Page 19 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
She was vaguely aware of Julien pulling a soft blanket over them, of his warm body curving about hers as they dozed by the fire. She could feel the deep rise and fall of his chest against her back, the strength of his arm as it draped about her, his hand warm and possessive at her hip. This was a new kind of wild heaven, a new kind of wickedness, and it was positively divine. Her pleasure-addled mind flickered to life for a moment. Was it possible something could be both wicked and divine? At present, it didn’t matter. But it would. That particular thought was unfortunately already waking up in her mind even as she drifted off to sleep.
The dying fire woke them both shortly after midnight and he draped her in the blanket and took her hand, leading her on a mad dash through the house to her bedroom, stopping once to silence her laughter with a kiss. ‘You don’t want Richet to hear you, do you?’ he chuckled, pressing her to a wall.
She closed her hand around his rising phallus. ‘He might hear me, but he’llseeyou.’ She had the meagre protection of the blanket, but he had not even that. Julien was striding the midnight halls of the chateau in his altogether.
At her chambers, Julien hesitated. She tugged at his hand. ‘Will you stay? Please? We could try something a little slower, perhaps a little more comfortable, like in a bed.’
She gave a laugh and he smiled. ‘How can I possibly refuse?’
It was her turn to seduce him, with her mouth, with her touch as she savoured the man in her bed, riding him astride in a slow, grinding trot that teased them both to the edge of exquisite pleasure before she allowed them to claim it. But perhaps the most exquisite pleasure was the one she watched on his face, the way his neck arched, pleasure welling up the muscled column of his throat and taking the form of masculine groans, his eyes going wide, locked on hers as she felt his body clench and prepare inside her. It was her cue to let him go, to take him in her hand at last.
He drew her to him and she tucked herself against his side, her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. ‘I think this is the wildest, most decadent, divine night I’ve ever had,’ Emma whispered.
‘Don’t,’ Julien breathed into her hair. ‘Don’t think. There will be time enough for that later.’
She woke much later and knew immediately that he was gone before she even opened her eyes. She could feel the light dawn against her eyelids, could feel the emptiness of the bed, its coolness, the absence of a man’s weight. In a practical sense, she understood why he was gone. Her maid would be in to help her dress. Catching the land steward in the mistress’s bed would spark all types of rumours, add to that the mistress had only been widowed a short time, and she’d never be able to hold her head up. She’d have scandal attached to her name before she’d even introduced herself to the neighbours.
The last hit her especially hard. She groaned as the reality of the morning settled on her. What had she done? She’d slept with Julien. She’d done wicked things with Julien, behaved decadently with him in ways she’d never behaved with Garrett. More than that, she was supposed to be in mourning. She’d behaved like a hussy. What did that mean? Should she feel riddled with guilt? And if she didn’t, should she feel guilty for not feeling guilty enough? It was not her behaviour she felt guilty over. She couldn’t care less what Society thought. Society had never done her any favours. The guilt was on Garrett’s behalf. Should she feel guilty for moving on so quickly? Or was this exactly what she needed to dotomove on? Oh, she’d really opened a Pandora’s box on this one. What was wrong with her? Why had she acted so impetuously?
She knew what was wrong with her. Shewaslonely. Julien had not been wrong there. She missed Garrett. She missed the simple pleasure of having him present in her day. She’d not realised how much Garrett’s touches, a casual touch on the shoulder as he passed her desk, the fifty little conversations they’d have throughout the day, had meant. There was a void in her world that no amount of work could fill. She’d been hungry for a human connection, and not just someone to talk to—after all, she talked to the staff all day. Menus with Mrs Petit, housekeeping items with Mrs Dormand and Richet. But those interactions didn’t count. They had to listen to her. They were not her equals. They didn’t dare get to know her, disagree with her, probe her secrets.
And Julien should do those things?The voice in her head was quick to point out the flaw.He is the land steward. Why does he get to be special? Isn’t he also an employee of the chateau?
The explanation was proximity. They spent too much time together. It was an unfortunate but perhaps inevitable situation. She’d been lonely and he’d been there.
Emma cringed at the description and drew the sheets up over her head as if she could block it all out. Was that really all it was? An outlet for her loneliness? A different way to grieve the loss of her husband? Perhaps that was the best explanation she could offer herself. She should leave it at that. And yet, to do so would be to buy into a lie. It had not all been about her last night. She’d not been in it alone. She’d not even been the one to start it.Hehad kissedher. Ravenously, like a starved man. She’d not been the only lonely one. They’d been equal participants in what had followed. Dear heavens, it had been rough, uninhibited, and thorough and...new.
Romantic intimacies with Garrett had always been satisfactory, pleasant, comforting, meaningful. No complaints. He’d been a considerate and decent lover. But last night had been beyond any previous experience—both physically in the sense of the things she and Julien had done, but also emotionally in the things she had felt.
Emma blushed at the memories; literally tearing at Julien’s clothes because she could not get at him fast enough, Julien using his mouth to bite through the stubborn string of her pantalettes before using his mouth on her. She’d heard of such things before, but never had she experienced them. Sleeping naked, skin to skin beside the fire afterwards, racing through the house nude, nearly having him against a wall in the hall. It was the stuff of wild fantasies. She’d thrilled to it, and so had he. At some point, it had stopped being about loneliness.
Now she was lying in bed reliving that decadence and comparing Julien to her husband. That did not speak well of her, to compare the two men. What sort of woman did that? Well, she thought she knew the answer to that. The sort of woman who was loose with her favours. By definition, to compare, one must have at least two items to weigh against one another. She’d not ever thought she’d be a woman with more than one lover.
But now you are, came the rejoinder.
She’d not thought to be a lot of things; childless, a widow before the age of thirty, owner of a French vineyard. Alone. Confused.
Get a hold of yourself!her inner voice scolded.You had a one-night affair with a handsome man, it does not have to mean anything.
Was that what she wanted? For last night to exist as a moment out of time? An antidote?
She could certainly choose to shape it that way. It would make it easier to ignore. Julien would like that. He’d been fully willing to ignore the kiss in the vineyard until she’d pushed the issue. But she did not think last night could be as easily ignored. Which meant, option two: she had to go on living her life with last night a part of the new reality between her and Julien. There could be no pretending that they hadn’t ripped each other’s clothes off, seen each other naked, and made mad love in the library and in her bed.
She threw off the covers. It was suddenly too hot to stay underneath them. What did one say to their lover the next morning in those circumstances? Did one simply go downstairs, butter their toast, sip their tea, and ask about plans for the day, and had they read anything interesting in the news?
And, oh, by the way, did we perhaps want to try the library again but in the afternoon with the sun coming through the windows?
Or,Did you happen to retrieve our clothes from the library floor before the servants were up this morning?
She rather hoped he had. It would be difficult to explain petticoats and waistcoats and bodice buttons scattered on the floor. She groaned at the thought of one of the footmen or one of the scullery maids who laid the fires finding the detritus of their evening. Emma squeezed her eyes shut. How would she ever face Richet again if he knew? It would be bad enough facing Julien wondering if he regretted it while she recalled everything that had happened. How could she look at him again and not think about last night?
There was the bigger question, too. Was last night one-time only? Or would it happen again? If it was only one time, she might justify it to herself as a bid against loneliness or even an experiment. To repeat it would be to admit to something more. Did she want it to happen again? Didhe? That came with a host of other questions like: If it did happen again, what would it mean? Where did this lead? She looked up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. Those were only the practical implications. There were more philosophical ones, too.
Why did Julien stir her so deeply when she’d loved Garrett utterly? The guilty dilemma flooded again. Was the speed at which she’d taken a lover unseemly? Or a natural part of the process of moving on? This—all the uncertainty, all the questions—was the price of that one night of pleasure. What had she been thinking? But she knew very well that in the moment, shehadn’tbeen thinking—that was the problem. From the moment his eyes had dropped to her mouth and his thumb had stroked her bottom lip, she’d stopped thinking entirely and started feeling. And it had felt good, right up until now.
There was a rap on her door and Emma quickly pulled the covers up. Her maid, Chloe, entered carrying fresh linen. ‘Bonjour, madame.You’ve slept late, I hope that means you’ve slept well. The sun is out today. We shall have some pleasant weather at last.’ Emma watched Chloe for any tells that she knew what she’d been up to last night and who she’d been up to it with. Chloe was chatty today, but Chloe was always cheerful, always chatty. There was nothing new there. Emma reached for the robe she kept near the bed and started to relax. Perhaps she might be able to keep this...indiscretion...between her, Julien, and her conscience.
‘Monsieur Archambeau asked me to relay a message,madame. He wanted me to tell you that he’s gone out today.’
