The Princess in His Bed (28 page)

“What is happening?” Emilie spoke, her soft green eyes on him.

Gilbert strolled up to the Comtesse, smiling. “Dear Madame de Saint-Arnaud, you are clearly confused. But don’t be embarrassed by it. They look so much alike that I, their own brother, sometimes confuse them. A common mistake. Now, why don’t we put our masks back on and enjoy the rest of the evening. What say you?” He spoke to the group before him.

“I say that this man”—the Comtesse pointed straight at Joseph—“just entered this very room moments ago and admitted to me he was Joseph d’Alumbert.”

“Did you do that?” Emilie asked him, but before Joseph could respond, Vincent interjected with a laugh.

“Vincent does that all the time.” Vincent shook his head. “He envies me, you see. I am, after all, the firstborn. The heir. Pay him no mind.”

“Forget it, Vincent.” At last he found his voice, simply because the lies had become too much to bear. Joseph looked at Emilie, cherishing the last moments her soft delicate hand rested in his. “I am Joseph. He is Vincent, a good brother, and a poor liar.”

“Really? I thought I was a good liar.”

“And I am Gilbert d’Alumbert.” Smiling, Gilbert walked up to Emilie and gave a short bow. “Apparently, I’m the only one who hasn’t kissed you, but I’m happy to accommodate—”

“You’re not helping,” Joseph cut him off sharply. This was no time for his brothers’ usual foolery.

Her sweet lips parted, she stepped in front of him, her hand still absently in his, her eyes moving from Vincent back to him. She was a vision in her white gown. He hated it that he couldn’t pull her to him. He hated the distress etched on her brow, her breasts rising and falling with her quickened breaths.

“The only one who hasn’t kissed me?” she said softly. Incredulous. Shocked.

“Good Lord, you haven’t shared her without her knowledge, have you? I’ve heard that you gentlemen have been known to do that, but—”

“No!” Joseph quickly silenced the Comtesse’s rant. He squeezed Emilie’s hand to gain her full attention. “It wasn’t like that. You’ve been with me. Just me. Joseph.”

“Except our kiss in the hallway . . . Which was quite delicious indeed,” Vincent said. “I’ve never touched you.”

“
Merde
, Vincent. That’s not helpful,” Joseph exploded.

Vincent held up his hands. “Sorry, Joseph.”

Emilie pulled her hand from his grip. Tears glistened in her eyes. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? A cruel game.”

“No, this is no game. The letters, what happened between us here, were real. Sincere.” Joseph caressed her cheek. She jumped back.

“Don’t touch me, Joseph.”

Those words sliced him deeply.

“Do not speak to me about sincerity when you’ve done nothing but deceive me! What are you going to do now?” she asked him. “Run about and tell all your friends how you had Singed Emilie de Sarron?” She angrily swiped a tear that ran down her cheek. “Just think of all the laughs you will have. We all know how much you love to laugh at another’s expense.”

She turned and walked out of the room.

Joseph felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He placed his hands on his hips, trying to breathe.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” the Comtesse said.

Joseph’s gaze shot up to hers. Teeth clenched, he growled, “Madame, if you were a man, I’d lay you low for what you’ve just done.”

“What I’ve just done? Sir, you blame me for your poor conduct?”

The commotion outside grabbed Joseph’s attention. There was laughter. And he could hear Augustin’s booming voice.

Joseph stalked from the room. Entering the hallway, he noticed a crowd had formed in the grand vestibule. He gravitated to it. His heart missed a beat when he saw Emilie in the middle of the crowd with Augustin beside her.

He was laughing along with the throng. Emilie was unmasked; the beautiful swan’s mask lay on the floor.

She cracked her palm against Augustin’s cheek. “You are vile and a fool.”

The crowd roared.

Joseph pushed his way through the mass and entered the center.

Augustin rubbed his cheek, no longer looking as amused as before. “Ah, Joseph!” He pointed to Emilie. “Look who has been at the gathering. Some of the men may have actually fucked Singed de Sarron.”

Joseph smashed his fist against Augustin’s thick jaw, knocking the man to the floor. A gasp rippled in the crowd. Calmly, he placed his hands behind his back and slowly strolled the perimeter of the large circle, looking out at the crowd. “None of the men here have had this woman. None of you have been that fortunate. But I have. Joseph d’Alumbert. Anyone who finds amusement in that may step into the circle. I promise you, if you do, you will be joining the Comte de Coix on the floor.”

He paused and took in the dead silence.

Joseph continued. “Let me correct everyone on her name. You may call her Mademoiselle de Sarron. Or if she permits it, Emilie. But I have different names for her.”

Joseph stopped and faced her. Her gaze nervously darted to the crowd, and back to him.

“She is Emilie the Brave. Emilie the Beautiful. Emile Who-Has-Stolen-My-Heart de Sarron. And I want her to be mine for the rest of my life, more than words can say . . .”

A collective gasp rose from the onlookers, but no one was as stunned as the blond beauty before him.

“Will you marry me?” he asked from the heart.

Her chin dropped, and he saw the glistening paths of tears she was too proud to show.

“Out!” he commanded the crowd without removing his gaze from her. Reluctantly, people began to disburse, murmuring as they left.

Joseph approached her, cupped her face, and tilted her chin up. When her gaze met his, he gently wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I am sorry about what happened that night. I’ve wished a thousand times that I’d done something. Anything that would have spared you the pain of that eve. Initially I wrote to you a year ago out of guilt—a troubled conscience—but I fell in love with you a little more with each and every letter. I’m sorry for the deceptions, but I won’t apologize for being with you. I’m not sorry about that. There’s a connection between us and it’s wonderful. You know it, Emilie. You feel it, too. Say you’ll marry me. I love you, Emilie, and I know you love me. I can see it in the way you look at me. I can feel it in the way you touch me. Be mine,
ma belle
.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. She shook her head. “How can you want to marry me? You don’t even know what I look like . . . what the scars look like.”

He smiled tenderly at her. “I don’t care.”

“You say that because you’ve never seen them . . .”

“I say that because I’ve seen all I need to see to know unequivocally—you’re what I want. Whom I love.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. He took advantage of the moment, dipped his head, and kissed her. A soft gentle kiss, praying all the while she wouldn’t push him away.

The moment he felt her return his kiss, her lips parting for him, he slid his tongue inside, wanting to shout with jubilation. Tender yet ardent, it was filled with more emotion than any kiss he’d ever given or received.

It heated his blood and warmed his heart.

He needed her. They needed each other.

Impatient to have her, he broke the kiss and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

Joseph briskly crossed the vestibule, climbed the stairs, and made it back to her private apartments in no time. The moment he closed her door, he pushed her up against it and feasted on her delectable mouth, his fingers immediately at the fastenings of her bodice, undoing them before she could protest.

But she didn’t protest. She softly moaned into his mouth, her hands moving to his back, fisting his justacorps.

“Emilie . . . admit you love me. I can even feel it in your kiss. I’m the same man you corresponded with. Whom you wanted to share your most intimate thoughts and longings with. I’m the same man who’s made love to you every night since your arrival. Your hurt and anger at me for my part in that night so long ago is not unjust. If I could change that night, I would. Let me make it up to you—by loving you, by cherishing you the rest of our lives. Say it, Emilie. Speak the truth. Say you love me. Say you’ll marry me.”

Emilie was trembling. It was the truth! She couldn’t believe she was deeply in love with Joseph d’Alumbert. That she had been all this time. “I do love you. But I can’t—”

He cut off her words with a brief, hard kiss, then he stepped back and removed his justacorps. Then his vest.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to have you. No gown, no stays, no chemise. Nothing between us.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t expose myself that way.”

“Yes you can, Emilie.”

“No! It’s—It’s the reason I can’t marry you. If you were to see how ugly the scars are, you’d understand. You’d be repulsed. And you wouldn’t want me for a wife.”

He smiled. “I could never be repulsed by you. But if you think you can drive me away with your scars, go ahead and try. It won’t work.” He opened his breeches and pulled off his linen shirt, discarding it. “Take your clothes off, Emilie.” He took her hand and brought it to his cock. She couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around his hard shaft. Arousal flared in her belly. He stroked her hand along his length. “You’re mine. I’m going to come inside you. I’m going to stay inside you until the end.”

Her sex clenched hard and moistened. Every fiber of her being screamed,
Yes! Do it!

Suddenly she was sick of hiding. Concealing. Afraid of her scars being seen.

He said he couldn’t be repelled. Could that miraculously be true?

She wanted to be with this man. She loved seeing herself through his eyes. She loved how happy she felt around him.

She loved him so very much. She wanted to hold on to the bliss he brought—for a lifetime. And her scars were the final obstacle in their paths.

Emilie pulled her hand away from his beautiful prick and began to strip. A slow grin formed on his handsome face. He helped her discard her clothing down to the final chemise.

Her beautiful swan costume lay scattered on the floor.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to her bedchambers. Setting her down before the bed, he removed the last of his clothing.

He stood naked, unabashed. “Your turn, Emilie.”

Her heart pounding, she drew in a shaky breath.
I can do this
. Grabbing handfuls of her chemise, she pulled it up over her head in one quick movement, fearing that with a slower progress she’d falter.

Standing naked, she met his gaze.

He was smiling. “I just see beauty.”

That’s because I haven’t turned around and showed you my back yet
. Emilie swallowed hard and forced herself to turn her back to him.

Facing him were her scars, covering her back, and down the backs of her arms to her elbows. Pink to dark red blotchy skin. Thick. And raised. And uneven.

And horrible to behold.

Not having the courage to turn back around to see his reaction, she waited for him to speak, her insides quivering.

She felt his lips against her shoulder first. She lurched. He slipped his arm around her waist and bent her forward, her palms bracing against the mattress. Kiss after kiss was pressed against her back as he slowly made his way down her spine. Tears welled in her eyes and fell onto the bed. She was so stunned, so moved, she couldn’t believe what he was doing.

He straightened, leaned over her, and near her ear he repeated, “I just see beauty.”

Shaking, she couldn’t speak. Overwhelmed by emotion. Overwhelmed by him. Her only sounds were her ragged breaths.

He captured her nipple between his strong warm fingers and gave it luscious rolls and tugs, instantly swamping her with sensations. His other hand reached around and he began fingering her with devastating finesse. “I’m going to take you from behind—one of my favorite positions.”

Already wet and feverish for him, she would have agreed to just about anything.

“You want my cock, Emilie?”

“Yes!”

“Yes,
Joseph
. I want to hear my name from your lips.”

“
Joseph
. . . I want your . . . cock.”

He slid his shaft along her slick folds, grazing the engorged head over her pulsing bud. She gasped.

“Joseph, I love you. Say it.” He was smiling. She could hear it in his tone. The rhythmic strokes across her private flesh were sublime, flooding her body with pleasure, inciting an all-consuming hunger.

“Say it, Emilie,” he insisted.

“I love you, Joseph.”

“I will marry you,
Joseph
,” he said.

“Yes! Yes, I will marry you, Joseph . . . Please . . . I want you inside me.”

“There’s a request I cannot refuse.” Grabbing her hips firmly, he drove his cock into her.

She cried out and fisted the counterpane, deliciously stretched and full by his possession, which was exquisitely deep.

He thrust again. And again. Gliding his shaft over a sweet spot inside her slick walls, giving her a barrage of knee-weakening sensations. Making her moan and gasp.

“
Dieu
, I love your tight grip on me. How does it feel? You like being taken this way, don’t you?”

“Yes!” She’d love anything as long as it was him doing the taking.

Pushing her bottom toward him, she was eager for more, reveling in the glorious friction of his driving sex. It was sheer rapture, and she was fast approaching a stunning release.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you? I can feel it,” he rasped. “Your sweet sex is sucking me in with the most delicious tiny spasms.”

Dear God, it was true. She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Her inner muscles were milking his shaft greedily, ravenous for more.

“Come with me, Emilie. I want you to come when I do.”