Zoe Page 3

  “I think that you are the most captivating woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. He put two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him once more. Her eyes met his. An openly sensual light passed between them. She knew she was in danger, but she didn’t know how to respond. On several occasions during their travels, she had encountered gentlemen who made unwanted advances. Not once had those men or their offers affected her. But La Roque was different. He understood her love of poems because he shared it, too. She sensed he shared in her feelings of loss as well.

  “What is it that you want, mon seigneur?”

  “We scarcely know one another, but I feel somehow we do. I want to know if that’s true.”

  He touched her long curly hair and twirled a lock in between his fingers. She drew back and the silken curl slipped from his hand. His words confused and captivated her.

  “If your wish is to know me, then you should speak with Madame.”

  She took a step to pass him, and he took a step to block her.

  “You are a lady, aren’t you? ” he asked.

  “Please. Let me go, mon seigneur.” After a moment, she added, “Je vous mendie.” I’m begging you.

  “Victor Hugo’s words from his pen, just in the other room—” he looked back at the door then to her “— it shall only take a moment. No one shall be the wiser.”

  Her eyes searched his. Dare she trust him? She swallowed. When would she ever be able to see the fresh writings of a poet so grand? If Father found out, he would kill her, and Madame… She had no idea what Madame would do, but the thought of flouting her stepmother’s precious rules and regulations emboldened her. She felt more confident under his desires, and decided she could handle herself very well.

  She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze. “Bien. Just for a moment.”

  La Roque ushered her into his chamber through an adjoining suite, where an ebbing yellow glow from the flames of wall-mounted candles tossed shadows around the furnishings. She paused just past the threshold to his boudoir, taken aback by the opulence of it all. It was a lush mixture of gold and silver, brocade and velvet, with trompe l’oeil overhead and priceless carpeting beneath. It was also chilly, however, the fire in the fireplace having gone out. She gave a little shiver.

  “Come,” he said, and started toward two closed doors on the far side of the room.

  “Where? ”

  He gave her a little smile, and then took her by the elbow.

  “You’ll find it warmer in here,” he said and threw open the doors to his inner chamber.

  She hoped his comment referred to the temperature of the room and not to any intentions toward her.

  This room was warmer. A fire crackled in the fireplace, radiating a seductive welcome. The dancing flames cast the room with a soft orange glow.

  She couldn’t help but notice the canopied bed. It was large and high, fit for a king. Carvings of braided swirls curling upward decorated its four thick posts. Heavy drapes hung from the canopy of the bed and were tied around each post. Atop the thick mattress was a matching crimson quilted counterpane; large pillows were tossed about.

  Zoé moved through the masculine room with an outer show of confidence. She turned with a start when the door closed behind her. “The Victor Hugo, mon seigneur? ”

  La Roque’s gaze roved and appraised her lazily. He was disturbing to her in every way, for one moment she understood him, then the next she feared him. When his jeweled eyes lifted back to her face he gave her a nod and looked beyond her. Zoé turned to find a book turned downward with reading glasses on top. Lowering the one she held on to, she approached.

  It was a first edition with simple binding. She picked it up and laid the Nouvelles Odes on the table in its place. From behind her she heard his soft yet determined approach. She ignored the heat she felt when he towered over her. He reached around her and took the book from her hands, brushing her fingers, and turning the page. She was now in the center of his arms with him peering over her shoulder.

  “Here—” he said, stopping on the handwritten passage. “Here he speaks.”

  Zoé dropped her eyes to the pages, enthralled. La Roque smiled slyly at the fresh amazement he saw on her face, from the corner of his eye.

  “Be like the bird that, passing on her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings,” La Roque read aloud.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered, wanting to touch the pages.

  “Indeed.” His voice was deep and sensual, sending a ripple of awareness through her. She was in his lair, on his turf, and she’d come willingly. The book closed, and she cleared her throat. She tightened her robe and folded her arms in front of her to push his arms open. He stepped back politely. Now forced to turn, she did so while taking a step back. Zoé eyed the door. He stood between her and the only possible avenue of escape. La Roque walked away with the book in his hand. She watched as he went to his bar, which lay concealed behind a wooden cabinet.

  “I liked the song you sang tonight. What’s it called? ”

  “L’Hymne à l’Amour,” she said picking up the book he’d given her, and preparing to take her leave.

  La Roque filled two snifters with brandy. “Do you have any other hidden talents? She shook her head no. He walked over to her and handed her a drink, which she blushed and accepted, despite her inner warning voice. “None that I care to share with you tonight.”

  He laughed and raised his glass.

  She also raised hers and sipped the smooth liquid. It was strong, much stronger than anything she’d ever had before, but she took a good swallow and tried not to grimace at how it burned going down. Seconds later, she was astounded to feel a spreading sensation of internal warmth.

  “Would this be your first time, mademoiselle?”

  Shocked at his boldness, she could only utter one word: “Quoi?” What?

  “Your first time… drinking brandy, I mean.”

  Relieved, she wondered if he were playing with her. “Oui,” she said. “It’s my… my first time.”

  “Then I am honored.” He gave a little bow and continued. “It is very important, of course, that your first time be a memorable occasion.”

  Now, she was certain that he was mocking her.

  He gestured for her to sit on the banquette next to the fireplace. She glanced at it. Ah, she knew this game. He would sit next to her, try to pressure her. She eased down on the seat, perched on its edge, prepared to spring up should he make advances.

  With an amused smile, he took a seat in the brocaded armchair across from her. He observed her tranquilly.

  “You are very beautiful, you know, especially here, in the light of the fire. It makes your skin glow.”

  He spoke in a friendly, neutral tone, as though his words were simply those of someone making an observation. She offered no reply.

  He continued. “You are not afraid, I hope, that I would try to take advantage of you, in any way? ”

  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. All evening she met his gaze, openly challenging him, but now it was only when she focused her eyes on the flames that she found the courage to speak.

  “Why did you invite me here? ” she whispered. “En vérité?” In truth?

  “Yes, please. En vérité.” She forced herself to look at him.

  “Because ever since you arrived, I have been dying to know how your lips would taste, what the touch of your skin would feel like.”

  She was appalled to feel an inner surge of answering desire. She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not in the habit of responding in such a manner to strangers.”

  “But we are far from strangers, mademoiselle. You are a guest in my home, in my chamber, by the fire, sharing a brandy with me.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. He was right, and yet so very wrong. This was not how it looked. But propriety was about appearance. M
easured so, this was indeed a very improper situation. She had accepted a forbidden invitation. What had she been thinking? It wasn’t only the prospect of seeing the Victor Hugo that convinced her to enter. It was the glimpse at his soul. He shared something with her, something she understood. That kinship drew her like a moth to his flame.

  She drank the rest of her brandy too quickly, and felt it rush to her head. She just wanted to escape before things got too far out of hand.

  Seeing her gulp down the dark liquid, he chuckled. “I hope I don’t make you nervous.”

  “I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I shall not be swayed from my principles.”

  She got to her feet and he did, too.

  “You know, I admire you,” he said, “for your courage in resisting me. But we both know your lot in life.”

  Despite the warmth of the fire, she felt a chill. “Do you intend to force me? Is that your kind of courage? ”

  “I could. No one would question me on the matter.”

  She started to retort.

  “But,” he added, “I rather enjoy the chase.”

  He set his snifter on the little table next to his chair and went to her. She fell back a step, unsure of what to expect. She braced herself for a rough touch, but all he did was remove her brandy glass and place it on the fireplace mantle.

  “Since you’ve been bold enough to enter my room, you could at least grant a man his parting wish.” He took her hand. “One taste, one small taste, and I promise to bid you goodnight.”

  Zoé looked down at his hand touching hers. How did she get here? Her heart pounded and she breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly. She had never kissed or been kissed by a man on the mouth. She only exchanged polite pecks on the cheek with her father in greeting.

  “I’m very curious about what’s under this robe,” he said.

  Before she could object, he untied the sash and her robe fell open. With a gasp, she pulled the robe shut, but too late. From the blazing blue heat of his gaze, she knew that he saw her dark nipples peeking through the delicate fabric of her virginal white gown, and perceived the contours of her body underneath.

  “I must go,” she said.

  “No, don’t.”

  She tried to step around him. As before, he blocked her.

  “Haven’t you ever desired something so badly that you would do anything just to have it? ” he asked, moving her hair from her shoulder to her back.

  “No.”

  “Let me kiss you, and you shall.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Let me show you the pleasures you hide from.”

  Looking into his eyes, then his face, taking him in and urged on by the effects of the brandy, she touched the silky hair that fell around his shoulders. The brandy, the flames, his presence and his desire: it was all so very intoxicating. Her heart raced as she felt his hand slide down her hip.

  And now she was truly afraid – not just of his desire, but her own. He ignited an inner ember she was barely aware of. He turned a spark into a flame. She was deeply aware of her own longing. For one intense moment, she wished they weren’t bound by principles and etiquette. Then she caught herself and knew she was in grave danger.

  She drew her hand back, feeling betrayed and trapped by her own weakness, a weakness unleashed by the brandy, and seduced by the idea that this man of privilege, of noble birth and lineage, this man who could have any woman he wanted, actually wanted her.

  He smiled at her confusion and pulled her into his arms. “You bewitch me,” he whispered and gently bit down on her lower lip.

  “Mon seigneur, we can’t.” She willed herself to be strong, to see him for who he was, to not give in to his advances. There was still time to escape.

  He slid his hand around her delicate throat, lifting her chin with his thumb, causing her hair to fall down her back. Closing her eyelids, she felt the warmth of his breath as he brought his face close to hers. Never had a man touched her so intimately. His hold was firm yet tender, direct yet deceptive, inviting yet frightening.

  Her body responded with a mind of its own. She moved forward into his embrace, becoming entangled in his web of deceit. She felt his hand at the back of her waist and was surprised at his strength as he pressed her still closer, crushing her breasts against his chest. Beneath the brandy on his breath, she could smell his desire, and feel the stirrings of something strong and demanding against her thighs. Her fingers slipped from the front of her robe. He parted the folds and eased his hand inside.

  This was all so unreal. It must be happening to someone else. She lost all sense of reason and fearful restraint. She sighed, her eyelids heavy with passion, deaf to the warnings screaming in her mind. A price was to be paid for the kind of crime she was about to commit, and it was high, very high, but at that moment, she didn’t care.

  His mouth brushed against hers, and then increased its pressure. His tongue licked her lips before demanding entrance. Instinctively she obeyed, allowing him inside. Her eyes widened at his taste, but then slid closed again as his tongue probed and took control.

  This man threatened it all: her virtue, her sensibility, everything, as he dominated their kiss, forcing her to follow his lead. Tasting the brandy on his lips and smelling the spicy aroma from his pipe, Zoé lost all sense of etiquette and breeding. She put her arms around his neck and began to kiss him back.

  His kiss became something she didn’t understand, going deeper and further than she intended. She held on tightly for fear of slipping away. He placed a hand on her hip and pressed her against him. The powerful pressure against her thigh alarmed her without her fully understanding why.

  She pushed herself away, but he pulled her back. Before she fully realized what was happening, he’d slipped the robe from her shoulders. It lay in a heap at her feet and the only material between her and him was a thin layer of silk. Stunned, she fought harder and broke free.

  “We must stop this! I can’t!” she cried. Part of her wanted to experience every inch of what he promised to bring, the other remained terrified by her circumstances.

  “You can and you shall,” he said, snatching her back to him. He lightly cupped one breast and gave it a light, exploratory squeeze.

  “Non!” She wrenched herself away and grabbed up her robe.

  He caught her by the arm. “I’m sorry, but something has taken hold of me. It’s so strong, I can’t… I can’t let you leave. You must feel it, too.”

  “Je vous en prie. Please, let me go.”

  “Relax. What do you feel? Tell me.”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t proper and you—”

  “No one’s here. It’s just you and me. What happens to us now will shape our lives. Can’t you feel it? Don’t you want it? ”

  She turned him no answer. She would lose this battle and she knew it. No matter what she did, she would lose. If she managed to escape, she would lose. And if she didn’t…

  He fingered the ribbons holding together the neckline of her gown, and then gave them a little tug. The flaps of her gown slid open, revealing her breasts to him. For a moment, he simply gazed at them, and then, to her surprise, he took hold of her right breast, lowered his mouth to it and gently suckled. The touch of his lips sent a jolt of heat through her, one that penetrated her loins. Without realizing it, she gave a little groan, and the hands that had pounded at his chest in resistance now gripped him. He released her breast and regarded it with affection.

  “There, you see how she peeks out at me? She wants me.”

  Zoé looked down to see how erect her nipple had become.

  “Whereas in my past dalliances I needn’t ask, tonight I will. May I have you? ” he asked in a husky whisper.

  “Quoi?” she said, surprised and confused. After all this, was he really asking her permission? Did he think her foolish enough to believe that it mattered?

  “You heard me, mademoiselle. I want to hear you say it. You have a voice when you are with me. Forget what’s exp
ected and tell me your wishes. May I have you? ”

  She struggled with an answer. For looking into his eyes, he didn’t appear insincere. On the contrary, his wild sapphire eyes mirrored a secret longing that she too felt inside. To be heard and seen for who they were, not what they were. Was it crazy to believe that a man of his position had such desires? Maybe. But he was so compelling, his magnetism so potent, she’d believe anything.

  “Come now,” he said. “It’s not that hard to speak for yourself, is it? ”

  Looking away into the fire, she thought about her lot in life. She wasn’t Marianne. He wouldn’t have dared be this brazen with Marianne. But he wanted her, and that made her feel special. She had little control over her life and saw that someday Madame would pass her off to some foreign suitor. Several unappealing men had already made sizeable offers for her. Her father had turned them all down, but one day Madame would win out. No matter how much he resisted, it would happen.

  At least, this monsieur was appealing. And he was giving her a choice.

  She recalled her promise to Marianne, recalled too that Marianne had forced it just so she could have him all to herself. No, she was not compelled to honor such a promise. For once, she could make a decision based on her own needs and not what was expected of her.

  Her gaze, clouded by the effects of the brandy, returned to La Roque.

  “Comte La Roque—”

  He kissed her again, this time gently. “Gianelli,” he whispered. “You shall call me Gianelli.” Zoé’s nose wrinkled at the request, uncertain of the origin of the pet-name. But he only shared that same secretive smile, the one that spoke to her heart and not her mind. “And after tonight, I shall call you Zoé.”

  It was in this simple statement that Zoé found hope that her life was really about to change, and in his kiss that she put her faith. Returning his passion this time, she felt more in control of the kiss.

  She felt his hands travel to the sides of her nightgown and gather up the thin fabric with his fingers. She held her breath as he raised the gown above her hips and drew it over her head. He stepped back to look at her body and she felt tempted to cover herself with her hands. Instead, she stood there bravely, her breathing shallow and wondering what to do next, as he took in every swell and curve.