Page 57 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)
“Very well,”
the captain had finally agreed, “but they must bring their own food. I’ll supply drinking water, three cups each day, and one cup each of rum, but nothing else. There are two bunks in the cabin, but they must bring their own blankets.”
Velvet had agreed to the captain’s terms, and the landlord had negotiated the price for them and then helped them to quickly assemble their provisions, which consisted of oatcakes, dried and salted beef, a small cheese, and, at Velvet’s insistence, a basket of apples and pears. There had been no time either to bathe or to purchase fresh clothing before they sailed, and so when they reached Belle Fleurs , they had been wearing the same garments for a month.
“We were forced to flee quickly,”
Velvet had explained to Mignon. “We could take nothing with us but what we had on our backs. I am certain that my mother has clothing stored here in the chateau.”
“Oui , madame, indeed she does,”
replied Mignon. “I should know for was I not her tiring woman while she lived here in France? I myself packed everything away in cedar-lined trunks. They are stored in the attics. Tomorrow I will have Matthieu fetch them down.”
The following day Velvet had opened her mother’s trunks to find them filled with beautiful garments: gowns, skirts, and blouses; night rails of gossamer quality; petticoats; chemises; stockings; and shoes. There was even a small ivory box containing some rather magnificent jewelry. There were pink-tinged pearls with a matching ring set in gold; a marvelous necklace of large diamonds, blue-white in color, which also had matching earrings; several other pairs of earbobs of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies set in gold; bracelets; rings; and hair ornaments decorated with diamonds, pearls, and rubies.
“Were these my mother’s?”
she asked Mignon.
“Yes, madame, they were. She brought them with her when she came to Archambault.”
Velvet was utterly intrigued, particularly in light of the yellowed parchment she found at the bottom of the ivory box. Its fading message offered yet a further mystery as it read:
Doucette, I had these made for you when I thought you might return to me. Since I will not give my wife jewelry made for another woman, I beg that you take this small offering that was meant only for you. Nicolas.
“Who was Nicolas, Mignon?”
Velvet asked.
“Nicolas? Why, I do not know, madame,”
came the reply. “Is it important?”
“Nay,”
said Velvet. “I was but curious.”
It was Pansy, however, who supplied the key to the mystery. “Nicolas,”
she said musingly, as if trying to remember something, and then her face lit up. “I know who he was, m’lady! Me mum told me many stories of Mistress Skye’s adventures, some of them mum shared. I remember a Duke Nicolas that your mother was supposed to marry once. I can’t remember why she didn’t. He lived here in France somewheres. I will wager the note and the jewelry are from him.”
Velvet was fascinated. It never occurred to her that her mother would receive jewelry from someone other than her father. Oh, all her life she had heard bits and pieces about her mother’s adventures, and certainly at court there had been those who were only too eager to repeat the gossip about her mother. Skye herself, however, had never spoken a great deal of the past. She seemed to always live for the moment, for the morrow, and that was how her daughter saw her. Now, suddenly, her mother appeared in a different light; as a woman whom other men had adored and loved, and for whom men had jewelry created, a woman with a past. Why had the jewelry been left in France? Had the man who had given her the gems meant so little to her mother that Skye had carelessly left his gift behind? It was interesting, and she was going to have to ask her mother when she saw her again.
Velvet now picked up the diamond necklace and held it up against her throat. It really was quite beautiful, and it went very well with the green velvet gown. Clasping it about her neck, she admired herself for a moment in the glass and then added the earrings. Despite her somewhat old-fashioned dress she felt quite confident to receive the king.
If Henri of Navarre noticed that Velvet’s gown was not of the latest fashion, he said nothing about it during their meal. Mignon had outdone herself, and on such short notice; Velvet herself was more than amazed at the meal that appeared on her table. The ragout was filled with chunks of tender beef that had been simmered in a brown gravy, which was fragrant with Burgundy and delicate mushrooms. There were small bits of carrot, too, and the green leeks that Velvet had picked earlier. To her surprise, there was also a plump, juicy capon that had been roasted to a golden brown and stuffed with a mixture of bread, sage, tiny white onions, and chestnuts; as well as a fine trout that had been caught by Matthieu in the chateau lake and poached in white wine and herbs. There was a bowl of turnips, and one of baby lettuce and watercress that had been braised in wine. Fresh bread still warm from the ovens was placed with a crock of sweet butter before them.
The king ate with great appetite, filling and refilling his plate three times. When the second course, which consisted of the pear and currant tartlet, apples baked in honey and dusted with cinnamon, a bowl of fat purple grapes, and a Normandy Brie, was placed before him, his eyes lit with delight. He decimated these offerings with equal gusto while Velvet was kept busy seeing that his goblet was never empty, for the king drank as heartily as he ate.
The meal finished, Velvet said, “Will you allow my housekeeper to greet Your Majesty? When she learned she was to cook for you, her delight knew no bounds. She can barely wait to gossip with the entire neighborhood, and your obvious appreciation of her culinary skills will give her much to talk about.”
He nodded his assent, and Velvet sent to the kitchens for Mignon. The old lady came, her face flushed from excitement as well as the heat of her kitchens. Her white hair was neat, just peeping from beneath a fresh cap, and she had taken the time to remove her stained apron, replacing it with a clean one. Kneeling before Henri, she kissed his hand, and there were tears in her eyes.
The king was touched, and, standing, he raised the old woman to her feet, saying as he did so, “I cannot remember ever eating a finer meal, Madame Mignon. You have your monarch’s grateful thanks.”
Somehow Mignon found her voice, although later as she told it, she was surprised that she could speak at all to this wonderful, great man. “When my lady told me of the menu you suffer at Chenonceaux , I knew that Your Majesty longed for good country cooking as you once ate in your youth in Navarre. I cannot cook the elegant foods that your own chefs prepare, but I know how to cook for a man; and if the rumors that we hear are correct, Your Majesty is the best man in all of Europe!”
Mignon chuckled.
“Mignon!”
Velvet was surprised by her servant’s boldness.
The king, however, laughed uproariously. “I will not deny those rumors, Madame Mignon,”
he said, and his golden brown eyes twinkled. “If I were but a bit older, I’m afraid I should have chased you around your kitchen for a kiss, thus shocking my young hostess even more.”
“And were I a bit younger,”
cackled the housekeeper, “your Majesty would have no trouble catching me! Alas, however, I am an old woman now.”
“Madame Mignon,”
said the king, “a spirit such as yours never grows old!”
And taking her hand, he kissed it gallantly.
Mignon drew herself up proudly. “I am pleased that I have been able to serve my king, even in so little a matter as this.”
She curtsied elegantly, and then said, “I have had a guest chamber prepared for Your Majesty, and when you are ready to retire, my husband, Guillaume, will valet Your Majesty. He once served the Comte de Cher in such a capacity.”
“The king is not staying the night!”
protested Velvet.
“He cannot leave now, madame,”
said Mignon. “There is a storm raging outside, and it has been raining very heavily for the past two hours. It will rain the entire night, Guillaume says, and he knows. The king will stay, and in the morning I will serve him eggs poached in cream and marsala!”
Bobbing a final cursty to both the king and the lady, she departed from the room.
“It would seem, chèrie , that the fates seek to plead my cause,”
said the king softly.
“I cannot send you out into the storm,”
Velvet said, “but I would remind Your Majesty of your promise to me to behave like the gentleman that you are.”
Henri laughed. “You are very unfair, chèrie.”
“I did warn you that I am not a flirt,”
Velvet protested.
Henri of Navarre sighed dramatically. “If I am to be fair, then I must admit that you did. Still, if I were not to hope that you might change your mind, then I should not be the man I am.”
Velvet could not help but smile. The king was most disarming. “Monseigneur, it is not that you are unattractive, it is just that I value the Gordons’ honor above all else—even the attentions of a king. A man of such great honor as Your Majesty can understand that, I know.”
“I understand it, chèrie,”
he admitted to her, “but I do not have to like it. You are an outrageously beautiful woman. I am already wildly in love with you, and you are frank enough to dash my fondest hope with such innocent honesty that I cannot be in the least offended. Disappointed, oui , but not offended.”
“It was never my intention to offend you, sire. I would far prefer that we be friends. I have never had a king for a friend.”
Even as she said it, Velvet was somewhat ashamed of the lie, for Akbar had been her friend first before he became her husband and her lover. Still, she knew that she must sweeten her rejection of the king, for it could be that she might need his goodwill one day.
Henri’s gaze softened. “Ah, chèrie ,”
he said, “what a charming creature you are! Of course we will be friends. I would have it no other way.”
Velvet arose from the table and curtsied to the king. “Will you then give me your permission to retire, monseigneur? I find in my condition that I seem to need more sleep than usual.”
“Will you not show me to my chambers, chèrie?”
“If you are ready to retire, monseigneur, I shall call old Guillaume to escort you,”
said Velvet sweetly, and she was gone from the hall before the king could protest.
He watched her skirts disappearing around the corner, and he chuckled. How wise she was to entice him so. An easy quarry was usually unfulfilling and boring to bed. He far more enjoyed the hunt! If not tonight, it would be another night, but he would attempt to breach her defenses one more time this evening. There was a mystery about this beauty, and he was anxious to solve it. Who were these grandparents she spoke of who lived nearby? Where was her husband? He did not believe for one moment that the husband of such a beauty would allow his wife to live alone in such a remote place with only four servants to care for her. It was obvious to Henri that she was trying to hide something, but what he did not know.
The elderly Guillaume came to escort him to his apartment. He was polite and efficient, but the king learned little from him, for the old man was no fool, and la belle Gordon was obviously dear to him.
“Yes, sire,”
he said, “I once served the Comte de Cher. Not he who is currently the count, but his father who lived to be very old. I was with him from the time I was a young man. I went to court with my master and saw Henri II. We were there the day that he was killed in the tourney. Ah, that was a great tragedy. Both the lady Diane, the king’s favorite, and the queen were terribly overwrought.”
Guillaume’s eyes misted with the memory. “The lady Diane de Poitiers was such a beautiful creature. Chenonceaux was hers in those days, you know, but Queen Catherine took it from her once the king was dead. She gave her another chateau, but the lady Diane retired to her own home at Anet.”
He rambled on, and the king found himself quite fascinated by this little bit of France’s recent history as seen through the eyes of a servant.
The king was quite surprised when Guillaume produced a man’s silk nightshirt for him. “Where did this come from?”
he demanded.
“It belongs to my master, Madame Velvet’s father. There is a trunk of his things still here as well as one of his wife’s.”
So, thought the king, that was where she had obtained her gown for tonight. He had not mentioned it, but the dress had been somewhat out of fashion, and the aroma of cedar clung faintly to it. “How long has the lady Velvet been here?”
he asked Guillaume.
“For several weeks now,”
said the manservant, and then he deftly switched the subject back to the old days when he had so loyally served his late master, the Comte de Cher.
The fire was banked, and as his final duty Guillaume tucked the king into bed. Henri said to the valet as he was leaving the room, “Sometimes I have bad dreams, Guillaume, and I cry out in my sleep. I should not like to frighten Madame Gordon in her condition. Is she nearby?”
“Madame’s suite is across the hall, sire,”
said Guillaume. “The way the wind is blowing she would not hear you. I wish you, however, a good night’s sleep with happy dreams.”
“Merci , Guillaume,”
said the king, smiling, and closed his eyes. He heard the doors close, and then all was quiet but for the sound of the heavy rains against the windowpanes and the low moan of the rising wind. For over an hour the king lay resting, and then he arose from his bed and went directly from his chamber across the hall to Velvet’s door. The floor in the passageway was cold, and he eagerly opened her door to step upon a soft carpet.
Inside the room was the largest bed he had ever seen. It was, to his eye, like an arena. What magnificent combats had taken place in it? he wondered. The velvet draperies were drawn across the windows, muffling the sound of the storm, and the firelight cast eerie, dark shadows upon the fabric. Then he heard it. The soft sound of her weeping. It was the saddest thing Henri had ever heard, and all thought of passion fled from his mind as his compassionate nature came to the forefront. Seating himself upon the edge of the bed, the king drew Velvet into his arms.
Instantly she stiffened, and he heard the outrage in her young voice as she said, “What are you doing in my room, monseigneur?”
“Why are you crying?”
he answered her. “It breaks my heart to hear you so saddened, chèrie. What has made you so unhappy?”
She raised a tear-stained face to him, saying as she did so, “I miss my husband, and I miss my home.”
“Then why do you not go home?”
“Because I c—because my health will not allow it,”
was her stumbling reply.
“Forgive me, chèrie , but that is a terrible lie,”
the king replied. “I have never seen a healthier young woman than yourself. You are running from something, chèrie , and if I can help I will. Can you not trust me?”
Velvet was silent.
The king persisted. “At least tell me who your grandparents are. The ones who live nearby.”
“I cannot tell you,”
Velvet said. “Why not?”
“Because they do not know that I am here. If they knew, they would send me to my parents, and my parents would send me to my husband, and I cannot allow that.”
“Why not?”
the king demanded again. Suddenly he thought of something. “The child you carry! It is not your husband’s!”
“Of course it is Alex’s!”
Velvet cried. “Why on earth would you think such a thing of me!”
“Then why don’t you want your husband to know that you are here, for despite your tale, I do not believe he knows where you are, does he?”
Holding Velvet by the shoulders, the king looked down into her face. “Does he, chèrie!”
“No,”
said Velvet, and she burst into tears again.
Henri held her against his chest and allowed her to sob her misery out upon his silken nightshirt. When her weeping had abated somewhat, the king said, “Now, Velvet Gordon, I want you to unravel this mystery you have woven about yourself. I will not take no for an answer, and if you refuse me, I shall take you to Chenonceaux with me and keep you there until you have told me the truth. I am most resolved in this,”
he finished in a somewhat stern tone.
Velvet was silent again for some minutes, and then, sighing, she said, “I was forced to flee Scotland because enemies of my husband wanted to use me to entrap his cousin, a gentleman sought by the king for treason,—but there is no treason, monseigneur! My husband’s cousin is King James’s most loyal servant, if the king would but trust him. It is the king’s chancellor, Master Maitland, who seeks to turn the king against the earls in order to further his own power!”
“Fran?ois Stewart-Hepburn!”
said the king. “It has to be my old friend Fran?ois Stewart-Hepburn!”
“You know Francis?”
said Velvet, amazed.
“For more years, chèrie , than I care to admit to, I have known Fran?ois. It is he, is it not? Fran?ois is the only man in the entire world who so terrifies and enrages James Stewart. Their relationship is a long and a very troubled one, for James Stewart has always been jealous of his cousin.”
“He has outlawed him and confiscated all his estates,”
Velvet said, “and it has been done out of spite, for the king covets the woman that Francis loves.”
“Ah,”
said Henri of Navarre, his voice echoing his total understanding. “It is a woman! I would not have thought such a thing of James Stewart. He does not seem the type, and I have never heard it said of him that he is overfond of the ladies.”
“He pretends to be faithful to Queen Anne,”
replied Velvet, “but he has coveted this particular lady for some time, and she fled from him to be with Francis, who wishes to wed with her.”
“Ahhhhh,”
said Henri of Navarre again, “so not only has this lady refused the king, she prefers his greatest rival. The insult is formidable! No wonder your king is angry, but how, chèrie , did you get involved in this tempest?”
Velvet took a deep breath. “Monseigneur, I can say nothing more unless you give me your word that you will not betray me to James Stewart. France and Scotland are allies, I know.”
Henri smiled. “We are allies, chèrie , because it pleases us to occasionally aid the Scots against the English. It is the same with the Spanish. They enjoy aiding the Irish against the English. It is nuisance value. That is all. You have the word of a king, chèrie , that we will not betray you.”
“I should far rather have the word of Henri of Navarre, monseigneur,”
returned Velvet. “The word of a king is not always reliable. Forgive me, for I mean no insult, but my mother has always said it, and she is the wisest woman that I know.”
The king smiled ruefully. “Your mother is indeed wise, chèrie. Very well, then, you have the word of Henri of Navarre that whatever it is you tell me will remain secret. I will not betray you, and I would certainly not betray my old friend, Fran?ois Stewart-Hepburn. One favor, however, I would ask of you.”
“Anything, monseigneur!”
Velvet vowed.
The king laughed. “Anything!” he said.
“Within reason,”
Velvet amended.
“May we please get beneath the coverlet, chèrie? I am freezing in this nightshirt, which you have soaked through with your tears. I must get warm or I shall have an ague come morning.”
“Oh, dear! You must get out of that wet nightshirt, monseigneur!”
said Velvet, her voice very concerned. Then she slipped from his arms and, running to a trunk at the foot of the bed, opened it and drew forth a second silk nightshirt. “This is my parents’ chamber,”
she explained, “and my father’s night garment.”
Handing him the shirt, she said, “I shall not peek. Tell me when you are ready.”
Gratefully the king changed into the dry nightshirt and then, getting beneath the coverlet, said, “Come now, chèrie , and join me. A lady in your delicate condition should not be chilled.”
It did not occur to Velvet to ask him whether he would behave this time. She simply assumed that he would. Settling herself comfortably next to him, she began her tale, “Francis secretly came north into the Highlands in late summer to meet with the Earl of Huntley. Francis stayed with us a night before going on to Huntley, with my husband and his men-at-arms riding along to protect him. My husband is Francis’s cousin, but he is also a cousin of Huntley’s and of the king, too.”
“Who is your husband?”
interrupted Henri of Navarre.
“My husband is Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn,”
said Velvet. “Alex has but one sibling, his sister, Annabella, and it was her husband, Ian Grant, who decided that if he kidnapped me, he could force Francis into giving himself up. Ian would then turn him over to Maitland and collect the king’s reward.”
Then she went on to tell him of her horrible captivity in Leith and lucky escape with Pansy from Ranald Torc and Ian. “I had to hide somewhere where the king could not find me until he grew tired of seeking me,”
Velvet wound up her tale, “or until he and Francis made up again, although this time I fear they will not reconcile. Because I am considered English, I knew that no one in Scotland would consider looking in France. They do not know of Belle Fleurs , and so I came here.”
“Who are your grandparents?”
Navarre asked.
“The Comte and Comtesse de Cher whose chateau, Archambault , is but four miles from here.”
“Am I to assume that your husband has not known all these weeks where you are, chèrie?”
“How could he?”
said Velvet. “I have not dared to communicate either with him or any member of my family, for fear that James Stewart would find me and use me in his war with Francis.”
“Does Alex Gordon know he is to be a father?”
“Oh, yes!”
said Velvet. “It is our first child, and I had only just told him before we were separated.”
“Mon Dieu!”
said Henri of Navarre. “This is an incredible tangle! I shall find out for you if your king still seeks you, for if I were your husband, my adorable Velvet, I should be distraught beyond all not to know where my wife was, especially in your state.”
“You will not betray me?”
Her voice trembled.
“I have given you my word, chèrie. I will not betray you, but you cannot hide forever. Tomorrow, when I return to Chenonceaux , I shall make discreet inquiries about the difficulties between your king and our mutual friend, Fran?ois. If you are sought by the Scots crown, chèrie , I shall learn of it, and then together we shall solve the problem, I promise you.”
“You will really help me?”
Henri smiled to himself in the dark. She was absolutely charming. “Yes,”
he said, “I will help you, chèrie. How could I not?”
Then, leaning over, he tipped her face to his and kissed her.
Velvet pulled away, suddenly very, very aware that the king’s aid had its price. “You gave me your word,”
she said softly.
“I gave you my word not to force you, chèrie , and I will not. But if I offer you something that you very much want, is it not only fair that you offer me something that I very much want in return? Making love does not always have to involve the emotions. It is a delightful sport in which two compatible people may give each other pleasure.”
“Your mind is much too sophisticated for me, monseigneur. I am a simple woman who finds it hard to visualize lovemaking outside of the bonds of matrimony.”
“You have been most properly brought up, and I applaud your parents who have raised you to be a good Catholic noblewoman; nevertheless, there are times when even the most virtuous of women face serious decisions of this nature. You wish my help, and I wish to make love to you. The choice rests with you, chèrie. The ambassador from your country to mine can tell me what I wish to know. If James Stewart still seeks you, then I shall arrange to bring your husband to you secretly. You can live your life quite happily here in France until you are safe. When is your child due?”
“Early spring,”
said Velvet. “April, I would say.”
“I can arrange that your husband be with you then. You would like that, wouldn’t you? If James has already forgotten you, then you can contact your husband and he can join you here immediately. Is that not worth one brief encounter to you?”
Velvet bit her lip. She knew the story of her friend Cat Leslie and of how James Stewart had forced her to his bed. Would it be the same with Henri of Navarre? Somehow she did not think so, for the French king was a man who openly enjoyed women, and always had at least one acknowledged mistress. Being in the early months of her pregnancy, she could not become enceinte by him, and if Alex never knew of the incident … She could no longer bear this separation from him! She loved her husband, and she needed him!
“Promise me that my husband will never know of this shameful episode,” she said.
“Madame, I am not a man to kiss and tell,”
he said, his tone offended.
“But you have not returned to Chenonceaux tonight, and surely the gentlemen with you will assume you have been in my bed.”
“They would have assumed it even if I had not been, chèrie , and I would certainly not gainsay them their lecherous meanderings of the mind. Do not fear, my lovely Velvet, my gentlemen have no idea who you are, or even the name of this delightful little chateau. Even if you came to my court with your husband, there is not one amongst them who would betray your honor, for by doing so they would betray their own, and they are a proud bunch of milords.”
“Then if I am to have your help, monseigneur, I have no other choice than to yield to you,”
Velvet said softly.
“Ah, chèrie,”
he said, the delight in his voice hard to conceal, “you have made me the happiest of men!”
He might be happy, she thought, but she certainly was not. Having committed herself to this course, one thought bothered her. She had never slept with a man with whom she was not in love. Would Henri of Navarre think her a good lover, or would he feel cheated and, considering her a bad bargain, not feel obliged to help her? “Monseigneur,”
she began, “I have virtually no experience in love other than with my husband.”
There was no need to explain Akbar. It would be too confusing.
“But I, chèrie , have great experience. You will learn at the hands of a master, and, to begin with, I should like you to disrobe for me.”
He himself arose from the bed and, going to the fireplace, built up the fire so that the room was bathed in a rosy glow. Then taking a taper, he relit the candelabrum on either side of the bed. “Love,”
he said, “should not be hidden away in the dark as if it were something to be ashamed of, chèrie. A woman’s body is possibly the most beautiful of God’s creations, and I am a connoisseur of beauty. I have always enjoyed watching the faces of the women I make love to. It is a weakness with me.”
Velvet, too, had arisen slowly from the bed. She had been wearing a simple night rail of white silk with long, full sleeves that was decorated with pink ribbons at the wrists and high neckline. She suddenly felt very, very shy. Both Alex and Akbar had seen her naked, but this man was a virtual stranger, unknown to her except by reputation until a few hours ago. She began to tremble, and the king, who had already shed his nightshirt, saw it.
Coming up behind her, he slipped his long arms about her waist and bent his head to kiss her neck with delicate, feathery movements. “Don’t be afraid of me, chèrie. I shall not hurt you or the child, and I promise to make you very happy even though your adorable, strict sense of morality will not let you believe such a thing is possible right now.”
Gently his slender fingers undid the ribbons at her neckline as he opened her night rail to the waist. Drawing the gown off her shoulders, he watched as it slipped down over her hips and past her shapely calves to puddle about her ankles.
Automatically Velvet stepped from the tangle of silk, and her heart began to beat faster at the king’s sharp intake of breath.
“Ahhhh, chèrie,”
he breathed reverently, “you are beautiful beyond compare, beyond my wildest expectations! You should be sculpted in marble, but I do not believe that there is an artist living or dead who could do you justice! Come!”
Catching her hand in his, he quickly drew her over to the pier glass. “Look at yourself, chèrie! Are you not magnificent? Look at us together! We are superb! I am a tall man, and it is not often that I have a tall woman. Mon Dieu! I must worship at your shrine, my exquisite goddess!”
So saying, the king knelt and began to kiss Velvet from her feet upward, holding her firmly about the hips. She quivered beneath his touch.
His warm mouth wandered up her ankles to first her right knee and then her left. Slowly he turned her so that he might kiss her hips where they swelled out from her waist, her firm buttocks, the base of her spine. Turning her again, his mouth found its way up the fronts of her thighs, the rear having already been saluted.
Velvet could feel her legs buckling, and when his lips found the cleft in her Venus mont and his tongue ran along that cleft slowly, she almost shrieked aloud, but then his mouth was suddenly at her navel. Now he was drawing her gently to her knees so that he could kiss her full, young breasts, her shoulders, her throat, her mouth, and her eyes. Velvet had to admit to herself that she had never been kissed quite as thoroughly as Henri of Navarre was kissing her, and it was not an altogether unpleasant thing.
He stood, drawing her to her feet again, and pressed her against his length. For the first time Velvet became aware of the king as merely a man. He was already rigid with his desire, but she did not dare to look down at him. She was quite close to fainting now, and her breathing was very shallow. He saw it, and, scooping her up, he laid her down upon the huge bed and, joining her, drew her into his arms.
“You are still afraid,”
he said, “and it distresses me to see it, chèrie .”
His big hand caressed her hair. “Such beautiful tresses,”
he murmured, the hand stroking her as if she were a beast to be gentled. Suddenly he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. “You smell of gillyflowers,”
he said. “It is the perfect scent for you—fresh and sharp, and even a trifle innocent. I shall never smell gillyflowers again without thinking of you, chèrie.”
Then rolling her onto her back in a single, deft movement, he found her lips once more.
For some reason she could never explain to herself, her lips parted quite willingly for him, and his tongue slipped in to find hers; to tease and play with it within the sweet grotto of her mouth; to stoke the banked fires of passion that lay hidden deep within her, waiting to be encouraged forth by this master of the erotic arts. Velvet felt the first stirrings of desire taking over her body, and with shock she realized suddenly that the king had been absolutely correct when he had told her that two compatible people could give each other pleasure despite their lack of emotion for one another. There was a word for such a thing. It was called lust, and though one part of her nature still denounced it, she perceived that lust could sometimes be an attractive thing.
Unable to help herself, she found she was kissing him back, her lips eager for his. He encouraged her further, his mouth lingering here, moving there, touching lightly at the corners of her mouth. The pressure of his lips on hers increased until she felt he was bruising her delicate skin.
“You are like the sweetest flower imaginable,”
he murmured against her mouth, “and like a gigantic bumblebee I could drink your honey all night, but there are other fountains from which I would drink!”
His big head moved to her breasts, and, fastening his lips over one tender nipple, he began to suck on her.
The effect on her was so devastating that Velvet cried out softly. It was as if lightning had streaked from the top of her body to the very bottom. The tug of his lips upon her breast was suddenly the most sensual act, for her nipples were extremely sensitive with her pregnancy, and while his mouth worked upon one breast, his hand gently kneaded the other before switching sides to increase her delight.
Velvet felt herself beginning to lose control of her own emotions, particularly when the king moved his head even lower to explore tenderly that most secret shrine of her womanhood. Like a hummingbird seeking out sugary nectar, his tongue moved swiftly, touching her here, then there, then flicking maddeningly back and forth against the very jewel of her sex until she shattered into a thousand shards of honeyed pleasure—once, twice, three times in quick succession.
When she finally came to herself, he whispered, “You see, chèrie , I can indeed give you pleasure. Perhaps you will not admit it to me, but your beautiful face told me all. Ah, the face of a woman’s passion! There is nothing more beautiful in this world!”
“I … I cannot deny your words, monseigneur,”
she said softly, “but loving without love is not for me quite the same.”
“Sometimes it is better,”
he rejoined, “for only the senses are involved, unclouded by the emotion of love.”
“I do not believe that you really think that,”
Velvet protested. “You cannot, and still be such …”
She stopped, blushing.
“Such a what?”
he demanded. “Tell me, chèrie.”
“Such a magnificent lover,”
she finished. “I would lie if I said you were not. You have known love, monseigneur, whether you will admit it to me or not.”
“You are so wise in some ways,”
he said, “yet so innocent in others, chèrie. Now, however, I wish to consummate our agreement.”
He caught her to him once again, kissing her lips, which were already swollen with his many kisses.
Her body was readily responsive to him. To her surprise the king drew Velvet toward him on her side, sliding one of her long legs beneath him, and the other over his own leg. With a swift and smooth motion he quickly penetrated her, thrusting deeply inside her. She gasped, but his mouth was already on hers again as his arms held her around her shoulders and about her buttocks. He moved with long, even strokes inside her, his rhythm well ordered and easy. His brown-gold eyes held her emerald ones in thrall, and as she felt herself sliding over the edge of passion’s precipice she saw the swift light of triumph glowing, or was it merely reflected in those powerful eyes? Velvet cried out a piercing cry of sweet surrender that she clearly heard joined by his own voice.
Afterwards, he told her, “You, chèrie , are born to love. You must never, never be ashamed of the magnificent talent that le bon Dieu has given you. I only regret that you are happy with your husband.”
Twice more that night he made passionate love to her, and Velvet finally slept, totally exhausted by their wild bout with Eros. When she awoke, the storm had passed, the candies lay melted in their silver holders, the fire was but glowing embers, and the sun was streaming through her windows. Upon her pillows was a single red rose—surely the last one of the season—and a folded parchment that she opened with trembling fingers to read:
Your hospitality , madame la comtesse, has been without equal. I shall not forget the debt that I owe you. Farewell, chèrie! Navarre.
For a moment Velvet felt a sense of sadness, of deep and great loss.
The king had behaved outrageously, taking advantage of her predicament, of her helplessness, and yet she felt no malice toward him.
She had kept her part of their bargain, and she somehow knew that he would keep his part, too.
So now, she thought, there are two secrets that I must keep from you, my darling husband.
Perhaps, though, one day I shall be able to tell you about my daughter.
Someday when you are completely in my love and surrounded by the children that I shall give to you, God willing.
But I shall never tell you of this adventure with Henri of Navarre, Alex.
Somehow I do not think you would understand that I had to barter my soul and my body so that we might be together again.
There are some things, I have learned, that a woman never tells the man she loves, particularly if she really loves him.
Love, I am learning, is the ability to bear pain silently in order to protect the one you love.
Dear God, please end this separation between us quickly! Velvet silently prayed.