The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian (13 page)

Her heart was hammering wildly. His touch caused her to murmur softly, and with pleasure. This was so very different from any of the others, even from her beloved Charles. He was gentle, and while she realized that he was filled with his desire for her, he was not hurrying her along the road to passion. Indeed he seemed to be leading her, and she found that she was very eager to follow him. Was this what it was like when a passionate man cared for you? Her husband had loved her, she knew, but his love had been so restrained, and she had never known until she had come into her aunt's house that a man could be wild and fierce in his loving of a woman.

The hand skimming across her gently pushed aside the front of her gown to touch her bare flesh. He tenderly cupped a single breast, his palm cuddling it, feeling its warmth, its sensual weight. Raising his head, he stared down at her closed, trembling eyelids. A faint smile touched his lips, and he shook his head in wonderment. This was no courtesan. And whatever part of her his cousin and the two princes had had, it wasn't this. It wasn't what she was shyly giving to him as he held her in his arms. His dark head dipped to kiss her breast. A faint aroma of lilies rose up to greet him.

"Mon Dieu
, Marguerite, you are so damned beautiful," he groaned.

"I am afraid," she whispered to him.

"Do not be!" he pleaded with her.

"But I am, Beau," she insisted.

"No! No!" he told her. "Ohh, God, darling, don't you see that I'm falling in love with you?" He had spoken the words in English.

"How can you love me?" she replied in the same tongue. "Not after what I have become. I am surely no better than Josie and Leonie."

"No!"
He shook his head at her. "You are the most respected widow of Lord Charles Abbott, Marguerite. It doesn't matter to me what has happened to you this past week. It is no worse than any other widow's behavior. I vow it is expected that a widow taste forbidden fruits before she marries again. It stems her curiosity, and certainly guarantees her fidelity to her new husband. Besides we are not going to live here in France, or in England. We are going to live on my plantation, The Arbor, in Louisiana. You, and Emilie, and the children we will have together, my naughty little love."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"
Marguerite said, incredulous. Oh, Tante Renée had said she suspected this was his intent, but for him to voice it now, so soon, surprised her. She hadn't even been certain that her aunt knew what she was talking about. She half believed Renée was more hopeful than anything else.

"Yes," he said, "I am."

"What if we are not suited?" Marguerite demanded.

Beau burst out laughing and, tipping her from his lap, stood up, unbuttoning his trousers to unleash his cock. "I think," he told her with great understatement, his hand wrapped about the long, thick pestle of flesh, "that we are."

She stared, fascinated. Not even the duke possessed so magnificent an instrument of love. Shrugging off her robe, she fell to her knees and took him in her mouth. She simply could not help herself. For a moment she suckled upon him, but then taking him in her small hand, she began to lick his length slowly and with relish. She did not see him smiling down on her, pleased.

Beau d'Aubert began to quickly divest himself of his clothing as she pleasured them both. His black evening coat, the cream and black brocade waistcoat, his silk cravat. His fingers flew down the line of studs holding his shirt together, and he shrugged it off. Her hot little tongue was driving him wild with its delicious caresses. He groaned as she lifted his cock up, and began to run her tongue about his pouch. When she bent low and took him into her mouth, he almost howled with the bursts of pure pleasure that exploded within him. He could barely concentrate on undoing his trousers.

Then Marguerite looked up at him, her mouth wet, her eyes glazed with her own desire. Reaching up, she pulled his trousers and drawers down even as he pulled her up to stand before him.

" I . . . I . . . I couldn't help myself," she admitted to him, even now as her eyes stared at the rock-hard length of him.

"I don't ever want you to
help
yourself," he told her. Then he laughed weakly. "I find myself at a disadvantage." His trousers and drawers were bunched awkwardly about his ankles.

"Come," she said, leading him carefully across the room to her bed. He sat down, and kneeling, she quickly drew off his black evening slippers and his white silk stockings.

He did not wait for her to yank his trousers off, but kicked them away himself as he pulled her atop his body. "Now, Lady Abbott, you will pay for your very naughty ways, which I pray you will never outgrow. And in answer to your question, yes, I am asking you to marry me. What is your answer?" He swiftly rolled her onto her back.

"If you would truly have me, Beau, then, yes, I will marry you," Marguerite said, and then she gasped as he began to push himself into her waiting body. He was so big. And she wanted him so very much! His probing love lance slowly, slowly propelled itself forward, opening her with little effort, only to be imprisoned by the hot tight walls of her sheath. She murmured, and her eyes closed with the sheer pleasure of it all. She instinctively wrapped her legs about him to allow him even deeper access.

He moaned appreciatively, shoving himself as deep as he could go, his groin grinding into her furred mont, and then he rested a brief moment. When he could no longer bear the sweetness of being within her, he began to move energetically, his big cock flashing back and forth within her.

Marguerite almost screamed with the waves of delight that began to wash over her. Her nails raked down his long back. Her little white teeth sank into the fleshy part of his shoulder in an effort to stifle her cries, but she was unsuccessful.
"Ohhhh! Ohhhhh!"
She thrust herself up at him, catching his rhythm and eagerly imitating it. "Oh, Beau! Do not stop!" she pleaded with him.
"Do not stop!"
She soared! She flew! She was finally flung down into a warm and whirling darkness that tenderly enfolded her.

When she finally bestirred from her swoon, she was shocked to find him still buried within her, still as hard as an iron rod, and still eager to fuck. He moved teasingly upon her, smiling as her eyes widened. "I have never known a man like you," she whispered.

"No, my darling, you haven't," he agreed. "Your English husband, may God have mercy on his soul, was not passionate, was he?"

"No, but he loved me," Marguerite loyally defended Charles, "and I loved him."

"You will love me more," he promised her with a wicked grin. "Now as for the rest of your not particularly vast experience, Lady Abbott," and he began to thrust himself slowly in and out of her. "César, I know enjoys his
mastery
of his partner. I suspect he is a boring lover,
n'est-ce pas?"

"Yes," she agreed, "he is." But of course, the duke had certainly opened her eyes to the delicious adventures of lustful play, Marguerite considered silently to herself.

"Tell me about the princes," he said, his hands moving beneath her buttocks to raise her up more to his salacious advances.

"They come together," she murmured. "Ohh, God, Beau, this is unbearably heavenly! Please, please, don't stop.
Ohhh
, yes!" His hands were fondling her bottom, the strong fingers kneading her flesh provocatively.

"Together?
You had them both at the same time?" How very interesting, he thought. "Sharing a woman with another man can be exciting," he noted.

She nodded. "One in my cunt, and one in my mouth," she told him.

"Not your bottom?"

Marguerite shuddered. "Gracious, no! How unspeakable!" She remembered the count, but her aunt was correct. Beau should never know about the count.

"It is not a perversion I fancy," he admitted to her, "especially when my lover has such a delectably tight little sheath." He began to pestle her once more in earnest. This time they reached passion's peak together, both crying out as one, with their great pleasure.

Afterward Marguerite lay happily within his strong embrace, her dark head upon his broad, smooth chest. Beneath her ear his heart beat quietly. Had he meant the proposal he had made her? Really? And she had said yes. But what did she truly know about Beau d'Aubert? He was obviously wealthy, and owned land across the ocean in the Americas. He was a widower with a son as Charles had been, but at least this son would grow up knowing only her as his mother. He would not be like Charles's dreadful son. Marguerite wondered to herself if she could marry a man she didn't love. Yet this was an opportunity such as she was unlikely to ever again receive, especially in her straitened circumstances. Beau was kind. He wanted her.
And
he was an incredible lover. She would be a fool to refuse him. She could easily learn to love him, and she would.

But, the little voice in her head said, what about your decision to never again be victimized by a man? And what of your desire to become a woman of independent means like your aunt? Will you not once again be at the mercy of a husband, of a man, if you accept Beau d'Aubert's proposal of marriage? If indeed he actually wants to marry you, and was not just amusing himself at your expense. He is, after all, César d'Aubert's cousin.

"What are you thinking about?" she heard Beau ask. "I can hear the little cogs and wheels turning in your head, Lady Abbott. Should you not be thinking only of me, and how wonderful it is that we have found one another?"

"Did you really mean to ask me to be your wife?" Marguerite said seriously. "Or was it just a part of your passion?" Boldly she raised herself up from his chest and looked down into his face.

"The first night I came to Chez Renée," Beau answered her, "I looked across the salon, and there you were at the pianoforte. You looked so fragile, so delicate in your lilac gown, and so unlike the others. I fell in love with you in that same moment, Marguerite. I did not believe such a phenomenon as love at first sight could really happen. Is that not for unfledged girls still in the schoolroom? But when César demanded first rights of you from your aunt, I wanted to kill him. And afterwards when he bragged on his conquest of you, I wanted to kill him even more. You are a lady, my darling. Your blood is noble, as is ours. Yet my cousin could only think of satisfying his lust on your fair body."

"Ohh, Beau," she said to him, "how can you love me then knowing that I have lain with the duke and with the two princes?"

"How can I not love you, my darling? You are so brave and so honorable. I know that had it not been for little Emilie, you would have sooner starved in a corner somewhere than taken up your Tante Renée's enterprise. You have sacrificed yourself even as she sacrificed herself for you, but you do not have to do it, Marguerite. I love you. I will protect you. I will protect Emilie."

"If I do not learn to love you, Beau d'Aubert," Marguerite answered him, "then I am a bigger fool than even I have imagined." She bent down to kiss him, and sighed happily as his arms closed about her once again. But one thought nagged her. She couldn't be left helpless should the unthinkable happen, and she be widowed again. Still, Renée would know what to do. Her aunt always had the right answer.

"When shall we marry,
chérie?"
he asked, returning to the French tongue he had earlier spoken.

"I think as soon as possible, Beau. My reputation must not be allowed to cast a stain upon your good name, which, it could if I remain here with Tante Renée."

"I am in agreement," he concurred. "In the morning we shall speak with your aunt, and then with my cousin. For now, however, I want more of you."

"I am in agreement with you now,
monsieur,"
Marguerite said with a twinkle in her cornflower blue eyes. Then she began to kiss him again.

"I thought you more sophisticated, cousin," the Duc de Caraville said coolly. "A gentleman does not marry a whore."

"Lady Marguerite Abbott is the widow of an English gentleman, the only child of the late Comte de Thierry, César, and I am indeed going to marry her," Beauford d'Aubert replied in an even voice.

"She is a whore, an elegant one, I will grant you, but a whore nonetheless. I have had her. The two princes have had her, and God knows how many others in this house have had her besides us," the duke snapped.

"In a week's time?" Beau responded dryly. "No, cousin, you, and the princes only."

"Yet you would still give her our name?" The duke was incredulous.

"What of the beautiful widowed Madame de Cannes?" Beau demanded. "You introduced her to me at court, and considered her an excellent candidate for my wife."

"I still do," the duke replied. "Fleur de Cannes is an exquisite woman, and would do our name proud."

"You have been fucking her for two years now, cousin, even before her husband died. Explain to me the difference between Madame de Cannes and Lady Abbott. Both are widows of good family who have embarked on little adventures of the flesh, although I would consider your Madame de Cannes far less desirable because she cuckolded her poor husband, while my Marguerite nursed her husband devotedly until his death. Damnit, César, you know what happened, and when she came to her aunt for protection, you took advantage of her!"

"Is that what the little whore told you?" The duke's handsome face darkened with his anger.

"She told me nothing, César. Indeed she is amazed that I would make her an offer of marriage because of the life she has lived this last week."

"Then she is far wiser than you, cousin," the duke told Beau scathingly. "I cannot blame her for accepting even though she surely must know better. I shall go to Madame Renée myself, and say you were drunk with wine and lust when you spoke. I will withdraw the offer. Madame will certainly understand, and so should the beauteous Marguerite. Renée has always been a practical woman."

"You will do no such thing, and if you attempt to do so, César, it shall be my great pleasure to kill you," Beau told the duke.

"Mon Dieu, you can't possibly love her! You barely know her. Granted she sucks cock like no other woman I have ever had, but she is really quite boring on her back.
Ouch!"
César d'Aubert fell back into a chair, his hand going to his newly bruised chin. "You have hit me, cousin!" he cried, astounded.

"If you find her boring, cousin, perhaps it is because your only interest in her was for your own pleasure, and not hers," Beau said.

"I brought her to
la petite morte,"
the duke answered loftily.

"But with me she gained
la grande morte,"
Beau returned with a smile. "And, César, I do love her, odd as that may seem to you on so short an acquaintance. She is not meant for the life her aunt leads. You know it as well as I do. Marguerite is delicate and fragile. She is meant to be a wife. Her blood is respectable, her first husband eminently so. She has not been at her aunt's long enough for her true identity to be made known. And as we will not be living in France, but in Louisiana, there is little likelihood of any gossip tarnishing the reputation of Madame d'Aubert of The Arbor Plantation. She has an adorable little girl to whom she is an excellent mother. She will be an equally good mother to my baby son. Now wish me well, César, and stop being a pompous fool."

"How will you explain how you met? And where she was living when you did?" the duke wanted to know.

"We will say we met in the park near the convent school of St. Anne that her daughter attends. Her aunt has already taken a small apartment near the convent for Marguerite and her two servants. The proprietor of the building is an old friend of Madame Renée's. Marguerite moved in this morning. We shall court publicly and properly for the remainder of the winter, and be married in April before we leave for Louisiana. I have already booked us passage. I would wed her tomorrow, but Madame Renée thought it better this way," Beau concluded.

"Yes," the duke agreed. "Renée has always been most discreet. She may be the finest courtesan in Paris, cousin, but she has never once forgotten she is a lady of the ancien régime. The king is quite fond of her, you know."

"Then you will give us your blessing," Beau said quietly.

"We will see," the duke replied. There was obviously no arguing with his American cousin, who had lost all sense of who he was, who their family were. I shall need time, César d'Aubert thought to himself, to consider how I may foil this misalliance, but stop it I will.

Renée, of course, was pleased, almost smug in her triumph, the duke thought that night as he visited her home. "This is madness," he told her angrily as they lay in her big bed.

"Non,"
she said firmly. "It is a perfect solution for both Beau and Marguerite. My niece could never be happy living the life that I do,
monseigneur
. She was brought up as her parents would have brought her up had they survived the Terror. You know that to be the truth. Marguerite is an excellent match for your cousin. They will, I firmly believe, live happily ever after."

"He will always remember that I had her first," the duke replied meanly, but Renée laughed.

"In the beginning the thought may possibly creep into his head now and again when they quarrel, but eventually his love and his passion for her will erase all those memories. He will recall only the times they have had together, César. And being an ocean away from Paris in his Louisiana with Marguerite will help. You will never leave France, César. You rarely leave Paris except for the races at Deauville in the summer." Renée smiled down into his handsome face. "Let it be,
mon brave
, and give them your blessing. You know how rare it is to find true love and real happiness in this world today. Be glad that they did. But for the last week in my house, my niece's life has been exemplary. The few men she has known here make her no worse than any other merry widow."

"Perhaps you are right,
chérie,"
the duke said convincingly, but his mind was even yet considering how he would prevent his cousin from marrying Marguerite. There had to be a way, but first he must learn where she was now living. "My cousin says you have taken quarters for your niece near her daughter's convent," he said. "You were very wise, Renée, to remove her from your house as quickly as possible. Your regular clients can, of course, be managed. Other than myself and the princes, none have had Marguerite, eh?"

"No others," Renée lied facilely. By the time the baron and the count returned, Marguerite would be long gone, and she could obtain their silence without difficulty.

"She has servants to look after her?" he probed gently.

"Of course. Her Clarice and Louis. They are a married couple, and have been with her for years." Renée chuckled mischievously. "Clarice was quite disapproving of Marguerite's residence here, and made no secret of it. As for poor Louis, he didn't know which way to look that his wife wasn't scolding him. They are both mightily relieved to be in other quarters, and overjoyed that their mistress will be remarrying such a fine gentleman. Beau has asked them to come to Louisiana, and they have agreed."

"And the building is respectable?" the duke asked.

"Of course," Renée replied, almost irritated with him for such a foolish question. "It is a lovely apartment with windows that overlook the river. The owner is Monsieur George's brother-in-law, Monsieur Dupuis. He and his wife live in the building along with six tenants. I was very fortunate that it was available, but there was a death," Renée explained.

"You have thought of everything,
chérie,"
the duke said smoothly. He was, however, already formulating a plan. His American cousin was too stubborn to change his mind. Beau fancied himself in love. And so it must be Marguerite who changed her mind. The only way to bring her to that decision would be to debauch her so entirely that her honor, and he knew she was honorable, would not permit her to marry Beau. He smiled to himself. It really was the perfect plan, and it would permit him to enjoy her favors once more. And he would bring the princes with him too. They had very much enjoyed Marguerite, to the point of even attempting to purchase her from her aunt.

He must act quickly to end this tragedy in the making. But first he would discover the exact location of Marguerite's new abode. He suspected that both Josie and Leonie would know. And then he must learn the daily routine of her day. Of course, his cousin and the servants would have to be temporarily disposed of so he could have access to his lovely and unsuspecting victim. César d'Aubert felt a thrill of excitement race through him. For once he was not being bored. Indeed this was going to be a delicious adventure.

He learned that Marguerite's little pied-à-terre was located on the first floor of the building. Its bedroom and salon windows faced out on a tiny garden terrace overlooking the River Seine. It would be simple to gain entry from there, the duke decided. He followed Beau one afternoon to learn the location of the building itself.

Renée, however, was not as trusting of César d'Aubert as he believed her to be. He had not yet given his blessing to the young lovers. His interest in Marguerite's abode was too keen. And then the two Persian princes let slip to Josie that they had been approached by the duke to partake in a carnal adventure. The princes were sybarites, but they were intelligent. They suspected that the duke meant some mischief. While they were disappointed to have lost the beautiful Marguerite's company, they did not wish to lose their privileges at Chez Renée. They were more than aware that the king was Madame's friend. If they harmed her, or those she considered her own, they could easily find themselves sent home in disgrace. They both far preferred Paris to any place else on the earth including the shah's stifling court. So on Madame Renée's advice, they enthusiastically pretended to go along with the duke's plan, lulling him into complacency.

Marguerite and Beau were completely unaware of the plot and counterplot around them. They had eyes only for each other. Each morning the American would arrive to join his beloved in a
petit déjeuner
. He was perfectly dressed and coifed. No one seeing him strolling down the street would have known that he had spent the entire night in Marguerite's bed, slipping out through her garden each morning before the dawn to return to the duke's house, where he changed his clothes. His valet, a young freed black named Pierre, kept his master's secret, pleased to see Beau happy again.

One afternoon as the lovers walked with Madame Renée in the little park on the river, she finally told them of the duke's duplicity. Marguerite was astounded, but Beau was very angry. Renée put a restraining hand on his arm. "There will be no violence,
mon brave,"
she told the young man. "Sadly your cousin does not see that France has changed. He is, alas, a snob. I have spoken with Father Joseph, the priest who ministers to the nuns at St. Anne's. He will marry you this Sunday in the convent church. Only those who love you and wish you no ill will be there. Afterwards you will have a private wedding supper in your little abode. On Monday we shall present the duke with a fait accompli."

"And if he still objects, and threatens to blacken Marguerite's name publicly?" Beau demanded.

"Your cousin has a rather terrible secret he would prefer not to have revealed. The papers documenting his sins are with Monsieur Paul Kira's banking establishment in the Rue de la Paix. As you are my sole heir, Marguerite, should anything happen to me, these papers will be turned over to you. However, you may rest assured that nothing is going to happen to me," she concluded with a smile. "It will take but a word in César's ear to disarm him."

"Tante, my poor Charles has only been gone four months," Marguerite said. "I feel guilty remarrying so quickly."

"Charles would want it under the circumstances," Renée declared. "Besides, who can say that you and Beau would not have met even if you didn't come to Paris? And if you had, he would have loved you, and you would have had to accept his proposal,
chérie
, because he is determined to return to his Louisiana."

They both laughed, and Marguerite said,
"Tante
, you are, despite your rather unorthodox life, a romantic at heart."

"I fear,
ma petite
, that you are right," Renée admitted. "Now, what shall you wear on your wedding?"

"We should tell Emilie first," Marguerite said. "I hope she will not be too upset. She loved her papa very much."

"But she has also come to love Beau," Renée observed. "Have you not seen it,
chérie?
Emilie will be happy for you, and happier that you are taking her from St. Anne's to Louisiana."

"And she will be tutored at home by a governess," Beau promised. "I will not let you and your daughter be separated again, Marguerite."

His words caused her heart to swell momentarily. In the past weeks she had come to love him. She could not remember ever being so wonderfully happy, even with her beloved Charles. "Let us go this afternoon and tell Emilie. The three of us!"

Emilie was, as Renée had predicted, overwhelmed with her delight that Beau d'Aubert was to be her stepfather. "And the wedding will be here? This Sunday,
maman?
And shall I be your attendant?"