Destiny's Kiss (22 page)

Yves nodded. “We are France. We may be the only salvation France has. While we wait for Louis the Seventeenth to reclaim his throne, we continue to build Azilum for him. From here, we can plan the reconquest of what is ours by right.”

“Louis won't need to come here,” Philippe replied. “Those fools overstepped themselves. Every civilized nation was furious when the king was murdered. Just imagine the furor when those nations learn our lovely queen was killed, too.”

“They shall crush that beast Robespierre. Then they shall give him a taste of his own guillotine,” Vachel stated as he joined them.

Philippe turned away from his friend. How could he look at Vachel now and not remember that attack on the chaste child Lirienne had been?

Vachel clamped a hand on his arm. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? There is more to hear.”

“I've heard enough.” That was the truth. He had heard Lirienne's cries that night.

“You can't wait to rush back to her, can you?”

His eyes narrowed at the venom in Vachel's voice. “If you are speaking of Lirienne, I want to tell her of this before she hears it from someone else.” That, too, was the truth.

“I never thought you'd be so stupid!”

“Stupid?”

“To lose your heart to a peasant.”

As he had so often before, he said, “She is my wife, Vachel.”

“I thought you knew better than to fall in love with your wife.”

“I thought I did, too.” He pushed past Vachel and walked out the door.

Rain pelted him as he crossed the common area. Had he fallen in love with Lirienne? What a fool he was! He had waited until she no longer loved him.

He swept his wet hair back from his eyes as he closed the door and the windy rain out of the house. When he saw no one in the room, he frowned. Had Lirienne gone next door to visit Agathe? No, her cloak and her bonnet were hanging on their pegs.

“Lirienne?”

He heard nothing but the voices of the other settlers as they shared the horrible news from France. He longed to hear Lirienne's lyrical laugh which always stirred his gut into a frenzy.

With an oath, he pounded his fist against the table. His dreams each night were laced with the loveliness of his wife as she came to him and urged him with her kisses to satisfy the cravings he suffered. In the midst of those agonizing fantasies, he always told her yes and pulled her into his arms.

“Lirienne, are you in here?” he asked, going to the bedroom door. He tried not to look at the wide bed he had loaded onto the wagon in Philadelphia. When he had purchased it, he had imagined their nights of love in its lushness.

Again all he heard was the rain.

He threw open the back door, but he did not see her in the barn. With another curse, he went to the larder. He opened the door, and light flowed out. He walked into the narrow room that ran the length of the house, bending so his head did not hit a rafter.

“Lirienne?”

He paused by the lantern that was set next to a thick quilt on the floor. This was the one he used at night. What was it doing in here on the damp floor? His heart cramped. Maybe this was her way of letting him know that she did not want him in her house any longer. After the fool he had made of himself at Slater's farm, he could not blame her.

He whirled, bumping his head, when the door crashed behind him. The sound of a bar dropping into place silenced his curse. Crouching, he went to the door and raised the latch. It moved, but the door did not budge.

“Let me out!” he shouted, pounding on it. “What is going on?”

When he received no answer, he looked back at the quilt. On a shelf beside it was a plate with bread and meat as well as a cup. He lifted the cup and smiled. The hot chocolate was still warm. As he took a sip, he wondered who had locked him in.

Sitting on the quilt, he leaned his back against the inner wall. A hint of warmth oozed through the boards from the hearth on the far side of the other room. He drew up one knee and rested his arms on his dirty breeches. He recalled how he had requested this room be built this long when he bought the land here. A searing pain cut through him, for he had been sure at least one child would be sleeping here. That child was gone, and there would be no others as long as he was married to Lirienne. Unless he divorced her and remarried, the long line of de Villeneuves had come to an end with him.

But I don't want to divorce her
.

He swore at destiny, which had brought them to this.

As one hour passed, then another, Philippe tapped his fingers on his knees and glared at the bolted door. Thinking of the chores waiting for him in the barn, he decided this had gone on too long to be amusing. While the rain continued against the roof, he fumed.

At a sound from the other room, he sat straighter. He could not mistake those light footfalls. While he had been ill with yellow fever, he had listened for those footsteps which brought him a gentle compassion.

“Lirienne?” he called, banging on the door.

The bar scraped as it lifted aside. He watched when the latch rose. As it opened, he pushed out into the main room. He frowned. Where was Lirienne? Was she so hurt by his stupid jealousy that she would not speak to him?

He heard sounds from the bedroom. He walked in, then faltered because he did not see her in here either. Rain splattered on the window. Maybe that was all he had heard.

He turned to walk back out, but halted as he saw Lirienne in the doorway. Although she wore her cloak, it was not dripping with rain. He started to greet her. His words withered, unspoken, as she raised the lantern that had been in the larder.

He stared in astonishment as she walked in and closed the door. She was not wearing the cloak that had been hanging on the peg. This one was made of gold, the gold fabric from the gown he had bought for her. Her feet were bare beneath the cloak which reached only as far as her ankles. When she pushed the hood back from her face, her ebony hair showered along her shoulders to shroud her in living silk. She reached for the ties at her throat, and he watched her slender fingers undo them.

The cape fell away. He moaned with riveting need when he admired her naked curves. Her breasts teased his fingers to stroke them before his hands slid over her soft skin that set him afire.

“Lirienne,
ma petite
—”

She put her finger up to his lips. Even that light touch was overwhelming. He reached out to pull her against him. As her arms encircled his shoulders, he bent toward her.

“No!” he choked, releasing her before he could be seduced by her lips. He turned his back so he could not be enticed by the fantasy that she had brought to life. Every muscle along him tightened with the need to satisfy the craving which was now a torment.

“Yes,” she whispered as she stroked his back. “Not just now. Not just tonight, but forever. I love you, and I want you to make love with me.”

“I can't!”

At the desperate sound of Philippe's voice, Lirienne gasped, “What do you mean?” She laughed lightly and ran her fingers up his inner thigh. “You can't hide from me that you are quite able to make love with me.”

“I won't make love with you,
ma petite
.” His shoulders straightened as he continued to stare at the ceiling as if the rafters fascinated him. “Will you get dressed?”

“I don't want to get dressed.” She laughed again as she sat on the bed and drew his shirt out of his breeches. Gliding her fingers up his back, she rose to her knees to whisper in his ear, “I want you to get undressed.”

With another heart-deep groan, he stated, “I won't make love with you. Not when—”

“Not when what?” She grasped his shoulders and tried to turn him to face her. She could not move him any more than she could change the course of the Susquehanna. “Philippe, please look at me while you break my heart.”

“If I look at you, then—”

“Then what?” She slipped off the bed and in front of him. When he started to turn away, she grabbed two handfuls of his loose shirt. “Tell me the truth. If you loathe me, tell me! Just be honest with me.”

He stroked her cheek. “You know why we can't do this again. Curse that bungling doctor!”

“Dr. Eiler? What does he have to do with this?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “
Ma petite
, after the baby came too early, he warned me that we should not be lovers again. He told me I could lose you as well.”

She pressed her hand over her mouth, then drew his down to her lips. She kissed him gently, before whispering, “You shouldn't have listened to him.”

“He's a doctor.”

“And his French was terrible. If Frau Wirt hadn't been there, I wouldn't have understood anything he told me.” She reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Frau Wirt also cautioned me.”

He put his hands over hers, halting her. “Then you know the dangers—”

“For the first month or two.”

“For a month or two? A month or two only?” When she nodded, he laughed and picked her up. He dropped her onto the bed and leaned over her. “Why haven't you lured me here before and forced me to listen to this?”

“I thought you wanted to be done with me.”

“You are
ma petite folle
if you believe that.” He curved his fingers up over her breast as he whispered, “I hope never to be done with you,
ma petite
, but now I'm just beginning.”

Her answer was branded into his lips. When his mouth swept across her face, enticing her with its fiery touch, she laughed with joy. She drew him onto the wide bed with her and pushed him onto his back. She leaned across him, her legs entwining with his rough breeches as she unbuttoned the front of his shirt. The ruffles fell away to reveal his hard chest. He slanted her mouth across his as her fingers caressed his warm skin.

With a moan, he turned her over as he pulled off his shirt. Holding her mouth to mouth, he pressed her into the bed. Her fingers splayed across his back, clenching when his tongue traced a fiery path along her breast.

When he drew away from her, she gasped a soft denial. Then she laughed as he stood and reached for the buttons on his breeches.

“Allow me, kind sir,” she whispered, batting away his fingers.

He nibbled along her shoulder and up her neck as she undid each button, then kicked away his breeches as they dropped to the floor. Kneeling beside her on the bed, he lowered his mouth over hers. As if he had never kissed her before, he explored her lips. Flicks of his tongue tantalized her mouth where her breath burned fast and shallow.

Then, with a moan, he pushed her back into the pillows again. As her fingers brushed along his chest, before edging down, his uneven breath pulsed in her ear. It sent quivers to the very tips of her toes as wave after wave of exhilaration broke over her.

He grasped her wrists and pinned them with one hand to the bed. “Allow
me
, fair lady,” he growled. He did not release her as his mouth caressed her breasts. She writhed against him, unable to control the yearning as his lips left effervescent sparks in their wake.

She tried to pull her hands away, but he chuckled against her skin, and she knew she was his prisoner as he had been hers. Her soft moan became a sharp gasp as he probed within her. His eyes burned, hot as his touch, when he drew her beneath him, still holding her hands to the bed.

As he made them one, her hands slipped out of his grip and up his arms. She brought his mouth to hers as she matched his gentle strokes. The need became exquisitely sweet. When his lips touched the responsive curve of her neck, she ceded all of herself to the ecstasy.

The whisper of her name beneath the steady rhythm of the rain overhead brought Lirienne's eyes slowly open to see Philippe's smile. They closed again as he kissed her tenderly. Through her raced the remnants of the rapture. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold him near, although she could not imagine a sweeter closeness than what they had just relished when he shared her body.

“
Ma petite
, you were worth waiting for.” He laughed. “But I don't want to wait so long again.”

She ran her fingertip along the fullness of his lower lip. “You won't.”

“You're right about that.” He grinned as he tilted her mouth under his. Kissing her lightly, he said, “You won't even have to lock me in the larder to knock some sense into my head.”

She laughed when he rubbed the back of his head. “I wasn't sure how to get you to stay here long enough to listen to me.” She added softly, “I heard about the news from France.”

“It changes nothing,” he whispered. “The
sansculottes
still rule the streets of Paris. There still is a death sentence waiting for us if we return to France now.”

“Don't go back.”

“
Ma petite
, my home is there.”

“Your home can be here.” She took his hand and pressed it between her breasts. “Your heart can be here with mine.”

He shook his head. “I made a vow to see Lucien's murderer pay for betraying him. I cannot set that aside.”

“Not even for my love?”

“Not even for your love.” When she bit back a sob and looked away, he tipped her face toward him again. “Don't think of that. Think only of this.”

As his lips captured hers, she knew she should insist that they discuss this. She could not, as the desire claimed her again. Maybe she was a fool not to talk to him about this, but she would be a greater fool to waste a moment of this time in his arms.

Seventeen

Lirienne woke with a smile. Disregarding her queasy stomach, she bounded out of bed with haste. Today, Philippe would arrive home to Azilum from his trip down the river to Wilkes-Barre to pick up more supplies for the horses. They needed iron for horseshoes and more nails to build another stall in the barn because there were now two foals in the paddock.