Zoe Page 4

  He lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing a muscular chest and tanned, sculpted shoulders. A long, dark spiral of hair wound down the center of his chest to fan out just above the line of his low-slung pajama bottoms.

  She was intrigued. She’d seen shirtless men before but never as beautiful as him. She and Marianne were extremely sheltered. In private, they would giggle over what they thought certain men would look like unclothed.

  La Roque dropped his pants and Zoé’s eyes lowered with interest. Registering what she was seeing, her body’s most intimate spots warmed with desire. She felt her stomach tighten as she lifted her gaze back to his face.

  He grabbed her face and kissed her hard, their naked bodies bathed in the orange-yellow glow from the fireplace. He swept her up and carried her to his bed. She held on to him, her arms looped around his neck, kissing his face and eyelids, pained by a strange surge of affection that terrified her.

  He laid her lovingly on the dark spread and gazed down at her, at how her hair fanned out across the pillows. Looking up at him, she saw awe at her beauty reflected in his eyes.

  Zoé closed her eyes as he kissed her. She moaned as his tongue left her mouth to glide down her neck to her left breast. He circled her dark nipple for just a moment before the warmth of his mouth engulfed it, suckling. She gasped as a bolt of desire jolted her, causing her to moan in a voice she’d never heard before.

  He massaged her other breast, then worked his way toward her stomach before going even lower. Drunk with passion, she looked down at the top of his head as he slid his finger into her. She gripped the sheets, never having been touched this way by a man before.

  “Zoé,” his voice dropped in volume, but not passion.

  He began to work his finger, giving her more pleasure than she’d ever known before. What few doubts she might have still entertained disappeared in the waves of pleasure radiating from her loins. He was in deep now.

  Really deep.

  He put his face between her legs. She felt the tiny bristling hairs of his beard brush against her inner thighs and inhaled sharply. When his tongue started its exploration, she arched her back, crying out in ecstasy as he took her left leg and threw it over his shoulder to give him further access to her treasures.

  She tugged at the sheets, her breath coming quickly, while unfamiliar currents of pleasure rippled through her. She inched upward, crazy for relief from the way he made love to her with his tongue, but he held her hips in place as he kept going. His tongue penetrated her, and she shivered. His tongue traveled back upward, flicking at her. She froze, gripping the sheets tightly, unsure of his touch and his tongue and the continual currents that made her hips shake. His eyes lifted as hers opened and met his. She relaxed under his gaze, working her hips to the rhythm of his tongue out of sheer instinct.

  Blood rushed to her face, making her blush. As he sucked her, swallowing her juices, her body vibrated and the waves of pleasure mounted. Finally, she could hold it in no longer and gave vent to an explosive release with a cry. He quickly lifted up and brought his mouth to hers to silence her. She could taste herself on his tongue. It was exhilarating. She felt lightheaded.

  His face wet with her passion, he pulled her further under him and slid her legs apart with his knees. She wasn’t expecting what came next. He parted her lower lips, positioned himself against her and gave a strong thrust. Zoé squeezed her eyes shut. She winced at the sharp pain that cut through her pelvis. As he thrust again, she felt as though she was being ripped apart. All sense of pleasure was gone. She desperately wanted him to stop. In a panic, she struggled beneath him. She pushed and clawed at his shoulders, shaking her head. The pain was too much, and she wanted it to end.

  Instead of releasing her, he grabbed both of her wrists and held them above her head, pinning her down. Rotating his hips, he watched her toss her head from side to side.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  At first, she didn’t realize that he was speaking. Between the brandy and the pain, she was frightened and confused.

  “Please, no more,” she whimpered, tears welling in her eyes.

  He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Open your eyes,” he whispered, slowing the rotation of his hips, but still pressing deeper and deeper.

  She finally opened her eyes and gazed at him through her tears. He ran his tongue across her lips, and nibbled on them. As his long, silky hair brushed against her cheek, he smiled down at her.

  As he rammed his need in and out of her, she bit her lip so hard that she thought it would bleed, but she held on tight. At one point, she dug her nails into his soft skin, and he didn’t flinch. Turning his hips, he gave a mighty thrust. She felt something give way inside her, felt him slide in deep. The aching lessened, and as he rested his face in the curve of her neck, she felt what it meant to be truly desired.

  His desires.

  Now smiling and holding him to her, she opened herself to him. As he moaned with pleasure, she felt desired in ways she hadn’t known existed. Finally, she joined him in the lovers’ duet. Churning her hips, she matched his rhythmic dance, feeling the urgency of his love thrusts lessen. She began to enjoy how their bodies melded into one. No longer pained by his intrusion, she felt herself adjust and envelop his width. She was now a partner in their loving and gave as much as she took.

  “It’s all right,” he said in his deep, husky voice. “You are safe with me. Relax. Feel it, Zoé. Give in to it.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed. “You trust me, now? ” he asked.

  She gave a nod. He let go of her wrists and placed her arms around his neck. Then he began again.

  She sucked in her breath as he lifted her hips and pounded his hardness into her. As his pace quickened, the throbbing pain returned in waves. When he exploded inside of her, she knew that something monumental had transpired between them.

  Feeling him collapse on top of her, she sighed under his weight. He raised his head and looked into her eyes.

  “It is the beginning of our passion,” he said.

  She smiled. “I felt it deeply, too, mon seigneur— Gianelli.”

  He smiled back at her. “Would you like to stay with me? ”

  “What did you say? ”

  “Stay with me. If I speak to Madame Bouchard and ask for you, would you like to stay? ”

  Zoé felt her eyes well up with tears. “As your mistress? ” she asked, hoping that this was indeed not the case.

  He kissed her and released her from his intimate embrace. She winced at the pain. He then rolled over on his side, not bothering to look at her.

  “What’s wrong with that? ” he asked.

  She gave him an angry look and pushed herself up onto her elbows, her once tamed locks now wild around her head.

  “Would you ask Marianne to be your mistress? ” she snapped.

  He chuckled with dark amusement. “I wouldn’t ask Marianne anything. I don’t want her. I want you.”

  Zoé sat up now, glaring at him. The smirk on his face, as he lay there next to her, naked, said it all. The seduction now over, the harsh reality of her circumstances hammered her with an unforgiving force, each blow relaying the painful truth that La Roque would never see her as anything more than a conquest.

  Without another word, she got up and retrieved her clothes.

  “Zoé,” he said, watching her. “I’m not looking for a wife. My offer is not about your class or conception. It’s the only offer I would make to any woman.”

  Zoé dressed in silence. Primary among the emotions rushing through her was a deep sense of shame. She flushed miserably, trying to salvage some of her dignity. She spoke as much to comfort herself as to impress him.

  “Gianelli, I thank you for…” She looked at him on the bed, naked, still observing her. “For whatever this was, because as you said, the choice was mine. But I will never be anyone’s mistress.”

  She retrieved her candelabrum, gave him one last cold n
od and walked toward the door.

  “Zoé!” he called after her.

  She paused in the doorway, but refused to turn around, forcing him to speak to her back.

  “Reconsider,” he said. “You’re different now and I want you. My proposal may not be the one you hoped for but it is sincere.”

  She spun around and exploded in anger. “Want me, mon seigneur? You want me? Well, you’ve had your taste. Savor it. Remember it, for it shall be your last!”

  With that, she strode from his chambers, her back stiff and her eyes blinking hard to hold back the tears.

  2

  “Zoé? Zoé, wake up.” Marianne gently shook her sister’s shoulders, but Zoé continued to sleep. Marianne hurried to the window and pushed the draperies aside, allowing sunlight to pour into the room. Zoé turned over with a moan. Her spiral locks fell over her face, shading her from the bright light.

  “Up, up, up!” she said. She kissed Zoé on the cheek, and then shook her again.

  “What is it? ” Zoé mumbled, rubbing her eyes. Still groggy from her late night, she shuddered as she felt a painful throbbing in her head, proof that the night before had not been a dream. She opened her eyes, winced at the bright light and squinted at her sister’s face, hovering over her own.

  The sight of Marianne’s smile ushered in a greater sense of regret of the night’s events. In the daylight, yesterday’s bold deeds seemed so very foolish. She would pay dearly if anyone ever learned what she’d done.

  “It’s dawn,” Marianne said. “I spoke to Maman. I have wonderful news!”

  Zoé sat up slowly. “News? What news? ”

  “La Roque. He told her first thing this morning that he wants to discuss terms with Father. I think he wants to marry me!”

  She paled at the enormity of the news, then averted her eyes, lest they reveal her hurt. Marianne’s eyes gleamed like polished jade and her cheeks were flushed with joy. Her happiness was genuine and carefree, the complete opposite of Zoé’s own private heartache.

  “Marry you? Are you sure? ”

  “I’m positive! Maman is very excited. She woke me up to tell me. Father is to come immediately. Do you think he fell in love with me when he heard me sing? ”

  Zoé laid down on her pillow and stared at the ceiling. It was confirmed. What a fool she had been. She’d given away the most precious part of her to a man who was to be her sister’s husband. She had nothing to offer any suitor. When it was discovered that she was no longer a virgin, she would be cast aside. Why hadn’t she considered all of this before? Why hadn’t she held fast to her principles? Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Oh, Zoé,” Marianne said softly, touching her sister’s hand. “I know what I said before, about not listening to any proposals from him, but I do like him.”

  Zoé forced a smile. “It is wonderful news, Chérie. I am happy for you.”

  “Come! Get out of bed. We must dress and join everyone for breakfast!” She snatched the covers back and then, looking down, paused with a frown.

  Zoé followed Marianne’s gaze and was surprised as well. Her white gown was soiled. Small drops of dried blood stained the material between her legs.

  “What happened? Didn’t it start on last week? ” Marianne asked. The two girls’ cycles were like clockwork, always starting at around the same time.

  Zoé snatched the covers back. “I don’t know why it came back on. How strange!”

  Marianne touched Zoé’s forehead. “Are you feverish? Do you feel faint? ”

  “No, no, I’m well.” Despite her heartbreak, Zoé had to smile. Marianne was such a little nurse. “Honestly, I am well. Now, excuse me while I get dressed.”

  Marianne gave her another look of concern, and then shrugged. “Bien, but please hurry. I want you to come and help me with my curls. I need to look my very best for him. He will be in awe of my beauty,” she giggled.

  “I shall,” Zoé promised. “Now hurry. Go!”

  She watched her sister leave. As soon as the door closed, Zoé got up. She pulled back the covers. There was another circular stain on the mattress. She stared at it. Panic like she’d never known welled in her throat.

  If Madame saw this, she would know the truth instantly. Zoé snatched the sheets off the bed and tossed them to the floor. She took off her stained gown and dropped it to the floor as well. Trying to control her anxiety, she took another gown from her trunk and dressed hurriedly. She was in trouble. She felt faint and knew it was just her nerves. Next was the armoire. She found another set of sheets and quickly remade the bed. Panting, she bundled the stained sheets and gown into a ball, and looked about. Her trunks. She could hide everything there to dispose of later. She started toward them, but heard a knock at the door. Instead, she shoved the soiled linens under the bed, just as the door opened and Madame entered.

  “Zoé! What are you doing on the floor? ” Madame gasped.

  Zoé got up from her knees, offering an innocent smile. “Bonne matin, Madame. I was looking for my slippers.”

  “Well they’re right there,” she pointed, “at the foot of your bed.” Madame walked over and placed the back of her hand against Zoé’s forehead, which was now beaded with sweat. “Marianne told me you weren’t feeling well.”

  Zoé gritted her teeth. If only Marianne didn’t always run and tell everything. “Non. I was a bit faint this morning, but I am better now.”

  Madame sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Sit with me ma chère. We have certain affairs to discuss.”

  Zoé obeyed, icy fear twisting around her heart.

  “I know you and I have had our disappointments in the past. You do know that I’ve raised you since you were six years old, and I think of you as I do Marianne.”

  Zoé stared, knowing that was false. Madame was a substitute mother to her, but she was in no way considered her daughter. Her father’s torrid love affair with her mother was still whispered about on the streets of Narbonne. Madame was married into the Bouchard family after having been placed into Father’s life by Zoé’s cruel paternal grand-mère. Villagers often spoke of it being done to ensure that her son, who stood to inherit a great fortune, did not take his African mistress as his wife.

  After she’d given birth to their bastard capresse child, Zoé’s mother, Capucine, was forced to serve the woman who stole her lover. The suffering she endured under Madame’s reign ensured that Zoé would hate her forever. Her mother eventually died of a broken heart. Father promised Capucine that Zoé would be raised as his daughter, and he kept that promise.

  “Oui,” Zoé said, her head bowed, as the painful memory for her dead mother churned within her, like an old wound on a rainy day.

  Madame smiled at her and moved her thick black curls away from her face. “We are sending for your Father. He should be here within two days. Comte La Roque is ready to discuss the terms of his betrothal to Marianne. I want you to be very encouraging to Marianne. She is your sister, after all.”

  Disconcerted, Zoé crossed her arms and pointedly looked away. Why was Madame asking her to support Marianne? What did it matter to her what she thought? She met Madame’s cooling stare and realized that her stepmother was hiding something. The best way to handle Madame was with obedience, but they both knew that Zoé would not allow herself to be controlled.

  The door opened and a chambermaid entered, carrying two large pitchers of steamy water.

  Madame gave Zoé one last reminder to get dressed. “Breakfast shall be served soon.”

  Zoé watched her go and felt a sense of relief. Her bottom lip, however, acknowledged her anger and disappointment. She was hurt by La Roque’s seduction, and her devastation deepened at the knowledge that he wanted her sister over her. But the most painful was her own lack of control, for she wanted him even more.

  “Your bath is ready, mademoiselle,” said the maid.

  Zoé fixed her gaze on the ceiling and took a deep breath to still her racing heart as she got up. She went to the basin
and looked into the oval antique mirror hanging over it. She suspected that Madame and Marianne saw something in her, but didn’t know what it was. She was forever changed now. In the midst of her panic she stopped to smile at her image. She grabbed her long curly locks, pinned them up, and turned her face from side to side. She was indeed different and it was her secret. Hers, and Gianelli’s.

  EF La Roque entered his drawing room and looked up. Before him stood his college friend, Flynn Sheridan, gazing thoughtfully into the fireplace. They had attended the Sorbonne together, and then later fought side by side in what had come to be called the War of 1812. Sheridan was compelled to fight by family obligation and honor; La Roque lied about his age and joined for the camaraderie and adventure, and not least, because the fighting brought him well beyond the control of his overbearing father.

  The sulfuric smell of gunpowder and cannon blast echoed in his mind as La Roque recalled the fight to free the Americas of British tyranny. Though neither side officially won, the war did serve to make men of them both.

  “Well look what the trade winds blew in!” Sheridan turned around, smiling. “Bloody hell, if it isn’t the Count himself!”

  The two men gave each other a fraternal hug. It had been two years since they’d seen one another.

  “Your letters didn’t speak of a visit? How long is your stay? How was your voyage? ” La Roque spoke with barely contained excitement, patting Sheridan on the shoulder.

  “In a word, horrid. Many weeks at sea are enough to drive any man crazy. I’m starved for a hot bath and an even warmer woman.”

  Sheridan tossed his top hat to the couch and pulled off his gloves. Equal in height and build to La Roque, Sheridan’s brownish-blonde hair was cut short at the nape, leaving a head of curly locks and long sideburns. His eyes were dark and deeply set. Some saw in them an expression of wisdom that he used to his advantage. But others, colleagues and friends alike, saw the hardness and cruelty endemic to those who dealt in the slave trade and reveled in human suffering.