“He is virile, by all accounts,” Helena conceded, “but sometimes gossip is inaccurate. The truth is, he has always been discerning when it came to his mistresses and certainly has never brought one here before. You are special to him and when he looks at you, the desire in his eyes is like a hungry fire. I am jealous.”
Not at all certain how to take the last remark, Lara changed the subject then, asking about the roses in the Marmont gardens, flowers being something she took a deep interest in. Helena looked amused at the ploy, her brown eyes crinkling as she smiled, but she answered readily enough and they rode in comfortable companionship to the river and back up to the villa, chatting and amiable. When Helena rode back toward Marmont with the promise of meeting her the following morning, Lara dismounted and gave the groom her horse, heading back up toward the house.
She had found that when Anton said he kept no servants at the villa, he did not include the stables, and a full retinue of grooms and
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trainers saw to his string during racing season. The stable was not terribly large, but extremely well appointed, no expense spared.
Going up to change and wash, Lara put on a day dress of pale green sprigged muslin, brushed her hair, wound it into a demure chignon, and went down to join Anton for luncheon on the terrace, as had become their habit on sunny days. She found him already there, at an ornate garden table covered with mosaic tiles, sipping cool wine, the light breeze ruffling his dark hair. Arrested as always by his masculine good looks, she stood a moment and watched him as he lifted his glass and drank.
She loved him
, she thought with an almost inner despair. The realization had been growing in the past weeks and had little to do with his ability to bring her great physical fulfillment. That mattered, of course, and making love with him was a wonderful communion of their bodies, but it was the man himself she was drawn to on many other levels. He liked to tease her, to argue politics, to indulge her tastes in food and wine and a thousand other thoughtful little things.
Anton never treated her as a possession that occupied his bed and spread her legs to allow him sexual release, but instead as a person who had intellect besides beauty.
She wondered with acute pain if she weren’t barren, he might actually marry her. But her body might be perfect on the outside—or so she had been told—but apparently, inside there was a flaw. In fact, her female cycles were often erratic and always had been. Not terribly so, just off several weeks now and then, so that during her marriage, she and Peter would start to hope, and then be disappointed and morose when her flow came.
Anton saw her standing there and rose politely, a smile breaking over his face. Coming to take her hand, he gallantly lifted and kissed it. “How was your ride,
chérie.
Madame Bourges will bring out our food soon, but I told her we wanted a glass of wine together first.
Please come and sit with me.”
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Swallowing hard, she looked into his eyes and fought the urge to blurt out her feelings. “It was fine,” she said instead, keeping her voice steady. “Helena is very nice and also…entertaining, I suppose would be the word. I find her slightly unconventional.”
Anton’s gaze was unreadable. “How so?” He guided her to the table and seated her, reaching for the wine so he could pour her a glass.
“She says the oddest things.” Lara accepted the wine and inclined her head in thanks. “And is really not like other women I have known.”
“What odd things?” Anton leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “Tell me.”
The reference to the two of them in bed foremost in her mind, Lara took a quick sip and shook her head. “I can’t recall specifics,”
she said evasively. “And forgive me, I did not mean to sound critical of Henri’s wife in any way. I like her very much.”
Anton lifted a dark brow in an elegant mannerism she had come to know well. His lips quirked slightly. “The question is how much.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lara saw something puzzling in his expression, an undecipherable mixture of speculation and reserve.
With a slight shake of his head, Anton set aside his glass. “Have you ever met a woman who desires other women, my sweet? To be frank with you seems the only way, so I will be blunt. I am afraid you inspire lust not only in men, but women, as well. Helena is very attracted to you. Even before I introduced it, I wondered if she would not be smitten by your incredible beauty.”
Remembering the flowery compliments and the direct way Helena looked at her, brought heat into her face. If Madame Marmont had been a man, Lara acknowledged, she would have interpreted everything quite differently. “But she is married,” she protested, not certain how to feel.
“She accommodates Henri, but she is certainly not the only woman to yield to convention and marry when her desires lie
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elsewhere. However, the true question is, what do you want to do about this…incipient lust? Henri hopes you will indulge his wife and extend your friendship to include passion.”
It seemed an incredible conversation to be having when the day was so innocently lovely, the air perfumed by the informal gardens around them, birds singing everywhere. “He wishes such a thing?”
she managed to say incredulously, clutching her wine glass and staring at Anton. “And what of you? How do you feel about this…this unnatural desire?”
“What is unnatural about wanting a beautiful woman?” The answer was neutral, his dark eyes veiled. “Most men enjoy watching two women together. Do not worry, I will be there also.” His smile was deep and wickedly sensual. “There are, after all, certain things she cannot do for you.”
Not certain if she was horrified or intrigued, Lara simply sat there, speechless. Finally, she asked, “Are you suggesting the
three
of us would be in bed together? And furthermore, you want this?”
“I want what you want, Lara. It would be enjoyable, I’m sure, but Helena would be there because of you, not me. You like sex,
chérie
, that is undeniable, and this would be simply that. An adventure, if you will. My feelings for you include generosity when it comes to your pleasure.” His gaze darkened at once. “Not with another man, however,” he said curtly. “Never. Make no mistake. I would kill you both.”
The sudden feral heat in his expression caused a certain primitive elation inside her. Whatever lay in the future, he felt possessive of her, and she reveled in it. Lowering her gaze, Lara murmured, “I know well everything you have done for me, Anton. You have protected me, taught me the ways of passion, even left Paris and coped with the difficulties of running your interests from here, when you should probably be more available to your businesses and family.
I will do whatever you wish.”
“Does the notion repulse you?”
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It didn’t, she just wasn’t certain what to expect. “No. I suppose I am just the product of a conventional upbringing. I had an aunt who always seemed to have a different female companion and I heard whispers, I suppose, but everyone always seemed to think it sinful, so I did, as well.”
“It isn’t.” He said the words firmly. “Nothing that happens in bed between consenting adults is sinful. Did you not take me in your mouth the other evening? That is considered sinful by many, but we both liked it very much. And when I pleasure you with my tongue between your legs, you most certainly seem to
sinfully
enjoy that.”
She did, it was impossible to deny.
His brows lifted and he idly poured more wine. “So if Helena approaches me, you are willing?”
“Anything,” she replied softly over the rim of her wine glass, meaning it, “for you.”
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Anton frowned, listening only abstractly to the rain trickling down the windows, reading the missive in his hand for the third time.
“
Diable
,” he muttered, setting it aside, not certain whether to rejoice or feel even more afraid. According to his sources, Lacroux no longer worked for the minister of police, but had dropped out of sight.
There were allusions to excessive violence used in the arrest of Louis Cartel—violence his influential family objected to strenuously— hence Lacroux’s loss of position.
In short, Lacroux was now both out of control and on the loose.
“I am interrupting, I’m sure.”
Looking up, Anton saw with only measured surprise that Helena Marmont stood in the doorway of his study, damp droplets still gleaming on her brown hair, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her expression. Standing up politely, he said, “Not at all. Please come in.”
“Madame Bourges said you were working. She was on her way out as I rode up.”
“Her sister, I understand, is ill. Can I take your cloak?”
Helena made a face. “I suppose I am dripping. It is soaking outside…what awful weather. Lara and I have not ridden together in nearly a week.”
“And you miss her,” he said suggestively, taking the sodden garment from her shoulders and setting it by the hearth. “And couldn’t go another day without seeing her. Am I right?”
For a moment, Helena was quiet, sinking into a chair, her brown eyes wide. Then she said with rueful resignation, “Henri said you already knew how I feel about her.”
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“It is hard to miss.” Anton said prosaically as he sat back down behind his desk. “In fact, I have spoken with her about it.”
“I know.” Helena, dressed in a drab riding habit that concealed her fabulous figure, laughed mockingly. “She is actually an admirable actress, but it was clear after the first day we rode together that somehow things had changed between us. I doubt she is flirtatious even with you, that isn’t her nature, but let us say we became infinitely more aware of each other.”
“Sexually?” he asked delicately, lifting his brows.
“Definitely,” she answered, perched on the edge of the chair, unperturbed. “Do you mind?”
“I am not sure,” he said, leaning back. “I have been with more than one woman before, but my feelings were never involved.”
“I am afraid mine are, also,” Helena said, her brown eyes darkening. “Though it is difficult, when one lusts so deeply, to tell the difference.”
“True.” He waited. They were both in accord…yet on opposing sides.
Finally, Helena finished fidgeting with her wet skirts enough to ask, “Anton, please, don’t be cruel. What did she say?”
“She would do anything I ask.” Concealing his male pride was not an option; he simply could not do it. He grinned, a corner of his mouth lifting.
“Will you ask, then?”
“She is upstairs, napping. I think it is all the rain, but she has been tired lately.”
“Perhaps we could go wake her.” Helena’s eyes were suddenly alight. “Mrs. Bourges is out and Henri is in Paris for a few days. I’ve all afternoon.”
His body stirred treacherously at the notion of seeing Helena and his lovely English mistress together. “She is not enthusiastic over this,” he warned and then added, “but she is very sensual and infinitely responsive. I think she will like it.”
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“God in heaven, Anton, let’s go upstairs.” Her expressive brown gaze was excited and her chest lifted quickly as she breathed. “Almost as much as I want to touch her, do I want to watch you together. I suppose I am a voyeur at heart, because I adore…watching.”
The truth was, he looked forward to this interlude. Sex play was always diverting, and he had already discerned that Lara also liked variety. She never objected to new positions or anything he did to her, however wickedly different. He murmured, “Then watch you shall, dear Helena. All right, let us go up. Wait until you see what she is wearing. Madame Dupont did some inventive things with her wardrobe before we left Paris. I suspect you’ll be pleased.”
Since Helena had been at the villa countless times, she knew the way and he followed her, already growing erect. Helena was not conventionally pretty, but she had a voluptuous figure and her vitality was attractive. He was looking forward to
watching
himself.
Lara was asleep on the bed, on her side, one hand under her cheek, like a child. There all resemblance to anything except an exotically desirable woman ended. Wearing only a chemise made out of a material so fine it was completely sheer, she might have been nude, the material bunched around her slender thighs, her nipples and breasts visible, as was the intriguing darkness between her legs.
Anton heard Helena take in a deep breath.
“It is almost unnatural for someone to be so alluring,” she murmured heatedly. “Anton, please, help me undress. God in heaven, I am already so wet, I cannot believe it.”
For the first time in his life, he thought wryly as he unfastened buttons, he was helping a woman undress, so she could have sex with someone else. However, Helena was worth watching disrobe, her loosened hair a gleaming brown with fine gold highlights, her breasts large and pink-tipped, her body curvaceous but not quite plump. Her gaze avidly fastened on the woman on the bed, she stripped without regard for her clothes, tossing everything carelessly aside. “Join us whenever you wish,” she whispered breathlessly, “but I cannot wait.”
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Sinking into a chair by the window, so he could pull off his boots, Anton observed as she approached the bed, crawling in carefully by Lara’s slender body, settling next to her and stroking first the tumbled glory of her ebony hair. Then she carefully lifted the hem of the chemise, pulling it up so Lara was fully exposed from the waist down, her pale smooth buttocks revealed.
Sliding her hand between her thighs so she cupped her cleft, Helena began to wake Lara with her fingers, the slightest of motions as she leaned forward and kissed her shoulder lightly. Her graceful caress slid into Lara’s dark pubic hair, toying with her, penetrating and invading her body.