By Honor Bound (10 page)

A brief glance in Olivia’s direction confirmed what she suspected. A cruel smile twitched at the corners of the girl’s mouth. But Honneure was not afraid of the dogs.

Speaking softly, eyes averted, Honneure crouched. She patted her hand lightly on the parquet floor and coaxed the little dogs to come to her.

The Boxer stopped growling. One small dog stretched its neck, sniffing, then launched itself into Honneure’s lap. The other three quickly followed. Though remaining aloof, the Boxer wagged his stubby tail.

Trying to pet all four at once, Honneure looked back at Olivia and smiled. “Will you tell me their names?”

The unpleasant smile had faded, and the girl reminded Honneure of a spoiled child whose malicious prank had just been foiled. Grudgingly Olivia pronounced the animals’ names, and Honneure thanked her.

“I’m merely doing as I was told,” Olivia replied coolly. “I’ve shown you to your room. Those”—she pointed at the dogs—“are your duty. If you need to know anything else, ask Madame Campan.”

Honneure rose as Olivia turned to go. “Wait.”

Olivia looked slowly back over her shoulder. She did not speak but merely raised one black brow.

“Why do you dislike me?” Honneure inquired evenly. “We met only moments ago. You don’t even know me.”

Olivia felt her breath quicken as a disagreeable emotion gathered in her breast. She stared for a long, hard moment at the woman Philippe called his sister.

She was beautiful, lissome, and perfectly proportioned. Streaks of gold highlighted her honey-colored hair. Her remarkable eyes were the cast of clouds before a storm. And she was not related to Philippe by blood at all.

“I know
of
you,” Olivia said at last. “From Philippe.”

The growing unease caused by Olivia’s inexplicably chilly manner evaporated. Honneure’s heart leaped. “You know Philippe?” she said eagerly.

“Of course I know Philippe.” Olivia felt her smile return unbidden. “I know him very well.”

The disquiet returned in an instant. What did that vaguely sinister smile mean? Why did nausea suddenly gnaw at the pit of her stomach? Honneure had no time to find out.

There was a commotion in the outer rooms. Honneure heard voices and a bright, tinkling laugh.

“The dauphine has returned,” Olivia announced shortly and hurried from the chamber.

From Madame Dupin’s many tales of the Court and its royal inhabitants, Honneure felt she had come to know the princess at least a little. She had been prepared to meet a sweet, innocent girl some three years younger than herself. She had not at all expected to meet one of the kindest, merriest souls she had ever known.

Introductions were informal with the small dogs barking and leaping about. Madame Dupin smiled fondly as Antoinette laughed, and Madame Campan looked disapproving as Honneure suspected she usually did. Olivia stood sulkily in a corner of the salon, and for a while Honneure was able to forget about her completely.

“I’m so glad they like you,” Antoinette exclaimed as one little dog after another bounded into her lap, then jumped down and hurled itself at Honneure, who knelt. Even the Boxer, Baron, left his mistress’s side briefly to give Honneure a sloppy but entirely welcome lick on the cheek. “You do like her, don’t you, my babies?” The princess kissed the crown of one tiny head.

“I’m very grateful to you, dear friend,” the dauphine continued. She took Madame Dupin’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for bringing this lovely girl. My precious pets will be very happy, and therefore so shall I.”

“Your happiness is all any of us desire. Though I will miss her, I am glad to share Honneure with Your Majesty,” Madame Dupin replied formally, as she always did when they were not alone.

“Even Olivia will be happy, I think.” Antoinette glanced in Olivia’s direction and flashed a smile. “As conscientious as you were, taking care of my babies was not your favorite task, I fear.”

Realization bloomed in Honneure’s breast as Olivia murmured a polite, if insincere, reply. She had taken the girl’s job, even her sleeping chamber within the royal apartments. No wonder Olivia regarded her so darkly!

Several minutes passed as Antoinette played with her dogs and chatted with Madame Dupin. Then abruptly the princess returned her attention to Honneure.

“Mercy, I nearly forgot. You’ll want to see your brother, Philippe, won’t you? I am
so
fond of him. I don’t believe there is a better horseman in the royal stables.”

Honneure ducked her head, flushed with pleasure. “Your Majesty is too kind.”

“I am simply honest. And the hour is late. You’ll be growing hungry, I expect, and anxious to see Philippe. Olivia?”

The dark-haired girl moved swiftly to the dauphine’s side and curtsied.

“Take Honneure to the
Grand Commun.
Madame Campan, please take the dogs.”

The meeting was over. Feeling proud and a little giddy, Honneure turned to follow Olivia. Madame Dupin hastily touched her cheek.

“Bless you, my dear,” she whispered. “Give my love to Philippe.”

Honneure smiled and hurried in Olivia’s wake.

It was a silent walk back the way Honneure had come a scant hour before. But she was no less awed. The splendor of the huge chambers, fabulous works of art, and furnishings was almost overwhelming. Not until they were midway down the grand marble staircase did Honneure remember how she had displaced Olivia. Honneure wanted to say something, but Olivia’s rigid back and swift steps didn’t seem to invite conversation.

The silence reigned until they had left the château and stood in the Marble Court. Dusk lay softly on the grounds, and the figures moving to and fro were indistinct. Many seemed to be headed toward the
Grand Commun,
a handsome building of stone and brick built within the right angle formed by the north wing of the château and the ministers’ wing. A delicious aroma of roasted meat drifted on the evening air. Honneure paused.

“That smells so good, and I’m so hungry.” Unconsciously, she pressed a hand to her empty stomach.

Olivia whirled. “I’m
taking
you to dinner.”

Honneure recoiled. “I … I’m sorry, Olivia.”

The girl merely stared. The elation caused by the wonders of the day rapidly ebbed, and Honneure was suddenly weary. Weary, intimidated by Olivia’s bristling hostility, and feeling very much alone in a huge and alien place. She wanted only to see Philippe now, to feel his strong and comforting arms around her. But first she had to at least try to make peace with Olivia.

“Olivia, I … I realize you used to take care of the dauphine’s dogs. And the room was undoubtedly yours as well. I didn’t mean to put you out. I’m so sorry if my coming has caused you inconvenience or unhappiness. It certainly wasn’t my intention. Please, please accept my apology, and let us be friends.”

Olivia remained impassive. “Actually,” she said at last, slowly and deliberately, “you may have done me a service. Having a chamber in the princess’s apartments was confining. I shall have a great deal more freedom in the commune. Or, should I say,
Philippe
and I will have more freedom. No one will notice or care how much time we spend together.”

Honneure felt as if someone had just dealt her a blow. She found it difficult to catch her breath. “You … and Philippe?” she breathed when she was able to find her voice.

Olivia smiled. So. It was as she had suspected … and feared. But she had already wounded Honneure. Now she would move in for the kill.

“Yes. Me and Philippe. Even though you are his …
sister
… you must admit how handsome he is, how charming. How sexy.” Arms crossed over her breast, Olivia hugged her shoulders and shivered as if remembering an embrace. Her eyes were heavy-lidded.

Honneure couldn’t respond. She felt numb and sick.

“So, you see, you have actually done us a favor, Honneure,” Olivia drawled in a tone dripping poisoned honey. “Now finally we have a place where we can be … alone.”

Honneure was afraid if she didn’t do something, anything, she would be sick. Where was Philippe? She had to see Philippe. She took a staggering step in the direction so many others seemed to be moving in.

Olivia fell in beside her. Honneure didn’t look at her. She couldn’t. But her presence was there, in her periphery. Honneure was aware when Olivia abruptly raised her arm.

“Philippe! Here … over here!”

He was coming from the opposite direction, from the stables, no doubt. The coldness within her seemed to thaw a little. He
was
handsome, so incredibly handsome. The ridges of his cheekbones were hard and masculine, his sharp jawline shadowed by a day’s growth of beard. His curling black hair had grown longer and reached to just below his collarbones. His broad chest and narrow hips were emphasized by the tight-fitting livery in the dauphine’s colors, and his thighs bulged, straining the red silk hose. Honneure’s heart did a somersault.

“Philippe,” Olivia called again.

If she could just see him, talk to him, be near him, surely everything would be all right once more. This horrible sickness would go away.

Philippe heard Olivia’s voice. His eyes searched among the hurrying throng. His gaze locked. A broad grin split his features.

He’s seen me,
Honneure thought.
He’s seen me and now everything will be all right.

But he had seen only Olivia, and she knew it. Picking up the hem of her skirt, the dark-haired girl ran to him. Laughing, Philippe caught her in his arms.

“Kiss me,” Olivia hissed. Her right hand tangled in the thick hair at the back of his head. Before he could protest, she pulled his lips down to hers.

The world seemed to spin. The earth tilted beneath Honneure’s feet.

All was lost. Philippe was lost. She was lost. She never should have come. She had known it.

By the time Philippe managed to extricate himself from Olivia’s embrace, Honneure had disappeared.

Chapter Nine

Olivia awoke to darkness, but she knew it was near dawn. She stretched her cramped limbs slowly and carefully, trying not to wake the man at her side. She reveled in the feeling of her flesh against his and smiled to herself.

Philippe had not had a single thought of Honneure last night. Of that Olivia was certain. All he had been aware of were her lips and hands, until they were both naked. And then all he had known was her body. A delicious shiver quivered upward from somewhere deep in her abdomen, and she rolled onto her side, the better to admire her lover.

Philippe lay on his back, one arm flung upward over the pillow. Thick black lashes curled against his cheeks, and long dark curls haloed his head. He snored softly.

There was no denying it. He was the most beautiful man she had ever had in her bed. Simply gazing at him rekindled her desire. His features were sharply drawn, from high, prominent cheekbones to the angular narrowing of his chin. His nose was thin and straight, perhaps a bit too long, but the overall picture was perfection with his generous mouth and full, soft lips. Her gaze wandered downward.

Though he was tall and lean, driving horses over the years had developed Philippe’s chest, shoulders, and upper arms to the proportions of a much larger man. A thin line of dark, silken curls ran from the hollow of his throat across the hills and valleys of his muscular definition to a narrow waist and hips, and down …The thin blanket halted Olivia’s hungry visual quest. Unable to resist, she placed the palm of one hand on his flat, hard belly and slipped her fingers under the cover. She encountered a dense mat of coarser hair, and something constricted in her breast. Philippe moaned and rolled away from her.

No longer caring if she woke him, thinking only of the delights of his body, Olivia kissed the smooth, pale skin of Philippe’s shoulder and pressed the length of her body against his. He stirred as she caressed his chest and circled the darker flesh of his nipple with the tip of one finger. She gasped when he suddenly caught her hand.

“Don’t tell me you want more,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Yes, I want more,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out to lick his earlobe. “And more and more. Always. I’ll never have enough of you.”

Though vaguely disturbed, for no reason he could name, Philippe smiled. Olivia was indeed insatiable and had aroused his exhausted body again and again long into the night. She was skilled in ways he had never experienced, and though she was voracious, he didn’t think he could complain. But he did have to set limits. He gripped her hand tighter when she struggled to free it.

“I have to get up,” he protested. “The horses are waiting.”

“Let them wait.” Olivia licked the nape of Philippe’s neck.

Philippe hunched his shoulders against the trill of pleasure she sent down his spine. He pushed her hand away, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and rose. Olivia groaned at the sight of his tight, rounded buttocks.

“I can’t let them wait, and you know it. Besides, I’m anxious to see if my sister has arrived yet.”

Olivia’s gaze slid away from Philippe as he pulled on his trousers. Honneure. Always Honneure. With effort she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

Damn Honneure. Philippe was in her bed now. And he would stay there. She would see to it. Honneure’s presence would affect her not at all. Olivia took a deep breath and coyly let the blanket fall away from her naked breasts.

“I … I forgot to tell you last night, but your sister has in fact reached Versailles.”

Philippe froze in the act of shrugging his shirt onto his wide shoulders. “What … what did you say?”

“You heard me.” Olivia’s gaze did not waver.

“Honneure is here, at the palace?” Philippe began to move again. He buttoned his shirt with hasty fingers. “How long has she been here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She arrived last night,” Olivia replied slowly. “And I didn’t tell you because … when I am in your arms I can think of nothing but you.”

Philippe paused once more and regarded the woman on the bed. Something cold was replacing the warmth that usually infused his veins when he looked at her.

“Where is she now? Where is my sister?”

Olivia shrugged lightly, a faint smile at the corners of her sensuous mouth. “How would I know?”

“All right then, Olivia. Where was she last night?”

With a lazy finger, Olivia traced the curve of one breast. But Philippe’s gaze did not follow her hand. He stared straight into her eyes. Her smile slipped away.

“In her room, I suppose. The one
I
formerly occupied.”

Philippe did not respond. He watched the features of Olivia’s face slowly harden.

“How quickly you seem to have forgotten that your precious
sister
has displaced me,” she continued in a low, ominous tone. “You practically begged the dauphine to find a place for her … and she certainly did.
My
place.”

Philippe unconsciously took a step back as Olivia sat up. Her eyes had narrowed to two dark slits.

“So
that
is where she was last night, Philippe. She was in the palace. And then she followed me to the
Commun.
She was with me when you saw me and took me in your arms.”

Languidly, never taking her eyes from Philippe’s, Olivia rose from the bed. The blanket pulled away, and she stood before him naked. She lifted her arms to him. “Hold me again, Philippe. Take me. Now.”

Philippe’s throat constricted until he thought he might choke. He took another step back. His gaze flicked briefly over the lush form that had once inflamed him beyond restraint. He felt nothing. Until he looked back into her eyes.

They smoldered. But not, this time, with the embers of desire.

Gaze still locked to Olivia’s, Philippe grabbed his livery coat. He reached behind him for the door and opened it. Then he turned on his heel and fled down the hallway. He did not look back.

Madame Campan allowed herself the luxury of a long, slow sigh. The dauphine’s day was well under way. Prayers had been said, breakfast eaten, and a gown appropriate for the morning hours had been donned. Now the princess would visit with the king’s sisters for an hour. No doubt she would see the king.
Without
the du Barry. The ghost of a smile lightened the corners of Madame Campan’s thin mouth.

The little princess was well on her way to capturing more than just the prince’s heart. The king, always with an eye for a pretty young girl, had taken an immediate liking to Antoinette. The liking had blossomed into sincere affection. Louis joined his sisters every morning as a result, so he might visit with his grandson’s wife. His mistress, whose dislike of Antoinette was well known, remained in her apartments. Things were going well. It gave Madame Campan time to turn her thoughts elsewhere. Her gaze slid to a corner of the salon where the new girl plumped cushions on a collection of small dog beds.

For many years, almost all her adult life, Madame Campan had waited on members of the aristocracy and had quickly worked her way to the upper ranks of service. Her reserved nature had served her well. Much was revealed in her quiet presence, and over the years she had learned to listen and observe closely. Little escaped her notice, and she had become wise to the ways of those around her.

As much as she knew about others, they knew little of her. She gave away almost nothing of herself, and her stern countenance did not invite friendships. Almost all who knew her assumed her temperament was as severe as her expression. Those she served respected her, and those who answered to her feared her. But a sentimental and caring heart beat within her narrow bosom. She moved quietly in Honneure’s direction.

Busy. Just keep busy
, Honneure admonished herself as she needlessly realigned the small dog beds. If she kept moving it was easier not to think, not to dwell on the knowledge that Philippe was in love. Their relationship as she had known it was lost to her forever. The ache, the pain, was nearly unbearable. She jumped when she felt the gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I think you are done here,” Madame Campan said softly. “And I also think you should eat something.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I … I’m not hungry.”

“No?” Madame Campan arched her finely drawn brows. “You certainly should be. You had no supper.”

Honneure glanced sharply at the older woman. How could she have known?

“I saw you leave with Olivia. You came back almost at once.”

Honneure could not hold Madame Campan’s gaze. Her glance searched for a safe place to rest.

“Olivia must have said or done something to hurt you,” Madame Campan remarked shrewdly. When Honneure abruptly looked back in her direction, she allowed the flicker of a smile to touch her mouth.

“Don’t look so surprised, my dear. All who know her are well aware of Olivia’s … personality traits. If she offended you, I apologize on her behalf and urge you to forget whatever slight or subtle cruelty she inflicted.”

It was more than Honneure could bear. Tears rushed to her eyes before she could blink them away. She shook her head, as if to banish the memory, and bravely tried to smile. “It doesn’t matter … really.”

But it did, obviously. And it mattered more than Madame Campan had guessed. There was much more going on than she had suspected. If she didn’t know better she would think, by the expression on Honneure’s pretty face, that the tiff, whatever it was, had involved a man. But that couldn’t be. Madame Dupin had assured them the girl was unattached. There was only her foster brother …Madame Campan drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
So.
She smoothed a pale, errant curl away from Honneure’s temple.

“The dauphine will return at eleven to have her hair done, and she will want you to bring her dogs to her. At noon she will attend mass and then dine with the dauphin. Following that she generally returns with the prince to his apartments to keep him company, if he is not too busy. If he is otherwise engaged, she likes to walk with her dogs … or drive her horses.”

The storm that had gathered in Honneure’s gray eyes suddenly lightened. Madame Campan continued.

“She has not seen her horses for several days, and I suspect you have not yet seen your brother.”

Honneure’s lips formed the word
no
, although she could not actually give voice to the lie.

“Then I will recommend to the princess we send for Philippe this afternoon. It will work out well for all, I should think.”

She did not need Honneure’s brightly affirmative response to know that she had correctly assessed the situation.

“Now please have something to eat. We have some lovely fruit and leftover pastries from the princess’s breakfast.”

She was, in fact, almost desperately hungry, despite her heartache. The mere prospect of seeing Philippe had reawakened her appetite. In love with Olivia he might be, but he was still her brother. She had missed him. She longed to speak with him, hear his voice, and feel his arms around her. Those things would not change, Olivia or no Olivia. Encouraged, though not free of the burden on her heart, she accepted Madame Campan’s offer.

All morning Philippe’s anger had mounted. For at least the twentieth time he ran over in his mind what Olivia had revealed to him.

Honneure had reached Versailles. She had been with Olivia last night. She had seen when Olivia had thrown herself into his arms. He did not know why the thought disquieted him so much, but it did. Worse, Olivia had not told him of his sister’s presence. He did not doubt for a moment that the oversight had been intentional. In spite of her protest, he knew Olivia far too well. Philippe snorted and brushed the mare’s already shining coat with renewed vigor.

Olivia’s little moues and pouts, her coy and petty deceptions had amused him once. He had been bored and lonely, and she had made him laugh. She had grown more possessive of late, and he found less and less humor in her machinations. The delights of her lush body and skilled caresses had bound him to her, however. Again and again he had returned to her. He would not do so again.

With a familiar chill, Philippe recalled the look in Olivia’s eyes when she had tried to seduce him back into her bed. She did not love him, but she desired him, and woe to any rival. Obviously she perceived Honneure as a rival. His own sister. Olivia must be mad.