Beloved (3 page)

Gratefully, Richard kissed her.

Maryse studied Richard as he slept. She was surprised to find she’d already grown quite fond of him. She was moved by the tenderness and concern he’d shown for her throughout their lovemaking. Those two traits seemed sadly lacking in both the men and boys with whom she spent her time. He must have an exceptional mother, she decided, to instill so much respect for women in her son.

Having settled that in her mind, she slipped from Richard’s arms without waking him. She put on her lace trimmed dressing gown and went to her mirror, determined to make some sense of her tangled hair.

Smiling at her reflection, she wondered why she ever attempted to go through a night like this with her hair coiffed. It was hopeless! No matter how she pinned it, the weight and straightness of her hair inevitably overruled the forced curls and she ended looking like Medusa’s sister. Thank God Richard was asleep.

When she’d nearly finished removing the pins, she glanced over her shoulder in the mirror and was startled to see Richard sitting up in bed, watching her.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling broadly.

Maryse could feel herself blushing. “Good morning, to you. Are you shocked at what you’ve spent the night with?” she asked as she gestured at her reflection.

Richard laughed as he threw aside the linen sheet and came to stand behind her. Maryse couldn’t keep her eyes off him as he crossed the room. She had rarely seen such a well developed body in someone his age, or in anyone else for that matter. Most of the men she knew prided themselves on the softness of their flesh, which proved to all the world they had no need to engage in any sort of manual labor. And she found Richard’s sun-darkened skin particularly exciting.

He put both hands on her shoulders and studied her reflection.

“I had no idea
La Tarasque
was so beautiful,” he said, as though seriously comparing her to the well-known local monster.

Slapping at him playfully, Maryse pretended to take great offense, but Richard caught her by the wrist and bent down to kiss the palm of her hand. His mouth moved to hers and he kissed her thoroughly, then stood up again, refocusing his attention on her hair.

“Let me help you with this,” he said, pulling the last pins from her head.

“Oh, I see. The son of le Baron de Beauvu is a hairdresser?”

“Hardly, Mademoiselle. The baron’s youngest son is most often a sailor.”

“You do not have the manners of a sailor, Monsieur,” she said, skeptically.

Richard laughed. “My mother would be both pleased and quite surprised if she could hear you say that.”

“Tell me about your mother.”

Richard frowned. “My mother?”

“If you don’t mind. I’d like to know something of your family and your mother seems a good place to start.”

He was amused but continued to untangle her hair as he talked.

“Very well. Her name was Madeleine. She died three years ago of the influenza. She was my father’s second wife and she was very beautiful.” Then he smiled. “She used to let me brush her hair when I was little. Do you mind?” he asked, reaching for her hairbrush.

“No, please,” Maryse answered, controlling her voice so he wouldn’t realize how disconcerting she found his nakedness. “Any brothers, sisters?”

“I have a half-brother, Robert, the venerable Abbot of Montmajour. His younger brother, Jérôme, was my father’s hope to take over the family business, but he died in the plague before I was born. Then my father, anxious for an heir, married my mother, a widow with a three year old son of her own, my brother Grégoire.” Richard laughed as he continued to pull the brush rhythmically through her hair.

“Complicated business, this getting of heirs,” he went on. “At any rate, the next child was a girl, my very serious sister Cybelle, who, I might add, would be totally scandalized to think I was here, with you.” He shook his head. “She’s to be married to the Marquis de Castillon in the spring.”

Maryse quickly masked her reaction at the mention of the Marquis and hoped Richard hadn’t noticed. She was acquainted with the Marquis and while he had not been unkind to her, his interests seemed to run to even younger girls.

“You’re sure you want to hear this?” he asked when he noticed her attention had wandered.

“Yes, please,” she insisted.

“Their next child was a boy, René, stillborn. Then my father, concerned about his age, adopted Grégoire and made him his heir. Much to his surprise, I arrived a year later.”

“To his great joy, I should think.” Maryse remembered the look on the Baron’s face when he’d entrusted his son to her care.

Richard smiled as he shrugged. “Well, that remains to be seen. Grégoire’s interested in the medical arts, following in Robert’s footsteps, and I seem to be the one who’s most at home on the ships.” He stopped brushing her hair and looked intently at her reflection. “I suppose our family is upside down. Oldest son in the Church, youngest set to manage the business interests. Of course Robert has always assured me that he prays for me daily in gratitude for saving him from a life of seasickness.”

Maryse frantically searched her memory, sure Madame Dijol must have told her something about Richard’s family.

“You said something about ships?”

“Why the greatest fleet in all the Mediterranean, Mademoiselle!” He laughed when he saw her confusion. “Well, that’s what my father would say.” He returned her brush to the table. “Actually there are only seven ships, primarily involved in transporting silk.”

“Is this, then, the explanation for your dark skin and apparent lack of modesty?” Maryse could feel her cheeks coloring again.

Richard drew back in mock horror. “Mademoiselle, forgive me! Have I shocked you?” After last night Richard seriously doubted that anything could shock Maryse. He quickly pressed against her back as though trying to cover himself.

Maryse felt a tingle of excitement as she became acutely aware of the outline of his body against the thin silk of her robe. Richard sensed her response and with his hands on her shoulders, eased her more tightly against him.

Her reflection stared at his, her beautiful lips parted as she began to breathe more quickly. He could see that she, too, felt the budding warmth of another encounter. He bent down to kiss the side of her neck, all the while watching her in the mirror.

“It is very difficult to be modest aboard a ship full of hard working sailors, Mademoiselle,” he whispered against her ear.

Maryse was only half listening, as his hands moved over her shoulders and parted her robe to gently caress her breasts. She leaned back against him, her nipples puckering under his teasing fingers as they watched each other in the glass.

“Well, Mademoiselle
la Maîtresse
, what do you think of your student now?” Richard lay back against the pillows, admiring the way her hair fell around her like a veil as she sat beside him. He was still fascinated by the sensuous curve of her mouth.

Maryse playfully stroked his belly, pretending disinterest.

“Ah, well,” she said, “With constant attention, perhaps he’ll prove trainable.”

Laughing, he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her down on top of him.

“Constant attention, is it? Do you think you can endure it?” He kissed her hard, but when he felt her begin to relax he started to tickle her.

Maryse squealed and tried to pull away, but Richard was merciless. She was giggling loudly when there was a sharp knock. They both froze, staring at the door. Then Maryse quickly slipped under the sheet beside him.

“
Entrez
,” she said, trying to control her voice, frantically motioning Richard to be quiet.

“
Bonjour
Mademoiselle
,
Monsieur.” The grey-haired woman gave them only a cursory nod as she entered the room. She looked neither right nor left and her lips were pursed in a
moue
of disapproval as she carried the beautifully arranged tray to the table.

Maryse glanced at Richard, who was trying to look very serious with his hands clasped properly on top of the sheet. He was doing his best to cover his excitement and it was all she could do to keep herself from laughing.

“Thank you, Odile,” she said with all the decorum she could manage.

Odile kept her eyes on the door and her nose in the air. She left without another word. When the door closed behind her, both Richard and Maryse dissolved into laughter.

“Whatever have you done to warrant that?” he asked.

“She must have heard us laughing. I’m not supposed to enjoy this, you know. This is business!” She frowned in an effort to look serious as she pounded her small fist into the mattress for emphasis.

Richard leaned over to kiss her, unable to resist. “Considering the goings on in this place, I doubt anything surprises her, least of all you laughing.”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Maryse said, pulling away. “Odile’s been here for years. It’s very difficult for a woman when she becomes too old to be attractive to men.” A brief shadow of sadness fluttered across Maryse’s face.

Richard saw it and pulled her back against him. “And what’s to become of you, Maryse? Will your future be Odile’s?”

“God forbid!” She laughed and poked his ribs. Then, smiling seductively she ran her finger along the line of his jaw.

“Do you find me so very old, Monsieur?”

“Hardly. In fact, but for Christina, I would marry you tomorrow for that beautiful mouth of yours, alone.”

“Oh? Christina, is it?” Maryse felt an unaccustomed stab of jealousy and immediately pushed it aside. “Perhaps you should tell me about your Christina.” She snuggled down against him, still trying to distract him.

Richard pretended to be immune to her fingers. This, of course, demanded no small effort on his part. He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling beyond the lace canopy as if suddenly terribly interested in the erotic pursuits of the cherubs painted above their heads.

“Ah, Christina. She’s beautiful. Truly. She has long brown hair and eyes the color of the sea off the south coast of Corsica.”

Maryse’s lips contracted into an irresistibly attractive pout as Richard checked her reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“Will you be marrying soon, then?”

“Well,” he answered thoughtfully, “Considering she has yet to celebrate her tenth birthday, I think it would be wise to put the marriage off for bit.”

Maryse sat up and pinched him, hard. “You’re teasing me!”

Richard grabbed the offending hand and brought her fingers to his lips, suddenly serious.

“Not at all. I assure you, I
will
marry Christina.” He noticed her frown. “Meanwhile, my father suggested that if I wish to please my future bride, I will require more skills than I am apt to acquire rolling around in the byre with the milkmaids.” He laughed. “Little does he know that’s the least of where I’ve been. Traveling the Mediterranean with a ship full of sailors can be an education in itself.”

When Maryse’s expression failed to soften, he took her hand and solemnly slipped it under the sheet to placed it on the most pertinent part of his anatomy.

“Maryse, my dear, I am placing myself in your capable hands.”

“So you are,” she whispered.

La Beauté douce, tendre, belle.

Pourtant mon amour ignore que c’est elle.

—Calvaire

“Gentle beauty, tender, fair. But my Love knows not that it is she.”

Septembre 1749

Beauvu

The ship moved slowly up the Rhône from Marseilles, the sails unfurled to take advantage of the meager breeze. It was still early, the sky just turning a pale yellow that promised a clear warm day.

Richard was not the only man on board anxious to dock. He sat on a crate at the bow, enjoying the early morning sun as he finished some of the never-ending paperwork. He wanted to have all his immediate business taken care of by the time they reached Arles. He wanted to get home to Christina.

His sister Cybelle was having the party of the season in just three days and neither his sister nor Christina would forgive him if he didn’t return in time to make an appearance.

Poor Christina. He’d seen so little of her this past year, but he was working on a plan that would allow him to base his work in Arles in four years when he and Christina would marry.

Richard smiled. He was ready now, but unfortunately Christina was only thirteen.

Christina reached out to touch the smooth marble surface of the little Venus in the center of the garden, her fingers hesitantly following the curve of the statue’s full breasts. She looked down at her own breasts, just this past year beginning to hint at taking shape. Would she ever resemble the little statue?

She had serious doubts about what she could expect from her body. And spending the better part of the year at the Conservatorio with all the other girls was little help. They were never allowed to be uncovered, their flesh guarded as closely as their souls by the devoted sisters. And while she suspected that she might be considered pretty—having been told so since she was a child—she wasn’t at all sure what would happen when she was finally grown. At that point in her life, Christina found it very hard to believe she would ever have curves of her own. She tended to think she would always be shaped more like her brother, Marco. And if that were true, if she always remained straight and slim, would Richard still take her for his wife?

She could understand why a man would want to hold a woman molded like the statue. The little Venus looked so pretty, but the priest who visited her Conservatorio told the girls that all women were evil, burdened with the guilt of original sin and forever destined to seduce men and lead them to Hell with the enticements of their bodies. Christina didn’t know anything about enticing a man, she only wanted to love Richard, to give him a whole house full of children and to spend her life making him as happy as he made her. Try as she might, she just couldn’t understand how that could be wrong.

Would Richard come home before she had to return to Venice? Only two weeks remained, and though he usually spent the entire summer with her, this year he’d been off on the ships. Well, she hadn’t really been alone. Guy had been there most of the time, occasionally going back and forth to Arles to help his father with the business. But for some reason she was beginning to feel uncomfortable around Guy. He was always watching her, and he held her much too tightly whenever a dance afforded him the opportunity.