“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, laughing through her tears.
“I’ll show you.” He reached down and pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist, then slowly pumped against her. How strange, that she had never felt quite so full and yet quite so empty at the same time. She wanted more of him, more than was possible to take. There was no doubt that she would remember the feeling of him inside of her, memorize every shiver of sensation as the pain faded to warm, glowing pleasure. He pulled back carefully, then pushed forward again, slow, short strokes that quickly became inadequate. She rocked against him, and he shuddered above her.
“Did I do something wrong?” If she had, she did not know if she would be able to keep from doing it again. Her body screamed at her to move, her cunt clutching at him desperately.
He laughed, though it was a short, strangled sound. “No. Nothing wrong at all.”
“Don’t stop,” she panted, rolling her hips against him. Who was this woman who knew to ask for something she’d never had before?
“The bed could catch fire and I would not stop,” he assured her, and on that final word he began to move in earnest, thrusting into her harder than before. She closed her eyes and held on to him, concentrating on the thick length of him driving in and pulling out with delicious friction. She ground against him, rubbing her clit against the rock-hard length of him as he slid back and forth, until her muscles tightened with that familiar tension.
“I’m coming,” she gasped in amazement. “Oh god, Julien!”
He kissed her as she fell over the edge, capturing her scream in his mouth. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, holding on and pushing him away at the same time, and her hips bucked furiously as spasm after spasm of pure ecstasy gripped her throbbing cunt.
Julien groaned and pulled out of her, trapping his cock between them as he loosed his seed onto her belly. Panting, he supported himself on one elbow so as not to crush her, then rolled aside to catch his breath.
The sudden loss of his body heat made Joséphine shiver, and she giggled. She couldn’t help it.
Julien arched one eyebrow, though both his eyes remained closed. “What’s so funny?”
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m not a virgin.” She laughed again, covering her face with her hands.
“I hope you don’t regret it. It’s a bit too late to take it back now.” He rolled to face her and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Don’t move.”
He sat up and reached for the pitcher on the washstand beside his bed. He poured a bit of water onto the sponge in the basin and wrung it out before turning to wipe his seed from her stomach.
“Ah, so that’s why you keep your washstand beside the bed,” she said, realizing with a stab of sadness that other women must have shared his bed to necessitate such a placement.
“I keep it there,” he said, turning to rinse the sponge, “because in the mornings I do not like to go from a warm bed to a cold bath. This way, I can keep the bed curtains drawn and stay warm while I wash for the day.”
She considered his answer while he moved the sponge between her thighs. The cool water soothed her burning flesh, and she sighed.
“Before you ask, no, I do not bring women to my bed here.” He paused and looked up at her. “You’re the first.”
Her heart clenched in her chest. “You’ve never had another women in your bed here?”
“This is my home. It’s a sanctuary from my life at court. I wouldn’t share it with someone who means nothing to me.” He did not look her in the eye.
So, she meant something to him. That pleased her, and saddened her at the same time. She sat up. “Where did my nightgown go?”
“You took it off over there,” he said, dropping the sponge in the basin and pulling back the bedclothes. “You don’t need it.”
She cocked her head, wondering if he meant what she inferred from his statement.
“I would like you to sleep here, with me.” He sounded almost embarrassed. “Our last night together. It would be a very pleasant memory for me, when you’re queen.”
Smiling, she kicked the covers down and climbed beneath them, shivering with anticipation as she waited for him to settle beside her. The smooth warmth of his skin against hers was a delicious thrill despite the wearing satiation that gripped her limbs. “Could we pretend that morning never arrives, and just stay here forever?”
He chuckled. “If you would like to, we may do that. Until morning.”
She forced herself to laugh, and gave him a playful slap, but she had meant every word.
Chapter Fifteen
The journey to court had taken two days and one miserable stop in a roadside inn that Julien had been sure harbored bedbugs, but when they drew into view of the palace, Joséphine felt the trip had been entirely worth it.
The palace, a long rectangle of sand-colored stone that glowed rosy in the setting sun, was larger than anything she had ever seen before. A wide limestone avenue with elaborately pruned trees and magnificent sculptures spread before the palace like a chapel aisle awaiting a bride, and the last flare of daylight caught each of the hundreds of windows, setting fire in each pane of glass.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, and in the back of her mind a voice whispered, this could all be yours.
The thought did not bring her as much joy as she thought it should have. Certainly, to live here, to make such a magnificent estate her home, would be worth the sting of lost love? And Julien did not love her. If he did, he would not be delivering her to another man.
“Do you think you will enjoy being queen of such a place?” He took her hand and kissed, almost sadly. As if he were saying goodbye.
“I am not queen, yet,” she said, pulling her hand back. “In fact, my prey is not even king yet. Isn’t it treasonous of you to suggest he might one day be?”
Julien laughed. “I see you listened well to Madame Brujon.”
“I listened very closely to matters that could cost me my head.” She suppressed a shiver at the thought. Court had been a dangerous place in the past. She did not wish to end as some had.
The coach rumbled down the avenue, giving her ample opportunity to view the gentlemen in their finery and the ladies in elaborate evening dress strolling along, enjoying the sunset. Though she hated herself for it, Joséphine could not help but wonder at the sight of every woman who looked up on the carriage with quickening breath or twinkling eyes, Is she one of the ones? Will she be, after I am married to the prince?
Julien acknowledged a few waves from people who knew him, but he did not ask the driver to stop, letting him take them all the way to the courtyard of the palace. Blush stone decorated the ornate facade of the building, and a wide staircase led them to a marble tiled veranda and finally, into the palace.
“I must inquire with the prince’s secretary, to find out if the prince is in residence tonight,” Julien said in a low voice as they passed through the doors and into the palace foyer. He guided her past clusters of suddenly curious onlookers. With a shock, Joséphine realized that they were curious about her.
“If the prince is not in residence?” she asked quietly, angling her head towards him but never taking her eyes from the courtiers who stared shamelessly at them as they passed.
“If he is not, we will not see him tonight.” He lead her through a series of rooms, each more elaborately decorated than the last with scenes of ancient gods and marble busts of long-dead royalty. Everything, from the chairs to the tables to the chandeliers over their heads glittered with gold and dripped with crystals. The courtiers were just as impressive, and in her satin gown, with very little jewelry and her hair unfashionably low compared to the towering styles both the men and the women wore, Joséphine felt utterly useless.
Julien continued, oblivious to her discomfort, “Nevertheless, we must see his royal highness’s secretary so that he can secure you adequate accommodations.”
“Anything where I am not likely to get lice would be lovely,” she giggled. “That inn was abhorrent.”
“Oh, you won’t be staying in an inn.” Julien nodded to a woman in a scarlet dress who batted her eyes as he passed. “I have my own quarters here at the palace, and Prince Philipe will extend the honor to any friend I bring to court.”
She wouldn’t be staying with Julien? “I’ll be all alone? At court?”
“No, not all alone. Heavens no.” A man with a towering cap of white hair, upon which rested an enormous stuffed bird with long purple feathers, glared at Julien as he passed. “You’ll have all these lovely bastards to keep you company.”
The prince’s secretary was finally located after what seemed to have been miles of walking, in a long hall that appeared to have no other purpose but for nobles to congregate and sneer at each other.
“Julien!” The man came forward and bowed, a grin on his face. “His highness received your letter. He has talked of nothing since it arrived yesterday.”
Joséphine curtsied as Brujon had taught her, the effortless execution honed through fear of having ones knuckles rapped.
“Sebastien, this is Joséphine Thévenet. Her father, Henrí Thévenet, is one of my oldest and dearest friends.” Julien cleared his throat. “Her stepmother is a frequent visitor to court.”
“Oh, yes, her,” the Prince’s secretary, Sebastien, rolled his eyes. “I can’t keep her away from Prince Philipe. She is determined to marry one of her daughters off to him. She won’t take no for an answer.”
“That sounds like her,” Joséphine said, before she could stop herself. She flushed red with embarrassment, but both Julien and Sebastien laughed heartily.
“His highness will like you, Joséphine,” Sebastien laughed, before turning his attention back to Julien. “You’ll find him in the red salon, gambling.”
“And that sounds like him. Sebastien,” Julien said with a bow, then turned Joséphine in the direction they had come. After another confusing set of turns, they arrived at the large, gilded doors of the red salon.
“How does anyone remember how to find their way around here?” Joséphine marveled. Some of the doors they had gone through had been disguised like the wall surrounding them. Every room seemed to house a sea of people, and they all walked freely through bedchambers, dressing rooms, parlors and galleries. “And is there no privacy here?”
“None,” Julien said, then, nodding to the servant at the door, “tell his highness that a far better man than he has come to receive tribute.”
Joséphine gasped at Julien’s disrespectful words, but the servant didn’t blink an eye. He said, “Very well, sir,” and slipped through the door, which he opened no wider than his body.
“The prince’s parties are as private as you’ll find in this palace. That is why it is best to ally yourself with him,” Julien explained, but he was cut off by a booming voice from the other side of the door.
“Tell the bastard I’ll have him boiled in oil,” the voice shouted, and the doors flew wide open to reveal a man with a wide grin and at least a day’s worth of whisker growth.
Julien bowed immediately, squeezing Joséphine’s arm to remind her to curtsey. If he had not, Joséphine would have stayed where she was, staring at the prince, not believing that he was royalty at all. He looked positively unkempt, in a wrinkled shirt and no coat.
“No, no, dear beauty, no need to stand on formalities.” He reached for her hand, and Julien released her. The prince smiled as he lifted her hand for a kiss, and in spite of her first impression, Joséphine’s heart fluttered.
Julien cleared his throat. “Your highness, Joséphine Thévenet.”
“Thévenet?” he asked, but he was not speaking to Julien. He winked at Joséphine and said, “I didn’t know the old cow could produce such a jewel. If she’d have brought you to court, I would have married her for the honor.”