Louisa Rawlings (63 page)

At last she was ready. A pageboy came and told her that her baggage had all been put aboard the coach, and that Monsieur de Falconet was waiting impatiently for her. She bade a farewell to Emilie, then hurried to the door. Name of God! She’d nearly forgotten. Colinet’s letter.
 

She’d never even addressed it! “Emilie!” she said urgently. “There’s a letter on my desk for Monsieur Colinet. You’re to put it into his hands the moment he returns to Choisy. Do you understand? The very moment!”
 

Emilie looked doubtful, then nodded her head. Rouge hurried down the stairs and rejoined Arsène in the marble room. He turned from the fire. “You look beautiful. I was almost afraid you’d change your mind.”
 

“Of course not,” she said, holding out her hand. “Shall we go?”
 

He clasped her hand, stripped back the top of her glove, and pressed his burning lips to her bare flesh. “Goddess,” he murmured.
 

“Oh, madame!” Emilie stood in the doorway. Rouge stared in horror. In her hand was the letter to Colinet. “Oh, madame,” repeated the girl. “You didn’t mean Monsieur
Colinet
was to get this letter, did you? That vile man? Surely I didn’t hear you aright!”
 

Rouge waved her away. “Go off, and do as you’re told!” Sweet Jesu, why hadn’t she addressed the letter?
 

Arsène smiled at her, his eyes studying her face. “What is this? A letter? To another man?”
 

She tried to laugh. “Don’t be foolish. It’s just instructions to my husband’s secretary. A matter of business.”
 

He shook his head. “You’re a good liar, Marie-Rouge. But not that good. Not when you blush and stammer like that.” Before she could stop him, he reached out and pulled the letter from Emilie’s hand. He chuckled softly. “I don’t think you’re as bold as you pretend.”
 

“Don’t tease, Arsène. Give me that.” God save her if he opened it!
 

He tapped it against his fingers. “I think it’s a letter to your husband. A peace offering. In advance. In case he comes home beforehand and finds you’re not here. Is Monsieur de Villeneuve given to fits of temper, that you fear him so?”
 

“I told you”—she stared pointedly at Emilie—“it’s a letter of instructions for the secretary.”
 

Arsène’s smile was less than friendly. “Sweet Marie-Rouge, I say you lie. And I say that any husband who deserts his bride so soon after the wedding should be made to suffer a little. With no soft letters to soothe his pride. If he returns early to find you gone, let him come and fetch you.” The cold smile deepened. “If he dares.” He turned to the fireplace and tossed the letter into it, nodding in satisfaction as it charred, then burst into flame. “Come, my sweet.” He put his hand firmly beneath her elbow and steered her toward the door.
 

“Wait.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “At least let me charge my maid with instructions. Emilie, you must tell Monsieur Colinet where I’ve gone. So he won’t worry. Tell him I’m at Rochenard, with Monsieur de Falconet.”
 

“Rochenard,” said Emilie uncertainly, as Arsène swept Rouge out to his carriage.
 

He helped her in, then sat beside her. “Oh,” she said, indicating the opposite seat, “wouldn’t it be more comfortable if you sat there?”
 

“No. The last time we rode together in this coach, you ran away. I want you beside me this time.”
 

“Don’t you trust me?” she laughed.
 

His blue eyes were hard. “I’ve never trusted any woman,” he said. “Certainly not one who looks like you. With those cat’s eyes, and that secret smile. Not one who’s used me so ill in the past!” He shook his head. “No, Marie-Rouge. I’ll not give you the opportunity to betray me again. Just for your own amusement.”
 

She felt as though she were a rope dancer, performing at Carnival, perched precariously on a thin cord. There was no assurance now that Colinet would follow her. Though he might find her departure suspicious, knowing of her eagerness for Pierre’s return. Still, she couldn’t count on him. But if Arsène anticipated another coquette’s trick, he’d never let her out of his sight. She had to reassure him of her passion, without stirring his blood so much that he’d want to bed her the moment they reached Rochenard! Surely, within a day or two, she would have learned enough of the plot to ride to Tours and warn the intendant herself. Until then, she had to keep Arsène interested, trusting, loving. And out of her bed. She turned to him and put her arms about his neck. “I’ll take that kiss now,” she purred.

He crushed her in his arms and kissed her savagely. It was clear from his kiss that he hadn’t completely forgiven her. His kiss was angry and domineering; she wondered how she’d ever found his mouth exciting. It was all she could do to allow it without choking. At last he lifted his head from hers; his eyes glowed, and his chest heaved with passion. “By God, I want you!” He put his hand on her breast.
 

“No,” she said, pushing at his fingers.
 

“Yes,” he growled. “Damn you, yes!” His hand remained.
 

She hesitated, wondering whether it was worth the fight; then she laughed. “Very well. Your hand may stay. But I told you I want to be wooed. Don’t expect the last favors until you’ve courted me to my satisfaction.”
 

He smiled tightly, his hand hard and possessive on her breast. “I’ve courted you upon more than one occasion, Marie-Rogue. I don’t intend to be put aside for much longer!”
 

It was time to cool his passion. “I’ll tell you when
I’m
ready,” she said haughtily. “Not a minute before.”
 

His eyes narrowed. “For your own sake, let it be soon. I’m the master of Rochenard. I expect to be your master as well.”
 

Her stomach jumped at the threat in his voice. “An unpleasant way to begin,” she said coldly. “If you want a willing partner, you’ll have to do better than that!” She pushed his hand away, moved to the seat opposite him, and closed her eyes. “Wake me when we stop for dinner,” she said. “Until then, you might remember that I
chose
to come with you. Don’t make me regret that decision!”
 

It was a long, cold ride. They stopped for dinner. They stopped for supper. Thanks be to God, she thought—remembering their last ride together—he doesn’t plan to stop at an inn! Arsène spent the whole of the journey staring at her in icy silence. It made her uneasy. He was a coiled spring waiting to snap.
 

It was nearly midnight before they arrived at Rochenard. Rouge was aching with exhaustion. The château loomed like a dark shadow against the night sky; here and there, from within, could be seen lighted candles moving about. Rochenard was large, and, if it could be judged by the beautiful marble vestibule into which they were ushered, it was quite splendid as well.
 

They were greeted by Arsène’s steward. “I expected you from Paris yesterday, monsieur le comte.”
 

Arsène’s expression was bland; he scarcely looked at Rouge. “I had a change of plans, Prévost. Something I heard in Paris.” He nodded in Rouge’s direction. “This is Madame de Villeneuve.”
 

The steward smiled. “The suite next to yours, monsieur?”
 

“Of course.”
 

“I expected you’d want it. If you’ll follow me…” Prévost snapped his fingers to a footman, who picked up a large branched candlestick and lighted their way up a winding staircase.
 

“’Tis very quiet tonight,” said Arsène, glancing around. “Were my guests bored? And retired early as a consequence?”
 

The steward laughed. “Not at all, monsieur! It was a very amusing evening! Monsieur de Gourgon…”
 

“Gourgon? Has he arrived already?”

“Two days ago.”
 

“He likes his pleasures. Well, what’s Gourgon been up to now?”
 

“I think he was weary of the ladies. His mistress quarreled with him and went back to Versailles today. He found an urchin in Tours. A pretty boy of thirteen or so. The maids scrubbed him and combed him and fed him. And got him quite drunk. But when Monsieur de Gourgon went to take his pleasure with the boy, the ladies followed from the salon, insisting that
they
wanted the lad for a pet. There was a great quarrel, and Madame d’Urdan threw a plate at Gourgon. In the melee that followed, the boy escaped into the night, you lost a whole set of porcelain, monsieur, and your guests swore that they’d never enjoyed themselves more. After which they all trooped back to the salon and drank themselves into insensibility.”
 

Arsène laughed. “And retired early.”
 

Name of God, thought Rouge, growing more and more uneasy. Was that the kind of intemperate behavior that was common at
Val d’Amour
?
It made the wickedness of Versailles seem tame by comparison. For the first time, she realized the danger she might be in with Arsène. She followed him into her suite of rooms and tensed with alarm as he led her directly to the bedchamber. She sat stiffly near the fire while her maids were presented to her and her boxes and trunks were brought in. The room hummed with activity. At last the servants excused themselves, promising to await her summons in the antechamber, and she was alone with Arsène. His eyes burned with a hunger that made her tremble. What had ever possessed her to come here? She breathed a silent prayer that her arts wouldn’t fail her now! She stood up and smiled at him. “It’s a handsome
appartement
,
Arsène,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll sleep well. Will you send my maid to me as you leave?”
 

He neither spoke nor moved. His face was like stone.
 

She tried again, putting an edge to her voice this time. “Will I not be allowed to sleep tonight? I’m very tired, and it’s late. I need my sleep.”
 

“We all have our needs.” His meaning was clear.
 

Her lip began to quiver. It wasn’t difficult to conjure up tears. Not when her knees were trembling in fright. “You say you care for me,” she said softly. “But it’s a lie. That horrible ride. The way you looked at me the whole time. Your vile kiss.” She choked back a sob. “You hate me. You’ve not forgiven me for marrying Villeneuve. And this is your revenge. To treat me cruelly.” She blinked and dabbed at her cheeks. “I’m sorry I came.”
 

His blue eyes were cold. “Why
did
you come? Besides your wish to make your husband jealous?”
 

She stared at him, feigning surprise. “I thought you knew,” she whispered. “Do you hate me so, that you can’t see?” She cast down her eyes in modesty. “A woman can desire a man as well. I thought of you often these last weeks. Remembering your sweet courtship. Wondering, longing…”
 

“Marie-Rouge. Name of God,” he said hoarsely, “can you want me as I want you?”
 

She gazed at him, putting all her passion, all her desire into that gaze. “Is that so difficult to believe? I didn’t choose my husband. My father did. Had I my choice…”
 

He groaned and pulled her into his arms, grinding his mouth on hers. His hands were at her breasts, her waist, kneading at her hips through her skirts. Frenzied and impatient.
 

She’d never played such a chancy hand in all her days at the gaming tables. Roughly she pushed him from her. “No! If I wanted to be treated like a whore by a crude animal, I could go home and spread my legs for my husband!” She wished she didn’t have to malign her love. She began to sob loudly.
 

“My sweet Marie-Rouge. Can it be?”
 

“That I love you? Oh, Arsène. My heart belongs only to one man in this world. Don’t you know that?”
 

He tipped up her chin with one finger and kissed her softly. “I want you so very much.”
 

She put her hand to his mouth. “Patience, Arsène. Woo me. Win me. I long to be swept away by your sweet ardor.”
 

He kissed her hand, her fingertips; his eyes filled with tenderness. “You do look tired. Sleep.”
 

She smiled her gratitude and glanced about the room. “So many doors here,” she said archly. “Where do they lead?”
 

“Are you wondering if you’ll be safe?”
 

“I haven’t forgotten that night in Versailles, you wicked man,” she scolded gently, “when you invaded my bedchamber.”
 

He pointed. “The door there, of course, leads to your antechamber. That one lets onto the passageway. And this one”—he crossed the room and opened the door—“leads to my bedchamber.” She smiled nervously. “Don’t fret, my sweet,” he said, reaching down to pull the key from the lock. “This key fits all three doors. After your maid prepares you for bed and retires into your antechamber to sleep, I want you to lock all three doors. I want you to feel safe with me, my love. And to assure you further…” He reached into his pocket and produced another key. “A duplicate I had made.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes I’m not quite so gallant.” He took her hand in his, and pressed both keys into her palm. “Take them.” He closed her fingers over the keys, then brought her hand to his lips and kissed it with fervor. “When I’ve won you, unlock that door and come to me.”