Supernatural Seduction (Book 2 of the Coffin Girls Series) (13 page)

Sylvain grinned in derision at the madness of
the self-enforced torture. Using a combination of firm, broad
strokes and feather-light, teasing taps, he began applying the mud
to the front of her body. There was no way in hell he was going to
use his lips and tongue on her now. He’d either embarrass himself
or forget about his tantric strategy and plunge into her. He knew
she’d be willing, but again, she deserved better than that.

He moved from her feet upwards. When he got
to her thighs, he gently parted her legs and swore. She was soaked,
not only from the light sheen of sweat from the steam in the room,
but from desire. He found that, for a moment, all he could do was
sit back and stare at her sex.

“
Dieu
, Sylvain,” Sophie growled.
“Looking at me like that is not helping matters.”

Desire met its match when he looked at her
face. Holding her gaze, he began applying the mud to her inner
thighs going just high enough to meet the line between thigh and
sex, but not touching her where he knew she needed him to. The
satisfaction of seeing her throw her head back, closing her vamp
red eyes from him, mouth open, and fangs fully extended, was nearly
enough to make up for his discomfort. Nearly ... but not quite.

Deciding that they had both had all the
torture they could take, he moved upwards and stroked her stomach,
stopping to place a soft kiss on her belly button. That act nearly
undid him. Staying focused, he placed his mud-covered hands over
her breasts. It wasn’t part of the plan, but he couldn’t resist. He
denied himself the pleasure of squeezing her nipples, rolling the
buds between his fingers and instead took the short, intense shots
of pleasure he got from cupping them. Sophie gasped and arched. A
brief glance at her sex confirmed that she was getting hotter and
wetter for him, which was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her so
consumed by his touch that she pushed away all thoughts of Sylvain
and his many masks, as she put it, and only thinking of him,
Sylvain—the man!

Fortified by his mental dialogue, he applied
the last of the mud to the area above her breasts, enjoying her
involuntary squirms to move up so that he was touching her breasts
again. Application complete, Sylvain bent placed his face above
hers, their lips barely an inch apart. Sophie looked at him,
waiting for the next move. He chuckled and placed a chaste kiss on
her lips. On cue, steam stopped entering the room and rain swept
down from the ceiling.

Sophie gasped in surprise. “Did you do
that?”

“Nope,” Sylvain replied, sitting down beside
her. “That’s all part of the rasul.”

Sophie gave the ceiling a closer inspection.
Her vampire vision detected dozens of tiny sprinklers amidst the
lights. “Talk about a cold shower,” she exclaimed. She grinned at
Sylvain, “You obviously timed this whole thing. But,
Dieu
,
it isn’t cold enough. You have some talented hands there,
cher.”

“I aimed to pleasure,” Sylvain retorted.
“Glad I managed that. The rain is about to stop and I don’t want to
leave the room like this. I don’t think the beauty therapists can
handle it.” He glanced wickedly down at his crotch.

Sophie followed his gaze and cleared her
throat. It was feeling decidedly dry. “What do you suppose we do
about it?” she asked in anticipation.

“I’m, getting into the pool,” Sylvain
emphasized the ‘I’. And darn it, he did. “It’s cold enough to
minimize things a bit.”

And that, thought Sophie, was Sylvain gaining
the upper-hand. He’d well and truly exacted retribution for her
teasing.

Sophie sat on the bed, waiting for her
husband. She’d arrived hours ago at the Dubois plantation,
accompanied by a nun and the casket or trousseau the church had
bestowed on her. It was one of the caskets from which had sprung
the myth about the Coffin Girls. Strangely, anxiety was not
something she’d felt then. When she had been introduced to her
fiancé, Pierre, his kind brown eyes had welcomed her, although his
manner had been all business. He was one of many gentlemen of
French descent who had visited the Ursuline convent to peruse the
available wives. The act was humiliating. Some gentlemen openly
leered at them and Sophie felt that the only thing stopping them
from ‘testing the goods’ was the presence of the nuns. Others were
like Pierre - all business and a few, too few, were shy.

Her husband’s brown eyes had sent messages
of comfort since her arrival when she had stepped from the
carriage, into the plantation mansion, and throughout their hurried
wedding ceremony. The nun was anxious to return to the convent in
New Orleans, having many ‘brides’ to dispatch still, but she would
not leave Sophie with Pierre until they were joined in the eyes of
the church.

On the discovery of her empath abilities,
the disapproving nuns had first called a witch to bind her powers,
and then had enlisted her for the New Orleans sea voyage. It was
all business - moving the girls in, drilling them with the
importance of grace, virtue and love of God then moving them out as
swiftly as possible. She couldn’t scan his emotions, so she went
with what she saw. She thanked her good fortune for having captured
the attention of one of the good ones.

After having met the staff and endured a
rather formal dinner with her new husband, she was led to her room.
It was a lovely room, befitting a lady of the house. Whilst not as
grand as her childhood room, it was a far cry from those she had
inhabited since her mother’s --grotesque execution. Sophie felt
tears spring to her eyes. Her mother had dreamed of love, marriage,
and children for her daughter. Given the circumstances that had led
to her marriage, she doubted that her mother would be happy now.
When the Ursuline nuns in France hand-picked girls to marry the
French colonists and accompany them to the New World, there was
little choice given to the girls. The country-side was fraught with
blackguards and unprotected girls barely made it to the inside of
the convent without losing their virtue violently. The nuns had
subjected them all to ‘checks’ of their virtue, a demeaning
physical examination that Sophie would rather forget. Sophie had
therefore braved crossing the Atlantic and squared her shoulders
against any angst she might feel. Being a secret empath and with
the buckets of trepidation being felt from the other girls all
around her, forced ignorance was survival tactic. There were a few
exceptions to the angst-ridden girls. Another two, Anais and
Veronique, were filled with the same steely determination she had
to see this as an opportunity to begin again and put aside the
horrors that they’d been subjected to as young girls. The three of
them became friends during the cold and dreary months at sea. Anais
and Veronique had recently married, and once she was married too,
she would be able to visit them. Sophie fiddled with the damask
coverlet spread over the bed and smiled; that was one distinct
advantage of being married.

The other aspects of marriage made her
stomach clench. The warm brown eyes of her husband had disappeared
after the brief, chaste kiss that sealed their union, and in its
place was something cold, calculating. The kiss in the church as
Madame Pierre Dubois, a new bride, had been her first. Sophie
touched her fingers to her lips, noting nothing different about
them. Maybe she’d repulsed her new husband? Frowning, she looked
down at her body. She was petite, but well formed – thanks to all
the manual labor she’d been subjected to at the convent. Her hair
had been washed, perfumed, and styled in blonde ringlets that
flowed down her bare back. The blue ribbon decorating her hair
matched the ribbon in the diaphanous nightgown her husband had
gifted to her via the housekeeper. If she repulsed him physically,
then why did he marry her and give her the gown? Sophie shrugged.
She was being silly. It must be nerves and her inexperience making
her feel this way.

A breeze through the open doors touched her
bare shoulders. Curious, Sophie moved to the window. The view was a
marvel. An expanse of land spread out from the mansion towards the
river. On either side of the mansion lay acres of farmland and
above was a night’s sky that rivaled diamond-studded black velvet.
Her new husband owned that, and as such, it was her new home. But
the luxury meant little to her, she’d made a promise to her maman
that she would find love and family, and thus far, whether or not
that was attainable was doubtful. She wasn’t naïve, love did not
come at first sight, especially with an arranged marriage, or in
this case, bought bride. But, she held onto the hope that love
could grow in the relationship she had just entered into. To not
have that hope would be to break her promise to her maman.

Sophie was so engrossed in her thoughts and
in the view that she didn’t hear the door open.

“
Good evening, Sophie,” he greeted her
formally. Sophie noted that he avoided her gaze and looked at the
room instead. Her hands became clammy and her mouth went
dry.

He made his way to the bed and patted the
space beside him, gesturing for her to join him there. Squaring her
shoulders, pulling oxygen in deeply, she did as he bid. She looked
up at him expectantly and was met again with gravity.

“
As my wife, you will have financial and
societal security,” he began.

The air in the room was tense. Sophie had
expected a certain level of anxiety; perhaps even from him, but
there was something else going on. She wished she knew him well
enough to ask what was wrong. After all, she’d been a bride for
barely a day and could not think of anything she might have done to
offend him. The stern expression on his face indicated that to do
so would not be a good idea. More nervous now, she let out a meek,
“Thank you.”

“
In return, I ask for your loyalty and
trust.” He looked up at her, wariness pronounced. “I have the right
to punish you should you betray that.” He ignored Sophie’s sharp
intake of breath, “But, whether or not I do so is in your hands and
hope that I do not need to resort to such methods.”

Sophie looked down at her damp, shaking
hands, and she clenched the night gown between them to off-set the
moisture. “You have my loyalty and trust,” she assured him. “I am a
woman alone in a strange country. If I were to betray you, it would
be foolish as I have nothing and nowhere else to go.”

“
Yes,” Pierre nodded again, “there is
that, which is precisely why I asked for a bride from the convent.
What I have to tell you tonight will be a test of that loyalty and
how you react will determine the nature of our relationship whether
I can trust you or whether I should punish you to evoke that
trust.”

Heart pounding, Sophie gulped and bobbed her
head a fraction. Pierre seemed to consider what he was about to
say, leveraging her with a gaze that was no longer grave, but
steely and determined. It was a look that told her that he meant
every word he said and one that made her heart speed up yet again,
her go hands clammier.

“
I will share my wealth and my name with
you, but I will not share my body,” he stated.

Shocked, Sophie looked up at him. “I don’t
understand?”

“
I do not desire you,” he explained. “I do
not desire any woman, but this world does not allow for my needs.
It censures them.” He had gone from dictator to victim in mere
seconds. “Should others become aware of my activities, it would
harm my business. I have no intention of allowing that. I’ve earned
my success. So, I have to pretend and you, Sophie, are going to
help me. When we are amongst the staff or in company, you will turn
those blue eyes of yours towards me and pretend that I’m your
favorite pastry. You will hang onto my arm, give me kisses whilst
pretending that you think no one is watching and you will bemoan my
travels to all gentlewomen that will listen, claiming you miss me
in your bed. But, I will never lay with you.” The bitterness in his
voice startled her. It was laced with hatred. Despite her
innocence, Sophie realized that she was a symbol for the society
that would not accept his sexuality. Dread began to grow stronger
in the pit of her stomach.

“
That is the price you will have to pay
for my name and this home,” he continued his monologue. “I’m sure,
given the circumstances you’re used to in the convent that that
won’t be a problem. It is, after all, a step up for you.”

Given her circumstances, she had little
choice, but to agree. In the eyes of the church and law, she was
wed. As Catholics, they could not obtain a divorce, and given his
reasons for wanting to wed her, a lack of consummation was not
something he’d readily admit to. So, an annulment was impossible,
also. Kissing her maman’s wishes for her goodbye, she nodded.

“
You have my word,” she raised her chin
determinately and met his gaze.

Pierre nodded stiffly. “Good. I’ll remind
you again that if you break your promise, you will be sorry. Now
let us arrange the marriage bed.”

Following his directive, she messed up the
bedding and dented the pillows. Sighing with relief that the ordeal
was nearly over, she stood and waited for him to leave.

“
Take it off,” he barked from a chair in
the corner of the room.

She was stunned. He had made it clear that
he did not want to consummate the marriage, so surely he couldn’t
mean her nightgown.

“
Your garment,” he clarified, clearly
irritated by her lack of response. “Take it off and bring it here.
Oh, and bring your undergarments too,” he stated almost as if it
were a common occurrence.

Feeling anger rise above the shame consuming
her, Sophie glared at him and hesitated. That was enough for him to
come barging towards her. He yanked her forward and ripped the
nightgown off her. Breathing hard, his eyes angry, he barked, “Take
that off, too!” and pointed towards her undergarments. “Or do you
want me to do the honors?” he asked, venomously.