-born in France?” He slashed one hand against the other. “The guillotine is a lord's reward these days.”

“But—”

“You ask too many questions. Listen!” He gripped her shoulders so she could not escape his intense gaze. “That I marry a serving wench shows my approval of this new equality.”

She nodded. This house was not so sequestered that she had not heard of the horror of those who, like the king, had died beneath the guillotine. “Why do you ask me?”

“You are unbetrothed. You are not so stupid you would reveal the truth.” He pushed her hair back from her face. When she winced, he frowned. “Save for that bruise, you are not unpleasant to look at. What do you say?”

Standing, Lirienne edged away. “No.”

“No?”

“That is my answer,
mon seigneur
.”

“That is not the answer I wanted.”

“I realize that.”

Lirienne was not sure if he heard her soft answer, for he strode to the door to the antechamber and swung it open. She frowned as it crashed into the wall.

“Philippe, what has happened?” cried Madame, rushing in.

When he slammed his fist against the wall, gouging a hole, Lirienne backed toward a corner. He whirled to face her and took a step toward her.

Madame put her hand on his arm. “Philippe,
mon cher
, calm yourself. Losing your temper will solve nothing.”

“Everything is lost already. Find me a wench, Charmaine, who will not refuse!”

“She refused you?”

“Yes, odd though it may seem to you, who never has.” Philippe took a deep breath and released it. He did not need Charmaine warning him to govern his temper, for he was well aware of its strength.

The serving wench—What was her name?—was trying to make herself small. Too much was at stake to jeopardize his family's honor through the whims of a silly lass.

Charmaine raised her hand, and the lass stiffened. When Philippe stepped forward, she lowered her hand to pat his arm. He saw the frustration in her eyes, and he shared it.

Quietly, Charmaine said, “You shall not refuse the
vicomte
his wish in the matter, Lirienne.”

Lirienne. That was her name
!

Lirienne said, “Madame, he wishes—”

“I know what he wishes, and 'twas I who suggested you as his bride, Lirienne. Tell the
vicomte
you will marry him.”

Philippe watched Lirienne's face, wondering if anything could be more absurd than this moment. As he had so often since the Bastille fell, he hoped this was a nightmare. Everything that was good and beautiful about France was being destroyed. Everything, including his family's honor, but if this wench would cooperate, that would be resurrected. No price was too high.

“I know I ask much of you, Lirienne,” he said. “Ask of me what you will in return.”

Her eyes were luminous as her lips parted in astonishment. He wondered what men had tasted them. He pushed that thought aside. What did he care when this wench would be in his life only a short time?

“In return,
mon seigneur
?” Lirienne whispered.

She risked a glance at Madame. Her face was as taut as the
vicomte's
. Mayhap he meant what he was saying. He needed her help. If so, he might be willing to pay highly for ruining her dreams.

“Ask what you will,” he said.

“Maman and Papa have worked on this estate all their lives. They are growing old, and I wish for them to be granted an easier life.”

“You ungrateful girl!” Madame cried. “You know the servants here are treated well.”

Lirienne did not touch her aching cheek. “
Mon seigneur
, I speak no insult to Madame Fortier or her husband.” When his jaw tightened at her unthinking mention of Monsieur Fortier, she hurried to add, “I ask that Maman and Papa be granted the last few years of their lives to be spent without work.”

“You wish only this?”

“It is what I ask in return for becoming your wife.”

He sat and stared at her. She had no idea what he thought. She knew too well how insignificant she looked next to Madame's magnificence.

“If you will do as I ask, for as long as I need a wife,” Vicomte de Villeneuve said, “I pledge to you that, upon our return from Paris, your parents shall be taken to my lands, where they will be given a comfortable cottage and an income to fulfill their needs.”

“And if you do not return from Paris?” she whispered.

“Lirienne!” Madame gasped.

The
vicomte
smiled. She guessed it was the first genuine smile he had worn since he arrived. “You are wise to ask, Lirienne, but remember, wisdom is not what I seek in a wife.”