All for One (16 page)

A haze was creeping over Aristide’s vision, but this time it was lust, not frustration, blinding him. The heat that had been churning inside him ever since his confrontation with Benoît flared out of control, consuming the last remnants of rational thought. His hips jerked in feral, instinctual rutting while his mouth gorged on the flavor of hot, musky flesh. A ragged, muffled cry—he couldn’t tell which of his lovers it came from—was the last spark he needed to set off the explosion inside him. Heat flared outward from his core, burning away everything but the ecstasy wracking his body. Tearing his mouth from Léandre’s rigid frame, he threw his head back and cried out his release in a harsh rale.

The stuttering of Aristide’s hips, repeatedly dragging the head of his cock directly over Perrin’s prostate, sent the dark-haired musketeer into the throes of ecstasy, his passage contracting tightly around the spasming shaft. He bucked up beneath his lovers, though their combined body weight kept him firmly in place on the bed as his cock twitched, no touch needed to send him over the edge of his orgasm. He sucked harder, wanting to bring Léandre with them as well.

Léandre could feel the instant each of his lovers found their release, their shudders shaking his unresisting frame. He knew a moment’s loss when Aristide drew back, the sudden insistence of Perrin’s attentions more than making up for it when the younger man swallowed around him, the unexpected constriction setting off his climax like a bolt of summer lightning. Swaying as the last of his strength spooled out of him with his seed, he slumped to his elbows, three sets of gasping breaths echoing through the suddenly silent room.

When Aristide’s vision cleared enough for him to see again in the darkened chamber, he pushed his tangled hair off his forehead and rolled to one side, settling beside Perrin’s sweat-limned body before reaching to urge Léandre to his other side. “
Pardonnez-moi,
” he murmured, turning his head to press a tired kiss to each of his lovers’ shoulders. “I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”

“Who better?” Perrin contradicted. “You’re feeling better, and we both benefited from it.” He did not add that maybe hearing them together would prompt Benoît to finally make up his mind and do something about his feelings for Aristide. If not, maybe he’d get fed up with them and leave them to return to their comfortable existence. He captured Aristide’s lips in a kiss far more tender than their usual interactions. “Never apologize for being with us.”

“I don’t deserve either of you.”

“True, but you’ll just have to make the best of it. We’re not going anywhere.” Léandre searched futilely for a sheet before giving up and draping a leg over Aristide’s comforting warmth.

“Sleep,” Perrin added. “Things will look better in the morning.”

A
NGRILY
, Benoît stormed up the stairs, the door to his room not even shut behind him before he heard the taunting voices of the musketeers, egging Aristide on to fuck them properly and Aristide’s deep rumble accepting the challenge. Bitterly, he slammed the door, trying to shut out the sounds of passion that rose from the room beneath him, but even after shutting the window, the noises made their way up to him: moans, groans, gasps, and curses. His jaw tightened as he contemplated barging in on them and demanding an explanation. How could Aristide desire him so much in the morning that he would send him away rather than touch him, then turn around and go to bed with someone else in the evening? He rather thought maybe the auburn-haired musketeer would benefit from Javier’s talk on falling into bed indiscriminately.

He wanted to hate the three of them for being together, hate Perrin and Léandre for being able to give Aristide what he needed, but Benoît knew at least part of this was his fault. Had he not run from the musketeer that morning, he might be the one sharing a lover’s bed now rather than tossing alone on his cot, listening to the sounds of others’ passions. Behind closed eyes, he could see the strong bodies moving together. He wondered how they managed with the three of them, how they moved and turned and joined.

Realizing the sounds had finally stopped, he opened his window again to let in the cooling breeze and stayed there, staring blindly up at the stars as if they could somehow answer all his questions. Some hours had passed before he finally went to bed. Alone.

C
OMING
down the stairs early the next morning, Benoît glared at the closed door to the bedroom, then set about waking up the musketeers by making as much noise as he could while preparing breakfast for them all.

Stirring groggily, Léandre opened bleary eyes, his rest disturbed by the clatter of unexpected sounds coming from the kitchen. He glanced to his side, though he knew by the warmth pressed against him that his partners had not awakened yet. Sure enough, Perrin lay sprawled over Aristide like a child with a favorite toy. Rising on quiet feet, he slid his sword soundlessly from his scabbard, padding to the door and pressing his ear against it for a moment before flinging it open, his blade on point to confront any threat.

Benoît turned at the sound of the door opening, frowning when the naked musketeer—and not the one he might have wanted to see—appeared, sword in hand. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “I’ve no desire to see you unclothed.”

“What are you doing down here so early? We usually need to all but drag you from your bed.” The blond ran a hand through his rumpled hair, yawning mightily. “I might have run you through, thinking you an intruder.” Léandre’s lips twitched at the thought that were it Perrin rather than he who had wakened, he might have run Benoît through anyway.

“I was hungry,” Benoît replied with a shrug, deliberately not looking Léandre’s way since the musketeer had still not gone to dress. “Besides, it’s not as if there’s any secret what you do together, so why hide from it?”

The blacksmith’s averted gaze drew a chuckle from Léandre’s throat. “I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before—perhaps a bit more of it, ’tis true, but nothing you need to turn your head away from. Seems to me you’re still hiding from more than you’ll admit.”

“If you’d dress like decent folk, I wouldn’t have to look away,” Benoît retorted. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, if you care to roust the others.” He wanted to offer to do it himself, for the opportunity to see Aristide, except that Perrin was still in there as well, and he didn’t think he could bear to see them wrapped around each other.

“Why don’t you rouse them yourself?” Léandre wasn’t sure he agreed with Aristide’s attraction to the blacksmith—he seemed too cold a fish for someone with the big musketeer’s passions—but he wasn’t above stirring the pot to see what developed. “I’ll dress so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities, but I need to relieve myself first—with your permission, of course.”

Benoît scowled, but what could he say? He could hardly protest Léandre’s need to relieve himself. As the blond left the room, Benoît went slowly to the door of the bedchamber, afraid of what he might see. The sight that met his eyes matched his worst nightmares. Aristide and Perrin lay naked on the bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, but leaving the rest of them bare. Perrin was draped across Aristide’s chest, head nestled on his shoulder, arm across his middle. Aristide’s arm curved down Perrin’s back, big hand covering one globe of his buttocks possessively, so obviously lovers that Benoît’s heart clenched. What did he think he was doing, disturbing them all this way? They acted nonchalant, but everything about their posture screamed intimacy. Stepping back so he would not have to witness the tender morning kisses lovers shared, he called their names loudly to awaken them.

Deep in a dream in which he held an eager and willing Benoît, Aristide murmured something wordless, his palm squeezing a handful of warm backside. The blacksmith moaned his name in pleasure and heat rushed to his groin, swelling in reaction. The call was repeated in a far less wanton tone, snapping Aristide’s eyes open as he awoke with a start. “What’s wrong?” he rasped, letting go of the body in his arms—Perrin, who stirred and tried to nuzzle closer—and pushed up on an elbow, sure only some emergency could have forced Benoît to enter the bedchamber.

“Breakfast is ready,” Benoît called from just outside the doorway. “Léandre is already up, but he didn’t wake you two slugabeds.”

Rubbing his eyes as if to clear the last of the dream from them, Aristide scowled. At least Benoît was speaking to him, which after their angry words the night before was more than he’d expected. Now if only he could will away the erection which had grown even more insistent at the sound of the blacksmith’s voice before he had to face him over the breakfast table. “Wake up, Perrin,” he nudged the inert body beside him. “Time to rise.”

Perrin grumbled and snuggled closer to his suddenly mobile pillow. “Sleep,” he mumbled grumpily. “Too early.”

“Up!” Aristide growled, slapping Perrin smartly on the backside, his patience at an end. If he had to be awake and civil when all he wanted was to pull Benoît into bed with him and recreate his interrupted dream, then Perrin could damn well share in his discomfort.

“You didn’t tell me you were in the mood for some rough play,” Perrin purred, the slap on his rump waking him and arousing him at once. He shifted against Aristide’s side, his thigh brushing across his lover’s erection. “Definitely in the mood.”

Aristide caught Perrin’s wrist, holding him in place as he shifted to the side of the mattress, sitting up before releasing his grip. He’d lost control of himself last night, slaking his anger and frustration in his comrades’ admittedly willing flesh, but he would not allow himself to use them so a second time. They all deserved better than that. “’Twould hardly be considerate of our guest to make him listen to us as he breakfasts.”

“It might do him some good,” Perrin muttered, rising as well and searching around for his clothes. Finding nothing, he strode out into the kitchen area in search of the garments he had shed in his rush to bed the night before. “
Bonjour
,” he greeted Benoît as he scooped up his clothes and began to dress.

Benoît flushed hotly as he glanced up to see Perrin, just as naked as Léandre had been, come into the room and casually gather his clothes from the day before as if leaving them scattered about the kitchen in his haste were no unusual occurrence. Frowning, he realized that for the musketeers, perhaps it was not. “
Bonjour
,” he replied, his voice tight. “Did you sleep well?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could call them back, but they were out there now.

Perrin grinned wolfishly. “Once I fell asleep,” he agreed slyly. “Aristide wore me out.”

“He’s quite good at that,” Léandre agreed, returning to rinse his hands under the pump before heading back into the bedchamber. “Must be all the practice he gets.”

Having washed in the water left in their ewer, Aristide dressed quickly, pulling his heavy uniform tunic over his linen shirt, thankful it was long enough to hide the evidence of his arousal. Entering the kitchen to find Benoît flushed bright red and both Perrin and Léandre grinning broadly, he resisted the urge to slink back into the bedroom to hide and took his usual seat at the table. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked mildly. “I find myself quite hungry.”

“From your exertions last night?” Benoît snapped, jealousy blindsiding him at the thought of Aristide wearing out his companions. Damn it,
he
was the one the musketeer claimed to want! Why should the others benefit from it when he was left alone with only his dour thoughts for company?

“Perhaps we could call a truce,” Aristide offered quietly, mindful he had broken his word not to disturb Benoît with their night time activities. Surely there was no other reason for the blacksmith to be so upset. He would not promise they would abstain from engaging in pleasure while Benoît remained under their roof, but at least they could refrain from rubbing his nose in it so blatantly. “We shall endeavor to exercise more discretion, in return for your promise not to leave without one of us accompanying you, or at least notifying us where you are and who you will be with. The danger that you might be attacked again is not ended until those behind the letter are identified and dealt with.”

“Fine,” Benoît said shortly, though he was not sure he could return to the relative ease of their earlier interactions. Any thought of Aristide with the other two now was intolerable, yet he could not seem to force the words that would keep the musketeer at his side past his lips. “Breakfast is eggs and some bacon I found in the larder.”

“Thank you for preparing it.” Aristide’s gaze lingered on the younger man a moment longer before he glanced over his shoulder to his fellow musketeers. “Léandre, Perrin, will you join us?”

The two musketeers shared a speculative glance, wondering how long such a shaky truce could last when it addressed none of the issues behind the explosion. Perrin rather uncharitably wondered as well what Aristide’s promise of discretion would do to their sex lives over the next few weeks.

Raising an eyebrow at his companion, Léandre gave Benoît an easy smile and joined Aristide at the table. As long as the younger man didn’t do anything to antagonize Aristide the way he had last night, Léandre had no objections. In fact, considering the consequences of Aristide’s anger, Léandre had no objections either way. Perrin had just settled into the chair beside him and was reaching for the platter of bacon when a loud pounding sounded at their door.

“Open! In the name of Cardinal Richelieu!”

Chapter 14

T
HREE
hands immediately fell to the hilts of their swords as the heavy pounding sounded again at their door. Benoît watched as the three men exchanged silent glances, obviously understanding each other well enough that no words were needed. Léandre rose to his feet, sliding the latch back so softly that it did not make a sound. Just as the order to “Open in the name of Cardinal Richelieu!” came again, he pulled the door open, catching the guard who was ready to knock again unawares. The man stumbled over the threshold, finding three blades leveled at his throat before he could blink.

A handful of men in the Cardinal’s red livery stepped forward, only to be waved back by their leader who, to give him credit, stood his ground with as much equanimity as could be expected when faced by three unmistakably annoyed musketeers.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t slit your throat right now,” Perrin growled, perturbed at having his breakfast disturbed. “And talk fast. My food is growing cold.”

“Let the man speak, Perrin,” Aristide said calmly.

“You can always slit his throat after if we don’t like his answer,” Léandre added.

“Oh, very well,” Perrin agreed, though his sword never wavered from the soft flesh beneath the man’s jaw. “So what is it the Cardinal wants with us?”

“Merely to speak with you,” the captain replied with alacrity. “He said to tell you he received a letter he thought you would find interesting and to please attend him at your earliest convenience, but no later than luncheon today.”

“It takes so many of you to deliver an invitation to luncheon?” Léandre sneered. “It seems the Cardinal is finally giving us the respect we deserve.”

Aristide stroked his chin thoughtfully, the mention of a letter tempering the automatic urge to refuse simply because it was the Cardinal’s wish to see them. He did not know how Richelieu learned of the original letter, unless he was the one behind it; but the prelate had spies everywhere. It was not inconceivable he had heard of Benoît’s message somehow and wanted to try and discover more from them. It should be safe enough to speak with him, as long as he could keep Perrin from making any impetuous comments; and if there truly was a second letter, they could not afford not to learn more of it themselves. “Very well, it would be rude to keep His Eminence waiting,” he announced. “You may escort us to him.”

Perrin thought longingly of the untouched breakfast on the table behind them, but perhaps the Cardinal would be kind enough to offer them something. And if he didn’t, Aristide would just have to buy them food on the way home. He nodded sharply toward the door, indicating the guard should retire.

The captain backed out of the doorway, a sharp glare enough to keep his men’s swords sheathed. The musketeers’ blades were still out, but he said nothing. He didn’t want to rile them any more than they already were.

Léandre and Perrin followed the Cardinal’s men out the door, swords still in hand though no longer actively pointed at anyone’s throat. Aristide paused, catching Benoît’s troubled glance and nodding to indicate he should join them, hoping the younger man would know better than to start an unguarded discussion before the strangers. When Benoît rose to his feet, Aristide gave him a reassuring smile and locked the door behind them. As one, three swords slid into their sheaths with a hiss that sounded ominously loud in the quiet street. “After you,” Aristide gestured graciously to the red-coated captain.

Benoît trailed a little behind the company, red tunics and black mingling together oddly. He doubted the streets of Paris saw their like often. He was not entirely sure why Aristide had wanted him part of this expedition, given how tense things were between them. Even if he did hear something at the Cardinal’s to help them, his word would never stand against the prelate’s, and he was beyond worthless if it came to a fight. Glancing down, he realized with a frown that he had not even thought to pick up his sword.

Léandre amused himself with glaring at the Cardinal’s men and watching them huddle closer together, the musketeers trailing behind them as if they, not the guardsmen, were in command. Had it been up to him, he would have made the messengers squirm a bit more before acceding to their summons so easily, but he expected Aristide knew what he was about. He usually did, and it was for the most part easier—and safer—to follow his lead.

Perrin scowled fiercely as they made their way toward the Cardinal’s domain, his hand hovering inches from the hilt of his sword. He could guess Aristide’s logic in agreeing to go with the guards and meet the Cardinal, but that did not mean he trusted any of them. Not one whit. He’d let the older musketeer talk, and he’d keep his eyes out for the kind of treachery the Cardinal and his guards were known for.

Catching Perrin’s disgruntled expression, Aristide slowed his steps to match the dark-haired musketeer’s pace. “I trust the Cardinal no more than you do,” he murmured, mindful that Perrin could be unpredictable when his hunger—for food as well as other cravings—was left unsatisfied. “We should listen to what he has to say, but be careful of revealing anything to him. It would be best to mention nothing of our dealings with
vicomte
Aldwych.”

Perrin nodded slowly, though his temper roiled impatiently beneath the surface. “We’ll see what he has to say,” he agreed. “But I won’t stand for him insulting
M.
de Tréville.”

“Just remember we will serve our captain best by learning all we can. If that means suffering the Cardinal’s condescension, ’twill be a small price to pay.” Before he could say more, they had arrived at the Cardinal’s palace. Their escort led them up a wide marble staircase to a high-vaulted meeting chamber, announcing that someone would be with them shortly before shutting the heavy doors behind them.

“It seems the Cardinal does not subscribe to a cleric’s vow of poverty,” Léandre observed, running a hand over the rich brocade curtains embroidered with gold thread. “This luxury rivals the royal palace itself.”

“What cleric above the parish priest does?” Perrin asked cynically. “So how long does he expect us to wait for him?”

“Not long at all, Perrin, is it? I believe they told me you were the dark one,” the Cardinal intoned from the doorway opposite the one where they entered.

“Your Eminence,” Perrin acknowledged with a respectful bow.

The other musketeers bowed wordlessly as well, Léandre cowed into silence by the Cardinal’s piercing gaze, Aristide content to wait for Richelieu to initiate the conversation. Benoît stood uneasily near the doorway, awed at the churchman’s rich attire, the red robe overlaid with a collar of the finest Belgian lace falling nearly to his waist, topped by a large cross of intricately wrought gold.

“Someone has apparently decided that
M.
de Tréville is an impediment and wants him out of the way,” Richelieu informed them, tossing a letter onto the table. “This arrived here last night.”

Stepping forward, Aristide picked up the missive, unfolding the vellum to scan the lines of elegant handwriting. The message contained the same accusations as the first letter, adding that if the recipient chose to ignore the clear evidence of
M.
de Tréville’s treasonous actions, further steps would be taken for the good of France. “Pardon, Your Eminence, but why are you showing us this?”

“Because whoever sent this letter is missing one vital piece of information,” Richelieu explained. “Your captain, the King, and I were together during the dates he was supposedly committing treason. If the culprit wants him out of the way badly enough to put such lies in writing, then they are planning something against the King, and I will not have His Majesty endangered.”

“This is the same accusation as in the blacksmith’s letter!” Perrin exclaimed when Aristide passed the document on to him. “Who is doing this?”

“Ah yes, the mysterious letter.” Richelieu regarded the musketeers sharply. “My sources advised me you delivered a message to Tréville which he shared at once with the King, though they were unable to learn its content.”

Léandre kicked Perrin’s booted shin while Aristide glared at the younger man—so much for taking care what they revealed. He could not help but wonder how Richelieu had come by his information; it would seem the Cardinal had eyes and ears everywhere. “We intercepted Benoît here carrying a similar letter a little more than a week ago. Of course, we made
M.
de Tréville aware of it at once.”

“And?” the Cardinal prompted.

“And nothing,” Perrin replied. “We haven’t a clue who the author might be, except that he probably isn’t English or Spanish since the accents don’t match the one who engaged the smith, but that doesn’t tell us who it is.”

“The sender was foreign?” Richelieu prompted.

“He was well-dressed and well-spoken, but with a definite accent,” Benoît confirmed, speaking for the first time. “I haven’t heard the same accent since my arrival in Paris.”

Aristide had hoped to keep mention of the English and Spanish from the Cardinal, but it was too much to hope the shrewd prelate had missed the significance of Perrin’s statement. “Whoever it is, unless they have a personal hatred for
M.
de Tréville himself, must be trying to discredit him as a way of leaving the musketeers leaderless. We can only presume they hope to find it easier to act against His Majesty in such a case.” He met Richelieu’s probing glance with an equally steady gaze. “Neither eventuality is acceptable. Whoever is behind these lies will be dealt with—by the three of us.”

“I expect to be kept fully informed,” Richelieu told them firmly. “Despite what you think, I know where
M.
de Tréville’s loyalties lie. I may not always agree with him, but I do respect him, and I would rather have him guarding the King than any other man in France.”

“You’ll forgive us if we find somewhat hard to believe,” Léandre muttered beneath his breath to Perrin.

“What you believe is your business,” the Cardinal interrupted. “What you do to protect
M.
de Tréville and the King is mine.”

“Pardon, Your Eminence, but the responsibility for protecting our captain and our King is ours alone,” Aristide asserted, his quiet voice nonetheless strong with pride. “’Tis an honor we yield to no one. I do believe, however, that in this instance your interests and ours may run along the same path.”

“It is good to know your fire can be tempered with logic,” the Cardinal approved. “You say you have ruled out the Spanish and the English. Who have you not ruled out? There may be avenues you have not yet considered.”

“The Italians,
les
ducs
de Guise, you,” Perrin replied bluntly.

“Me?” the Cardinal challenged.

“Your animosity toward the musketeers is hardly a secret,” Perrin insisted. “It stands to reason you’d want the corps weakened.”

“Not enough to endanger my King.” Richelieu’s stern gaze held them each in turn.

“If His Eminence were behind the accusations, what would he gain by notifying us of the second letter?” Aristide posited to Perrin, his stare admonishing the younger musketeer to temper his impulsive comments. “He might have shared it with the King in hopes of causing him to question
M.
de Tréville’s loyalty, with us none the wiser. No, I am inclined to believe Cardinal Richelieu is as much in the dark about the author of these lies as are we.”

Perrin frowned, but a glance at Léandre suggested the blond musketeer agreed with Aristide. “Oh, very well,” he huffed. “If you insist.”

“And I do not intend to remain in the dark for long. If you learn anything useful, send me a message here at my residence. If I hear anything more, I will inform you as well,” the Cardinal decreed.

If Aristide had any doubts that the cleric would be as open in sharing information as he was asking them to be, he kept them to himself. “As you say, Your Eminence,” he agreed with a bow. “Whatever our past differences, securing our monarch’s safety must be our mutual goal.”

At the Cardinal’s nod of dismissal, the musketeers bowed again, none of them speaking until a pair of red-liveried guards had escorted them out to the street in front of the palace. “Can we trust him?” Léandre asked when they were out of earshot.

“I believe we must.” Aristide cuffed Perrin’s ear with a long-suffering sigh. “One of these days, Perrin, that mouth of yours is going to get you into real trouble.”

Perrin shrugged. “I didn’t get my morning fuck. I’m a little testy.”

The shocked grunt escaped Benoît’s throat before he could stop it. Three heads turned his direction, their expressions ranging from annoyed to amused to apologetic. He shook his head, waving for them to walk on, his mind racing with all he had seen that morning. A part of him couldn’t stop the jealously grateful thought that he’d awakened them in time to keep Aristide from giving Perrin his “morning fuck.”

A stranger might have credited Perrin’s brash remark for the unsettled expression on Aristide’s face, but Léandre knew the older musketeer was too well inured to Perrin’s ways to be shocked by even the crudest comment. He glanced back at Benoît trailing behind them—something he noted Aristide was studiously refusing to do—and shook his head. He suspected that if Perrin expected an afternoon fuck, it would be up to him to provide it. The thought brought a ready smile to his face and a jauntiness to his steps.