Glass Slipper (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

The days went by much faster than Julien expected. They settled into a comfortable routine. In the mornings, after breakfast, he would visit Joséphine in her room. Sometimes, they would be alone. Other times, Marie would be there with them, though he could tell that Joséphine didn’t care for those times as much as she liked to be alone. It was a necessary measure, on his part; if Marie was there, he could not forget that this was an exercise to help Joséphine secure the prince’s attention.

And she would secure his attention, of that Julien had no doubt. In the weeks since she first arrived, Joséphine had gone from innocent maiden to practiced seductress. Her charm lay in her demeanor, and the fact that though Julien had watched her perfect each of her techniques, the enthusiasm with which she performed kept her from appearing too schooled. If any man could be with her and not fall in love with her, well, that man was a fool.

In the evenings, they ate dinner together before retiring for the night. Although she still insisted that her virtue be preserved for her future husband, she had no reservations about letting Julien pleasure her with his hands and mouth.

During the day, they saw little of each other, owing to Joséphine’s lessons with Madame Brujon. In these, she excelled, as well. When Julien took her to court, she would blend in as seamlessly as though she had been born in the palace.

When. He knew the answer, but he did not want to face it. There was nothing left that he could teach her. The truth—that he wished to keep her for himself, all of her soft skin and warm smiles—was harder to face. There had been many nights that he would have been content to sleep beside her, burying his face in her golden curls and breathing in her scent. A few times, he had feared she would ask him to, and then they would both be lost.

It was time. He finished his breakfast and went to her room. She sat at the little vanity, already laced into her corset but otherwise nude, carefully patting her curls into place. She caught sight of him in the looking glass and smiled. “You’re early today. Couldn’t wait to see me again?”

He smiled back at her, but stopped himself from addressing her question. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

She turned, her large breasts spilling out of her corset with the motion. “I love your presents.”

Indeed, she did seem to. They’d spent one particularly pleasurable afternoon teasing each other with a peacock feather he’d brought her. He reached into his coat and produced a long strand of pearls.

Her eyes glittered with delight. “Julien, they’re beautiful.”

Oh, the way she said his name. It sent a rush of blood to his groin. “Let me help you put them on.”

She smiled and turned back to the mirror, lifting her hair expectantly.

“No, not there.” He gestured absently in her direction. “Spread your legs.”

The look she gave him told him that she knew whatever he had planned would be worth the suspense. She obediently did as she was told, revealing those tight golden curls that shielded her core. Spread before him, her flesh already glistened with wetness. Knowing that he inspired such lust in her was almost irresistible. He slid one finger over her enflamed nub and she shivered. He let that finger rest at her opening, listening as her breathing quickened. Her muscles spasmed as if trying to draw him in.

“How do you do this to me?” she asked, her eyes fluttering closed.

He pushed his finger in, just to the bottom of the nail. “What is that?”

She moaned and rolled her hips, but he did not press any further. “How do you make me want you so much?”

“Practice,” he answered, but he wondered if Philipe would bother to bring her to such an automatic response. Would he spend long, slow mornings pleasuring her? Or would he take his own pleasure and move on to the next willing woman?

Julien knew the answer, and he did not care for it. In fact, he was coming to dislike his friend more every day. But he had not promised Henrí that he would find true love for Joséphine. He’d promised to find her a husband, a prince if he could.

Putting such grim thoughts aside, he concentrated on Joséphine. He pressed his thumb against her bud and rolled it over and around, sliding more of his finger inside of her. She whispered his name and gripped the chair back. In the past weeks, he had come to know every sound she made, every clutch of her tight cunt, every writhe of her lush body. He would miss this. How he would miss this.

He withdrew his finger and held it up, so that Joséphine could look down as he looped the necklace around it. He coiled the pearls, one row after another, until only his fingertip showed above them.

“Julien?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He held the pearl-encircled finger to his lips, then slowly ran it up her thigh, letting the beads roll over her smooth ivory skin. Her breath hitched, her legs fell further apart. He trailed the pearls over her cleft, rubbing them between those soft petals until they shone glossy with her desire. Then he slipped his fingertip into her cunt once again.

She gasped as the first row of pearls slid into her tight hole, and she squirmed to take his finger deeper. He rocked the digit back and forth, allowing the pearls to roll over every sensitive ridge inside of her. He worked the column of beads deeper into her body, where her greedy flesh grasped at them, then slid his finger out, leaving them behind.

Her eyes, shut tight as she had neared her climax, flew open as she realized he no longer touched her. “What are you doing?”

He stood and reached for his coat. “I have some business in the village. It will keep me detained for some time.”

Mouth agape, she seemed unable to respond. Finally, she sputtered, “B-but what about—”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” He strode back to her and leaned down to take hold of the hooked clasp that dangled just outside of her entrance. He gave a tug, pulling a bit of the length out and up to slide over her own pearl. She had been so close to the edge that that was all it took; her legs trembled and the chair creaked as she held onto it, helpless to the throes of her release.

He waited a moment, so that she would have a clear head when he attached the hook to the lace at the bottom of her corset.

“What do you mean by this?” she asked, her cheeks still flushed and her eyes still glazed from her pleasure.

He tilted his head to eye his work. The pearls drew a tight line across her sensitive flesh. They would tease her all day there, and the beads inside of her would slip and roll with every step she took. “I mean for you to learn a very important lesson.”

“What lesson would that be?” She trailed one finger along the exposed beads.

Pulling on his jacket—he needed the physical reminder that he could not spend all day in this room with her—he winked. “I’ll tell you when you’ve learned it.”

* * * *

The thought of Joséphine’s torment distracted Julien all day while he made arrangements for their move to court. It was a welcome distraction, for the obvious reason and because he did not like to think that their time was about to come to an end.

You’ve gotten yourself in too far, he scolded himself as he rode back from the village. He couldn’t argue to the contrary. It was rare that he kept a companion longer than a few days, at most. His ill-fated love affair with Sybil had been an exception that had proven his personal rule. When one kept a woman around for too long, one ran the risk of growing somewhat fond of her.

The first stop he made in the village was to Marie. He gently rebuffed her suggestion that his visit was of a less than professional purpose. Though she was beautiful and very talented, he’d found himself desiring her less these days. It was the natural way of things in his world. Eventually, every woman grew less interesting to him. It seemed strange now to imagine that he would one day tire of Joséphine, as well. But didn’t it always feel that way?

With Marie’s help, he ordered a new wardrobe for Joséphine. He could have asked for her input, of course, but he wished to surprise her. Imagining the look of delight on her face when she opened her trunks and found glittering, sumptuous new dresses was almost as pleasing as imagining her squirming through her lessons with Madame Brujon today. It was less pleasing helping to design what she would wear to Philipe’s notorious birthday party. There was no doubt in Julien’s mind that the prince would single out Joséphine for his companion during that event.

“Julien, if I didn’t know better, I would say you don’t like the thought of this girl leaving you,” Marie cooed.

“I enjoy her, but I’ll enjoy other women,” he said, then quickly turned his attention back to the sketches Marie’s talented hands had produced.

After his business with Marie was completed, he visited the letter writer. Though he could read and write on his own, for correspondence he preferred the practiced letters drawn by a professional hand.

He paced the letter writer’s small stall as he dictated his travel plans, adding, “I will arrive in time for your birthday, and I will bring an appropriate present.”

“Shall I make sure this goes out on the next post then?” the letter writer asked.

If he sent the letter, that would make it final, wouldn’t it? Julien almost wished he could tell the man to forget he’d ever come. Instead, he said, “Yes. It is of the utmost importance.”

As much as he enjoyed Joséphine’s company, he owed it to Henrí to do what he had promised. Even more, he owed it to Joséphine to help her find her happiness.

Chapter Twelve

“Stop fidgeting!” Madame Brujon barked, and the slender reed she held cracked down on Joséphine’s red knuckles.

Joséphine swore under her breath. It was bad enough having to try and present a stoic face when she was constantly tormented by the pearls that rubbed against her aching bud and slid over and around themselves inside of her. Every now and again another bead would slip from her, and the sensation would cause her to bite her lip to stifle a moan. But she never came, and she feared that was what Julien had planned all along.

“Are you listening to me, girl?” Brujon slapped the reed on the table. It seemed that even the books on the table were terrified of her.

Taking a deep breath, trying desperately not to concentrate on the pearls pressed into her flesh, she nodded. “Yes, of course.”

But it was terribly difficult to pay attention when her cunt ached and her thighs were wet with the evidence of it. She desperately wanted Julien to return, to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs to her bed, where he would make her cry out with pleasure until her limbs were limp and her skin dewy with perspiration. She thought of how it would feel to have his magnificent cock inside of her, to feel the flex of his hips as he pounded her against the mattress.

Her cunt tightened around the pearls, and she gasped. Realizing that Brujon’s ever watchful eye was upon her, she feigned a sneeze.

“Very ladylike,” Brujon snapped. “Perhaps you’d like to wipe your snot on your sleeve.”

“Good afternoon.” At the sound of Julien’s voice, Joséphine’s heart leapt. It had a disconcerting habit of doing that every time he entered a room, but today, especially, it was happy to see him. Her heart and some other parts, of course.

“By all means, interrupt. Your protégée can’t manage to remember even one name of the house of LeBeau, so good luck when you get to court.” Brujon closed up her books with as much noise as possible, which was good, because as Joséphine stood to greet Julien another pearl slid from her and it took all of her control to gag her moan down to a pathetic mewl.