The Princess in His Bed (3 page)

“I like the finer things in life. Fine clothes. A fine château. Fine women.” Aimee de Miran was by far the finest he’d ever laid eyes on.

“How is this, my lord?” Laurent held before him a red justacorps.

Also bold. “I don’t think so.”

He was looking for something more understated. A quiet elegance. Just like Aimee.

“All this trouble for a tumble. Don’t think I don’t know you’re planning on seducing Aimee de Miran. And it’s about time, I say.” Chuckling, Robert crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Six years . . .
Dieu!
”

Adam placed his hands on his hips, cursing the night he’d gotten drunk last month and let it slip to Robert about his longtime fascination with their dead friend’s wife.

Ignoring Robert’s irksome remarks was easier than ignoring his own hardened cock—his body’s natural reaction to the mere thought of the lovely Comtesse de Gremont.

From the moment he’d met her, during her betrothal to Marc, she’d incited his libido. He’d spent a ridiculous amount of time famished for this woman.

Merde
. He could make no sense of this incessant, unbreakable pull to her. His desire for her plagued him. Haunted him. The longer it went on, the more it tormented him.

The stronger it got.

So she was beautiful, elegant, graceful, and intelligent. There were others who shared those qualities. So Marc had boasted that his wife was passionate and sensual and highly receptive to his husbandly rights—a woman who saw her marriage bed as enjoyable rather than as a duty. So what? There were other women who enjoyed sex.

He’d fucked scores of them.

Nothing he did got golden-eyed Aimee de Miran out of his head. Out of his system. Not time. Or women. He was tired of wanting her—and worse, comparing other women to her. It drove him to distraction.

Jésus-Christ
. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d bedded a woman when Aimee hadn’t intruded into his mind, where he didn’t fantasize it was her he was buried inside.

For the last six years, Adam had kept his distance from Marc’s beautiful wife for two reasons. First and foremost, Aimee was in love with her husband, and he never poached where real feelings were involved. Second, Marc was a friend—one who was completely undeserving of his wife’s affections. Marc knew full well he’d stirred her heart. He’d laughed about it and found it “adorable,” and without discretion of any kind, bedded every woman who crossed his path.

“What about the blue, my lord?”

Adam scrutinized the blue-gray justacorps held out before him.

It was of the finest cloth, yet not boastful. And a fine cut, too. “Perfect.”

“I think the lady will be most impressed, my lord.” Laurent smiled as he handed him the matching vest—Laurent’s usual statement whenever he sensed Adam had a new conquest in mind.

Adam slipped on his vest. “Do you now, Laurent?”

“I think you overestimate your charm.” Adam could hear the humor in Robert’s tone.

He glanced at Robert. “I think you should leave the lady to me and concern yourself with the King, and whether or not he’ll approve of our drawings and ideas.” Adam slipped on the justacorps with Laurent’s assistance.

A member of the Royal Academy of Sciences, he was recognized for his engineering expertise. Over the years, Adam had worked on a number of projects for the crown—the fortification of strongholds in case of attack. Now with the country at peace, at least for the time being, Louis had turned his attention to his prized palace. Versailles. Unhappy with the water pressure of his fountains, His Majesty had asked Adam to offer a solution to rectify the deficiency the original engineers had produced.

Robert stood and walked over to him, grinning. “It’s far more fun watching Adam de Vey fail for the first time with a woman.” He placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “In all seriousness, the lady doesn’t much care for either of us. Marc broke her heart. She sees us as being no different from her late husband.”

That much he knew.

But Adam wasn’t looking for her love. Or to replace Marc in her heart, if he was still there. He was looking for a few hours of shared carnal pleasure. He simply wanted to, no—had to—put an end to this inexplicable mental and physical torment. And there was only one way to kill the longing—and that was to have Aimee every which way he could to sate his lust for her.

Success hinged on his ability to stay focused. Patient. Unfortunately, just as Robert stated, she disliked him.

“I’ll succeed,” Adam said.

Robert lifted a dark brow. “You’re that confident?”

“I am.”

A slight smile lifted the corner of Robert’s mouth. “Oh, I can’t wait to see this. I predict she’ll run the other way each time you draw near.”

A realistic prediction.

For his sanity’s sake, he had to succeed. He couldn’t fail. He
would
best her in this cat-and-mouse game they were about to play. Beautiful, passionate Aimee hadn’t had a lover since her Marc’s death. He’d left his wife at their country château while he’d carried on with his favorite mistress in the city, and hadn’t been anywhere near her for months prior to his fatal duel. In short, she hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

And she was ripe for the taking.

Adam was going to use her passionate nature to his advantage.

2

“Well? Is that the blue justacorps he wore when you dropped the ring?” Aimee asked, her eyes fixed on Adam’s tall sculpted form.

In the gardens of Versailles, scores of courtiers stood about, lords and ladies murmuring among themselves. The violinists that followed the King around the gardens all day stood still, but continued to play. Having motioned everyone back, His Majesty had wanted only Adam de Vey and Robert de Senville near. The three men were at the Dragon Fountain in deep discussion, His Majesty listening intently to Adam’s comments.

Unable to stop herself, she took in his broad shoulders, his handsome profile. As the King demanded of all men at court, Adam wore his periwig, but underneath, Aimee knew he had dark hair that matched his dark velvety eyes. Away from court, the periwig was nowhere to be found. His hair was always long, loose, and as appealing as the rest of him. Despite the man’s lascivious character, he was beautiful beyond belief.

Highly attractive men with disarming charm were the very bane of a woman’s existence. A wicked promise always shone in their eyes. It drew women, despite their better judgment. Aimee understood the allure well. She’d been one of those women. She’d allowed herself to be drawn in by Marc in the same helpless, pathetic way. She should have limited her husband to her body, yet she’d foolishly relinquished her heart as well.

Louise had her head tilted to one side studying Adam when Aimee finally dragged her gaze away from him.

“Well?” Aimee prompted.

“I’m not sure . . .” her cousin said. “It could be.”

“Louise, that answer is no help at all.”

“I’m sorry. It’s difficult to remember!” Louise looked about. “Do you see Renault? Is he here? Is he with his mistress?”

“Stop looking for him,” Aimee cautioned and added sotto voce, “Until we locate the ring, you’re to keep your distance.” Hopefully, Renault would keep his. For his years of loyal service, the man thankfully had two rings from the King. According to Louise, his finger was always adorned with one. Aimee was fairly confident he hadn’t noticed his other was missing—yet.

Just then, the King began to walk, a signal for others to follow. He moved away from Adam, Robert, and the fountain, out toward the east side of the vast gardens.

Adam, who had been speaking to Robert, looked past his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers. A slight smile raised the corner of his sensuous mouth, and he gave her a nod.

Aimee’s stomach fluttered. A ludicrous reaction that took her by surprise. A reaction that dismayed her. One she wasn’t going to repeat.

“Oh, my . . . Adam is looking this way.” Louise pointed out the obvious.

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, what should we do?”

Aimee returned his smile and nod. She thought something akin to surprise flashed in his eyes, but it was so quick, she couldn’t be certain. “If I’m going to do this, I might as well start now.”

Feed into his conceit—that every woman is interested in him. Be bold
. And if luck was on her side, locate the ring in the pocket of the very justacorps he was wearing. Out of mourning, she’d make him believe she was a lonely widow, looking for a lover. The fact that she really was a lonely widow who could truly use a lover should only make her performance easier. No?

As the crowd thinned down to a few stragglers, Aimee marched straight up to her late husband’s notoriously rakish friends, Louise quickly on her heels.

Stopping before them, Aimee heard Robert saying, “She’s not going to come over—” He choked back his words when he noticed her.

“Good day, Madame de Gremont.” Robert quickly stepped forward with an instant smile and, taking her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckle. Aimee returned his greeting, then turned to Adam.

He stepped into Robert’s spot and took her hand. “Good day, Aimee.” His familiarity momentarily unbalanced her. He’d never addressed her so informally. The way he’d said her name—a low sensual sound—caused yet another flutter in her belly.

Adam took her hand, but didn’t kiss it immediately, like Robert. Instead, holding her gaze, he grazed his thumb across the back of her hand so lightly, it sent tiny tingles up her arm.

With his eyes locked to hers, he bent and pressed his warm mouth to her hand, sending her pulse racing, her thoughts scattering. His lips lingered for a moment longer than was necessary before he stepped back and released her hand.

Realizing it had fallen agape, she clamped her mouth shut.
Good God, there’s no doubt about it; he is trying to seduce you
. And heaven help her, he was far too good at this. Even better at unraveling a woman than Marc had been
.
A mere touch had had the most unsettling effect. Worse, the look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he’d done to her insides.

Aimee managed to force out a greeting, mentally cringing over how awkward she sounded.

Adam moved to Louise, who had been greeted already by Robert, and offered his own greeting. One that was completely proper and entirely different from the one he’d offered her.

Chastising herself for her responses to him, Aimee took a deep breath and returned her smile to her face.

“It is good to see you, gentlemen,” she said, her voice thankfully belying her disquiet. “I wondered if you would be so kind as to be our escorts through the gardens?” She looked pointedly at Adam. “My cousin and I would be most appreciative.” The crowd of courtiers was well ahead.

He smiled and offered his arm. “It would be my pleasure.”

Taking Adam’s arm, she walked along, trying not to notice the muscle and sinew under her hand that was entirely too easy to detect, even through his clothing. Or how his strong hard body moved with the most beguiling masculine grace.

Her traitorous body began to warm.

With her cousin and Robert walking behind, Aimee tried to think of something to say. A topic of conversation, any distraction at all that would take her mind off the mounting heat rushing through her system.

“You look lovely, Aimee. Blue is most becoming on you,” he said, his dark gaze dropping ever so briefly to her décolletage. Her nipples hardened.

Oh God
. Much to her mortification, Aimee felt a blush coming on. She hadn’t blushed in years.

You haven’t had a man in years either
.
Compose yourself!

“Thank you. It’s my favorite color,” she lied. “I love to wear it. I love to see others wear it, too. Any shade, really. It draws my eyes to them immediately.” Excellent recovery. Since he was trying to bed her, he’d definitely wear what pleased her.

What would please her immensely would be to locate the ring and end this quickly.

His smile broadened. “Really. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He had an incredible smile. Quite perfect, actually.

“I must say it was a pleasant surprise to see you approach,” he continued. “I didn’t think you cared much for me or Robert.”

Perhaps she’d been too bold in approaching him. Perhaps she should have waited for him to approach her. The last thing she wanted was to raise his suspicions—that she was up to something.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Gravel crunched under her feet as they moved along the path. “I didn’t realize I gave you that impression. It was not my intention, Monsieur de—”

“Adam,” he interjected. “Simply Adam. No need for titles, Aimee. We’ve known each other a long time.”

Mostly from afar—and by reputation. She’d heard more than one woman atwitter about gorgeous Adam de Vey and his wickedly delicious carnal talents. Her husband’s friends didn’t visit the château. She only saw them when she was in the city, and since Marc’s death, she’d tried to avoid them whenever possible.