The Courtesan (46 page)

“But I am not going to
take
you.” Remy stroked the hair from her brow, his smile at once tender and mysterious. “You are going to take me.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he shifted on his back and tugged her with him until she rested on top of him, his powerful body pinned beneath hers. Gabrielle’s eyes widened when she realized what he was prepared to let her do. As a courtesan, she should have been familiar with any sort of lovemaking. But she had never had a partner who had not preferred the dominant position with the woman submissive beneath.

She was embarrassed to confess, “Remy. I have never—I am not sure I can please you this way—”

“This is not just about my pleasure, but yours as well. Do you not trust me, Gabrielle?”

“With my life.”

“Then trust me with your heart as well.” Remy kissed her, positioning her legs so that she straddled his powerful body. She could feel the heat pouring off his flesh, arousing her in spite of all her fears.

His hands moved over her arms, her breasts, and the curve of her waist as though he was a sculptor, lovingly molding every inch of her. When his fingers eased between her legs, caressing her most intimate places, she squirmed at the sheer pleasure of it, feeling herself grow hot and moist. Desire like a dark tide threatening to engulf her. Remy caressed her hair back over her shoulders, clearly needing to see her face.

“Don’t fight it, Gabrielle. Don’t be afraid. Your desire is safe with me.”

His breath came quick and hard, his body trembling with need, but he made no move to thrust himself inside her. His fingers continued his gentle probe, coaxing and stroking until her ache for him outweighed any fears.

“Remy, please,” she panted. “I—I want you inside me.”

“Then take me there,” he rasped.

Gabrielle shifted until her fingers closed around his hardened shaft. She positioned herself, easing down until her body stretched like a sheath around him. She drew in her breath sharply at the feel of Remy inside her, awed by the power of his body, of a man so secure in his own strength he could surrender control so completely to her.

He spanned his hands about her hips, helping her rock against him, but letting her set the pace. As her need intensified, she thrust herself against Remy harder and quicker. When her hair fell across her eyes, she tossed her head back, wanting to see. Reveling in the sight of the man straining beneath her, the hard muscles glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, his rugged features suffused with passion. She felt pulled into the rich, warm darkness of his eyes, their ragged breathing coming as one.

The tension coiled inside her until she could no longer bear it. She emitted a low cry as her body shuddered with a burst of pleasure stronger, hotter, and sweeter than anything she had ever imagined. Remy’s own control broke at last. He bucked upward with a low groan, his hands gripping her hips as he buried his seed deep inside of her.

The force of the release left Gabrielle weak and trembling. She leaned forward, grateful for the support of Remy’s strong hands bracing her arms, reluctant to end the joining of their bodies. Her breasts rose and fell as her racing heart stilled to a more steady rhythm. She closed her eyes briefly as she issued a slow, deep sigh.

She opened them to discover Remy peering up at her, his mouth crooked in that boyish half-smile of his she’d always loved. The expression was tender but also held an element of purely masculine triumph. He knew how well he’d pleasured her, but his knowledge did not shame her. With an unsteady laugh, she tossed her hair and smiled back at him. Shifting her weight off of him, Gabrielle searched for the words to describe how he’d made her feel. Not like a prize to be taken, a body to be used or possessed, but the way a daughter of the earth was meant to feel. Strong and beautiful, a giver of life and love. Her lips parted helplessly as she tried to tell him all that he had restored to her.

But in the end, all she could do was collapse into Remy’s arms and whisper, “Thank you.”

Chapter Nineteen

T
he candles burned out one by one, only the taper in the brass holder by the bedside remaining lit. The light flickered over Remy and Gabrielle entwined beneath the sheets, bathing them in a soft glow that seemed to hold the darkness at bay. Remy rested on his back, scarcely moving, not wanting to disturb the woman sleeping at his side. Exhaustion had claimed Gabrielle at last. She nestled her head against his shoulder, her golden hair spilling across his chest. He could feel the soft warm weight of her breasts, the light stir of her breathing, her skin still damp from their coupling.

His body hungered with need of her. He could have buried himself inside her again and again, but that might be more than Gabrielle was ready for. She had actually thanked him for the tender way he’d made love to her. That spoke volumes about the brutality she’d suffered at Danton’s hands and the emptiness of her life as a courtesan, the compromises she’d made, the things she’d done to survive. The battle to survive—that was something he understood all too well, because he had done a fair amount of compromising himself these past years when he’d sold the use of his sword to the highest bidder.

He brushed a light kiss against her hair. It was more the future that worried him now, one that seemed fraught with the peril of witch-hunters, the malice of the Dark Queen, and perhaps the anger of his own king. Remy wondered how Navarre would react when he realized that Remy meant to marry Gabrielle, but that he had no intentions of sharing his wife with any man, not even a king. Navarre might be one of the most easy-tempered and congenial men that Remy had ever known, but kings were notoriously unaccustomed to having their desires thwarted.

There certainly would be no royal rewards, no estates, no titles in Remy’s future. He had never cared about such things for himself, but Gabrielle had grown accustomed to rich clothes, fine jewels, and the elegance of this town house. It chafed his pride to think he’d never be able to give her such things.

Even before she had come to Paris, she had known a very comfortable life at her family’s manor on Faire Isle and then her brother-in-law’s château. Remy was hard-pressed to imagine this beautiful woman sharing some mean cottage or farmhouse with him. Or enduring the privations of life at camp, the mud, the cold, the poor rations as she trailed after him on some military campaign.

The bitter truth was he had no more to offer her than he had ever had, but considering the other dangers that threatened them, how he was to provide a home for Gabrielle should be the least of his concerns. Cradling her closer, he rested his chin atop her head, thinking what an ungrateful dog he was. He ought to be simply glad for the moment, rejoicing that he had what he had long desired.

Gabrielle here with him, safe and warm in his arms. He did not want to surrender to sleep, fearing he might wake to find it all no more than a dream. But despite his best efforts the events of the day caught up with him. His eyes fluttered closed, but troubled thoughts made for troubled dreams. Not his familiar one of staggering through the dark streets of Paris on St. Bartholomew’s Eve, searching for his lost sword. This time he wandered desperately through the corridors of the Louvre and it was Gabrielle he could not find. No matter how many doors he flung open.

Muttering, Remy tossed on his pillow and wrenched himself awake. His first impulse was to reach for Gabrielle and gather her close to him. But when he groped for her, he found the space on the mattress next to him empty. Heart thudding with an unreasoning sense of panic, he sat bolt upright. “Gabrielle?”

“I’m over here,” she replied.

To his immense relief, he saw her silhouetted against the window, her nose all but pressed to the pane. Gabrielle was attired in another of her costly dressing gowns, but this one enveloped her like a cloud of blue silk, making her appear soft and accessible.

Flinging the covers aside, Remy swung his legs out of bed and shrugged himself into his discarded breeches. He demanded anxiously, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, but I didn’t want to disturb you. Come here and look at this.” She reached out for his hand and drew him toward the window. He squinted into the darkness. A burst of light flared in the distance, reminding him uncomfortably of the far-off flash of ordnance on the battlefield.

“What the devil is that?” he asked, tensing with the urge to go for his sword.

“A shooting star? Perhaps that is what happens when one defies destiny. The stars fall from the sky.”

When he started at her strange words, she laughed and squeezed his hand. “I was only jesting. It is only fireworks, no doubt coming from the palace grounds.”

Leaning closer to the window, Remy saw that she was right. A larger burst of light erupted against the night sky, this one exploding into a cascade of red and gold sparks that shimmered down and vanished behind the rooftops of the neighboring houses.

“So what do you think they are celebrating, the arrival of the witch-hunters?”

Gabrielle spared a smile for his wry humor. “They often have fireworks at the Louvre. It is likely just part of the entertainment at the feast after the tourney.”

A costly entertainment in Remy’s opinion, a foolish waste of black powder, but Gabrielle flattened her hands against the panes as she enjoyed the spectacle. He could not help reflecting that but for his return to Paris, Gabrielle would have been at that feast, radiant in one of her loveliest gowns, her arm linked through Navarre’s, watching the fireworks with him. If it had been possible for Henry to marry her, what a queen Gabrielle would have made. A role she was far better suited to than a soldier’s wife.

The thought lowered Remy’s spirits considerably. “Gabrielle, you—you do not regret what happened between us tonight?”

She looked at him, her fine brows arching in surprise. “No, of course not, Remy. How can you even ask me such a thing?”

“It is only that I do want to marry you—”

“I hope so. You have bedded me. It would be a shocking thing if you were to jilt me now.” She draped her arms about his neck, smiling warmly up at him, her lips still tantalizingly red and full from all the kisses they had shared earlier.

He stole his hands about her waist. “That is exactly what I mean. I want to be truly married to you, your husband in every sense of the word.”

“And you’ve made an excellent beginning.” Gabrielle pressed herself seductively closer to him, making him all too aware that only a thin sheen of silk separated him from her warm lush curves. When she nuzzled her lips along his jaw, his body stiffened in the inevitable response. But his doubts were too troubling to be pushed aside.

Shifting her away to a safer distance, he said, “I’m not a king, Gabrielle. Hell! I’m not even a knight.”

“I don’t want a king,” she insisted, attempting to nestle back in his arms.

But she had wanted one. And only what seemed a few hours ago. Gabrielle must have read the thought in his eyes, for she stepped back, her hands falling away from him.

“All right. I—I admit it. I have been thinking about Navarre.”

Remy grimaced. This was not what he had wanted to hear.

She rushed on, “But I have only been thinking about him because I feel a trifle guilty. I did my best to enchant him, to make him fall in love with me. Beneath his carefree manner, he is a good man, Remy. I have no wish to hurt him.”

“Nor do I.” Remy recollected uneasily how Navarre’s face had glowed when he had spoken of his love for Gabrielle. Of course he had seen his young king in love many times before and he fancied Navarre would get over her quickly, find consolation elsewhere. And yet . . . if there was any woman capable of inspiring a lasting devotion in a man, even one as peripatetic as Navarre, it was Gabrielle.

Even as he considered this possibility, Remy shook his head. “Navarre could not be that much in love with you or he would never have proposed such a dishonorable arrangement, marrying you to me so you would be secure when he tires of you.”

“Kings have different standards of conduct than the rest of us mere mortals.”

Remy’s jaw jutted stubbornly. “A king should have an even higher code of nobility than the subjects he rules.”

Gabrielle caressed his cheek, smiling tenderly up at him. “You ask far too much of people, most of all yourself. But I daresay that is why I love you as much as I do.”

Her words sent a glow through him, dispelling some of his niggling worries and doubts. She loved him. He did not think he could ever hear her say that enough. He drew her into his arms and their lips met in a kiss that was deep and lingering.

They clung to each other for a long time, Remy resting his brow against her forehead. He sensed a tiny shiver work through her slender frame.

“It is almost frightening to be this happy,” she whispered.

Remy’s arms tightened around her, knowing exactly what she meant. He feared as though at any moment some jealous gods might find a way to snatch Gabrielle from him. Or perhaps a jealous king . . .

“I don’t even want to think what tomorrow might bring, but I suppose we must.” She sighed and lifted her head to peer up at him. “What are
we
going to do, Remy?”

“Well, to begin with, I must go through with my rescue of Navarre as I planned because—”

“Because it is your duty,” Gabrielle finished, pulling a face.

Remy started to apologize, but she stopped him with a wry shake of her head. “No, it is quite all right. I understand. Have you come up with a plan for carrying out this duty of yours?”

“I believe so, but my first priority is to engage a troop of armed men to escort you and Miri back to Faire Isle, as far away from these witch-hunters as possible.”

“That will do well enough for Miri. But I am not going.”

“Gabrielle—” he began.

She covered his mouth with her hand. “No. And don’t be giving me one of those stern commanding officer looks, Nicolas Remy, like you expect me to snap to attention. There is no way I intend to flee to Faire Isle and leave you here in danger.”