Glass Slipper (5 page)

She trembled, but her limbs seemed frozen. She wanted to say something, but could not find her voice. He lifted his hand and trailed his fingers across the tops of her breasts, the touch so light she barely felt it. The crackling of the fire in the hearth competed with her ragged breathing, the only two sounds in the room struggling for dominance. Finally, she managed to nod and squeak, “Yes,” and he turned her face to his with two fingers under her chin.

“Excellent,” he said, brushing his wine-spiced mouth across hers briefly. Then, he stood and returned to his chair. “We will begin tonight. I will come to your room after Madame Brujon helps you to bed. You should expect me.”

She nodded again, unable to do anything else. Tonight? She could not help watching his hands as he cut up his meat, lifted his glass. She practically forgot to eat her own dinner, though food was the farthest thought from her mind.

Tonight, she would be seduced—at least, almost seduced—by Julien Auvrey.

Chapter Five

After barely touching her dinner and consuming far too much wine, Joséphine was glad for Madame Brujon’s assistance in getting undressed for bed. The housekeeper had brought her a robe of a guazey material that would not properly conceal anything, with ribbons all down the front to close it.

“As if closing it would make it any better,” Jospehine had mumbled.

The housekeeper had only responded with a harumph, as though she heartily disapproved the proceedings, and left her.

Now, Joséphine rested in the big bed, her mind tortured by her fevered imaginings. What if he saw her without her corset holding her in and decided that she was far too fat to interest him? What if she did something wrong, said something wrong?

What if she did something right? What if she had no desire to stop him from lying between her legs and doing only what should be done within the bonds of marriage?

The door handle rattled softly, and that small sound was enough to stop her heart. Her eyes grew wide, and she clutched her gauzy robe closed tighter at her throat. The door swung open and in strode Julien. In the light of candlestick he carried—and in light of what they were about to embark on—his features seemed sharper, his presence larger. He fixed her with a critical eye for the briefest glance before he turned and exited once more. His sharp “No!” was muffled by the door as it closed.

Confusion and shame drove her from the bed. What on earth had she done wrong already? And how could he be so callous about it? He knew she was but a maiden. Where was his compassion?

She reached the door just as it opened again, but it did not stay open long. He couldn’t have seen more than her little toe around the corner of the door when he slammed it again with another “No!”

Tears of anger sprang to her eyes. “What have I done wrong?”

If he’d had a heart, he would have opened the door, taken her into his arms, and kissed away her doubts. But he had none, for he told her, “You’ve already lost my interest.”

A soft gasp escaped her. How dare he! He’d seemed interested enough at the dinner table. Her traitorous body flushed with the memory of his hand stroking over her bare collarbones, his lips making promises of pleasure against her ear. Now, his desire for her had waned? She could not believe it.

“Are you ready to try again?” he asked, sounding almost bored.

Not a soul could blame her if she waited sweetly beside the door and let her fist fly when it opened.

“Remember, you are not here to please me, but to learn to please the Prince. Do you think he will be interested in a girl who lies passive in bed, waiting for him to come to her?” His voice held no hostility or mocking, only the slightest impatience of a teacher struggling to impart a difficult lesson to his student.

She sighed. “Wait one moment, please.”

Her hands shaking, she smoothed the coverlet on the bed and climbed up to lie carefully in the center. With held breath, she pulled the first ribbon of her robe and parted the fabric, displaying just as much decollete as her dinner dress had. She considered her legs, lying straight and close as two effigies on a sepulcher, and she frowned. It would be lewd to splay them open. She twisted her hips so that her knees fell to the side, parting by a small, natural increment. So pleased was she by the result, she loosened the lowest tie and pushed her robe apart to frame her legs.

The door handle rattled once more, and she took a deep breath. The illusion she had created suddenly seemed ridiculous, amateurish. She pressed a hand to her chest to try and calm herself, and her fingers brushed the spot where Julien had touched her skin. She shuddered at the memory, letting her hand come to rest, fingers idly stroking the smooth, hot flesh there.

“Much better,” Julien purred, and Joséphine’s eyes flew open. She hadn’t heard him enter the room. She hadn’t even realized she’d closed her eyes, drifting back to that moment when he had dipped his head and pressed his soft, warm lips to her breast. Now, he’d walked in to find her careful pose loose-limbed, her lip caught between her teeth as her fingers played idly with her breast above the lace-trimmed edge of her robe.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, quickly covering her legs with the filmy robe.

A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You were doing so well.”

“This is all so new to me.” She dipped her head. “You’ll forgive me if I do not grasp all the intricacies right away.”

“There will be nothing to forgive. But I do expect you to uphold your end of our bargain. You wished to learn, so you must be willing to accept instruction.” He set the candlestick on the little table beside the bed, then seated himself in the chair beside it. “Now, come and undress me.”

Her mouth went dry. “I do not think—”

“I did not ask you to. I asked that you come and undress me.” He leaned on one arm, his critical gaze sweeping over her. “Without that silly night gown.”

She swallowed the fear that balled up in her throat and slipped from the bed, her hand clutched protectively on the robe. Perhaps he would not notice if she left it on, if she didn’t falter in her steps toward him.

“Joséphine,” he admonished softly, never taking his eyes from her.

She stopped, her fingers flexing on the knotted ribbon she clutched. She had anticipated that some degree of nakedness would be required for their lessons, but she hadn’t imagined it would be so soon. Or so plainly stated. “I thought you might…rip my clothes off in passion.”

“Why?” He arched an eyebrow and loosened his cravat with one finger. “What would you do to make me so overcome with passion that I tore your nightgown from your body?”

“What would I do?” Wasn’t that the natural state of a man? Constantly enflamed by the passions repressed for the benefit of polite society? It’s what all the romantic novels she’d read claimed.

She watched his finger tugging at the silk around his neck, and a wicked picture sprang to her mind. He tasked her with making a bold move, so a bold move he would get. As he watched, amusement lighting his eyes, she stepped slowly toward him, idly playing with the ribbon that held the robe closed over her breasts. The garment felt like armor, though it was so sheer he could no doubt see her nipples, tight with anxious desire, standing out against the fabric. She let her hands drop as she came so close to him that their knees bumped. He looked up, silently daring her to make her next gambit, and before she could let herself think a second thought, climbed onto the chair, straddled his lap and grasped the cravat still tied around his neck. Her breath quickened, and to her satisfaction, so did his. She jerked him forward, so that their lips almost touched, and let him feel her breath against his mouth, as he had done to her during dinner.

“You are a promising pupil,” he whispered, then brushed his mouth over her lower lip before drawing back. “But you still have not followed my instructions.”

The guazy robe had parted further, another tie pulling open. The soft golden hair on her mound brushed his clothing, and each curl became a spark of awareness pricking at her core. She bit her lip, wanting nothing more than to grind herself against him, shocked at the thought. She hadn’t even been properly kissed yet!

He still watched her, waiting, and before he could become impatient, she released his cravat and reached for the ribbon over her breasts. She fumbled, and he caught her hands in his. For the first time she noticed how very large his hands were compared to hers, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Slowly,” he instructed, brushing aside her trembling fingers. “It isn’t the nakedness that entices, but the promise of it.”

She held her breath and watched, entranced, as the ribbon slowly slipped its silken knot under his elegant fingers. The sheer fabric parted, revealing her breasts to his gaze with no impediment. She exhaled and quickly gulped another breath, her breasts hitching higher with the motion. He chuckled, a warm, rich tone that flowed over her like wine. It relaxed her like wine, too, and she giggled. Emboldened, she reached for the last remaining tie and pulled it slowly open. With only the slightest hesitation, she shrugged the garment from her shoulders, baring her body to a man’s eyes for the first time. Her heart thundered against her ribs. What did he think? Was he disappointed? How did she compare to the scores of other women he’d certainly bedded?

“Beautiful,” he murmured, dragging one finger between her breasts, down to her navel. His progress stopped there, though Joséphine silently willed him to continue. “Now wasn’t that so much more exciting than having your clothes ripped off?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said sullenly. “I haven’t had anything like that happen to me.”

He placed one fingertip on her lower lip and gave it a push. “Pouting is not the aphrodisiac that ladies at court seem to think it is. Now, I believe there was a second part of your task that you are neglecting.”

Untying a ribbon was one thing, untying a cravat was something altogether different. While the sensation of pressing her nude body against Julien’s clothed one was intoxicating, the prospect of being naked while he was also naked seemed too…final.

“I…” she swallowed the lump in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes. “I cannot do this!”

Grabbing up the robe to cover herself, she stood and raced to the bed, where she pulled the coverlet over her head. She must have made a ridiculous picture, but she didn’t care. She wished she had never come with Julien. She wished her father had just sent her to her horrible cousins in the north and had done with it.

She waited for a scolding. Surely he would order her from the bed to continue their lesson. She waited and waited, until finally she forced herself to emerge from beneath the blankets. The room was empty.

With a cry of frustration, she covered her head once more.

Chapter Six

As soon as he was alone in his room, Julien leaned against the closed door to collect his wits. Leaving her had been the most difficult thing he’d done in his entire life. If he didn’t get himself under control, he would walk right back in and climb into that bed with her. She would change her mind about her silly virtue once he got his face between those plump thighs.

His cock throbbed painfully at the thought of all that warm, moist flesh lying untended down the hallway. Perhaps it isn’t untended. At just the suggestion that she might touch herself, he nearly spilled in his trousers. He quickly unfastened them and reach inside, freeing his tortured shaft. His own hand was nothing compared to what the tight, wet grip of her would be, but for the moment it was all he had. He imagined her lying beneath the coverlet in her room, whimpering in frustration, wishing he would return to her and grant her release.