The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian (7 page)

The younger woman bit her lip briefly, and then she asked, "Am I to . . . I mean tonight. . . if he asks . . . with him?"

"Only if you want to,
chérie,"
Renée said with a smile, "but you really need only be decorative. César will not force the issue. But if not tonight, then one night very soon he will persuade you on your back, Marguerite. I promise you,
chérie
, after the first two or three men, it is very easy."

"I hope so," Marguerite said softly, but Renée was already gone out the door, her little heels clicking down the stairs.

Marguerite sat at the walnut pianoforte in the gold and white salon, her slender fingers, sheathed in the lavender kid of her gloves, slipping easily across the black ebony and white ivory keys of the instrument. She played softly, her cornflower blue eyes every now and then looking up to sweep about the room. The gentlemen there tonight all wore the formal black evening attire made popular several years before by the Prince Regent of England. She could see that they were curious. Some nodded imperceptibly in her direction, and one or two of them sent a small smile her way. Marguerite didn't know if she should smile back, or even acknowledge them.
Sit and play
, her aunt had instructed her, and she did, her beautiful face an imperious mask to the men who studied it for a hint of just what kind of woman she was.

And nothing was as she had imagined it. She might have been in any aristocratic salon in Paris, or London for that matter. The voices in the room were low, and well modulated. Some gentlemen played whist at a beautiful little mahogany card table that had been brought out for them by a footman. Others sat with the three women, laughing and chatting. Marguerite played on. Now and again Josie or Leonie would depart the salon with a gentleman. And when they eventually reentered the chamber once again, it was discreetly, without fuss. If she had not known what the women were doing when they left, it would have all been quite ordinary.

But she did know what they were doing. Her aunt had been quite frank in disparaging her conjugal life with Charles. Renée had inferred that Marguerite had no idea what was really involved in making love with a man. Well, what else could there be but lying on her back with her eyes closed while her breasts were fumbled, and then to be penetrated by a cock? Seeing all this elegance and exaggerated refinement, Marguerite began to believe that her aunt was just painting a picture for her clients of something that did not really exist.

"Bonsoir
, Mademoiselle Marguerite," a deep voice said, jerking her from her thoughts. "I am César d'Aubert." He leaned against the pianoforte lazily, his dark eyes plunging impudently into her shadowed cleavage.

Marguerite looked up, her cheeks burning to her mortification, but her voice was strong.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur le Duc,"
she replied.

"May I sit next to you,
mademoiselle?"
he asked politely.

"What if I said
non, Monsieur le Duc?"
she responded pertly, although she hardly felt bold.

"Then I should not sit," he murmured suavely. "If you prefer to inhabit the bench by yourself,
mademoiselle
, I am content to stand here admiring your beautiful breasts. I saw them last night while you slept. They are even lovelier than your aunt's bosom."

"Monsieur le Duc!"
Marguerite didn't know whether to be angry or not. Despite appearances, this was not a respectable house.

"Eventually, my dear, I am going to fuck you," he told her frankly. "Tonight, and tomorrow, and perhaps even the evening after that we shall get to know one another better. You are very beautiful,
mademoiselle
. Look about you. All the gentlemen are eager to fuck you, but your aunt has said I shall be the first." He smiled at her winningly. "Now,
mademoiselle
, bring your pretty tune to an end. We are going to walk together, you and I, and I am going to see how well you can kiss."

"Monsieur le Duc,"
Marguerite protested faintly, "my aunt has said that—"

"I know what Renée has promised you, my dear. I have promised her in turn that I will not force you to my will, and I will not. You have chosen a courtesan's life,
mademoiselle
, and it is advisable that sooner than later you spread your thighs to accept a sturdy cock. The longer you wait, the more your respectable nature will battle with the magnificent demimonde you are going to become," the duke said.

"I don't know . . . " she tried again to speak.

"I know you don't," he replied with a small chuckle, "but I promise you are going to learn,
mademoiselle
, and you are going to be very surprised by what you learn. Or are you really a little coward, and are going to allow Renée to continue to support you?"

"I am not a coward!" Marguerite replied indignantly, bringing her tune to a noisy end and standing up. "Lead on,
Monsieur le Due!
I will follow, and I believe I kiss very well."

"We shall see," he responded, laughing, as he led her over into a secluded corner of the salon where they might sit upon a pale rose satin loveseat together. He put his arm about her waist in order to draw her closer.

Marguerite felt her heart begin to hammer erratically, particularly when he bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts.
"Ohh!"
she exclaimed.

"Do not tell me no one has ever kissed your bosom before?" the duke said, surprised by her reaction.

"My husband. Sometimes. But certainly not when I was fully clothed, or in a public salon," Marguerite told him.

"My dear beautiful
mademoiselle
, I am astounded," the duke told her. "You are a most exquisite creature, and to realize that no one has ever appreciated your deliciousness is very amazing," the duke told her. "I shall worship each and every inch of you when the moment comes."

"Monsieur le Duc
, I do not know what to say to such an extravagant bouquet of compliments," Marguerite said, her pale cheeks pink once more. "Do you always speak to women in such a fashion?"

"Non,"
he admitted, "but you bring out the poet in me, my lovely
mademoiselle."
Then he kissed her.

She had not seen it coming, although she realized that she should have. Did he not say he was going to kiss her? His lips were warm and firm against hers. For a moment she wasn't certain what to do, for no one other than Charles had ever kissed her. She felt guilty.

"You are holding back," he murmured against her mouth. "Are you feeling sinful,
ma petite courtesan?
Do not. Yield yourself to me, Marguerite.
Now!"

His lips closed back over hers again, and to her surprise she felt a distinct thrill race down her backbone.
Charles was dead
. She was free to enjoy the addresses of this man, or any man who desired her for that matter. She let herself relax, and her lips softened against his, even as his fingers caressed the curve of her jaw and slid down the silky column of her throat.

"Much better," he approved, tipping her heart-shaped face up to meet his gaze. "Next,
ma petite
, you will give me your tongue."

"What?"
What on earth did he want with her tongue?

César d'Aubert laughed, genuinely amused. It was practically like instructing a virgin, which he had done once or twice in his life. "I want you to put your tongue in my mouth, and I shall put mine in yours," he explained. "You will find it exciting. Later on I shall show you the many other things a tongue can do to amuse lovers." He drew her close again, his lips meeting hers, his tongue swiftly darting past her teeth and into the warm cavity of her mouth to meet her tongue.

The touch of it made her weak with excitement, Marguerite thought dizzily. Her darling Charles had certainly never done this amatory thing. Indeed Charles's kisses had been most chaste in comparison with the duke's hot embraces. And very much to her surprise, Marguerite was discovering that she liked this virtual stranger's advances. Daringly she plunged her own tongue into his mouth to play with his. The two fleshy organs writhed and twisted about each other in a heightening frenzy of excitement.

The duke felt his male member growing harder and harder within the confines of his trousers. He was very surprised that his partner was able to accomplish this feat under the circumstances. He drew away slightly, enchanted by the bemused look in her cornflower blue eyes. Then taking her little gloved hand, he placed it squarely upon the bulge in his trousers, saying as he did so, "You must always accept the responsibility,
ma petite
, for your deliciously naughty actions." Then he began to kiss her again with slow, burning kisses that quite left her weak and feeling very helpless.

Marguerite yielded easily now to his passion, only crying out slightly when his hand thrust past the silk and lace of her bodice to fondle her breast. "Ahhh," she murmured as his thumb and forefinger began to roll a nipple between them. Her bosom felt suddenly swollen, and her bodice tight. She could actually feel moisture between her thighs. Her cheeks were hot and flushed. She knew if she could not draw a deep breath, she was going to swoon in his arms. She pulled her head away from his.
"Monsieur le Duc
, you are overwhelming me!" she told him prettily. "You must stop now!"

His dark eyes met her lighter ones. "I do not want to wait, Mademoiselle Marguerite. I want to take you upstairs
now!"
he groaned.

"Non! Non!
I could not. Not
now
. I am practically fainting with your attentions. I have never been approached so audaciously. I know what I am becoming, but we have just met tonight. I am sure I am not ready yet to be intimate. Remember what you promised my aunt,
Monsieur le Duc
. You are an honorable man, I know." She gently, but firmly, removed his hand from her bodice.

"Remain by my side," he commanded her, "while I regain my composure.
Sacrebleu, ma petite!
I have never been aroused so quickly by any woman as I have been by you."

"You flatter me,
monsieur,"
Marguerite told him. He had never been so aroused? To tell the truth, neither had she! Were all other men like César d'Aubert? She suspected not from what Josie and Leonie had said to her previously. Suddenly she realized that it could be very interesting finding out. She looked quickly about the room. The twin princes were eyeing her speculatively. What was it like to be taken by two men at one time, she wondered? And how was such a thing accomplished? She would have a lot of questions for her two companions. As much as she loved and trusted her aunt, she was not quite comfortable asking such intimate questions of Renée, who had after all been like her mother.

The lady in question now joined them, seating herself to the duke's right, her black silk skirts falling across his dark trousered leg. "I see," she noted, archly eyeing the still stiff protuberance in his crotch, "that my niece has pleased you, César." She patted the bulge mischievously.

"I would go upstairs with her now, but for my promise to you both," the duke said.

"I have not yet chosen a bedroom for her there," Renée told him calmly. "A perfect jewel must have her own perfect setting, eh?"

"I would take her here, on this settee," the duke growled.

"Now, César, you know we do not use my salon for lustful pursuits except on St. Valentine's Day, but of course, that will happen next month."

"You do it here?" Marguerite said, shocked.

"It is a custom of this house that on St. Valentine's Day the gentlemen who come pick one of the girls, and then they all pleasure themselves with her here in the salon. It is our tribute to Eros himself,
ma petite
. I think you and the duke had best chart your path soon for I suspect you, being our new treasure, will be chosen this year to offer such sacrifices to the god and goddess of love."

Marguerite swallowed hard.
"All the gentlemen?"

"Those who are here tonight," her aunt replied calmly.

"I don't think I could—" Marguerite began.

"Of course you can." Renée waved her protest aside. "By the time the evening is over, you will have been well fucked in every way imaginable,
ma petite
. So, you had best begin learning your lessons from César very soon,
chérie."

Able to stand now, the duke arose, and kissed first Marguerite's hand then Renée's. "Until tomorrow,
mademoiselle,"
he told the younger woman, his glance burning. Then he walked away to engage the redheaded Josie in brief conversation, and shortly thereafter led her upstairs.

"She will pay, my poor Josie, for your refusal," Renée laughed softly. "How nice you were able to rouse him so well. I knew he would be the right tutor for you,
ma petite
. Now go upstairs to your chaste bed,
chérie
. I will have to decide tomorrow which bedchamber is to be yours. César will not wait longer than that, I can see."

"Charles never kissed me like the duke did," Marguerite said.

"Husbands never kiss their wives like they kiss their other women," Renée replied. "I will never understand why a man thinks the woman he has chosen to wed, and bear his children, couldn't possibly be interested in lustful pursuits with him. But I should have little business if that were not so, ma petite. Women like to fuck every bit as much as men do, but wives, it seems, are taught not to admit to such a thing. A man wants to see a bit of enthusiasm when he sports himself, yet let a poor wife show any emotion, and her master begins to wonder if she is respectable, or what she has been up to with another man while he was at his club. Faagh! Men can be such fools."