Chapter 19
“In the district of Vannes is encountered a colossal spirit called Teus or Bugelnoz, who appears clothed in white between midnight and two in the morning. His office is to rescue victims from the devil, and should he spread his mouth over them they are secure from the Father of Evil.”
I realize as I stumble through the front door of my home that the drink I took at the Chathams’ party was stronger than any wine I’ve sipped.
My sense of order is missing, and I panic briefly.
But inebriated or sober, I want Isabeau.
I think I have wanted her as long as I have known her.
My hand grips hers, and I pull her into my foyer.
Inside, Clarissa dips into a curtsy. “The house is empty, m’lady. I must run out for darning needles.” She sends a saucy smile at me and darts away.
“Darning needles?” Isabeau echoes.
I giggle. The excuse is ludicrous, but I’m grateful for it. “You are alone with me. That was what she said, Isa. If you intend to compromise me, now is the time.”
I stare at her, pleased and a little shocked by my own audacity. I can see why so many people enjoy alcohol. The liquor in the glass earlier sings in my body like it has burned away all my common sense and most of my fears.
Isabeau stares back at me oddly.
So I lean in and kiss the bottom of her chin. “Catch me, Your Grace, and you can have your kiss.”
Then I hike up my skirt into a bundle in my arms and run upstairs.
Isabeau follows me with a sort of familiar laughter that makes me think of running through the castle in our childhood and a sort of joy that I think I want to keep. She might be a cursed duke, a rakish woman, a moody person, but she’s also joy made flesh. I trust her. I always have.
She runs after me, longer legs making short work of my escape. When she catches up, she puts a hand on either side of me, crowding me against the wall. “I believe I was promised kisses, love.”
“So kiss me.”
“You owe me the kisses. Ante up.” There’s a vulnerable edge in her voice that’s always been there, as if she isn’t sure she can ask for affection. I want to erase it. I want her to understand that she is amazing to me.
I stare at her, and a part of me wants to burn the memory of every other woman from her mind. “First . . . remove the jacket . . . and the cravat.”
Slowly, she does as I demand.
My hand goes to her buttons, and at first, she doesn’t speak. Her attention is riveted as I unfasten her shirt and leave it gaping open. All that’s between me and her bare skin is the fabric of her stays. The small curve of her breasts is delectable, and I lean in and kiss her there.
“Not the kiss I was expecting,” she whispers.
I reach behind her and loosen the eyelet ribbon of her short stays. It’s barely boned, but when last I removed her shirt, she wore no stays at all. Her breath hitches as I loosen it enough to slip downward, where it catches on the top of her trousers. “What about this kiss?”
I gently kiss her nipple, suckling it until it hardens, and then repeat the gesture on the other side. “Beautiful Isabeau,” I murmur. “Was that the kiss you were hoping for?”
“No. Yes. Both,” she says shakily. “I fear I am greedy. I want all your kisses, love.”
I kiss her breasts, the curve of her shoulder, the column of her neck, and every so often the plump lips that part on shaking gasps and soft sounds.
“I’ve missed this part of our friendship,” I say quietly, feeling like anything louder than a whisper might break this magical moment. “The kissing part.”
She chuckles softly. “I have missed every part of you being in my life, Gabrielle.”
I lace my fingers through hers and lead her into my bedroom.
Isabeau looks at the bed that stands in the center of my room. She glances at me, and then back at it. “I have dreamed of this moment.”
“Me, too.”
“I thought you had to tell me some secret first?” she prompts.
Now that the moment is here, I simply don’t want to confess.
I don’t want to end this moment with secrets and bleak truths.
I am afraid she’ll be disgusted or laugh or .
. . I can’t think of all the ways the truth could break this fragile beautiful thing between us. My fears threaten to swallow me alive.
“Give me today first.” This time, I’m the one who’s being greedy, and I know it. “Please?”
“Nothing can be so bad—”
“Isa, I want this with you, and I’m afraid if I . . . if I have to wait . . .”
She leans in and kisses my words away. When she pulls back, she says, “I want everything with you, no matter what secret you are afraid to share.” A bitter laugh slips out before she adds, “I am a cursed duke. I cannot see the stars ever again. Me, with my love of constellations . . . So I doubt that anything you are hiding can be so bad.”
“Can we not talk about secrets for just today? When I next see you alone, ask me. I will tell you everything.” I finish removing her stays and push her jacket and shirt off. They puddle on the floor, looking somehow scandalous there. “I swear.”
“I never could tell you no, love.”
Curious, I ask, “Do you want to?”
“No, that’s far from what I want right now.” She steers me toward the bed. “I won’t ask any questions.”
“I have some other kinds of questions,” I whisper, face turning red despite the alcohol I drank earlier. Aloud I muse, “I guess not all my fears were washed away. I need . . .”
“Anything.”
I admit, “I understand how men and women have relations. I tried that.”
She growls but says, “But?”
“How do we—how do women . . . obviously you can have sex because I hear about your conquests all the time. I’m not sure how.”
Gently, she says, “Most of my supposed conquests are no more than kisses and caresses.”
“Here?” I ask, stroking her breasts again.
“Some. Other places, too.” She directs me to the bed. “Dress on or off?”
“Off?” My voice quavers. I’m uneasy at the thought of being naked, but I’ve never trusted anyone as much as I trust Isabeau.
She quickly divests me of my dress, petticoat, and stays. When she starts to lift my chemise, I pause. “Do I need to be under the covers? In the naughty books, they always—”
“You read naughty books?” Her eyes widen, the spark of interest obvious. “What do you do when you read them?”
“Nothing. I feel . . . needs, but I don’t know what to . . . When I tried having someone fix it, it wasn’t like the books. Sex with him was simply sticky.”
Isabeau looks skyward as if she needs to control her temper or impulses, although she had nothing to drink. “You can be under the covers, but I’d rather you stretch out like a banquet for me.”
I pout at her. “I don’t know what that means, Isa.”
“Recline for me.” She motions to the bed.
As I do so, she removes her boots and stands there in nothing but breeches. She hesitates, but then decides to keep them on, apparently. She stretches out beside me. For a moment, she frowns. “I thought that you had scars on this arm.”
“Things change,” I say. “I’m older now.”
Isabeau pauses, and I don’t want her to guess what’s changed. “More kisses?” I ask.
“Always.” She kisses along the skin just under my ear. Then she whispers, “Do you trust me, love?”
“I do.”
Then she caresses the bare stretch of my arms, clear up to the edge of my chemise. With the hand not propping her up, she strokes me through my chemise. Gentle touches on my belly give way to fleeting touches along my breasts and hips.
In mere moments, I am lost in the way her hand and mouth are both everywhere and not yet scandalous.
I relax into her touch, and time slips away.
Eventually, when my body is twisting in search of something more, she takes my mouth in a deep kiss that has me parting my legs as if I’m about to have sex with a man.
Embarrassed, I start to close them until she grabs my thigh and says, “Keep them that way.”
“Why?”
She kisses me softly as she strokes inside my thigh with the very tips of her fingers. No one but her has touched me there, and as she does so now, I realize that my body feels . . . wet. Her hand trails higher, fingertips sliding across that wet place.
“Isa?”
“Trust me, love.”
“That feels magical,” I whisper. “Is this it? The sex?”
“The start of it. I can make it feel even better,” she offers. “Let me kiss you.”
I lean toward her, offering her my mouth, and she kisses me as her finger slides inside my body in time with her tongue in my mouth. I let out a surprised noise and pull back.
“Let me kiss you here,” she says, fingers darting across the wet part of my skin. “If you don’t like it, I will stop.”
I whisper, “I feel damp there.”
“That’s a good thing.” She strokes my leg. “I do, too. From touching you like this.”
I nod. “It’s normal?”
She chuckles. “Very, and I want to kiss you there if you’ll trust me. It’s like drinking ambrosia, love.”
“Oh.”
When she slides down the bed, I realize my chemise is bunched up around my hips, and she is facing the place she was touching. Then she leans closer and slides her tongue over my skin.
“Isabeau! That . . .”
She pauses. “Is it . . . pleasing?”
“Yes! More, please.”
This time, I feel her chuckling against my body, and I like that, too.
I like everything she’s doing, and in mere moments, I feel so much more than in all the times I rutted with Girard.
Soon, I feel like I’m chasing something that I thought was a myth.
My hands flail, unsure of where to go, until I realize I can reach Isabeau’s head.
I twine my fingers in her hair, and somehow that encourages her to kiss me deeper. She doesn’t stop until the most unladylike noises escape my mouth. The world feels like it has been born in an explosion inside me, and I have never felt so content as in this moment.
Isabeau stares up at me with a happy smile.
“Thank you,” she says as she crawls up my body and kisses me before flopping onto my pillow and pulling me into her embrace. “If we were spilling secrets, I would tell you I’ve wanted to do that since we first kissed.”
I erupt into laughter. “If I knew that existed before today, I’d feel the same way.”