Page 14 of Passion at the Palais Royal (Bleu Blanc Rogue #3)

N icolas peered out the window, as the fiacre rumbled across the cobblestones. The sky was lightening, and already people were out in the streets of the Palais Royal, setting up stalls or unloading carts of supplies for the shops. Good thing they were a stone’s throw from his apartments. He didn’t want Violette out too long in the freezing weather, and where anyone could see her.

She was still curled against him, hugging her knees, covered in his coat. Wearing nothing but that horrible lacy nightrail. A disguise to make her look more virginal. Wasn’t that why that débauché had bought her in the first place?

She’d fought Cransac off before he’d had time to hurt her. Still, he’d laid his hands on her. Humiliated her. Treated her no better than a thing to play with.

Dark rage swirled in his gut and rose with such force that he had to tighten and release his fists to calm the trembling in his limbs. The need to hurt, to crush, to kill lashed within like a ferocious, caged animal. If he and Talloche had gone all the way to Cransac’s bedchamber to rescue Violette, his knife would have ended in the bastard’s belly, buried to the hilt. Perhaps the sight of blood on his fancy carpets would have satisfied Nicolas’s thirst for vengeance.

Violette looked up and locked her gaze with his. She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes were soft. Luminous. His heart thumped hard in his chest, and this time it wasn’t out of anger.

He’d found her. She was here, safe in his arms. Far from the Boneman and Cransac and Lenoir and anyone else who wanted to hurt her. Not far enough. But it would do for now, and he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

The fiacre slowed and stopped in front of the row of arcades that formed the southern gallery.

“Wait here,” he told Violette. “I have to speak to Talloche. I won’t be long.”

She nodded, almost sleepily. By God, she must be exhausted. And he wouldn’t be quite able to breathe easily until she was curled in his bed, sleeping soundly. Where he himself would sleep… No use speculating on it now. All in good time.

He opened the door and climbed out of the fiacre. Talloche jumped from his perch next to the driver and stretched his neck.

“Damn it to hell, I sooner would have walked from the Place Vend?me,” he grumbled. “Well, we got the girl, so that’s settled.”

Nicolas frowned. His debt to Malenfant was hardly settled. No, he was well and truly caught in the man’s web now. But Raoul was right, he never would have found Violette, or at least not so quickly, without that blackguard’s help. And time in this case had been of the essence.

“What now?” he asked Talloche. “Is there a ceremony where I kneel, kiss Malenfant’s ring, and swear my allegiance?”

Talloche laughed. “Malenfant doesn’t give a rat’s arse about pomp and ceremony. Says he got enough of that in church. He was a choir boy when he was a lad, believe it or not.”

Nicolas raised an eyebrow. “I admit I’m leaning towards not .”

“What he cares about is money. Gold. Fine things. Power is just a way to get those. And as soon as he has a mission for you that can bring in more, he’ll let you know.”

Nicolas nodded shortly. “And about Violette’s brother…”

Finding Emile was just as important as finding Violette, something he’d insisted on when he’d discussed the situation with Malenfant. Emile was the only reason the Boneman had a hold on her. But when Malenfant’s men turned up at their apartment yesterday, he was gone. All they’d found was a woman lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise to her temple and a candlestick next to her head.

“He’ll let you know as well,” Talloche said. “The two men he sent on the job are good hunters.”

“All right. I’ll wait for news, then.”

He returned to Violette and took her hand to help her out of the fiacre. His gaze landed on her bare foot, white against the dark wood of the step. He placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her movement.

“You’re not walking all the way to my apartment without shoes. Out of the question.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks tinged with red. “Well…”

“Come on, then.”

He pulled her to him and hooked his arm beneath her knees, lifting her against his chest. Her blush deepened, but she circled his neck with her arms nonetheless. Heavens, she was light as a bird. Carrying her up the stairs to the second floor hardly gave him any trouble. Starting now, he would have to make sure she was eating to her heart’s content.

He set her down gently and knocked on the door. Pierre, his manservant, opened immediately and stepped aside to let them in.

“You have a domestic?” Violette murmured.

“Yes. And a housekeeper. The best use of money one can make is to employ honest people.”

He took the coat from her shoulders and handed it to Pierre. Bless the man, his expression remained unfailingly polite, just as it always did when Nicolas brought home company, though the present circumstances were quite peculiar, even for him.

Nicolas placed a hand on the small of Violette’s back and led her to the sitting room. Her gaze darted from the high windows to the cherry wood wainscotting topped with cerulean wallpaper and chairs upholstered in gold and leafy green.

“Heavens, it’s so colorful.”

He smiled. “You haven’t noticed I favor color? I thought my waistcoats would have given me away.”

“No, it’s just…” She hugged herself. “Perhaps I’m no longer used to seeing much color. Emile and I had to sell almost all our furniture to get by.”

Blast, he would have to tell her about Emile sooner or later. If only he could pretend, just for a few hours, that the outside world no longer existed… But no, pushing it back would only make things worse.

He took her hand, and they sat on the divan. “Listen, I asked Malenfant to send some men to fetch your brother.”

Her fingers trembled in his, and she swallowed. “Did they… Did they find him?”

“They didn’t. He was gone. We’re not sure what happened. They found a woman lying unconscious on the floor, hit with a candlestick—”

Her gaze sharpened. “A woman? What did she look like?”

Nicolas repeated what Malenfant’s man had told him. “Brown hair. Neither young nor old. Dressed in a plain dress, but without an apron or a servant’s cap.”

She frowned. “It could have been Berthelise.”

The name rang in his mind like a gun shot. “Did you say Berthelise? Berthelise Arthaud is one of Estienne’s most notorious agents. I’ve never met her, thank God, or I might not have lived to tell the tale. She’s an expert at infiltrating houses, passing herself off as a servant, but she’ll slit your throat without a moment’s hesitation.”

“So Emile might have knocked her out and escaped.” She shook her head. “How did he do it? Perhaps… Perhaps he wasn’t as drunk and helpless as she thought.”

“We won’t know until they find him. And they will find him, Violette.”

He squeezed her hand, and the ghost of a smile passed over her lips. “Yes. At least there’s hope.”

Hope . He’d never given the sentiment much thought. But sitting in his home with Violette, he found he did hope, desperately, achingly. There might still be a way out of this impossible situation.

“I’m going to ask my housekeeper to draw you a hot bath and prepare something to eat,” he said. “Then you can go sleep if you wish.”

She nodded and her teeth pulled at her lower lip, as if she wanted to ask him something but couldn’t summon the nerve. He cleared his throat and inhaled a shaky breath. Good Lord, after all she’d been through, it was no wonder she was nervous.

And so was he. Another sentiment that had been alien to him until now.

“Take my bed, I’ll sleep on the divan,” he added quickly. “And if you prefer I’ll ask Suzanne to come keep you company.”

“No. It’s fine.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I trust you.”

He stood. His pulse was pounding too quickly, and she was too near. Too damn near. Her hair, curling on her shoulders, her fresh floral scent… It was impossible to hold back the memory of what they’d done the other night, the way he’d held her and kissed her and let all his reserve fall away to bring them both the pleasure they sought.

He rose abruptly from the divan. “I’ll see to your bath.”

Better not give her the slightest hint that her trust might be misplaced.

*

Warm.

Violette smoothed her hands over the silk dressing gown. Sea green and soft against her skin, and so warm. She breathed in. It smelled like Nicolas—the clean, citrusy scent of bergamot. The fire roaring in the hearth, the plate of steaming food on the table, the lush carpet under her feet, she let all of it wash over her like the hot water of her bath and seep into her bones, as if it could make her forget forevermore the sensation of being cold.

She sat at the table in front of the plate of potatoes and chicken drowned in cream and mushroom sauce. She closed her eyes and inhaled the thick, earthy aroma before picking up her fork.

Nicolas sat across from her and smiled. “ Bon appétit . You’ll have to let me know if there are any particular dishes you enjoy.”

She nodded, too ravenous to stop eating and reply. But Nicolas didn’t seem to mind. He simply watched her, taking slow sips from a glass of wine, his hair shining like molten gold in the candlelight.

“You’re not eating anything?” she finally asked, once she was done with half her plate.

“I usually don’t eat much in the mornings. I build up my appetite when I practice.”

“Will you be going to practice today?”

His smile faltered. “I’d rather not leave you alone if I can help it. Besides, circumstances make practicing rather difficult at present.”

“What do you mean?”

He drained his glass and set it down on the table. “Saint Aphrodise burned down. Courtesy of the Boneman.”

Suddenly, all that delicious food turned to lead in her stomach. Devil take it, the Boneman had done this because of her . “I don’t know what to say. I… I’m so sorry, I never should have—”

“None of that,” he interrupted her. “It would have happened sooner or later, given our history. I’m surprised it took so long, actually.”

Our history. She hadn’t dared ask before, but now her curiosity burned even stronger. “How do you know Estienne?”

Nicolas stared for a while at the flames dancing on the hearth.

“My mother died giving birth to me, and my brother and my father were executed during the Terror. We were hardly royalist, but they thought the Revolutionary Tribunal were nothing but a bunch of power-mad thugs, and made no secret of it. It cost them their heads.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. To lose a loved one to the guillotine was horrid enough, but two… Had he witnessed the executions, lost in the crowd clamoring for blood? It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Somehow, I managed to escape their net. I ended up at the Palais Royal, living on the streets, and then I met Lenoir. He was an orphan too. We were both sixteen, angry and hungry. We’d go around with other boys trying to sniff out sans-culottes or anyone who had been favorable to the Terror and beat them bloody.”

“You were a muscadin ?”

She’d heard about them, of course. Groups of young men who liked to wear flashy clothes and musky perfume, while running wild in the streets of Paris, getting into violent fights with revolutionaries.

Nicolas nodded and gave a dry, hollow laugh. “The only thing I still keep from that time is my taste in clothes. Back then, we were foolish enough to think we were dispensing justice, though it didn’t take much for someone to end up with broken teeth or a knife wound. Then Estienne came along, and that changed. He became our leader, organized us into a proper gang. He wasn’t the strongest, but he was the cruelest by far, and he had the sort of intelligence that made it easy for him to pinpoint anyone’s weakness.”

She shivered. She knew this firsthand. “He hasn’t changed.”

“No. If anything, he’s gotten worse. Lenoir idolized him from the start, and that hasn’t changed either.” He sighed. “I could never see anything else in him than a villain. Estienne knew this, and he made me pay for it dearly. I… I had to leave Paris for a time.”

“You went to Marseille.” He looked at her, brows raised in surprise, and she continued. “Suzanne told me you’d met Raoul there. Then you came back with him.”

“Paris is my home.” His eyes blazed fiercely. “It always has been, and it always will be. I wasn’t going to let Estienne keep me away from it. He wasn’t too glad when I returned, of course, and he’s never forgiven me for not being a good, loyal dog like Lenoir.”

Violette waited for him to go on, but Nicolas nodded toward her plate. “Enough of this now. It’s spoiling your appetite.”

After what he’d just told her, food was the last thing on her mind. Nicolas had lost his family and had done what he could to survive, same as her and Emile. No, worse, because he had been left with nothing. And yet he hadn’t ended up sick with drink, or wasting away in some gambling hell.

“How did you manage to build such a life for yourself, after what you’ve been through?”

The smile returned to his lips. “Life. That’s it. I’ve been blessed with a great desire to live, and not only to survive. The Widow could make the streets run red with blood tomorrow, but at least I’ll be sure I won’t have spent my time on this earth cowering in fear and denying what makes each day a worthy pursuit.”

She rose from her chair. His words, his smile, the glow of the hearth, the feel of the silk robe on her bare skin, all of it had lit a fire within her, the very same that had roared free the other night under his eager touch. She had survived for years, and yet only now was she truly beginning to live.

His smile vanished as she stepped around the table and to his chair, but desire lit his gaze. “Violette…”

“Do not speak,” she murmured.

If he tried to dissuade her, to reason with her… No, she was done with prudence and reason. Nothing, no one, stood between them now. She wanted to feel it again, that crushing lust that had taken control of her, obliterating everything else.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him. Nicolas moaned into her mouth and oh , his lips moved against hers, gently teasing them until they opened. The sensation drove straight to her core, throbbing, pulsing with each slick stroke of his tongue. His hands slid up the silk robe from her thighs to grip her waist.

“Is this truly what you want?” he rasped.

She nodded frantically. “Yes. Please, tell me you want the same.”

An agonized groan rose from his throat. “I have wanted this since I first laid eyes on you.”

Lord, the utter certainty with which he spoke it… She kissed him again, more hungrily now, and his clever fingers worked to undo the knot at her waist. When it gave way, her robe fell open. Nicolas’s gaze raked over her body, leaving a flush of pure heat in its wake.

“Straddle me,” he demanded.

She hesitated for a moment. Would it feel strange, being so… open and bare against him?

He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “I promise you, love, it will not be unpleasant for you. On the contrary.”

She carefully placed her legs on either side of him and lowered herself to a sitting position.

“Oh, I… oh .”

Her breath caught in her chest. The hard ridge beneath the falls of Nicolas’s trousers pressed against her throbbing center, as if it had been made to arouse her most sensitive spot and drive her desire higher. Even the tiniest movement as she adjusted her position sent sparks of pleasure coursing through her body.

Nicolas grabbed her hips again, fingers digging into her flesh, and pulled them into a rolling movement. “You feel it, don’t you? How good it is?”

She moaned, gripping his shoulders for balance. “God, yes, it’s… Oh, what are you doing to me?”

He grinned. “I’m not doing anything. You’re doing it to yourself. Go on, love, it’ll only get better.”

How could it possibly be better than this? She’d never felt such a powerful, consuming sensation in her life, as if she was going to catch fire at any moment. Then Nicolas’s mouth latched on to her neck, nibbling and sucking, dragging his tongue along the curve, and she understood. Yes, she was catching fire, and yet the aching pulse wasn’t satisfied yet. It wanted more, more pressure, more friction, more of his mouth and his hands and that solid bulge that fit so perfectly against her.

Nicolas slid the robe from her shoulders and trailed kisses down to her breasts. “My God, you’re breathtaking,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to give you so much pleasure, love, all the pleasure you deserve.”

The tip of his tongue flicked her nipple, and a jolt of pleasure ran straight through her. She tossed her head back and whimpered. He did it again, again, again, swirling his tongue now, then taking her into his mouth in a greedy pull. She nearly sobbed at the sharp, exquisite heat his mouth spurred within. She rolled her hips back and forth, back and forth, chasing something that was just out of reach, but so close, so close…

Nicolas sucked harder, gripped tighter. Something inside her broke loose, burst into white-hot shards, coursed through her limbs in a whirlwind. A hoarse cry ripped from her chest, and she fell against him, limp and satiated, head spinning, all tension melting from her muscles.

This was… incredible. Astounding. How could such bliss exist?

Nicolas caressed her hair. “My beautiful Violette. Would you think me a terrible cad if I took you to bed now?”

She smiled against his neck. “Only if you plan on sleeping.”