The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian (12 page)

"Come on Monday,
monsieur
, but I will not take your money. My niece will favor you for my sake, and I will keep her for her sake from the other gentlemen who visit my house.
Do you understand?
And you will not hurt her? She is not as determined or as strong as she thinks she is in this matter."

"How many others besides my cousin?" he asked her.

"The two princes," Renée answered, conveniently forgetting the baron and the count. "Once. Marguerite has only been with me a few days." Then she looked directly at the American. "What will your cousin think of your little arrangement,
monsieur?"

"I do not care," Beau responded. "I have not been back to France in over thirty years,
madame
. My cousin and I have only renewed our kinship for my convenience sake. We Americans are different."

"Reputation,
monsieur
, is the same the world over, I assure you," Renée advised him. "Marguerite de Thierry has no reputation in Paris for she is still a virtual unknown. That cannot last as long as she makes her home with me. Lady Marguerite Abbott, however, has an excellent reputation as a good wife and mother. You understand me, I know, but let us see what happens."

They had reached the door of Chez Renée. Marguerite was nowhere to be seen. Beau d'Aubert bowed over Madame Renée's hand. "I concur,
madame,"
he said smoothly, and then he turned, departing off down the street.

She watched him go, her face impassive. She had not mistaken his interest in Marguerite, which transcended his interest in Marguerite as a courtesan. He was intelligent. He had certainly not mistaken her meaning with regard to her niece. Renée entered her house and, seeing her majordomo, said, "Fetch the girls to me in the salon right now, François. I must speak with them."

"You have
that
look in your eye, Renée," he said, smiling.

"You come too," she told him.

This would be important, he thought, as he hurried off to find Josie, Leonie, and Marguerite. What had happened? Well, they would all know soon enough. "Madame wants us in the salon," he said to each of them as he came upon them.

Several minutes later they all gathered in Madame Renée's private salon, and the lady in question wasted no time in coming to the point. "There is a chance, the tiniest chance, that the American is interested in Marguerite as a wife."

"Tante!"
Marguerite flushed nervously. "Why would you say such a thing? I am no longer fit to be anyone's wife."

"Yes, you are!"
her aunt declared. "And I will smack anyone who says otherwise. Do you
all
understand me?"

"Ohh, Marguerite," Leonie said, "wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Yes," Josie agreed. "Certainly your curiosity is now satisfied regarding men and lovemaking. If you have an opportunity to go back to the life that you were meant for, you must take it,
chérie!"

"I am glad that you all feel that way," Madame Renée told them. "The little incident regarding the count and the baron never took place now, did it?"

"Non, Madame Renée,"
Josie and Leonie chorused.

"My niece has made love with the duke and the princes. No others," Renée said. "Certainly she is no worse than any respectable, and noble young widow, freed of her marital obligations, and curious prior to making another match."

"Of course, Madame Renée," Josie and Leonie agreed.

"In future Marguerite will not join us in the gold salon. She will entertain Monsieur d'Aubert exclusively for the time being," Renée said. "Is that understood? And there will be no gossip regarding my niece. I know we need another girl. Monsieur Georges has offered me a candidate from Nantes. I was going to wait until his next visit, but I shall write him tonight asking him to send her up to Paris."

"Tante
, this is madness," Marguerite said.

"Chérie
, I do not mistake the signs. I am too old a fox, and too knowledgeable in the ways of the world. You have an opportunity to escape this life. You must take it! I should never forgive myself if I didn't encourage you in this, Marguerite. You have dabbled now in my profession, and I know that you do not like it. You will do it for Emilie's sake,
but you do not like it
. The American seeks a wife. No one has attracted him until he met you. If we fail, then we fail. But you must try!"

"How?" she asked her aunt.

"By being yourself, and not a courtesan. He has treated you like the lady you are, Marguerite. Now encourage him to seduce you, and when he does, bind him to you,
ma petite
, as only a woman can bind a man. You are no longer the innocent virgin who married Charles Abbott. You are a woman, full-blown. Do you want this life I have lived all these years, or do you want to be what you once were? The choice is yours, Marguerite. Choose wisely."

"What of the duke? Is he not the head of his family? Will he allow his cousin to marry a woman to whom he has made love? A woman his cousin found in the most elegant brothel in Paris?" Marguerite questioned her aunt. "Am I not already tarnished? Was I not the moment I stepped across your threshold,
tante?"

"In Paris, in France, perhaps," Renée responded. "But the American means to take his wife home to this Louisiana. It is unlikely he will ever return to France. You have no reputation here yet,
chérie
. Lady Abbott, on the other hand, is well thought of in society. The American will have wed the widow of Lord Charles Abbott, not a girl from a brothel. And what man who has met you here will ever go to the Americas? Not even the duke would leave his comfortable life in Paris. You must take this chance, Marguerite!" She smiled at her niece. "As for César d'Aubert, I will manage him, you may be certain. Do you think I will allow him to ruin your opportunity? Faugh!
Never!"

"And we will help you," Josie said as Leonie nodded enthusiastically.

"You will do no such thing!" Madame Renée said. "The last time you helped her, well, we know what happened then. Praise God that the duke never found out! Let the American introduce her to the pleasures he wants. My niece still maintains a certain innocence about her that is most pleasing. If she behaves with too much skill, he will not want her for a wife, but rather a mistress. I do not want that. If she is going to be a mistress, she can just as well remain in France and be one. I am not allowing my darling Marguerite to go across an ocean without the protection of a husband's name. Now, if it is settled, you may all return to your rooms to enjoy the remainder of your day."

The three young women departed, leaving Madame Renée with her old mentor. "Do you think you can pull it off?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I do not know, François, but it would be the solution I pray for, and the fate I know my niece would prefer."

"How will you handle César d'Aubert?" he questioned her.

Renée smiled. "Let us say I know his secrets, François. Secrets he would rather the rest of the world not know. If the American falls in love with Marguerite, and she with him,
they will marry
. And the duke will give them his blessing, or I will reveal to everyone that which he has kept hidden all these years. César d'Aubert is a snob of the first rank, François. He will not want to be held up to ridicule."

Yes, she knew the duke's darkest secret. As a boy in Rome he had defied his father and married an older woman of less than stellar reputation, whose only interest in him was his inheritance and his title. His father had assured him the marriage was a sham and insisted that César wed his choice, the virgin daughter of a wealthy Florentine merchant. The marriage was celebrated. Only afterward was it discovered that César d'Aubert's first wife was indeed his legal wife. The Florentine merchant's daughter, already pregnant with César's child, went mad. She was confined within the walls of a convent, where she bore her child, a son. César d'Aubert's wife was yet alive in Rome, but was paid to remain there in obscurity. The merchant's daughter continued to live in her total madness behind the walls of the Florentine convent. The duke's bastard was raised by his maternal grandparents, who had taught him to hate not just the French but the d'Aubert family in particular.

Renée had learned this not from César d'Aubert, but from a wealthy Florentine who had visited her years ago on several occasions. Seeing the duke at Chez Renée, he had told his hostess the story, curious that no one in Paris knew it. And while the duke pretended to prefer his pleasures over marrying and having a legitimate heir, Renée knew the truth. She had never expected she might have to use her knowledge, but she had no intention of the duke spoiling Marguerite's chances with the American. Still, it was not a certainty yet.

Monday evening came, and her salon was strangely empty. There were a few gentlemen, but Leonie and Josie were more than up to the challenge. She had written Monsieur Georges in Nantes, sending her missive off by private messenger earlier in the day. The duke and his cousin arrived. Renée made it her mission to personally entertain César d'Aubert while Beau hurried upstairs to Marguerite.

Stepping into her bedroom, he saw she was awaiting him in a simple house gown that matched her eyes. Marguerite smiled tremulously.

"I didn't know what I should wear," she explained. "My aunt says you have requested my company exclusively, and that she has approved such an arrangement. I thought it rather foolish to dress as if I were going into the salon. May I offer you some wine?"

"Merci, mademoiselle," he replied.

She poured the ruby red liquid into a delicate Venetian wine goblet and handed it to him. Then she poured herself some wine.

"May I toast the most beautiful woman in Paris?" he asked her.

Marguerite blushed prettily. "You flatter me,
monsieur,"
she replied.

"I could spend my life flattering you, Marguerite," he told her, setting his goblet down, his arm slipping about her waist. "I find it charming that you can blush," he said, looking down at her. "Do you always blush when you are complimented?"

"Charles used to say so," she admitted softly.

"An observant man," Beau d'Aubert murmured, his lips brushing her lips. He took her goblet from her, and set it down upon a small table with his own crystal. "I want to make love to you, Marguerite." His voice was husky with his emotion. "But I will only make love to you with your permission. You are in this house by an accident of fate,
cherie
, but I shall not take advantage of you because of it."

Marguerite looked up shyly into his face. His look was questioning. He was treating her as if he had come to court her.
Was it really possible?
Was Renée correct in her observations and conclusions? "You are kind,
monsieur,"
she said low, her heart skipping several beats.

His big hand caressed her heart-shaped face, the knuckles grazing along her jaw line. "How can I not be kind to you?" he questioned her. "You arouse my senses, you confuse me, you fill me with desire, my beautiful Marguerite.
Let me make love to you!"

"I am not like the others," she told him. "They say you are a wonderful and tireless lover, but they know how to engage your interest. I have not the experience, although your cousin may say otherwise," she finished, flushing.

"I pay little attention to César for he is wont to brag on his women and his prowess," Beau told Marguerite. "It is difficult to know where the truth begins and where it ends with César. Let us put my cousin and the two princes from our minds. What happens in this lovely room is between you and me. What has gone before doesn't really matter to me. You aren't a virgin. You are the widow of a respected man. Do you understand?"

She began to weep softly.
"You are kind!"
she insisted to him.

He stroked her dark hair gently, murmuring to her, "How can I not be kind to you, Marguerite?" Then he tilted her face up, and his mouth descended upon her mouth in a tender, yet burning kiss.

He held her against him with a single arm. His lips on hers were wonderful. There seemed to be nothing dark in his desire for her. She let her lips soften beneath his, hesitantly opening her mouth to his tongue, shivering as the two fleshy organs made contact. They stood there kissing and kissing until her legs gave way beneath her. With a soft laugh he picked her up in his arms and sat down, cradling her, upon the ivory and gold settee by one of the windows. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him, and blushed again for his gaze was a burning one. "You will incinerate me if you keep looking at me like that," she said.

"Like what?" he gently teased her.

"Like you would enjoy eating me up like a meringue,
monsieur, "
Marguerite told him.

"No more
monsieur
, Marguerite," he said to her. "I want to hear my name on your adorable lips."

"Beau,"
she whispered, tasting the word.
"Beau!"

"Marguerite!
Ma belle
Marguerite," he groaned.
"Je t'adore!"
Then he began covering her face with kisses, his lips moving swiftly over her cheeks, her forehead, her closed eyelids.
"Je t'adore!"
he repeated, his hand brushing over her bosom with a light touch.