Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Athos let out a sigh that carried the weight of his conscience.

“Murder is a cruel word. Though, I am in no position to make excuses. I ordered her execution. I married Anne de Brueil many years ago. I was young. Hell, she was but sixteen. She was not attracted to me, but to a count, you must understand, and all the riches that accompanied the title of countess. Anne’s lust for material wealth was something I only came to realize well after discovering the brand of the fleur de lis on her body.”

"The brand—isn’t that…?”

Emmanuelle moved instinctively for the underside of her wrist, and he followed with his fingers to trace the raised flesh. It made him wince to think another man had done this to her, had made her believe she deserved such degradation.

“It is not the same. Anne was branded for her crimes.”

“And yet, after receiving this mark I committed perhaps similar crimes? Mon Dieu, I must remind you of her.”

“No. You have never taken a life, Emmanuelle. You have not murdered without mercy—many times over.” His voice grew cold. He had her complete attention. “Anne was everything I am against. And most important, she was a cardinalist. I do not know how many she took down after I cast her from my home. She wed the Baron de Winter and it seems they had a son—I was unaware of John Francis until I arrived at Clement’s castle and was introduced to him. Later, I witnessed a few of her crimes. Milady de Winter, as she called herself after her marriage to the baron, was instrumental in the death of the Duke of Buckingham. She murdered a curé, the Baron de Winter, and…my best friend’s lover.”

“Your best friend? Lieutenant D’Artagnan?”

Athos nodded. “Constance Bonacieux was his first love. She died because she got in the way of the most heinous bitch to walk this earth.”

“But you did love Milady once—to have married her?”

“I did. Until she annihilated my heart.”

Emmanuelle adjusted her position on his lap. “And you executed her?”

“I, three other brothers of the blade, and Lord de Winter, the baron’s brother, stood judge and jury to Milady de Winter on a cold night in July. She begged for mercy. I closed my heart to her pleas.”

“It sounds like she didn’t deserve mercy.”

“It was wrong.” He pressed his forehead to Emmanuelle’s shoulder and released tears he had fought for days, perhaps even years. “But I knew in my heart if I sent her to the Bastille, or allowed her to await trial, others would suffer, perhaps fall at her murderous hands. She had escaped imprisonment many times before using only her beauty and wiles. I did not know I was taking a mother away from a child. If I had, perhaps I would have had more compassion.”

“Would those you saved from her treachery have felt so?” Emmanuelle bracketed his head with her hands and searched his watery eyes. “Athos, you punished a criminal who had avoided punishment for years. It may not have felt right, but, surely, you saved many lives with your actions.”

“I did the very thing you have battled against for years, Emmanuelle. I should have arrested her, allowed her a trial. How can you now show me compassion?”

“Because I was fighting a lie.”

He shook his head. “No man has the right to take justice into his own hands or to press his beliefs on another.”

“Or…to lie to his own family. My father made me believe he was fighting the monarchy, when it was really the power of the nobles he despised.”

“But de Marle said your father was executed for his beliefs—because he would not take another man’s life in their pursuit of a higher justice. Emmanuelle, that is a good quality.”

She tilted her head consideringly, as if seeing it differently for the first time. “You think my father tried to leave the Brotherhood for the same reasons as I?”

“It is apparent.”

“Perhaps. But still, I would not be in this position had my father not started le Pacte des Justice in the first place.”

“True. But he is gone now.” He clasped her hand and rubbed his thumb along the side of it. “Can you not forgive him?”

Slowly, she nodded, then looked up at him. “Can you ever forgive yourself, Athos?”

The vexing question that haunted him.

He sighed. “Today I looked into John de Winter’s eyes and saw anger and hatred. It was me who put that violence there. No child should have to live with such a thing.”

She bowed her head. “I did.”

“Curse that bastard, Clément. But you have survived.”

“A little worse for wear.” She rubbed her wrist. “Athos, there is nothing you can do to change John de Winter’s future. If you try to wrest him away from the Brotherhood he will further resent you for taking him from the only family he has likely known.”

"You speak as if you hold no blame against him. `Twas that very boy who went to D’Artagnan with a false claim against you.”

“How can I blame him when Michel used him, just as he did me? John de Winter was a part of his game.”

“But—”

She kissed him on the cheek, stilling his words. How he loved those angel kisses. The sensation eased his anger.

“What of Raoul?” she said. “Does he not deserve a father who loves him? A man who can set aside the mistakes of his past with forgiveness? You have only done what you believed just. Now you are wiser, and you will react differently. You are a fine man, Athos. Make sure Raoul knows that.”

He gazed at her with wonder and a rush of emotion. “You believe that? Truly?”

“I do.” She hugged the bottle against her breasts. The glass neck hugged the ragged edge of the brand on her wrist. “I wish the best for you and your son. With all my heart.”

Athos looked aside so as not to reveal the sudden pain tightening his face. If only she could know how he yet struggled with that mistake.

“No! Not this way.” He swung to her, splaying his hands before him, entreating her. “Yoface. “You speak as if we have no future together.”

“We do not.” Her gaze remained fixed to the flame.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I suppose I am not worthy—”

“It’s not because of your crime,” she rushed in softly. “It is…we simply cannot have a future. You must know that.”

“Says who?”

“Says the very design of the class system. Says…”

“Michel Clément?”

She jerked a teary gaze up at him. A log in the hearth tumbled from the stack and hissed angry orange sparks upon the stone floor.

“I love you, Emmanuelle. I want you to love me.”

“I think I do, but—”

“I will not allow Clément to harm you again. It was all a lie. Everything he taught you.” Athos clenched his jaw and shook his head. “No, that is not true. Much as I despise le Pacte des Justice and their methods, their cause was a good one. I know the common people often suffer injustice from those in power. You say I am a good man, that I only did what was right. Well, so did you. You did well for the families of those who were unjustly wronged. Never believe la Belle Dame sans Merci did not fight the good fight. You fought for your own.”

“My own. And which ones are those?” She lifted her hand turning her wrist toward him. “The peasants or the Brotherhood? I will forever bear their mark.”

“That brand is nothing but a cruel reminder of your torture. You are no longer la Belle Dame sans Merci. You are Emmanuelle Vazet.”

“A peasant. Who can never be your own.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated at the woman’s irritating ability to point out the truth. “Fine. I accede that there will always be papers bearing my name, my family crest, designating me as the recipient of a yearly stipend from the king. But I love the villagers of La Fère—the peasants—like family. I would never look down upon another man because he bears no fancy crest, or because he cannot trace his lineage for centuries..”

She tipped her head and regarded him. “I believe you. And I do recall the regard Monsieur Jean-Paul showed you. You two are close?”

“He and my father were as brothers. Jean-Paul taught my father to hunt boar with dagger and bow. His own son, God rest his soul, played with me in the gardens of La Fère when we wore infant skirts.”

She smiled. “Funny to imagine you the size of Raoul scampering about in skirts.”

“My mother used to keep me close with a leather harness and leash whenever we were in Paris.” The memory should have embarrassed, but instead Athos felt his chest warm and a smile split the serious line of his mouth. “It sounds horrible, but protective. She was ever worried to lose sight of me.”

“Sounds like my mother.” Emmanuelle tucked her forehead against her knees then peeked at Athos with a shared smile. “I do care for you, Athos. Very much. But love makes a person—”

“Vulnerable, I know. But vulnerability isn’t so terrible as I once thought. You should always expose your heart to a child. Don’t you think?”

She touched his face, ran her finger tenderly along the knife wound Jeanne had tended. “It felt nice holding Raoul. To feel needed.”

“I need you, Emmanuelle.” He clasped her hand and kissed the knuckles. “I need you now. So desperately.” He kissed her on the lips. Softly. For he felt a stab of pain when he moved his mouth. “Let me love you tonight. Let me need you.”

She let out a compelling whimper and ducked her head, pressing the crown to Athos’s chest. Her arms encircled his waist and she tilted her head up to rest on his shoulder. “First you will tell me why I might have called you enemy six months ago?”

He let out a sigh that carried the weight of his conscious. “Yes.“Need sounds desperate.”

“I want you as well.”

“I do admire a man who asks for what he wants. As well, I have learned from you love is a beautiful thing. Look what it’s brought into your life. That sweet child who sleeps upstairs.”

“And you.” He thread his fingers through hers. “I love you, Emmanuelle.”

“I don’t understand how can you love someone who has put you through so much. If not for me you would have had your son in hand and be long toin Blois by now.”

“If not for you, there is no telling who might have found my son sitting in the forest beside the overturned carriage. Emmanuelle, you rescued my family.” He kissed her hand. “You’ve rescued me.”

She chuckled. “I thought we decided we’d had enough of rescuing each other.”

“I would walk the world to rescue you.”

“And die trying.” She touched the bandage wrapped about his hand. “I want you alive, Athos.”

“And I realize I shouldn’t ask you to come with me when you need time to yourself. Much as I desired when I mustered out.”

“I have had time alone. Jeanne and Firmin have reminded me how splendid it is to know family.”

“They are good people. Do you still have plans to give your property to the old man? Where will you go?”

“Yes, Firmin takes control of Vazet lands. As for where I will go, you forget I am on the run. Michel is still alive.”

“I will protect you, if you allow it. Not that a woman who can kick like you needs protecting—”

“Let’s not speak of that now.” She kissed him on the forehead and tucked a strand of his hair over his ear. “I am tired of all this talk of violence. It is finished. It is my past. Yours, as well. Agreed?”

Athos nodded. “Kiss me again,” he said.

She tipped her head coquettishly. “Just a kiss?”

He smiled. “I think we’ve gone beyond mere kisses. Want to do it in a real bed this time?”

* * *

They didn’t take time to light candles. Athos pulled Emmanuelle toward the four-poster bed, but she resisted, tugging him to her and fixing a kiss to his welcoming mouth. He answered her greedy hunger with a deep, zealous kiss. He needed this woman. And he instinctively sensed she needed him.

Very well, he wanted her.

He hooked a hand under her thigh, and when she didn’t topple but gripped the bedpost behind her with both hands, he groaned his pleasure.

“I find this disconcerting,” he said between kisses to her chin and her neck. His jaw ached to move it overmuch, but damn the pain.

“What is that?”

“This making love to a woman dressed as a man. Generally, my women have been adorned in dresses and laces and—”

“Impenetrable stays?”

“Well, there is that.” He slid his hands under the thin Holland shirt. “Perhaps I could grow accustomed to this fashion, after all.”

Her breasts sat heavy upon his cupped palms. Oh, but they felt so good. Thumbs slipping over her hard nipples, he bent to kiss through the fabric. Nipping the ruched flesh pulled delicious moans from her lips. Her wanting vocalizations stirred his cock.

She kept her hands behind her, her leg at his waist. With a turn of her ankle she drew him against her hips.

Athos hissed out a clenched breath as his shaft connected with her center. “You will be the death of me.”

“Only if you wish it,” she whispered. She gripped his hair at the crown of his head and yanked his face up to look into her eyes. “Do you trust me, musketeer?”

“Of course I do.” He nipped the wet mound of her lower lip. “I trust you will take as much pleasure from this as I. Yes?”

Her silence did not bode well. Athos stopped stroking her nipples. She groaned in protest and nudged her hips against his.

“This night will not mirror our stolen liaisons,” he whispered in her ear. “This is real. No games. I love you, Emmanuelle. I want everything from you. And I want you to have everything you have denied yourself. Say yes. Don’t turn away from me.”

He grabbed her by the wrist as she indeed tried to slip from his embrace. They stood there, her tugging for freedom, him holding firm.

“I won’t force you,” he said. Lifting her wrist to his mouth he kissed the raised flesh that formed an arrow. “But neither will I let you deny yourself.”

“Athos—”

“Yes.” He pulled her to him. She melded to his body. No reluctance. And yet, her fingers pressed against his shoulders, weakly seeking an escape. She didn’t know what she wanted. “Say my name again. Claim me, if you will. But know my heart is already yours.”

She slipped a hand under his shirt, eliciting a gasp from him. “Athos. Athos, Athos. I want to give myself to you.”

“But?”

She drew so close he felt her move through him. He sensed a shudder—not of pleasure, but reluctance. Of course she would find the rushed and emotionless sex they’d had in the past easy, an anonymous outlet for her needs. But with all truth on the table and her vulnerabilities exposed, she would be trepid now.

“Don’t fear what I want for you, Emmanuelle. I understand he did things to you.” He slid a hand around her back, and for the first time, felt a thin line of scarred flesh.

“Don’t,” she started, but Athos persisted.

He glided his fingers lightly up her back, feeling many more such lines. Biting back an angry oath, he strove to remain in the moment, and not to rush out to the stables, mount, and ride until he found Clément to strangle him.

“That evil man made you believe false things. He— He hurt you.” Athos slid his hands around and cupped her breasts, hoping the touch would detour her thoughts from the horrible scars. “But that is your past. I want to show you—”

She pressed a fingertip to his mouth. “I know. But I’ve learned to use sex only as a tool. To entice a man into my arms and lower his guard before la Belle Dame sans Merci strikes.”

“But to deny your own pleasure?”

“It was a way to learn control. A man can be easily mastered when his cock is doing the thinking.”

He lifted a brow.

“Don’t deny it, musketeer.”

“Very well, a hard cock does tend to focus a man’s thoughts on one specific goal. But don’t think my arousal will keep me from wanting you to know the same pleasure.”

“I do know pleasure. Yet, I have never totally given myself to a man. That is the one part of me I still control. I’m frightened to let it go.”

Her hair wisped across his face as she tilted her head. Though the scent of smoke lingered, her skin tempted with a fresh kiss of winter. She couldn’t meet his gaze. He didn't want that fear.

“I want to make things right for you, Emmanuelle.”

“They are right. Maybe not the way you believe they should be, but they are for me.”

`Twas the first time he had heard real fear in her voice.

In the past, if ever he had feared a thing—rushing the vanguard, charging a well-armed opponent, even facing a revenge-frenzied woman—he had always done one thing. Jump into the fire.

“Do you trust me?”

“I think— I do trust you. But—”

“Take off your clothes,” he said. Not a command, but a decision. “And sit there on the bed where the moon shines across the counterpane. I want to look at you. Just look.”

For now.

He knew she wouldn’t have a problem with that request, for it involved his pleasure, not hers. She sat, one leg folded under her, the other dangling aside the bed, her toes touching the floor. Lifting her shirt revealed heavy, generous breasts. They shone in the moonlight. The rosy nipples pebbled and she inhaled, which lifted them exquisitely. A nymph of the night, her hair slipped over her skin in dark rivulets as she leaned back, displaying herself. Defying him to stand there.

Look. But I dare you not to touch.

His fingers clenching at his sides, he gestured for her to remove her breeches. With a graceful move, she leaned back and slipped them off. Reclined in a pose on her elbows, her legs were long and sleek, her body muscular and strong. Yes, her body was firm and powerful, but it was curvy in all the right places.

“Are you enjoying the show?”

“Immensely.”

“I can feel your eyes move across my body.” She closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back, which lifted her breasts into high peaks. “Your curiosity is tangible.”

Athos chuffed out a breath. “I am not a curious man.”

“I beg to differ, musketeer. Can you turn away? Did you walk away from the prospect of pursuing me days ago?”

“That was different.”

“Oh, no.” She glided a finger the length of her body, dipping down her stomach and up her thigh. “Admit your curiosity got the best of you. You wanted to know me.”

“Well, certainly I wanted you—”

“No,” she said in a husky tone as she turned to her side. “You needed to know who I was, where I had come from, what made me as I am. Yes?”

“I confess.”

“Say it.”

“Very well, I was curious about you...interested. And it was not from mere lust or the hunger for vengeance. I truly did want to know you.”

“Better.” She reclined onto her back and lifted her foot to stretch out a long, slender leg. Touching her thigh, she drew her fingers to her mons and circled lazily just above the dark thatch of curls. “Still interested?”

“Sangdieu, woman.”

He stepped forward, but she chastised with a waggle of her finger. “Uh-uh. You said no touching.”

“Fine.” He stretched out a hand and cupped it to match the curve of her breast. He did not touch, but he could feel her body heat. `Twas as if he could shape her desire in his palm. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes,” she gasped. A tilt of her shoulder lifted her breast to tickle the underside of his palm. She flashed open her eyes and gifted him the most mischievous smile. “Mmm, will you do the same for me now? Strip, musketeer.”

“Me?”

She teased a fingertip across her lower lip.

He was no exhibitionist. But the room temperature had gone beyond warm. If her erotic display continued, the smoldering hearth fire in the corner of the room would ignite to flame.

He slipped his shirt off with none of the sensual tease she had employed. Flipping the silver breech-clips open, he shuffled his breeches down, and stood there, momentarily stymied. Never before had a woman simply looked at him. She eyed him from face to shoulders, to cock—she spent a long time there—and down his legs.

“Is this another of your tactics? How to make the opposition question his manhood?”

“No tactic,” she said, and patted the bed beside her. “Unlike you, I will easily admit to my curiosity. And admiration. Come sit on the bed. I want to touch you.”

He approached her, ready to slide his hands over her curves and muscles and those hard red nipples. But she had another kind of holding in mind.

He gasped as he sat on the edge of the bed and a firm hand wrapped around his cock. All blood rushed to his loins. Pressure built up. He rocked his hips forward.

“You have a certain ease with a man’s body.”

“Experience,” she said with a tickle to her tone. “I was Michel’s lover for years. At times, I believed I loved him...because I knew nothing else. Other times, I despised his touch, his controlling ways. Are you disappointed? I know most men prefer their women virginal and pure.”

As she began a slow rhythm that moved the flesh up and down his rod, he couldn’t find the breath to answer. Mmm… He did appreciate the expert touch.

“I think this will serve a boon,” she whispered, her attention focused on his cock. “You make it easy to relax and get comfortable. I might even surrender to your stubborn desire to enjoy myself. Maybe if you let me lead?”

“No arguments, my lady. Oh, yes….” He groaned at the sensation.

“Lie back,” she directed.

His shoulders probably hit the bed before she even spoke the words. He tangled his fingers in the luscious mass of her coal-dark tresses, clamped his eyelids shut, and surrendered to the ride. And suddenly, the firm grip was replaced by the hot moistness of her mouth. Sweet mother and all the blessed saints.

“You’re going to win again,” he choked out. “I will never be able to wait.”

“Why wait?”

“I want you to take your pleasure.”

“We have all night. Let’s worry about me later. Now this is a bonne bouche. Mmm, so hard. This is one weapon I don’t mind succumbing to.”

He was about to reply with some witty repartee, but right now speech—or even thought—was beyond his grasp. What a wicked woman. Not dangerous. No, just open and exotic and sure of herself. And skilled. Hell, that tongue of hers was skilled.

He could no longer bear it. Tremors engulfed his body. Clutching the hand that slid up his chest, he let out a gasp and answered to her instruction. He came for what seemed forever. And forever felt like bliss.

* * *

The musketeer might have lost consciousness. Emmanuelle couldn’t be sure. When finally Athos blinked open his eyes, she lay spooned beside him, one of her legs tangled between his. She stroked her hand up and down his cock, toying with the thick vein on the underside that she knew—from his reactions—was sensitive to touch. His length had softened. But not for long.

Of all the weapons she had faced in her lifetime, this was the only one she wanted to be mastered by.

“I have to be inside you,” he said in a voice raspy with desire. “Mount me, Emmanuelle. Put me inside you. Please.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his hard stomach. “You tempt my need for control, musketeer.”

“I want you to take control. Master me.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

Always comfortable with taking charge, she slid on top of him. He quickly grew hard, and the length of him bobbed against her mons, greedily pleading for attention. Sliding him inside her, she rocked upon him, drawing him taut and full. She milked moans from his mouth. He caressed her breasts, pressed a palm to her stomach, guiding her ride with his hands.

He was going to release again. Minute tremors moved throughout his body.

“Won’t you take your pleasure? This is not—”

As he rode his second wave of bliss, she leaned forward and settled onto his chest. She clung tightly to him, sharing the ride. So easily he surrendered to her, sharing himself. Trust—that’s what it was. He trusted her.

You trust him.

Dare she seek her own release? She wanted to feel such abandon. She would.

When he could speak again, Athos smoothed a hand over the moist strands of her hair clinging to her arm. “You did not come.” He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Are you still afraid of opening yourself to me? Of succumbing? Do you yet not trust me?”

With a ribald grin, she leaned her elbows on his chest and cupped her chin in hand. “Silly man. There are mayhap a few things you do not know about women.”

He chuffed out a disbelieving breath. Roving fingers curled about her derriere and squeezed. “Doubtful.”

“I love feeling you inside me, filling me, stroking me. I trust you completely, I do, Athos. And I want to come with you. I trust you that much. But if you want to bring me to the same cliff I pushed you over—”

“Twice.”

“—yes, twice. Well, you need a more…concentrated effort.” She clutched his hand and moved it down, positioning his finger between her folds. She was slick and swollen, and so, so wet. “Understand?”

“I do now.”

“Take your time,” she cooed. “There is much to discover— Oh…”

With just a few strokes over the point of pleasure at the pinnacle of her folds Emmanuelle began to purr. And undulate. And move in ways so uncontrolled it initially startled her. Until she reminded herself that she deserved this. And this man she trusted.

“Mmm,” she said on a sigh, “the musketeer does indeed understand.”

“I may be slow on the uptake—”

“No. Slow. And…up. Yes, that is…so good.”

Turning his body, and without removing his finger, Athos positioned her on her back. She spread her legs, opening for him. Inviting. Trusting.

Bulleting kisses across her stomach, he adjusted his strokes, sometimes slow, then picking up speed when she moved against him in a plea for more. So easily could he read what she needed, sense her desires. Every pulse of her muscle, every tiny jerk, or whimper—each commanded a different touch at a different pace. He did not fall into a rhythm but simply followed the tune of her dance. She led him into territory she’d marked as forbidden. She trusted he would enter with care and claim her.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Her answer came out as a moan. Her body shuddered and shook below him, flooded with the most blissful pleasure she’d ever felt. And at once she relaxed, released into oblivion and claimed that which was rightfully hers. An exquisite surrender that soared within her. Oh, yes. He had earned her trust.