Destiny's Kiss (3 page)

“I can assure you,
mon seigneur
, I have no education.”

“And I can assure you, Lirienne, if I fail to leave Paris alive, Charmaine will be certain my pledge is carried out.” He reached up to take Madame's hand. “You will do me this favor, won't you,
ma coeur
?”

“How can I say no to you?” She bent to kiss him.

Lirienne wondered if her eyes were as wide as Madame's when the
vicomte
stood before Madame's lips could touch his. Did he believe Madame would do as he requested? How could he be so foolish?

He held out his hand in a silent command. Lirienne dampened her lips, then raised her hand to his.

“Will you become my wife, Lirienne?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and feared the greatest fool in the world was Lirienne Gautier.

Two

“See how utterly simple that was?” Madame slid her hand over Vicomte de Villeneuve's arm and purred, “She is no different from others of her class, even though her price is higher.”

The
vicomte
shook off her questing fingers. “There is no time to delay. Go and pack what you wish to bring, Lirienne.”

“There is nothing,” she answered, not daring to look in Madame's direction.

“Nothing you wish to bring?”

“Nothing I own,
mon seigneur
.”

“Philippe,” he corrected as he reached for the door.

Her eyes widened. Even in her sweetest dreams, he had been Vicomte de Villeneuve. “I cannot call you that!”

He gripped her shoulders, all kindness vanishing. “Lirienne, no wife calls her husband ‘
mon seigneur
.' You must use my given name. I can grant you a life beyond your dreams. In return, I expect you to safeguard mine.”

Overwhelmed by his abrupt, powerful rage, she whispered, “I shall use your given name … Philippe.”

“Again! Without hesitation.”

“I shall use your given name, Philippe.” Only now was she realizing that she had traded one type of servitude for another.

Madame laughed and, slipping her arm through the
vicomte's
, drew him away from Lirienne. “I fear you shall have to explain every detail to her.”

“She is not stupid,” Philippe answered as if Lirienne did not stand an arm's length from him.

“That is your opinion,
mon cher
.”

Lirienne bit her lower lip. Nothing had changed, for she was only a way for Madame and Philippe to keep from being separated. A vengeful smile teased her mouth as she imagined meeting Madame after the wedding. Then Lirienne de Villeneuve would hold the higher rank.

In astonishment, she pressed a hand over her pounding heart. She would no longer be Lirienne Gautier, daughter of a stableman. She would be Lirienne de Villeneuve, Vicomtesse de Villeneuve and the wife of handsome and wealthy Philippe de Villeneuve. It was impossible to believe, yet …

She discovered Philippe's gaze focused on her, although he continued to speak to Madame. His blue gaze seared her like acid, hot and fierce. He took a step toward her, pausing when Madame curled her fingers along his cheek, turning his face back to hers.

Lirienne fought to breathe again. How long had she been holding her breath? She dropped onto the bench.

As the door opened to reveal a servant bringing wine, Madame turned to Lirienne. Fury twisted her full mouth. “How dare you sit—?” She paused, false kindness sifting into her voice. “Philippe, I thought we would drink a toast to your wedding.”

“There is little time,” he said, holding out his hand. “Lirienne, we must go.”

“Impossible!” Madame poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Philippe while she kept the other for herself as she flashed a haughty smile at Lirienne. “To your marriage, Philippe! May it bring you what you desire from it.”

“Thank you.” He waited for her to drink, then put his untouched glass on a table. “
Ma coeur
, we must be on our way. I want to be at Vachel de Talebot's before day's end. To go into Paris after dark is to ask for trouble.”

Madame smiled. “You cannot plan to take her looking like that.”

“Vachel—”

“Is a friend, I know.” She took another sip. “Yet you do not want your friends talking about this too much, for it might endanger you.” Walking her fingers up his arm, she twisted one in his black hair. “
Mon cher
, let me help you.”

Lirienne rose as Philippe gestured to her. His nose wrinkled as he touched her sleeve. She wondered what would happen if she reminded him that Madame was responsible for her clothes.

“You must have something she can wear,” Philippe said. “Nothing fancy,
ma coeur
.”

She smiled. “Wait here, Philippe.” Her smile vanished as she ordered, “Come with me, Lirienne.”

Lirienne fought back the habit of curtsying. Instead she held her head high. Walking across the room, she murmured, “Excuse us, Philippe.”

He grinned. She started to return it, then realized he was looking past her. To him, Lirienne Gautier was a tool, a means to an end. His amusement was focused on Charmaine.

Madame's fury was revealed in her sharp call to her maid, Orva, as she closed the door to the dressing room. The chubby woman came running. Her eyes widened when she heard what Madame ordered.

“A gown?” she gasped. “For her?”

“Do as you are told, fool!” Madame's hand struck her maid fiercely.

Lirienne touched her own cheek as Orva sped to a cupboard. “I appreciate your generous offer, Madame. I shall have the gown returned as soon as Phi—”

“Do not speak his name in my hearing!” she ordered in a vicious whisper. Madame seized Lirienne's arm, smiling when Lirienne winced in pain. “He is a fool to try this and a greater fool to wed a nothing like you.”

Lirienne pulled her arm away and raised her chin in the defiance she had never dared to show. “He has asked you to lend me something to wear. You know he has no wish to be delayed.”

“You shall never be better than your beginnings. Let the fools fight. They cannot change the natural order of life. I was wellborn, and I shall die that way. You are cow dung.” A cruel twinkle lit her dark eyes. “Mayhap I shall come to Paris and host a
soirée
for you, so I may see you squirm before your betters!”

Although she wanted to shout back an insult, Lirienne said, “If you and Monsieur Fortier wish to call on us, I am sure Philippe would—”

“Stop using his name, or I shall silence you. He will not appreciate your constant chattering, so be silent.”

She did not reply. The only thing she could say was
Yes, Madame
, and she had vowed never to speak those words again.

“Madame?” came the maid's uneasy whisper.

Madame tore the gown from Orva's hands and peered at it before tossing the light blue dress to Lirienne. “You need not send it back. Philippe can bring it himself.”

Lirienne stared at the gown as Madame laughed. In her dreams, he had come to love her as she loved him.

“Help her!” snapped Madame. “I can endure no more of her common company.”

The door slammed behind Madame, and Lirienne raised her eyes to Orva's stunned face.

“What has happened?” asked the plump woman.

“I am to be married.”

“In one of Madame's gowns?”

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

She faltered, then whispered, “Philippe de Villeneuve.”

“Philippe? Madame's Philippe?” Orva muttered what might have been a prayer or a curse. “Are you mad, Lirienne? Madame never relinquishes one of her lovers.”

“I know that.”

“She will destroy you.”

Lirienne tried to smile. “The
vicomte
wishes to marry me, so she has consented.”

“But why? Why would he marry you?”

She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. To speak the truth even to Orva risked it being repeated in the very ears of the one who could order Philippe's death. “Will you help me with this dress, Orva?”

Although she feared Orva would ask another question, the maid nodded, her eyes still bulging. Lirienne had to be grateful that Madame expected unquestioning obedience from her servants.

Lirienne slipped her shapeless dress over her hips. She let it fall on the marble floor, for Madame would be furious to discover it on her fine furniture. When Orva slid the blue silk gown over Lirienne's head, it settled into place like the sweetest caress.

“This will not do,” Orva said as she hooked it up. “You are too thin, Lirienne.”

“It must do.” Lirienne tightened the sash at her waist and smoothed the excess material so it was hidden beneath the full sleeves edged with a wide band of ecru lace. Adjusting the square neckline above the bodice which was not as oversized as she had feared, she let her fingers linger on the satin ribbons twisted along the front.

Turning before a cheval glass, she viewed herself from every angle. She had never understood vanity. Until now. Smiling, she admired how the silk clung to curves that had been concealed. Her hands clenched. Madame would not be happy to discover this dress was so flattering to her.

“Shall I fix your hair, Lirienne?” Orva said.

“Madame did not say I could use her combs.”

“I would rather use them than suffer her fury if I send you back out there with your hair tangled.”

Sitting, Lirienne let Orva comb snarls from her hair. When Orva piled black curls around Lirienne's ears, leaving a few strands to drop along her throat, Lirienne could not believe the reflection was hers. Save for the bruise on her cheek, she could have been as fine a lady as any who called at this house … or the wife of any man who called here, for Madame seldom had female callers.

From this moment, she should think of her as Charmaine. She shivered. No, she preferred using Madame Fortier.

“You should go,” Orva murmured.

“Yes, he is waiting.”

“And not alone.”

“He just asked me to marry him!”

“But he adores Madame. If you leave them alone for even a few moments—”

The door opened, and Lirienne spun about. The soft silk swirled about her ankles as her gaze locked with Madame Fortier's. “Pardon me, Madame. I do not want to delay Philippe any longer.”

Madame Fortier's lips tightened, but Lirienne pushed past her.

Philippe stood, astonishment stealing the taut lines from his face. He motioned, and she slowly turned, the train of her gown swishing across the floors she had scrubbed on her hands and knees.

“Cinderella,” he breathed.

“Excuse me?”

That hint of a smile returned. “Don't you know the tale of the cinder girl who became a princess for one night?”

“For only one night? What happened then?”

Walking to her, he took her hands. “Then she became a cinder girl again until her prince brought her lost glass slipper to her.”

“A … charming story. However, I have no slippers of glass. Only of felt.” She raised her skirts to reveal her shoes.

He pushed her skirts to the floor. “Have you no sense of propriety?”

Her breath caught, but not at his reprimand. His touch unsettled her.

“This has taken longer than I planned,” Philippe continued. “We must leave now if we hope to be wed today.”

Madame Fortier rushed forward, grasping his sleeve. “Stay an hour, so we might enjoy a bit of fun before you tie yourself to a peasant wife.”

“Not now.” He sighed like a martyr. “I must find a municipal officer who is marrying today.”

“So I cannot talk you out of this madness?” Madame Fortier's nose wrinkled with disgust.

“
Ma coeur
, 'tis the least deranged thing I can do if I want to enter Paris. In spite of what you may believe, I take my duties quite seriously.”

Lirienne was shocked by his sarcasm. This was not the way he should speak to a woman he professed to love.

“And Lirienne?” Madame Fortier laughed sharply. “Look at her. She can think only of her good fortune.”

“She will do as I order, for she wishes the reward I have offered her.”

Madame Fortier smiled and traced the curve of his jaw with her fingertip. “Aren't you going to give your betrothed a kiss, Philippe?”

Lirienne gasped. “No! I mean, that is not necessary.”

“Not necessary?” Madame Fortier laughed. “If she were to shy away from you in Paris, everyone would suspect the truth.”

“There must be no question that this is not a true marriage.” Philippe caught Lirienne's hands and tugged her to him.

“A true marriage?” she cried. “I thought—”

“Do not think,
ma petite folle
,” he murmured. “Just kiss me.”

His arm snaked around her waist. His glass buttons cut through her gown as she stared up into his hooded eyes. Boldly, she dared to lift her hands to his shoulders. Surprise flickered across his face, but he bent to press his lips to hers. His kiss sparked a fiery ember within her.

“Satisfied?” he asked as he released her.

No
, she longed to cry. She wanted that flame on his lips to be for her, not for a woman she despised.

“Let me rid you of that horrid taste.” Madame Fortier drew his mouth over hers, kissing him deeply, not caring that Lirienne watched.

He drew away quickly, astounding Madame Fortier. Holding out his arm to Lirienne, he grasped her hand when she hesitated. “We shall leave now. I have no wish to waste the rest of the day looking for someone to perform a wedding.”

“Yes,” Lirienne whispered, not sure whether to be outraged or overwhelmed.

Philippe said nothing as he led her out of the rooms. Curious eyes peered from every nook along the corridor, but Lirienne stared at the floor. As the pattern of tiles repeated, she hoped she would never return to this house.

Lirienne glanced at a footman and almost smiled as he mouthed, “Good luck.” She would need good fortune to deal with this strange marriage.