Awakened by a Kiss (28 page)

He captured her nipple between his finger and thumb and lightly pulled then pinched. A shock of pleasure shot through her. She came with a scream, uncontrollable shudders rolling though her body.

He roared her name, his thrusts unrelenting. Just as the spasms inside her faded, he jerked his length out and crushed her to him. Grinding his cock between their bodies, he let out a primitive growl, hot semen pouring onto her stomach as a tremor and then another jolted him. She held him tightly until at last he relaxed, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Caressing his back, she felt sated and languorous, basking in a wonderful sense of peace in the quiet afterglow.

He lifted his head. His tender smile moved her to one as well.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked.

“I think I have some idea.”

He chuckled. She loved the sound of his soft laugh.

Nicolas snagged his discarded shirt, rolled onto his back, and after wiping them both clean, tossed it to the floor.

Lying on his back, he rolled her on top of him, her breasts pressing on his chest. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You are extraordinary” was the last thing he said before he kissed her.

Anne lost track of time, unsure how long they lay naked, simply kissing, each kiss stirring her heart and reawakening her desire.

I love you
. . . The words were on the tip of her tongue. Words she never thought she’d utter to any man ever again.

Tomorrow. She’d tell him tomorrow. He wanted to talk. And she decided she, too, had something to say.

Nicolas woke up in an empty bed. A sharp stab of disappointment cut into his heart. He wanted to wake up with Anne by his side. He wanted to squeeze out a final few tender moments before everything imploded on him. But Anne was probably with her sisters, writing.

Writing under the name “Gilbert Leduc
.
”

Closing his eyes, he felt grief stricken and cold. But not cold enough to numb or in any way lessen the suffocating misery inside him.

There was no getting out of what he had to do today.

What could he say to her? How on earth was he going to do this? He had no idea what the King would do with Anne once he brought her in.

A week ago, being in the King’s Guard was everything to him. He never thought there would ever come a day when he hated being a Musketeer. But he hated it now. He loathed it. With all of his being and every piece of his breaking heart.

Nicolas forced himself out of bed. His thoughts awhirl and his agony steadily rising, he went through the motions of washing and dressing. By the time he’d left Anne’s rooms and reached the bottom of the grand stairwell, the pain inside him was excruciating. He’d rather face his own arrest than arrest her.

If only it were an option.

Looking for Thomas—praying he’d say something to Nicolas that would make this easier—he crossed the vestibule and froze when he heard Anne’s voice.

“I don’t believe it!” he heard her say. She was in the library.

A woman responded, “I’m afraid it’s true.” Her voice was unfamiliar.

Unable to turn back, constrained to push forward, Nicolas moved his leaden legs and approached the room he’d find his Anne in.

Stopping just inside the threshold, he was met with a jarring sight. Anne stood with her back to the windows, her eyes glistening with tears.

The moment her gaze met his, he lost his breath.
She knew
. It was etched on her expression and in the silent condemnation in her eyes.

He had no idea how she knew. But she did.
Dieu
, she did.

His eyes darted to his left. Henriette was seated on the settee with her arm around Camille. While Camille quietly wept, Henriette glowered at him with open contempt.

“Well, who do we have here?” A woman’s voice snared his attention.

Nicolas’s gaze shot to the right. There in the corner of the room stood a thin older woman. A lady, as her clothing indicated. His instincts told him this was the Comtesse de Cottineau.

His grandmother.

Anne approached him slowly, her breaths quick and shallow, her expression incredulous.

She stopped before him and stared at him as though he were a complete stranger, as if she were seeing him for the first time. As if he’d never been her lover. Had never held her in his arms. Had never loved her through the night.

“You’re . . .” She paused and took a deep breath before she began again. “Are you a
Musketeer
?” That last word was laced with a mixture of distress and disbelief.

He wanted to lie. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until the pain inside him subsided. But he couldn’t do either.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Her beautiful mouth fell slightly agape. “Why—Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nicolas clasped his hands before him to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him. He knew it was the very last thing she wanted at the moment. “Because I was—
am
—on a mission for His Majesty.”

“A mission?”
Her voice escalated. “What sort of mission are you on?” Her tone and demeanor told him she knew the answer—or at least suspected it. He glanced at the Comtesse.

Her expression hardened, and she had a knowing look in her gray eyes. He realized she’d been the one to tell Anne these details about him, but how did she know?

“Answer her,” the Comtesse demanded. Nicolas would have done nothing,
absolutely nothing
the old woman asked of him, for he owed her nothing more than his disdain, but the request was for Anne. And for Anne, he’d do anything.

“I’m to determine who Gilbert Leduc is and bring him before the King,” he said softly.

“So your coming here had nothing to do with getting to know your grandmother,” Anne stated. It wasn’t a question.

“No.” He answered just the same. He owed her the whole truth.

“And you spent the entire time lying and scheming,” Anne accused. He could tell she was fighting back her tears, trying to maintain the semblance of composure. He knew this was going to be bad, but in the thick of it, it was far worse than he’d imagined.

Nicolas lowered his eyes, because it was too painful to see her pain. “I have a duty to the King.” He found himself despising those words more and more each time he uttered them.

“A duty?” She laughed, without mirth. “I see. And was it part of your duty to bed me?”

His gaze shot up to hers. Her eyes were narrow and she trembled with outrage.

“Anne, perhaps we can have this conversation in private.”

“Why? My sisters and the Comtesse know what a fool I’ve been. What is there to hide? I must congratulate you. Your skill at duplicity is excellent. I actually believed you were different from other men. In truth, you are by far the most contemptible of the lot.”

The lump welling in his throat rendered him momentarily speechless.

“You did not answer my question,” Anne pressed sharply. “Was it part of your duty to bed me? Did the King request it of you?”

Dieu
. “No. Of course not.”

“So you decided to indulge in some carnal diversions while you worked on your ‘mission.’ Is that it?”

He hated the disgust in her tone, especially since she was speaking of their lovemaking. “What began as casual copulation became something . . . special. In the end it was not mere bed sport.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Spare me more lies. What we did meant nothing to a man like you.”

“That’s not true. It meant—means a great deal to me. You mean a great deal to me.”

She gave another hollow laugh. “Oh, of course. I mean so much to you that you have been conspiring and plotting against me, my sisters, and my patroness, stooping to trickery at every turn. Pray tell, when were you going to tell me the truth?”

“Today.”

“And why today? What makes today so special?”

He didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t have a choice. He forced the words from his mouth. “I have to . . . make an arrest today.”

Camille let out an audible sob and buried her face in Henriette’s shoulder.

Anne didn’t flinch. Stock-still, she said, “Well, it looks as though you are going to disappoint the King. Gilbert Leduc is not here. You’re mistaken.”

“That’s right,” Henriette concurred. “You are sadly mistaken.”

“He is here,” Nicolas gently countered Henriette. “He’s in this room.” He dragged his gaze back to Anne. “You are Leduc.”

To her credit, she didn’t crack or crumble before him. “You have no proof.”

This was only becoming more and more torturous. “The proof is in your room, Anne. In your desk drawer. Your latest story about the Duchesse de Terrasson is ready to be sent to the illegal press for printing.”

She blanched. “You got hold of the desk key?”

“On a couple of occasions, yes.”

“Dear God . . .” She jerked back, her hand covering her heart. He saw the dawning on her cherished face. “You took it from me in the library, didn’t you?” Her bravado cracked, as did her voice. “After what happened in that room, after the intimacy we shared there, you
stole
the key from me?”

Unable to speak, he simply nodded.

She stepped forward and cracked her palm against his cheek. “You are vile!”

Nicolas briefly closed his eyes. He’d never allowed anyone to strike him, but with self-recrimination slicing through him, he’d made no attempt to raise his hands and ward her off, even though he’d seen the blow coming. The sting from her slap was barely noticeable in comparison to the consuming anguish wracking him.

“Henriette, go upstairs and burn everything incriminating in Anne’s desk,” the Comtesse ordered.

Henriette and Camille rose together.

“I’ll help her,” Camille said.

Nicolas shook his head. “Burning the contents of her desk won’t make a difference. If I don’t bring Leduc to the King today, Musketeers will be here to arrest you all. They are aware that Leduc is among you. You will be interrogated until there is a confession. If the King feels it’s warranted, torture can be used, even on a woman.”

They looked at him with dread and fright.

What they didn’t realize was that those very same emotions were among the many goring his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Those words weren’t enough and didn’t begin to express how he felt. There was so much more he wanted to say—to Anne. He wanted a private moment to talk.

Would she even give him the chance?

“If the King wants Leduc, then that is what we shall give him,” the Comtesse announced. “I will tell him I’m Leduc.”

Surprised gasps pierced the silence. But no one was more surprised than he. His cold-hearted grandmother, a woman who’d been indifferent toward her own daughter, was willing to take the blame here and spare Anne?

Hope soared inside him. The Comtesse was hardly guiltless in the Leduc matter. This was good. No, this was an excellent solution.

“No, madame, I cannot let you do that,” Anne said.

“Nonsense.” The Comtesse approached and placed her arm around Anne. “I am your patroness. I encouraged—
strongly encouraged
—you to write these stories. I am not blameless here. And when the King sees me—an old woman—I doubt he’ll have the stomach to do much to me.”

“I’ll say it was me.” Henriette spoke up.

“What? No!” Anne shook her head, dismayed.

“Anne.” Henriette approached her. “I’m the one who is constantly reminding you how dire our finances are.”

“Yes, and I have been a burden, too,” Camille said. “Henriette and I have both made it impossible for you to quit, Anne.”

“I didn’t wish to quit,” Anne said. “I still don’t intend to quit. I will be the one who appears before the King as Leduc. I will explain to him what I have done and why.” Her jaw was set.

Nicolas’s heart constricted. “And what will you say? That you have been besmirching the reputation of prominent men because you once suffered a broken heart? Do you think the King—who happens to be a man and prominent—will understand? Let the Comtesse take your place. It is the best option.”

Pain seeped back into Anne’s eyes. “You know the details of what happened with Jules, too?”

Nicolas approached and stopped before her. “He never deserved your affections.”

Tears in her eyes, she squared her shoulders, took in a ragged breath and let it out. In a cold voice she said, “You need to make an arrest today. I will get my things. You will arrest me and only me.” She stalked from the room, her sisters on her heels.

Her words knifed into him. He had to reason with her.
Jésus-Christ
, he had to tell her how he felt about her. And that he refused to let anything happen to her.

Nicolas turned to leave.

“Just a moment,” the Comtesse de Cottineau said, stepping in front of him. “I’d like a word with you.”