Lyon (29 page)

Sibela sat forward rubbing her eyes to stay awake. “How?”

“It means Juliette has the prior claim,” said Jane. She reached over again and gave Juliette's hand a reassuring squeeze.

“But you lay with
me
,” Sibela struck her chest with a fist in emphasis. “In the park—before you knew she even existed. And—and I carried your brat in my belly for four weeks. Surely my rights to you take precedence?”

“First Moonful childseed is what determines the bond,” said Nicholas. He held up a hand before Sibela could start shrieking. “But you both have a claim.”

“Am I to wed two then?” Lyon protested.

“You know you can't give the protection of your Will to both. Only to she who has the dominant claim.”

“I won't have you abandon my sister for me,” said Juliette. “If you wed anyone, you will wed her.”

“There! We have her blessing.” Sibela spread her hands in a gesture that indicated the matter was settled.

“She's not your sister,” Lyon informed Juliette, ignoring Sibela. “She's a parasite who has taken your sister's body for her own use.”

“He's right, I'm afraid. I'm not going to give your sister back to you if that's what you're hoping,” Sibela told her. “Without her, I am nothing. And I can't have that.”

Lyon stared at her consideringly. “What is it you want for all your devious plotting? Not our child obviously.”

She shrugged. “I feel no connection to it. But it gives me a foothold—so to speak—in this world. What I want from you is protection. This body I inhabit is in danger through no fault of mine. Left to my own devices, I fear ElseWorld will eventually take me. In their clutches, I'll be powerless. I'll kill this body rather than allow that to happen.”

Juliette gasped. “Don't you dare!”

“Perhaps we can arrange something less drastic,” said Nicholas.

“You know, I went to considerable trouble to mate with you that night,” Sibela told Lyon, aggrieved.

He raised a brow. “Yet Juliette is my choice, and the one I will wed.”

“No, Lyon,” Juliette murmured.

“I know you care for me,” he insisted.

“
Oui
. I do.”

Dimples creased his cheeks and his eyes suddenly brimmed with wry humor. “I was hoping to hear you say that before a member of the clergy.”

“I'm wed to you in body and spirit. Let that be enough,” she cajoled. “Ceremonies to solidify such things aren't necessary, are they?”

Lyon was already shaking his head. “Your protection requires these official ceremonies.”

She leaped to her feet, looking desperate. “I won't marry you!” she shouted.

“Why the hell not?” he shouted back. His daughter began to cry.

“Because!” She looked around, wild-eyed, then back at Lyon. “Because I'm already wed!”

Every eye opened and flew to her.

“To whom?!” Lyon demanded, flabbergasted.

“To Monsieur Valmont, in Paris!” She looked shocked at what she'd said and backed away toward the door as if afraid she might be punished. “It's a closely guarded secret. I'm not supposed to tell. I didn't mean to wed him in the first place. But the day Elise was killed, he gave me opium, and then later claimed he'd seen me kill her. I was too drugged to know what I'd done.”

Nicholas took the crying child from Lyon, then watched him sweep a protesting Juliette into his arms. Lyon's eyes shifted to his daughter, then to his face and Nicholas nodded, silently promising to look after the child until he returned.

His brother then carried Juliette from the room, leaving Nick to watch over the three remaining females within. With the couch taken, he wandered to sit at Lyon's new desk, which Jane had informed him Juliette had deliberated over for hours before purchasing for his sibling. Testing the leather chair and finding it a good fit, he half-reclined in it, propping his boots on the desktop and laying the child on his chest, with one arm under her legs to secure her. His other hand idly rubbed her back until she quieted and slept.

His eyes drifted over the couches and the sleeping women there, lingering on Jane. Then it wandered over the desk top and he noticed a letter, still sealed with wax. His attention was caught when he saw it was from a Monsieur Valmont in Paris. It had been sent to Lyon's hotel and forwarded here.

Without hesitation, he opened it.

T
wo nights later, Juliette was toiling alone in the
castello
's kitchen with preparations for the meeting of the vintners that was to take place on the estate in January. This was what she enjoyed most about the process of cooking—the experimentation and creation of new and wonderful delicacies.

Night's curtain had fallen and the staff had already retired to their quarters away from the estate when she heard Lyon enter the room. She flicked a glance his way, then turned back to her work. He'd been gone today, overseeing the winterizing of the upper terraces of the vineyards with Nicholas. His hair was damp and glinted in the candlelight. He'd bathed when he'd come in and looked healthy, rugged, and far too handsome.

A pair of muscled arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and he tucked his chin in the nook of her shoulder. “I love you.”

She froze with a teaspoon of cinnamon lifted halfway to a bowl of chocolate pudding. Then she dumped it in the batter and began to stir.

Sibela had been gone for two days now, having left her child in their care and even gone so far as to refuse to help name it. Lyon had stepped in and dubbed her Giselle, after his own mother. Though she'd tried not to bond with the tiny babe, Juliette feared she had done so the moment she had been placed in her arms.

For her and Lyon, Sibela's absence had been a time of healing. But the uncertainties regarding her imminent return, and of other matters, still lay between them.

“Here. Taste,” she instructed. Twisting within his hold, she lifted the spoon with one hand and cupped her other beneath it for spills.

He took the pudding from her, sampling it. “It won't put me into a deep slumber, I trust?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “It's something I'm considering for your upcoming gathering. I wouldn't rob you and your brother of your audience by putting them to sleep, I promise you.”

His eyebrows rose with approval as the flavors she'd carefully concocted bloomed on his taste buds. “Ambrosia,” he pronounced. Taking the spoon from her, he tossed it on the counter, and then linked his hands at her spine.

“The food of the gods?” Juliette rested her forearms on his chest. “Perhaps you should invite your Bacchus to dinner. He might find it to his liking.”

“Perhaps I will.”

She stared at him, aghast. “He wouldn't come, would he? I mean, that's not actually something you can do?”

He grinned, looking delighted with her, and reached to tuck a curl behind her ear. “No.”

“Thank the heavens. I'm already nervous at being in charge of an event for a hundred. If you dare add a God into the mix, I might swoon.”

He stared at her a moment, his face slowly turning serious. “Juliette.”

“Not now,” she said. Unprepared for the direction in which she suspected his conversation would veer, she pulled away to return to her work.

“We have to reach an understanding,” he said from behind her.

“Where's…Sibela?”

“How the hell should I know?!” he said, irritated. “Trolling the Arno. Fucking anything that moves. Or as we recently learned her to be capable, possibly fucking anything that doesn't.”

She shot him an uncertain glance.

“Did you think she planned to linger at my side like some devoted concubine? That she cared for me? Or I for her?”

She shrugged. “
Non
, I suppose not.”

“It wouldn't matter. We have arranged things so that she will receive my family's protection. And that's all she wants of me.”

“And Giselle?”

“She'll stay with us.” His voice softened, its concern melting her heart. “Will that hurt you?”

“Of course not. None of the fault for this tangle lies with your daughter. I love her already for she's something of Elise. And you.”

“So you readily love her. But can you love her father?”

“Are you certain you want me?” she scoffed, stirring the pudding ever harder. “A woman who may as easily greet you as a block of wood upon your return from the vineyard as might greet you as a Human? Or as a fire to burn down your home. Or a—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pushing the bowl aside and tilting her chin to look at him. “You can learn to guide your gift. I'll help you. Just as I would need your help if I were learning to cook. For instance, if you were to hand me a…” he picked up a utensil from the countertop behind her and stared at it blankly.

She glanced at it over her shoulder. “A spatula.”

“Yes, well. Not being familiar with it, I would require instruction regarding how to use it, wouldn't I? If I didn't know better, I might mistake it for a tool of exploration.”

Slyly, he let its edge drift down her chest so its tip lifted the neckline of her bodice just enough that he could observe what was hidden below.

She batted his hand away and replaced the spatula on the counter, smiling, as he'd meant her to.

“It's a failing of mine that the same experience dulls for me over time,” he admitted. “I love that you are unexpected.”

“But I'm not free for you,” she objected.

The flats of his hands made circles on the back of her waist. “As we speak, my attorneys are in Paris petitioning Valmont for a divorce. You soon will be free.”

She looked at him, doubtful.

“Juliette.” His voice was frustrated. “I didn't want her.” They both knew of whom he spoke.

An uncomfortable silence fell.

“And I won't lie with her again,” he went on. “Or any other woman. It's you I wanted with me in the glen. It's you I want. You I love.”

She let out a ragged sigh.

“Is it so horrible to hear?” he said, giving her a tiny shake. “I assure you that a part of me is horrified to hear me admit it, for I never expected to feel such an emotion toward any woman.”

“Oh, Lyon,” she said, relaxing against him. “You make everything seem so easily done but—”

“Tell me how I can make it up to you. Tell me what you need. What you like,” he said against her throat. “Kiss me.”

“Make me.”

She gasped and put a hand over her lips as if to call back her words. But they hung in the air between them, suggestive and potent.

A knowing expression spread slowly over his face. “Ah. It comes back to me now.”

“What does?
Non
, don't tell me.” She waved a hand between them in emphasis. “I don't want to know.”

“The memories you gave me that night in my hotel are still here with me, just jumbled. But more sort themselves daily.” His eyes studied her, fascinated.

And then his voice came again in the quiet candlelight, low and velvet. “You wish to be…coerced.”

She looked away. “
Non.
”

“I recall differently.”

He lifted her onto the countertop, knocking things askance. A bowl overturned and several peaches rolled out.

He palmed one, testing its firmness, obviously caught in some memory. A memory she'd given him of a sun-warmed peach, halved and nearly overripe, coming high between her legs to stroke along her most private feminine flesh. Of hard masculine fingers pressing her furrow open with the pulpy fruit until its astringent juices mingled with her own and trickled down her thighs. Of a hot mouth kissing her there, licking, tonguing, and tasting her sticky-sweetness.

Why hadn't she kept this and other unnatural notions to herself? With other men she'd bespelled on Valmont's behalf, she'd lodged only the most perfunctory and general visions of wickedness in their brains.

His eyes cut to hers and she gave a little moan. Oh, God! That he knew her secrets!

“Don't,” he said, correctly reading her expression. “There's no room for shame between us. We have no one else to please in carnal matters. They are private. For us. For pleasure. We hurt no one if we follow our desires. We hurt only ourselves if we refrain.”

She moistened her lips. “Such desires have lead me into trouble in the past. Nearly lead to the death of my sister. If I hadn't accepted the attentions of Valmont in the first place—”

“Valmont?”

She nodded. “Yes, I'm ashamed of it now, but he was the man who wooed me that summer I was sixteen. Elise sensed what he was. A monster. But I was blinded by his flattery and attentions, and I believed his lies. The same day she forced us apart, she was attacked and then just…gone. In penance, I put away all wicked thoughts of men. Until you came. And now, I think of little else.”

“My own lust has led me in many directions in twenty-six years. I can assure you I am far more wicked in such matters than you could ever be.”

His hands went to the fastenings of her dress and hers rested on his shoulders.

“In here?” she whispered. “What if someone comes?”

Dimples flashed. “I assure you someone will.”

Button by button and lace by lace, he proceeded to disrobe her where she sat. “Here is how it will be between us tonight,” he instructed, in a voice gone almost solemn. “When I have finished undressing you, you will give yourself completely into my handling until I say otherwise. You are allowed to refuse me only if something repulses you or causes pain. Not because you are afraid. Fear has no place in this room. Not between us. Not tonight.”

If she agreed, his eyes promised, he would make her fantasies reality. Her breath quickened. Did she dare? She wanted to.

“I-I don't want to be afraid or feel unsafe,” she said, worried.

“It seems we are perfectly matched. It so happens I have a need to assert myself tonight, but I have no wish to hurt you.”

The mantel clock clicked, indicating it was about to chime. “Eight o'clock comes. Once it sounds, so my rules begin. Now if you agree, you will count the beats aloud.”

Seconds later, the first bong sounded, and she heard herself speak.

“
Un
…
deux
…
trois
…

Her dress was lifted away.

quatre
…
cinq
…
six
…

Her corset and chemise were taken.

sept
…
huit
.”

Silence fell. He stood there fully dressed, not touching her. And she sat on the table before him, naked.

Then he took the pins from her hair and brushed it free so it veiled her. “Now, you have agreed to become an object whose only purpose is to follow my instruction. Which is this—for me, you will be three openings now, nothing more, nothing less. And all will be made available to me for whatever purpose I choose. Say yes.”

He was purposely crude and in this moment it was what she wanted from him. She slanted a glance at him through her lashes. “Yes.”

“Lower your eyes from mine,” he scolded gently. “An infraction of this instruction will earn you a punishment. A broad hand slid around her to find and rouge her rear.

An image of Gina's backside, pink from the strokes of a lash came to her mind, and her core pulsed.

Her eyes lifted to his, hoping to read what he had planned.

Smack!

“Oh!” She gave a little jump on the counter when his hand landed on her rear. It stung, startling her and sending a tiny thrill thrumming along her feminine cleft all the way to her clit. Her gaze snapped to his again, finding it as stern as that of a displeased schoolmaster.

Smack!

Her other rear cheek received the same treatment. Shifting, she put her hand where his had struck. Her skin was warm there, like Gina's must've been after a lashing. Realizing what he expected, her gaze dropped to her lap, finding the place where pubis and thighs met to form the V of her privates. For the first time in her life, she almost wished her body grew a nest there as other women did, so she wouldn't feel quite so naked in contrast to him.

Two hands reached, moving into her vision. Golden and strong against her paler skin, they cupped her breasts and she lifted her own hands to the back of his, feeling them flex as his thumbs stroked over her nipples. The pink-tipped peaks grew turgid. And warm. Looking down, she saw that they'd become shaded with the strange luminescence only he was capable of bringing forth.

“That's better,” he said softly.

She wanted to look at this face—to read what he was thinking but she didn't and found herself strangely excited by the fact that this window to his thoughts was forbidden.

Lifting her, he scooted her backward until ther thighs were partially supported by the counter. His legs stood between hers, and the fabric of his trousers rasped delicately along the insides of her knees. A hand went behind her and she saw he'd picked up the bowl she'd been stirring when he entered the kitchen. The spoon she'd been using was still there, half-drowned in the dark pudding.