The Duke of Andelot Read online

  She searched his face in between half-breaths. He was damned serious. Théâtre Française was every actor’s dream. It was the same stage that made Mademoiselle Raucourt famous. It was where the best of bourgeoisie, and now the new Republic, congregated, and would make her a real actor. Not a variety show. Her legs would never be on display. Only her talents.

  She would have a chance to prove to the world she was more than a face and a pair of legs. “You could make that happen?” she rasped in disbelief. “You could actually get me onto the stage of Théâtre Française?”

  He nodded. “Oh, yes.”

  Holy God. “What if I wanted my cousin to manage Théâtre Française? Is that at all possible? Because I cannot abandon him. He and I are very close and—”

  “Consider it done. He will be the new manager. He will, however, have to prove to the owner of the theatre that he can maintain the position.”

  She dragged in an uneven breath. This was almost too good to be true. Even for just sex. “So, in return, what do you want?”

  His large fingers skimmed her thighs. “A bit of sex and…a bit of gossip.”

  Why was it she was more worried about the gossip part? “Define…gossip.”

  His hands rounded her breasts. “We will discuss it later,” he murmured. “Simply know that if the gossip part does not appeal to you, you are under no obligation and I will gladly pay you an additional five thousand to go our separate ways. Because serenading you, even once, would be more than enough for this man.”

  Six thousand alone was going to change her life, and that did not include the zebras or getting on stage. Shifting against his lap, she smoothed her hands against his broad shoulders in an effort to remain calm. “How do I know you will keep any of your promises? I barely know you.”

  He dragged in a breath, staring at her mouth. “If you are not famous in three months, I give you permission to take any one of my pistols and shoot me dead.”

  She stared him down, wishing to assure him she was damn serious. “I will shoot you dead if you take advantage of me.”

  His mouth quirked. “I would like that.”

  She swallowed.

  “So are we doing this?” He nestled her hips closer against his. “Am I allowed to make love to you, and give you the rest of my proposition later?”

  Her lips parted in one last effort to deny him, but the intensity of those gorgeous eyes kept her from having any power. She was about to sell her soul to this blue-eyed devil for a chance at grabbing everything she wanted. “I…suppose.”

  Gérard searched her face. “You suppose?” He dragged her skirts down and covered her thighs. “Woman, it is either yes or no. Suppose indicates a probability but not a guarantee.”

  She blinked. He had covered her thighs as if the sex didn’t matter. Which meant whatever he really wanted, was of far greater importance to him. It intrigued her. Because what on earth was more important to a man than sex? Something whispered to her that this man deserved a chance. He deserved a yes.

  At least once.

  At worst, she would shoot him. “Before I say yes to any of this,” she warned, “here are my rules. A mere, simple two. You will never lie to me about anything and I cannot and will not get pregnant.” Not after raising all ten of her brothers. She was done with that. Done. She needed a bit of freedom. At least five years’ worth. At least. “I do not want any children. Not a single one. And I most certainly do not plan on getting married any time soon. The stage comes first. Which means you will withdraw every time. Every. Single. Time. Do you understand me?”

  His eyes mockingly brightened. “Are you certain? Can you not imagine how beautiful our children would be given how gorgeous we both are?”

  She poked his nose. “I am quite serious.”

  He lifted his chin and nipped at her pointed finger with his warm lips. “I will never lie to you. Ever. That is not who I am. And I promise to withdraw every time. I am not ready to have children anymore than you are. Now is there anything else you require? Are there any other rules?”

  She paused in an attempt to think of more. A career, money, a good-looking man and no children. What more was there to want out of life? “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Quite.”

  “Do we have an alliance?” He dragged his tongue across her still pointed finger.

  She hazily watched his tongue, her finger unable to stay still. “Yes.”

  “No regrets?”

  She lowered her hand and swallowed. “Regrets only come after promises are broken.”

  “Well said and I agree.” He searched her face. Gently tugging down her bodice, he exposed her breasts and slid his hands all over them. Dipping his head toward her, his hot mouth licked and circled and sucked on each nipple.

  She swayed. Dearest Lord. This was the best yes of her life. No wonder women became strumpets. It was amazing. Money and fame for…this? Money and fame to feel…amazing?

  Why was this considered a sin?

  Gently grabbing her hands, he pushed them beneath the wide opening of his linen shirt. “Touch me. Show me you want this.”

  The smooth warmth of his skin ridged over bunched, hard muscle made her want to gape, groan and fall into him. Lowering her gaze to his chiseled chest, she slid her hands up and down, reveling in every inch of it.

  Birds chirped. Rain rustled leaves. Everything in that moment felt like a dream.

  It was too perfect to be real.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured against her breasts. “I can barely breathe.”

  For the first time in her life she was grateful the good Lord had blessed her enough for a man like this to notice. “I cannot believe you and this is real,” she murmured back, running her fingers up his throat, face and hair. He was so divine, she would have gladly done all of this for free.

  He slipped his hand between her exposed open thighs, sliding a large finger slowly, slowly against her slit. He rubbed her wetness and nub while sucking on her breast.

  She choked, gripping his broad shoulders hard. Pulsing sensations gripped her body and breath, rippling through her relentlessly with a rising need that made her feel animalistic and savage.

  Watching her face, he alternated between rubbing and flicking her nub.

  She swayed in an effort to stay up and on his lap. It felt so good. Too good.

  He slid the tip of his large finger into her wet opening, teasing his way in and out, in and out. “In this moment, we are madly in love with each other. Believe it.”

  In that moment, she did. She really, really did. Lust, love. It blurred and became the same.

  “Do you love me?” he whispered, searching her face.

  “I…” He wanted her to lie? “We just met.”

  “Pretend.”

  Oh. “I do.”

  He rubbed her nub harder. “You are an actress, Thérèse. Make me believe it.”

  Even an actress would have trouble focusing in between all the rubbing that made her pulse roar and her core tighten. “I…”

  He flicked her nub. “Do you love me?”

  “Yes,” she gushed, pushing against his hand. Even she wanted to believe it in that moment given how he was making her feel.

  “Now tell me how incredible I am.” His finger stilled, no longer moving. “Tell me that even if I had nothing and could not get you on that stage, you would still let me do this to you.”

  Her breaths came in uneven takes. “I would do this even if you…had nothing,” she choked out, no longer thinking.

  His nostrils flared. He pushed his finger in deep to his upper knuckle.

  A sharp pinch made her stiffen against him and gasp, but he quickly rubbed and flicked her nub harder, distracting her from the reality that he tore her hymen with his finger.

  He increased the pace, slipping in one finger, two fingers, then three fingers deep into her opening as his thumb circled her nub.

  Her mind, her breath, her body was no longer hers. It was
his. All his. And he knew it. She instinctively rolled against his hand, giving into what her body wanted.

  Reaching up, he possessively gripped her head and pressed her forehead against his own, forcing her to look down at what he was doing to her.

  Thérèse watched in disbelief as his fingers pumped her over and over. She gasped, quivering against the building sensations seizing her. Her thighs quivered as her core grew tighter and tighter and…tighter. Her breaths grew so uneven, her throat started closing.

  She cried out in disbelief, letting herself drown in the glory of pleasure.

  Removing his finger, he quickly unfastened the buttons on his breeches. Releasing the thick length of his cock, he positioned it and edged his way half in.

  They both gasped.

  Holding her gaze, he slowly, slowly pushed up further into her stretching wetness, his ragged breaths mingling with her own in the silence of the forest that still rustled with rain. “I will refrain from moving until you tell me to,” he said in a low, terse tone.

  That overly thick fullness made her inner thighs ache beyond bearing in an effort to hold him so deep. His hard length seemed to pulse within her, making her all too aware he was in complete control of whether she survived or not.

  His fingers dug harder into the back of her head and gripped her braid, tilting and edging her head down toward him. He captured her mouth and rolled his hot tongue against hers.

  She melted and found herself so oblivious and mesmerized, she almost forgot to kiss him. Because it was the closest thing to perfection she had ever experienced.

  Releasing her mouth, Gérard smeared his lips down the length of her throat.

  Uneven breaths escaped her. “You can try to move.”

  Securing her legs better around his waist, he rigidly stroked his cock into her. He increased the pace of his hips, pushing his cock progressively deeper and deeper. Curving his entire mouth to her shoulder, he buried his head into is curve.

  The progressive, urgent pace of his large cock within her tightness made her realize the discomfort was becoming too great to take anymore pleasure. He was stroking into her too deep and too hard.

  Razor sharp, raw pain made her flinch. “Gérard. No more. I—”

  He rolled them and set her onto her back. Holding her gaze in between breaths that made his broad chest visibly rise and fall, he set both hands against her head. Smoothing her hair and sides of her face with large trembling hands, he whispered, “Do you want me to stop?”

  The urgency and need in that voice and in those eyes, along with those hands that attempted to soothe away her discomfort, made her relent. “No,” she choked out.

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded.

  He captured her lips and rolled his hips into her, dipping the full length of his cock in and out. He rolled faster. Gripping her body tight as he kissed her, he pounded into her full force, feverishly thudding her into the ground and blanket.

  She gasped against the searing pain and shoved at his bunched shoulders that were making it impossible for her to breathe.

  He stilled, his uneven harsh breaths filling the space between them. “Forgive me.” He pulled out, his chest heaving and raised himself over her exposed breasts. Straddling her, he gathered the well-glistened root of his rigid cock and holding it with one hand, dragged his other hand from root to tip and back again. “Hold your breasts together.”

  She did exactly what he wanted.

  Towering above her, he jerked his erection, his gaze riveted to her breasts. He breathed out, “Thérèse,” and ejaculated the warmth of his seed onto her breasts, startling her.

  At least the man had said her name. Not someone else’s.

  Groaning, he spilled out more, making her gape in disbelief that he had no shame.

  He swayed above her, and then stilled. In between heavy breaths, he lowered himself and used the edge of the wool blanket to wipe the seed off her breasts. He captured her gaze.

  She swallowed, knowing this officially made them lovers. She covered herself.

  He rolled off and buttoned his breeches. Propping himself on an elbow beside her, he leaned in close. He traced a finger across her arm. “Are you all right?”

  If that voice had not softened with genuine concern, she would have smacked him. For it had hurt a touch more than she wanted it to. A remaining tear from her earlier pain spilled over the rim of her eye and trailed down her cheek.

  His brows flickered. “Thérèse.” He cupped her chin and nudged it toward himself. A breath escaped him as his thumb slid her tear away.

  She sniffed.

  He dragged in a breath and slowly let it out. He was quiet for a long moment. “Thank you for making love to me.” He leaned in and softly kissed her head. Once. Twice. Thrice.

  She melted against those words and with each and every kiss. Did all men thank women for making love to their bodies? It was nice. She nestled her head against his chest and pressed herself tighter against him, reveling in his warmth.

  He smoothed her hair. “Are you comfortable?” he murmured.

  She nodded against him. “Yes. Are you?”

  “Yes. Very. You make me forget we just met.”

  She shifted, loosening her hold.

  His hands dragged hers back up and over his shoulders. “Keep your arms around me for a bit longer. I like it.” He kissed her head.

  She bit back a smile. The promise of great fortune and fame aside, she had to admit she liked this one.

  Nightfall

  Although the rain had finally stopped, the roads were too dark to travel on, because there was no moon light peering through the thick, cloud-ridden sky. So they stayed in the forest and talked about everything but nothing in particular.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Gérard quietly watched the fire he managed to start by flint despite the wet branches. He had strategically burned whatever blank parchments of paper he could find from within the large stacks of documents he swiped out of his godfather’s desk that had remained untouched within the secret room of the palace back at Versailles.

  The vandalism and missing furniture, shattered chandeliers and slashed portraits that had once graced Versailles’ pristine façade had been shocking. Gérard had grown up running through those corridors whenever he and his family had been invited to stay. He’d been fortunate. Except for some vagabonds looking for a place to sleep, no one was there. Walking through that echoing silence of a marble palace that might never see another king made him realize he was running out of time. And hope.

  But he had found his hope. And it was brilliant.

  Glancing toward Thérèse who had grown quiet, he dug into his leather satchel, which he had earlier set on the blanket they sat on. That lone tear of hers that had trickled down her face shortly after they made love, made him achingly realize he never wanted to see another tear roll from that eye again.

  He carefully nudged past the stack of documents and, pushing aside several empty silver flasks, he removed his very last flask that was still full of brandy. He closed the satchel to ensure the documents remained hidden.

  Uncorking the flask, he hesitated and held it out toward her. “Here.” He softened his tone in the hopes of winning back her attention. “Have some.”

  She shook her braided blonde head, setting her chin primly on the bent knees of her arranged skirts. She stared at the fire, her flawless pale skin glowing against the flickering light. Her sultry, heavy-lidded azure eyes gave the illusion she was trying to seduce the flame.

  She was so beautiful. It almost hurt looking at her.

  Gérard took a swig of brandy, savoring the stinging warmth of its spicy oak flavor.

  When they first met, he had weighed the possibility she had been hired to lure him and take the papers. But an array of wavering, niggling, unabating doubts led him into realizing the gendarmerie nationale would not have hired a woman to seduce him who was clearly against doing the job.

  So
what did he do? He lost what little was left of his rational mind.

  He had been too damn aroused by her presence to pretend he wanted anything else but sex. For he knew if death was going to take him for the papers he held, he was going out in style. With her. Now. Here. For hell only knew what awaited him in Paris.

  “Did you always want to be an actress?” he asked.

  Her eyes flicked over to him. “Yes.”

  Prior to his bold advance of proving to her sex didn’t require love, she had been incredibly chatty. Overly chatty. And now? She barely offered complete sentences.

  He blamed himself. He had a tendency to dig his teeth in deep and quick when it came to a particular woman he wanted. And she had sparked far, far more than his body. She had sparked his mind and soul into believing in the power of women again. Within the first hour of meeting her, he had quickly fit this Thérèse into the ‘soul on fire’ category.

  And together, they were going to take over Paris and slit the throat of the Republic.

  He leaned toward her and corked the brandy, knowing he had to focus on her and not drinking. He set the flask beside him. “So what made you want to be an actress?”

  She returned her gaze to the fire, her slim finger absently tracing the hem covering her feet. “Why did you want me to tell you that I loved you? Knowing it was a lie?”

  He scrubbed his face in exasperation. Him and his misguided fantasies. “I just like feeling I belong to someone. Women have a tendency to flock to me for all the wrong reasons, and I wanted to pretend I found the right one.”

  Her lips parted. “I see.” Averting her gaze, she chewed on a nail. She kept chewing.

  “Are you hungry?” he softly chided.

  She gave him a withering look, dropping her hand. “No, I— You baffle me.”

  His chest tightened. “How so?”