The Maestro's Maker (10 page)

hair back with a black satin ribbon. François grunted.

“Well, your golden crown is a mess,” Claude-Michel said. “You’ve done nothing but

complain, and it’s nearly dark.”

“This is what happens when you take all the servants for yourself,” François said,

grinning right at me. I pretended not to see, and turned my attention back to Claude-

Michel’s coat. I was already beginning to wish I had left François on Gunnar’s ship.

Claude-Michel motioned for me to step aside, which I did, a little hurt that he neither

thanked me for my attention to his appearance nor looked at me. He simply stood and

went to the mirror.

“No powder,” he said. “Still, I will be difficult to resist, yes?”

“You should be able to convince some desperate creature to return with you,” I said.

He didn’t respond.

François looked him over. “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” Claude-Michel said, turning away with a flourish of his hand. “You may

borrow the servants. I will wait for you downstairs. Remember: The longer you keep me

waiting, the more of our money I will spend on wine.”

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Claude-Michel’s use of the word “servants” caused my chest to hurt. I expected as

much from François, but not from the man who had wooed me so relentlessly just a few

hours before. I had not yet learned of his love of the dramatic moment, or his carelessness.

I swallowed hard, trying to make the feeling go away, as I moved toward the bed, careful

to keep my back to the men so they couldn’t see the confusion I knew must be etched

across my face.

“Has he always been so arrogant?” I asked when he was gone.

François took long strides to the chair in front of the dressing table and made himself

comfortable. Jean dutifully picked up the comb.

“No,” François said to him. “I want her to do it.”

“As you wish,” Jean replied.

I turned to find François grinning at me again. Rage tightened my chest. “Come on,”

he said. “Are you waiting for my golden crown to become a silver one? Oh, but that will

never happen, will it?” he asked, delighted with himself.

I had to set my jaw for this. I went to him quickly and accepted the comb from Jean.

I stood behind François as though I would do as he asked, and took his tangled locks in

one hand.

“You know,” he said, “I have known Claude-Michel a long time, pussycat. A long

time. I know him much better than you ever will.”

“Is that so?” I asked, working out the tangles much more roughly than was necessary.

“What makes you think I care?”

He clicked his tongue. “Really,
cherie
, you should remember who your betters are.”

White-hot anger moving from my chest and down both arms made me stop combing.

Before I realized what I had done, I was holding a wad of François’ hair in my hand and

pulling back his head as though I would slit his throat. At that moment, I would have

enjoyed doing exactly that. “I am your maker,” I snarled in his ear. “Some would say that

grants me the right to respect.”

For a moment, François did not respond. Then he said, “You’re right, of course. Are

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you finished with your display?”

I let go slowly. The next thing I knew, he had whirled on me, taken me across the

room and pinned me to the bed. His blue eyes seemed a darker shade as he regarded me

hotly. His voice came out in a snarl. “You lost any claim of power here when Claude-

Michel spanked you like a child. Do you think he would give an argument if I did the

same after what you’ve just done?” He snorted.

I fought to hold on to my righteous anger, but fear had already dampened its edges. I

hated that the mere mention of a spanking was enough to make me lose my resolve. For

a moment, I looked away. Then I forced myself to return my gaze to his. By that time,

however, an expression of triumph had come over his face. He released me with a look of

disdain. “You cannot come between us,” he said, straightening his coat. “No one can.”

I did not dare move, did not even dare to breathe deeply. Tears of shame stung my

eyes. I tried not to let him see me tremble.

“Now,” he said quietly. “Comb my hair.”

I felt as though something in me had deflated. I did what he said, because I did not

know how to do anything else. I did not want this man to spank me. I did not want to learn

to fear him. But that is what was happening. My hands shook. Not another word was

spoken between us until François once again stood in front of the mirror, his hair pulled

back with a black ribbon like Claude-Michel’s.

“I supposed it’s as good as I can hope for until you’re trained,” he said, turning back

to me. “Now remember what Claude-Michel said. Stay in this room and take your meal

from Jean tonight.”

“Of course,” I said. I could not even feel anger at the command.

“We will return late,” he said. “Do not bother to wait for us.”

I held my breath as I watched him go, then held still and listened to his feet in the

hallway outside. Only then did I allow myself even to swallow hard. I went to the

washbasin. I wished Jean was not there, so I could cry. Instead, I would have to wait until

the small hours of the morning while everyone else slept, and I would have to be quiet.

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Resigned to what the day had become, I undressed while Jean straightened the room.

“I am glad you got this for him,” he said from the corner where the violin had been

placed. “He enjoys playing more than he will admit.”

“Yes,” I said. “I thought so.” I stood bare-breasted at the basin, my dress hanging

from my hips, and ran the cool washcloth up my arm.

“Are you frightened?” Jean asked suddenly.

It startled me. I looked up. “What?”

“Are you frightened you’ll be punished?”

I looked into the water, hating everything. “I have been already. Claude-Michel did

it when I returned yesterday.”

Jean came over and sat on the edge of the bed, near me. “He punishes me too.”

“And Monsieur Villaforte?” I asked. My words felt like a challenge, though I hadn’t

intended them to be. I wondered how often I would get myself into trouble with Claude-

Michel thanks to unintended challenges.

“I have only seen him strike someone when Monsieur du Fresne wanted to see it,”

Jean said, apparently without noticing my tone. “Perhaps it will not happen.”

“It would not surprise me if Claude-Michel wanted to see it. He was so cold this

evening. I thought...” I could not finish, and instead bit my lip. I squeezed water from the

cloth and washed my shoulder. “You’re right,” I said finally. “I am frightened.”

Jean stood and reached around me for the cloth, startling me again. “May I,

Mistress?”

My eyes widened momentarily. I hated the pounding in my breast, told myself this

was just a boy. Then I remembered he was probably older than I was, and he was asking

for control, even though the word “mistress” rolled easily off his tongue. Torn between

giving up the control I had over just one person, and the promise of feeling this boy’s

gentle touch, I hesitated.

Finally, I relented and handed over the cloth. “Thank you,” I said.

His touch was feather-light as he moved the damp cloth over my skin. I shuddered at

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the way it felt, bowed my head and closed my eyes. The contrast between my treatment

this evening and how Claude-Michel had made love to me just a few hours before made

me feel terrible. How could he have taken me so attentively and then turned his back on

me to go hunt for whores? I did not realize I was crying.

“Am I doing it too hard, Mistress?”

I looked at him over the shoulder of my reflection. “No, Jean.”

“You shouldn’t have pulled his hair,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” I whispered, shivering as the cloth traveled down the length of my

back, resting for a moment at the top of my
derriere
, before starting over again.

“I’m to feed you tonight,” he said, his tone mildly suggestive.

I said nothing, but simply allowed him to touch me and caress me with the cloth,

wondering what it would be like when Claude-Michel and Francois returned.

I had not expected to sleep tangled in the bed sheets with Jean, but found myself

waking with a start when Claude-Michel and Francois came in with a tipsy prostitute.

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,

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I sat up quickly when the door opened, startling Jean. Except for scant covering

by the sheets, we were completely nude. All of a sudden, I wondered if Claude-Michel

would be angry with me for making love with his boy. My heart pounded relentlessly

when I saw he was carrying a riding crop he had not had before. He tossed it on the

bed near me. I felt ill.

Jean leapt out of bed and grabbed his trousers. “I am sorry,
Monsieur
. I should have

been waiting for your return.” His beautiful honey-colored hair was mussed.

“I have plenty to keep me occupied for a while.” I could tell by the way Claude-

Michel smiled his fangs were extended. He was being careful not to let them show. I

pulled the sheets around me and glared at François, who gave me a smug smile.

Even though the sight of Claude-Michel with another woman made me uneasy, I

could not look away. I was fascinated by how the two men surrounded her. In spite of

their arrogance, they were both very beautiful. I wondered in that moment what it would

feel like to be in her place.

“Sit with me, Jean,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “I must remain ready in case my master should need me.”

“I don’t think he’s going to,” I said crossly and curled up in the sheets to watch.

Claude-Michel cleared his throat and took the girl’s wrap slowly from her shoulders,

then handed it to Jean, who placed it on the back of the chair. Claude-Michel placed his

hands on the girl’s bare shoulders and spoke seductively. “I think our servants have worn

themselves out. This one, however, is not yet used up,” he said, sliding his fingers into

her hair.

I could see the feeding hunger in François’ eyes. I wondered how long he could

control himself before he threw down the prostitute and raped her with his fangs.

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“We must make sure we get everything we’ve paid for, yes?” François said.

She gave him a coy smile. “I will please
Signore
in every way possible.”

“Yes, you will,” Claude-Michel said, guiding her toward the bed, which horrified me.

In my disturbed fascination, I did not consider they might want the bed. “And perhaps

find another way after that.”

I pulled my legs away from them and scrambled to the headboard as the girl climbed

onto the bed and got on her knees to help Claude-Michel remove his coat. François

removed his own coat, hastily. Jean took it, and Claude-Michel’s as well. When the girl

turned and went for François’s blouse, Claude-Michel took her wrists in his hands.

“No,” he whispered. “I paid for your body. I want to see it.” His words were almost

a snarl. They sent a bolt of heat through my stomach and caused me to tingle between

my legs.

The girl nodded and tried to tug away her wrists, but Claude-Michel pulled her from

the bed and held her tight against him, pressing his crotch to her bottom. “No, my dear.

Monsieur will do it.” With that, he brought her arms behind her back, where he held them

with one hand. Before she had time to protest, he clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “You will not be hurt tonight… much. And you will

be well paid.” To François, he said, “Try out your new strength. Rip it from her.” He had

a wolfish glint in his eye.

For the first time that evening, the girl looked worried. “It is all right, my dear. We

only want to play just a little rough, yes?”

She nodded uncertainly.

“Good,” he said. “François.”

I could not help but be fascinated as François pushed his fingers down into the girl’s

bodice and gave one forceful tug as Claude-Michel pulled her body backward. The girl

squealed into Claude-Michel’s hand as the front panels of the bodice separated from the

back and her blouse went limp against her freed breasts. The girl yelped in surprise.

Claude-Michel released the girl. She looked at me, frowned, and turned back to

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Claude-Michel with an uncertain smile. She dropped to her knees and began to unfasten

his breeches. He let her. François sat on the mattress behind her with a lazy smile on his

face, head propped on one hand, watching the girl pleasure his friend.

Jean stood nearby, watching dispassionately, ready in case his master needed

anything.

Claude-Michel put his fingers in her hair and threw his head back. I could see the tips

of his fangs. After a while, François got up and moved around behind him, slowly pulling

the bow out of Claude-Michel’s ribbon and tugging it out of his hair, touching his friend’s

dark locks sensuously with parted lips. His fangs were extended as well. Claude-Michel

hardly seemed to notice as François put his arms around him and tugged at his coat, but

he did let his arms fall to his sides so that the other man could pull the coat off of him.