The Princess in His Bed (19 page)

And the mere thought of them recognizing her in the throes of passion and saying something cruel to her tore at his very vitals.

He wasn’t going to let them hurt her again, like he’d let them hurt her ten years ago.

“I’m having her,” he added for good measure. “Go find someone else to amuse you.”

Georges put Juliette down. “Ah, come now. You can’t claim exclusivity here. We can all share her.”

Joseph narrowed his eyes. “I’ll claim whatever I want. Find. Someone. Else.” He looked pointedly at each man before him.

That prompted Juliette to turn on a heel, miffed, and stalk away.

“I’d like a private word with Joseph.” Vincent, who’d been silent until now, finally spoke up. The others walked away, grumbling.

“Brother, you lead and they follow. And for the most part, I don’t mind going along, but”—he crossed his arms—“you don’t dictate whom I bed. Now then, care to tell me who this woman is?”

“She’s wearing a mask. How the hell should I know who she is?” He hated lying to Vincent, but the truth was far more complicated than his deceit. And more difficult to explain. There were things about what was going on that he couldn’t explain to himself. And didn’t want to try.

His twin sighed and shook his head. “Fine. Have it your way. You don’t know her. She’s got you intrigued, or some such nonsense. I’m still having her,” Vincent said with finality.

Joseph’s gut tightened. “Not until I’m done with her,” was all he could respond. Pressing the matter any further would make him sound as though he’d gone completely mad. As it was, his behavior was absurd, bordering on irrational. He’d never cared who a woman was with before, during, or after he’d had her.

Vincent silently contemplated his words. Joseph’s heart pounded away the seconds, wondering what he’d have to do to keep Vincent away if he didn’t agree.

His brother’s genial smile returned. “Agreed. You have her first. She’s all yours tonight.” He patted him on the back. “I get her tomorrow.”

Their bodies touched.

He drew his arm around Emilie’s waist and pulled her up tightly against him. Then he pressed his lips to hers. It was actually happening. Her first real kiss. An amorous encounter of her very own. His tongue snaked into her mouth and was presently swirling about. It felt, well . . . odd. But then she’d no experience in this area, and her masked gentleman was seemingly enjoying himself if the zealous sounds he emitted were any indication.

Emilie relaxed her shoulders and laced her arms around his neck, throwing herself eagerly into the kiss, anxiously waiting for the moment “it” would hit her. Passion. Hunger.

That all-consuming desire.

Just like the couple she saw in the corridor earlier. Just like the books she’d devoured again and again.
Just like you felt near Vincent
. . .

She’d purposely led her masked lover to the gardens. The perfect setting. They were under an indigo sky with a large luminescent moon and a thousand twinkling stars. What could be more perfect? All she had to do was let her lover take the lead, ignore the grunts from the couple who were mostly naked, rutting in the distance. And of course, resist the urge to pretend the man kissing her was Vincent d’Alumbert.

Just focus
. Any moment now, she’d be swept up in “it.”

Mimicking his tongue swirls, she angled her head farther to the right and hoped she was doing this correctly. He seemed to like it. He’d pulled her against him tighter, and groaned louder.

Minutes later, he was squeezing her right breast through her cloak and “it” was still nowhere to be found.

Worse, she was actually . . . bored.

This experience was of the blandest sort.

What was she doing wrong? He was handsome, or at least he appeared to be from what she could see of his face that wasn’t covered with his demi-mask. There was nothing unpleasant about him. Not his smell or his taste. What was amiss here? Where was the heat? The exhilaration?

“Ah, there you are,” Emilie heard just before a strong arm slid in between her and the man kissing her, and pulled her back, breaking their contact.

She jerked her head up and was surprised to find herself staring at Vincent, his arm still across her chest, holding her shoulder. He wore his mask, and the same attire he had on earlier. She knew it was him. He gripped her elbow. “Come with me.”

“Just a moment, monsieur! Where do you think you’re going with her?” her flavorless lover protested.

Vincent turned back around and shoved his mask off his face, a scowl etched across his handsome features.

“Oh, it’s you . . .
Joseph . . .”
The gentleman’s anger was immediately mollified.

“It’s Vincent, you fool. The lady is coming with me. Any objections?” The question was weighty with authority, his elevated rank hanging in the air between the men. It was clear what was truly being asked: “Do you
dare
object?”

Her anonymous kisser glanced at her, his expression looking remarkably like regret, and then said a soft, “No.”

With that, Vincent took her hand and stalked toward the château with her in tow, the tiny stones on the path crunching beneath her feet.

She was all but running to keep up, her free hand holding her cloak closed so it wouldn’t fly open.

His comportment irked her. “Vincent, just what do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t respond and kept on walking.

“Vincent, you just bullied that man.” It bothered her to see it. He’d swooped in, without excuses or apologies. An arrogant display that was more in keeping with Joseph’s character and not the Vincent she’d come to know. “Your conduct was rather poor, don’t you think?”

Still no answer. Her ire spiked. She’d no idea what had gotten into him.

“Just because you’re the son of the Duc de Vernant doesn’t mean you’re above reproach.”

“You’re wrong there. I’m afraid it does.” His answer annoyed her further, as did the fact that he was affecting her. The simple touch of his hand was sending delicious tiny tingles reverberating up her arm to her breasts. Hardening her nipples. She’d spent long minutes kissing her masked gentleman with no reaction. Not a spark of heat. Yet some simple handholding with this man, and her body was aquiver.

It was exasperating. Vincent was a friend, albeit an annoying one at the moment. She didn’t delude herself into believing he’d ever desire her. “I don’t care a whit who your father is, you’re not above reproach with me.”

“Believe me, I’m very much aware of that.”

His response surprised her. “Vincent, where are we going? What is all this about? I was in the middle of an amorous encounter when you so rudely interrupted.” All right, perhaps she was a tad grateful that he’d put an end to the dull experience, but he didn’t need to know that. What he needed to know was that she wouldn’t tolerate any high-handedness from him.

“You were in the middle of an encounter,
chère
. It was hardly amorous. You looked ready to fall asleep. Trust me, I did you a favor.”

Before she could offer up a hot retort, they entered the château’s great room. There was a crush of people now. People who’d clearly consumed more drink, the laughter louder and the throng rowdier than before. Bawdy behavior was more evident and widespread. The light fondling she’d seen earlier around the table had been replaced by open groping. There were more than a few open bodices. Bare breasts. Open breeches. And in a few instances, open fornication.

Emilie was dragged past a giggling woman sitting on her lover’s lap. Her masked man nibbled at the grapes nestled between her amble breasts, making her squirm and squeal with delight. Vincent continued through the crowd, maneuvering her out of the Grand Salon, through the grand vestibule, up the staircase, and down the corridor straight to her private rooms.

When she was finally standing in her antechamber, she pulled off her mask and wig and demanded, “Tell me what we’re doing here.”

“You’re leaving. Now. This night.” He tore off his mask and tossed it carelessly to the floor. “Where are your trunks?” Vincent turned and marched into her bedchambers.

She chased him in. “What do you mean, I’m leaving tonight? Why on earth would I do that?”

“I’ll get someone to help you pack. Better yet, I’ll help.” He strode to the armoire and threw open the doors. “
Dieu
, you have a lot of clothes . . . Are there more in the cabinet?”

He, a d’Alumbert, privileged and pampered, was going to help her pack? Tackle the task of a
servant
?

“Vincent, what has gotten into you? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’ve asked myself that question many times since your recent arrival.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Emilie, you can’t stay. You must leave. The sooner the better.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because this plan of yours isn’t going to work.”

“Really?” Emilie tilted her head to one side. “And why not?”

Joseph noted the stubborn look in her eyes. One that told him she wasn’t about to leave without a good reason.
Think of one
.

“Fine. You force me to tell you,” he said.

“Tell me what?”

“Joseph wants you.” That wasn’t a lie. Though he wished it was. “I can’t keep him away.” That wasn’t a lie either. He couldn’t seem to stay away from her no matter how he tried. And he couldn’t keep Vincent away from her either.

His easy-mannered twin, who’d always done as Joseph asked, picked a fine time to be unyielding.

Her lips twitched as though she were holding back a smile. “That’s it? That is the reason I must flee in the middle of the night?” She approached, the smile on her beautiful face growing larger with each step she took. “That’s why you interrupted me in such haste?” She stopped before him. Lavender swirled around him, stirring his senses.

His blood warmed. “Ah . . . yes.”

She gave him a radiant smile. “Vincent, you’re a dear!” She threw herself against him, her arms entwining his neck.

Desire hit him in a hot wave on contact. His cock thickened as he took in the warm press of her body down the length of his and her silky flaxen hair against his cheek.

“I’m so moved by your concern. You’re a wonderful, wonderful friend.” She tightened her arms around him and snuggled in closer, inadvertently rubbing his engorged shaft with her belly.
Dieu
. . .

He didn’t deserve the praise and he certainly couldn’t take the physical contact, given his current celibate state.

Gently, Joseph pushed her away. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length and dipped his head, bringing him eye level to her. Big beautiful green eyes stared back at him, drawing him in. Just as distracting was that perfect pink mouth. Seeing another man sampling her drove him half mad. He was starved for those lips. Ludicrous as it was, he wanted them all to himself when he’d never cared much about exclusivity before. Thoughts of sliding his cock between those lush lips flitted through his mind. “So you see now why you must leave,” he forced out, ignoring the mental images. “It’s quite impossible to keep Joseph from you. He’s told me he’ll approach you tomorrow. And we both know how much you don’t want that. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“Wonderful. Then it’s settled. You’re leaving. Let’s pack.” Joseph released her shoulders and walked toward the cabinet where he was sure to find more of her wardrobe, then thought better of it. He’d no idea how to pack. And no interest in learning. Joseph turned back around to face her. “Better yet, I’ll go see to your carriage and I’ll have your personal effects packed and sent to you.” Resting his hands on his hips, he smiled, feeling at ease for the first time since he’d arrived at the Comtesse’s château, despite his stiff prick.

“I’m not leaving.”

His smile died. As did his easy feeling.

“What do you mean, you’re not leaving?” That stubborn look was back, her expression serious and uncompromising.

“I may not want Joseph to approach me. But I won’t leave because of him.”

Merde
. “Emilie, we’re talking about
Joseph
. Remember, horrible, terrible Joseph? You don’t want him anywhere near you. You’ve said so. It’s best you leave.”

“Actually, since you put it that way, I’ve changed my mind.”

His smile returned. “Excellent!”

“I want Joseph to approach me.”

His smile died again.
Jésus-Christ
. There had to be something wrong with his hearing. “You
want
Joseph to approach you?” he repeated, incredulous.

“I do. In fact, I welcome his advances. I’ll even encourage them. Then I’ll do something he deserves. I’ll rebuff him. He has it coming, don’t you think?”

Joseph blinked. Speechless. Emilie de Sarron was torturing him.

On every level imaginable.

She smiled. “The mighty Joseph d’Alumbert, contemptible and vile, whom society bends to, and placates at every turn . . . He has never been refused anything. Nor has he ever had a woman turn him down. I think I’ll enjoy doing just that—refusing him. Turning him away.”