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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

Intrigued (34 page)

BOOK: Intrigued
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Jasmine particularly enjoyed the hunt, as she had not been on one in several years. She rode enthusiastically and gained the open admiration of her companions, who found it difficult to believe this beautiful woman was in her sixth decade, or so she claimed. Consequently, none of them but the sharp-eyed Montroi noticed that the king and Autumn were among the missing. As the comte knew his master was well acquainted with the forest about Chambord, he did not worry. Obviously the king had had enough of the sporting life today and had seduction in mind for an afternoon’s entertainment. Guy Claude rode on with the hunt.
“Where are we going?” Autumn asked the king when he leaned over and took her horse’s bridle in his gloved hand to direct it away from the others.
“There is a charming glade up ahead I thought you might enjoy seeing,” he answered her. “I know the way back to the chateau when it is time for us to return,
ma bijou.”
His warm brown eyes gazed directly at her, and then he chuckled at the look upon her face. “You are wet for me,
n’est-ce pas?”
he teased her. “I told you that you would be when I looked at you today.”
“You are very wicked, Louis,” she gently scolded him.
“You must trust me, Autumn,” he said. “I will never hurt you,
ma bijou.
Women are meant to be loved and cherished, not harmed.”
“Your words are most charming,” she replied, amazed that he could exert such control over her. “I suppose I must trust you, for it would seem I have no other choice.”
He grinned boyishly at her.
“Non, ma bijou,
you do not,” he agreed cheerfully.
Suddenly the forest about them opened slightly to reveal a small grassy clearing edged with a narrow brook on one side. The brook formed a little pool of dark water that tumbled over a small waterfall before going on its way again. They stopped and dismounted, allowing their horses to graze freely. The king spread out his cloak and invited Autumn to sit by his side.
“It is lovely,” she said as she joined him. “I would not have imagined such a delightful place in the midst of this thick forest. How did you ever find it?”
“I have visited here since I was a boy,” he told her. “Chambord was a royal residence. My father gave it to my uncle, in hopes that the renovations he wished to make to the chateau would keep him down in the country and out of trouble in Paris. It will revert back to me upon his death. Unfortunately, my Uncle Gaston found very competent artisans and workmen, not to mention an excellent foreman to oversee it all for him. Then he trotted back to Paris and enmeshed himself in all manner of political duplicity, intrigue, and schemes. I shall never forgive him for presuming to exile Mazarin, or the troubles he caused my mother after my father’s death. I might have died at his hands had it not been for Mama and Papa Jules.” The king stopped and flushed. Then he said gravely to Autumn, “You did not hear me address the cardinal in that manner,
ma bijou.
I will admit that, to my shame, I forgot myself for a moment with you. You are very easy to be with,
cherie.”
“I heard nothing I should not have, Louis,” Autumn reassured him.
Reaching out, he cupped her face in his hand. “You really are quite beautiful,
ma bijou.
I thought so the first day I saw you. I was quite heartbroken at the set-down you gave me,” he told her. Then, leaning forward, he kissed her softly, murmuring with pleasure as her lips softened beneath his and she kissed him back, easily engaging his lust for her. Pushing her back, he looked into her eyes again.
Once more Autumn flushed, feeling the dampness welling up between her legs. He smiled knowingly, pulling his gloves off and slipping a hand beneath her skirts to caress the inside of her thigh.
“Lift your skirts up for me,” he said. “I want to see the treasures you hide beneath them. Ah,” he sighed as the material raised revealed her slender legs encased in their knitted green stockings, held up by gold ribbon garters garnished with tiny cream-colored rosettes. Above the garters her thighs gleamed almost translucently, and at their junction a mound of dark, tightly bunched curls caught his eye. Her nether lips were slightly puffy and swollen. He could see in the dark curls the silver pearling of her juices.
The king groaned as if in genuine pain. “I promised myself,” he told her aloud, “that when I first took you it would be in a candlelit and flower-filled room. But alas! I cannot wait,
ma bijou.
Open yourself to me, my beautiful Autumn. I must have you now!”
“What if the hunt returns this way?” she said nervously, but she knew from the look in his eye that there would be no deterring him.
“They will not come this way again today,” the king said, and before she might protest further he quickly mounted her, freeing his manhood from his garments as he did so. He placed its tip at the mouth of her love channel and, leaning forward, kissed her again, but this time with genuine passion.
Autumn could feel the hot flesh actually throbbing against her. Her own body ached in response. Deliberately she spread herself even wider for him, wrapping her arms about him and crying out softly as he thrust himself forward and filled her. She was ashamed of her response, but she could not help it. How long had it been since she had enjoyed the attentions of a virile man who wanted her? No matter how she rationalized it, she was no better than a common whore, but she didn’t care any longer. She wanted him. She wanted his dark and furious lust for her. She wrapped her legs about him, encouraging him onward, and was quickly rewarded as his love juices flooded her. To her surprise her own hunger peaked almost immediately with his.
“Oh, your majesty!”
she murmured.
“Oh, madam, la marquise,”
he replied. “How delicious and how hot-blooded you are, much to my delight. Your passion is even more than I had dared to hope.”
“I have ruined my chapeau,” she told him, sighing at the two broken plumes.
“You shall have another, a dozen!” he promised, and then he leapt up, restoring his clothing to a more respectable state. “Come,
ma bijou,
we must leave this secret place of our first passion and return to the hunt, but tonight, madame, you shall come to my bed and we will continue this delight. I could take you again this minute, and I will, if you do not lower your skirts, you charming and bewitching beauty!” He bent and pulled the fabric down, covering her nakedness. Then he pulled her to her feet, and she swayed for a moment, quite dizzy.
“Wait but a moment,” she pleaded with him. “I am faint with your vigorous attentions, Louis.” She leaned against him, her head pressed against his shoulder, her eyes closed.
He put his arms about her and stood quietly, holding her, until at last she raised her head up and smiled at him. “You are divine,
ma bijou,”
he told her. Then he helped her mount her horse.
They caught up with the hunt just as a stag was being taken back to Chambord to be butchered and hung in the royal larder for a future meal. Several of the hunters had game birds slung across their saddles. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon. The air had become chill. It was decided to return to the chateau.
“I want a hot bath,” Autumn told her servants when she entered her bedchamber, flinging her gloves aside carelessly.
“What will madame wear tonight?” Lily asked her mistress.
“The garnet velvet,” Autumn replied. “God’s mercy, I am frozen to the bone! Build the fire up, Orane.”
“Making love in the open air on an October afternoon will do that,” Jasmine remarked, walking into her daughter’s chamber.
“And how was I to prevent it, Mama?” the younger woman replied. “He is the king, and for the moment I am his favored one.” She kicked the last of her petticoats aside and sat down so Orane might remove her boots. Then she climbed into the bed to await the footmen who would fill her tub.
Jasmine climbed in next to her daughter and Lily drew the bed curtains to allow mother and daughter their privacy, as well as shield them from the water bearers. “Is he a good lover?” Jasmine asked her daughter.
“I am not experienced enough in such knowledge that I can say, Mama,” Autumn primly answered her parent.
“Compared to your deceased husband, then?” Jasmine persisted.
“They are different,” Autumn noted, not bothering to elucidate further on the matter.
“How many times have you made love?”
“Once. This afternoon, Mama, and yes, I enjoyed it. I had forgotten how pleasant it is, but why did you not tell me that a woman can feel passion without being in love with the man? I was quite surprised to learn it, I can assure you. Such erudition makes me feel like a common whore. It is a difficult emotion to contain. I believed that enjoying passion was only possible with a man you loved. To learn otherwise, to find I can actually savor the king’s embraces . . .”
“It is frightening at first,
ma fille,
I will grant you,” Jasmine agreed. “When your father and I first made love, it was simply to gain pleasure and comfort from each other. Your Aunt Sybilla thought she was to be his wife. I had no interest in James Leslie, other than as a convenient lover of the moment.”
“Mama!”
Autumn was astounded.
“Do not look so shocked,” her mother said, half-laughing. “It is true. I hardly felt like a whore afterwards, nor should you. You didn’t seek the king out and enchant him by your wicked wiles with an eyes toward personal gain. Rather he has sought you out and demanded you for his own—temporarily, I will grant you, for he must wed a Catholic princess sooner than later. Now, answer me this,
ma fille:
Why did the king not make love to you last night? I am certain they all thought he would.”
“He said he thought I should be tired from our journey, and he wanted me to be well rested for today’s hunt,” Autumn answered.
“He is a more dangerous man than I anticipated,” Jasmine mused, “and he is so young yet. Cardinal Mazarin has taught him very well, indeed. He will not be a Henry Stuart, falling in love with you. Do not, I advise you, Autumn, fall in love with him. This king will break your heart, I fear, if you do.”
“I could not fall in love with him,” Autumn said. “While he is a charming man, I know he could not wed me, Mama. I suppose you are right when you say I will marry again one day. I had not thought it, but now I understand I may love again one day. Making love with the king has made me realize I like making love with a man, but I have not the temperament to be a mistress forever. I must have my own man, my own children, my own home, and live a country life. Louis cannot give me that.”
“The right man will appear at the right time,” Jasmine said. “Until then, Autumn, please the king, gain his favor, and when he tires of you, which he will, retain his friendship by sending him off with a kiss, a smile, and a blessing on his reign. Such elegant manners will delight him, for like his mother he appreciates a nicety of behavior. You will also gain the queen’s and the cardinal’s friendship by doing so.”
“You should have been a general, Mama, for you certainly know how to plan a campaign,” Autumn teased her mother.
“I take after my Mughal ancestors, great warriors all from Tamurlane and Chingis Khan to my great-grandfather, Babur, to my grandfather, Humayun, and my father, Akbar. Once my father said that I should have been a boy, and had I been he would have named me his successor. My mother hushed him, and he never said it again.”
“Do you ever wish you had remained in India?” Autumn asked.
“Never! My fate was here in the Western world, with Rowan Lindley and James Leslie,” came the positive reply. Then Jasmine changed the subject entirely. “What will you wear this evening?”
By the time the two women had thoroughly discussed the advantages of the garnet velvet gown and the rubies she would wear with it, Autumn’s bath was ready. Lily opened the curtains, and they climbed from the bed. Kissing her daughter on the cheek, Jasmine returned to her own chamber, which was located at the far end of the corridor. Orane helped her mistress finish disrobing, and then Autumn entered her tub, settling happily into the water even as the king entered the room through a little door in the silk-paneled wall. The two young maidservants cried out, surprised, but remembered their manners enough to curtsey.
“Shall I put a screen about the tub, madame?” Lily said boldly.
“I think not,” Autumn replied. “I believe the king has come to watch me bathe. Is that not so, sire? Bring his majesty a comfortable chair, Orane. Lily, some wine for the king, please.”
“I love your fragrance,” the king said, seating himself and accepting the goblet of wine from Lily. “Honeysuckle and woodbine, is it not? It radiates innocence,
ma bijou,
and is most exciting.”
“You have a good nose, sire. I quite like your violet scent,” she replied.
“It reminds me of the countryside in spring,” he said almost wistfully. “When I am in Paris I wear sandalwood or ambergris, which are more suitable to the surroundings there.” He drained the goblet and handed it back to Lily. Then he stood, knelt, and took the soft flannel cloth from the tub’s side. Soaping it, he began to wash her back. “Send your women away,” he said softly. “I want to make love to you, Autumn. I can barely contain myself after this afternoon!”
BOOK: Intrigued
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