The Third Son (17 page)

“I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening,” he said, a questioning tone in his voice. She nodded, but continued staring out the carriage window and into the night. “I’m sorry if my brother upset you,” he ventured, taking a guess at what could have upset her. “Lionus can be a real ass sometimes.”

“Your brother, at least, hid his dislike of me behind a mask of politeness and curiosity. Though I can’t say the same for a few of the other people I met tonight.”

Ah, thought Damien, so that was it. “Did someone say something out of place to you? Tell me who it was and I’ll set them straight.”

Esmeralda swiveled her eyes in his direction. “Your mistress,” she said from between clenched teeth. Her eyes stayed fixed on his, focused, gauging his reaction to her revelation. Damien bit back a string of curses. He had decided against telling Esmeralda about Davina
. I
t seemed unimportant to him, especially since Esmeralda was one of the few people who didn’t judge him based on his past. Davina was definitely a part of his past.

“You mean ex-mistress,” he said carefully. “Davina is no longer a part of my life.”

“How long ago did you dismiss her?”

Damien sighed. “A few days ago.”

“After you had found a replacement.”

“No!” Damien objected, horrified that such a thought had entered her mind. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

Esmeralda folded her arms across her chest. “Then explain it to me, Damien. You are now without a mistress and I am a convenient choice to fill the position. Shall you shower me with gowns and gaudy jewelry as well?” She snatched the gold-lined cape from her shoulders and hurled it across the coach at him. “Was this just the first of many of your ‘gifts‘?”

He fought to untangle himself from the cape before tossing it on the seat beside him.
Damien
reached across the carriage and grasped her firmly by her upper arms. He pulled her forward until they were almost nose to nose.

“If I wanted you for my mistress, then it would have happened the night I met you,” he said, his mouth a hard line.

“Oh, you arrogant
...
” she began, before cut her off sharply with a kiss. When he had stolen her breath away and left her sagging limply in his arms, he pulled back and smiled.

“See?” he said. “I could have torn down your defenses and whispered pretty lies in your ear had I wanted a mistress. I would have made you mine that very night, in your mother’s house if I had wanted to, if that was what I wanted from you. It is not arrogance to speak the truth, Esmeralda.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, the edge of anger starting to slip from her voice. “If it would have been so easy for you, why invite me to the palace, or visit me at home, or give my brother a job?”

Damien smiled, loosening his hold on her. “Because you are worth it. Because I want to know you. Truly know you.”

Esmeralda sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have been honest with you about Davina.
Y
ou were so determined to see the good in me and I didn’t want to spoil that. I guess it was pretty selfish of me.”

Esmeralda shook her head, brushing her lips over his softly. “No. It wasn’t. So few people see the real you. It’s not wrong for you to want that.”

Damien claimed her lips, grasping her around the waist and drawing her close. She closed her eyes and allowed him to sweep her away, as he always did, with his seductive mouth. His mouth spoke to her, silent promises of things to come, things she knew she wanted. She surrendered herself to his kisses, his gentle caresses against the bodice of her gown. She was no longer afraid, only filled with desire and longing.

****

Tristan strummed lazily on his guitar, signaling Dominic to bring him another mug of ale. He had lost count of how many he’d had, but refuse to lose his hold on the euphoria caused by the drink. Tatiana finished her dance on stage and Tristan ceased his playing, taking the mug from the barmaid that approached the stage. He drained it in a few large gulps and set it aside, waiting for Morgana to take the stage. Morgana was the last dance of the evening, since Esmeralda had taken the night off to go to the opera with the prince. Tristan clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the neck of his guitar. She should be here, he thought, with him where she belonged, among her own people.

He had barely seen or spoken to her since that day in the kitchen when he had pleaded with her to turn away from her liaison with the prince
. Tristan
knew that in the end all she would be left with was heartbreak.
P
erhaps that would be just the opening he needed, Tristan thought as Morgana signaled him from backstage. He played mechanically, his mind wandering as he envisioned Esmeralda running to him with tears on her lovely face, her amber eyes wide with sorrow. He would envelope her in his arms and kiss away her tears. Soon, her sighs of sadness would become moans of pleasure as his kisses moved over her skillfully, as they had in his mind so many times. When her desire had reached a fever pitch
,
he would rip her clothing from body and obliterate all thoughts of the prince from Esmeralda’s mind. Then she would be his.

Tristan smiled. Yes, that is how it would be. He focused his attention back to his playing, noticing Morgana for the first time since she’d taken the stage. Esmeralda’s younger cousin was not without charm, he noticed. Though not as skilled as Esmeralda, her movements held a seductive quality that caused the men to respond wildly to her. Perhaps it was her body, more voluptuous and rounded than the other dancers, with large, swaying breasts and wide hips that drove the men
mad
for her.

Tristan felt the lust welling up inside him as he watched, his fingers moving over the guitar in a way they hadn’t moved over a woman in some months. He had been so wrapped up in his pursuit of Esmeralda, that he hadn’t
fulfilled
his own baser needs in some time. His earlier fantasy of a heartbroken Esmeralda had left his loins hard and full and now he knew that he would ease himself with Morgana.

The song ended, and Morgana left the stage. Tristan followed. One of the girls’ fathers was waiting at the back entrance with a wagon to escort the girls home. They were waiting for Morgana, who was changing behind a nearby curtain. The girls smiled invitingly as Tristan approached. They all knew how Tristan felt about Esmeralda, but each still hoped he would soon turn his attentions toward them. 

“Ladies, I will see Morgana home tonight,” he said, putting on his most charming smile. Morgana appeared from behind the screen, her dark brown eyes wide. She had vied for Tristan’s attention for a long time
and while Tristan was aware of this, his concern had been Esmeralda
She returned his smile, placing a hand on her hips and tossing her long, wavy hair, so similar to Esmeralda’s. 

“I’ll see you girls tomorrow,” Morgana said, her eyes never leaving Tristan’s. The girls all filed out through the back door, whispering among themselves excitedly.
He knew that the gossip would spread and by tomorrow afternoon, everyone would know that they’d left together, but Tristan didn’t care.
Morgana
grasped her shawl and wrapped it about her shoulders before allowing him to lead her out into the night. He silently wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against him as they walked briskly, warding off the chilly autumn night air. He paused a few times to taste her mouth, leading her in the opposite direction from her home, to his.

Once they reached his front door, he grasped her suddenly and pressed her up against it, taking her lips again roughly. She threaded her fingers through his hair and returned his kiss just as forcefully, pulling desperately at his clothing. By the time
,
he reached behind her to open the door, his shirt was unbuttoned, as was her blouse. He grasped her hand and led her swiftly through the house where he lived alone. Tristan had never known his father and his
mama
was dead. His only other relative, his sister, preferred the life of a wanderer. Tristan and Morgana would not be disturbed. He led her to his bedroom, lighting the lamp by his bed quickly before ripping his shirt away completely.
Tristan
turned to face her in the lamplight, pleased by the awe in her eyes as she took in his naked chest and lean abdomen. 

“Take your clothes off,” he demanded, watching hungrily as she slowly slipped off her skirt and blouse. She removed her only undergarment, a simple linen shift, and stood before him unashamed. Tristan crossed the room to her and pulled her hard against his body. He massaged her ample breasts with his hands, teasing her dusky brown nipples with his fingertips. She moaned and arched her back, thrusting them toward his mouth. Tristan suckled at them like a starving man, kneading and squeezing her round bottom and pressing her tightly against his erection. She fumbled at the waistband of his trousers for a moment before unbuttoning them. He pushed her back slightly and finished taking them off himself. She lowered herself to her knees,
and Tristan watched as
she took the full length of him in her hands.
H
is head fell back and his eyes slid closed when she took him into her mouth, teasing him with her tongue. He groaned hoarsely and grasped the back of her head, seizing a fistful of her thick hair. He watched her through lowered eyelids, imagining that the shiny black waves he held in his hand belonged to someone else. The body on its knees before him was longer and slimmer, firm and lithe. The eyes that looked up at him burned yellow-gold in the lamplight.

He thrust wildly into her wet, hot mouth, his powerful legs nearly shaking with the force of his lust. Before long
,
he could take no more and pulled her roughly away. He fought to catch his breath for a moment, then plucked her up from the floor and tossed her on the bed. He spread her legs wide and came between then, pressing to her moist entrance. 

“Now, Tristan!” she panted, wrapping her legs around his hips. “Now!”

He obliged her gladly, pushing forward in one sure, firm stroke, bursting through the barrier of her virginity. She winced in pain, but didn’t unwind her legs from his waist as he moved in her swiftly. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her shoulder, moving faster when her cries of pain turned into sighs of bliss. He lifted her hips and pounded into her, his rhythm now frenzied, her cries now wild and unrestrained.
Tristan
surged forward one last time and spilled his seed into her, breathing a sigh of relief.

He rolled to his back, pulling the covers up over them both. She snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. He reached out and stroked her hair. She was already asleep and so did not hear her cousin’s name fall from his lips as he too, slipped into slumber.

Chapter 10

The next two weeks passed Damien and Esmeralda by in a whir of endless activity. Esmeralda attended teas, picnics, dinner parties, luncheons and the theater with Damien and the court. Damien would have found himself bored with the endless round of mundane entertainments, but he found that having Esmeralda at his side changed everything. She glittered like the brightest of gems among the members of the nobility and had charmed them all, save
the queen
, Lionus, and Davina. But that was to be expected. Even their impolite behavior toward her could not dampen Damien’s spirits. He had spent quite a bit of time at her home as well, content to watch her work about the kitchen or help her out in her vegetable patch. His hands had become a bit work-worn as a result and Damien found himself oddly proud of the fact.

The morning of the tournament, the event he had been looking forward to the most, he rose early as had become his habit recently and dressed quickly. He joined his brothers for a light breakfast. He, Lionus, Serge, and Nicolai would all be competing in the tournament that day. Princess Isabelle was also present. She was going in Damien’s carriage to fetch Esmeralda to the tournament
.
Damien would be too busy getting ready to go himself. She was beautifully dressed as always, sitting beside Lionus and across from him. 

“The entire court has been at odds these few weeks as to who she is,” Lionus was saying as Damien took his seat. He lifted his eyes from his plate.

“Who?” he asked, having a feeling he already knew.

“You know very well who,” he said, stabbing at a sausage link with his fork. He raised a dark brow at Damien. “Are you going to tell us?”

“You know who she is,” Damien muttered, turning his attention back to his cream laced coffee. “Her name is Esmeralda Brandon and she is a very good friend of mine.”

Serge met his eyes across the table, but was otherwise silent. He had kept true to his word and kept Esmeralda’s background a secret. Damien didn’t give a damn if anyone ever found out, but in order to protect her from malicious gossip, he kept his mouth shut as well. 

“Well I think she is perfectly lovely,” said Isabelle, sipping her tea. “If you would but talk with her, Lionus, you might come to agree with me.”

“I have spoken to her and she is purposely coy when it comes to personal questions,” Lionus scoffed, pushing his plate aside.