Bewitching in Boots Read online

  He sucked. She gasped sharply. Tristan snapped the knots binding his wrists, wrapped his arms around her to hold her still, and drove his cock up into her warm dewy sheath. She gave a cry. He groaned. The quick movement had sent a jolt of pain down his leg, but it was a small price to pay in comparison to the pleasure of being back inside her hot tight cunt. He’d had her most of last night, yet he wanted her again with untamed intensity.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “But I noticed there were parts of your anatomy that were awake and looking for attention.” Tristan bit and laved her nipple while giving her long luscious strokes with his shaft, building her slowly and steadily into a frenzy. She shivered, seductive sounds escaping her with each soft pant. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought this woman was a tease. She was sensual, passionate, a woman who enjoyed sex as much as he did. Yet she was more than just a good tumble.

  She rocked her hips, trying to dictate the pace, to quicken the tempo, unable to contain the urge. He easily thwarted her efforts, his tight embrace holding her still as he drove in deep with deliberate thrusts. She made a sound at the back of her throat, and slumped slightly against him, her body completely yielding to his possession; all attempts at control had slipped away from her.

  Her surrender drove him wild, made him fuck her harder. Faster. Arching to him, she mewed loudly.

  He loved fucking her.

  He loved having this alluring willful fiery woman completely abandon herself to him.

  Though bedding the King’s most cherished daughter wasn’t the wisest thing he’d ever done, he couldn’t seem to muster any regret.

  Releasing her wet distended nipple from his mouth, he lightly pinched and rolled it as he turned to her other breast and suckled its sensitive tip.

  His name rushed past her lips on a ragged breath. She tightened her juicy walls around his thrusting cock, bathing it with a fresh gush of warm cream. It inflamed him further. His heart hammered. His sac was so tight and full, he could barely hold on to the load of come.

  A light sheen of perspiration coated their bodies. Tristan released her nipples and rolled her onto her back, the force of each solid plunge of his prick driving her into the mattress. He claimed her soft mouth in a ravenous kiss, shoving his tongue past her lips. Her arms encircled him, an endearing embrace, and she shuddered.

  She was beginning to come. He could tell by the sweet sting of her nails on his back, the pulling of her cunt, and the tensing and arching of her body. He braced himself. Tearing her mouth from his, she threw her head back and screamed in orgasm. Her sex contracted around his cock.

  Tristan gripped the sheets in a white-knuckle hold, thrusting, knowing he was about to go over the edge any moment. On the next fierce pull of her sex, he reared, jerking out his cock in the nick of time, sending hot blasts of come onto her belly. He threw his head back and bellowed out his pleasure until the last draining drops poured from his prick.

  On all fours, he hung his head, trying to catch his breath, not caring a whit that his leg was punishing him for this position. He looked down at Elisabeth. Her skin was flushed. The nipples he’d feasted on were still hard, but her features were soft, a warm smile adorning her lips. She looked sated. Beautiful.

  Jésus-Christ, he could easily get used to this if he wasn’t careful.

  Theirs was a brief, temporary arrangement. Elisabeth wasn’t Veronique. He couldn’t keep her as his mistress, and it was certain the King’s thoughts had turned to marrying her off again. He’d heard His Majesty’s comments with his own ears. Her next husband was sure to be someone notable, of significant standing. Like the late Duc de Roussel.

  She reached out and caressed his cheek. Rising up on her elbows, she kissed him, a soft sensuous meeting of the mouths. “I love what you do to me,” she said with touching sincerity.

  The problem was, he loved doing it to her—a little too much.

  *****

  “Elisabeth, did you hear me?”

  Claire’s voice broke through Elisabeth’s thoughts. She dragged her gaze from the window to her sister. Sitting in Elisabeth’s apartments, wearing a green brocade gown, her younger sibling was frowning.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. What did you say?”

  “You said you’ve devised a plan for tomorrow. What is it?”

  “Ah, yes, tomorrow’s plan.” Elisabeth turned toward the window again, easily locating Tristan among the many men below. Five days of the most indescribable bliss she’d spent with that man. Fencing and making love with Tristan de Tiersonnier. Could there be anything finer? Unable to hold back her smile, Elisabeth watched as he spoke to a group of the King’s Guard. Their respect and regard for him were evident on their faces and in their stance even from her second-floor vantage point. There was no doubt about it, Tristan was still the Captain in their hearts. If she had anything to do with it, he was going to be their Captain in truth once more.

  “Tomorrow is the day of the King’s monthly hunt,” Elisabeth said, turning away from the window. “In attendance will be the usual courtiers—who’ll be vying for the King’s attention—and their wives.” Disdain crept into Elisabeth’s voice. Having been around powerful men all her life, she should have been accustomed by now to the way they used women. Yet, it still bothered her to see women serve as pawns for social promotion. It happened in so many ways—through marriages, the swapping of mistresses, and in His Majesty’s case, well, she couldn’t count the number of times she’d seen men subtly and not so subtly offer up their wives to the King just to gain his favor—as dispassionately as one would offer a ride on a horse.

  It didn’t help that her father had a roving eye and had been known on occasion to express his interest in another man’s wife—sans the offer. Her own mother had been a married woman when she became his royal mistress.

  The more she was with Tristan, the more she hated the artifice that soiled her life. And the artifice she was forced to use just for her and her sister Claire to survive.

  “Yes, yes. I know all that,” Claire said. “What I don’t understand is why you want to leave here to attend? You don’t like the hunts. You don’t care for those who attend them—and I thought your point for being here was to enjoy Tristan. Why leave before the week’s end?”

  “Because we are going to get Tristan reinstated as Captain of the Guard.”

  Claire’s brows shot up. “We are? Why?”

  “Because I quite enjoy him and wish him to be back at the palace—where I can continue to enjoy him.” How she wished that was all there was to it. How she wished there wasn’t any emotional longing involved. But her feelings for Tristan had only deepened.

  Last night, lying in Tristan’s arms as he slept, she’d decided the King’s hunt offered an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. One whereby Tristan could impress her father. With her affections now stronger, her desire for him keener than ever before, she couldn’t simply finish her week with Tristan and let it end there. She decided to cut the time short, gamble, and possibly gain something more permanent.

  Thus, the need to escalate her plan.

  Claire cocked her head to one side. “Is that the only reason? You’re going to have Balzac removed just to have easier access to your lover?” There was something in Claire’s eyes that gave Elisabeth unease. A certain knowing look—as though she was seeing inside her heart. Impossible. She hadn’t become that transparent about her feelings for Tristan.

  Had she?

  Dismissing the notion as absurd, Elisabeth continued, “No. As a matter of fact, there is another reason. Antoine de Balzac is no better than the rest of the men at court, and well you know it, Claire. He shouldn’t be the Captain of the Musketeers if he is corruptible, which he is. And what’s equally worrisome is that he and Veronique are now lovers.”

  Not exactly the primary motivation driving her plan, but it was all she was ready to admit to and far easier to voice than her undying love for Tristan.

  Claire frowned and gave a nod. “Veronique
only welcomes Balzac into her bed because of his esteemed position. As the commander of the Guard, he is close to the King. She wants to get close to the King through Balzac. She wants to replace you in His Majesty’s affections, become his favorite daughter, and reap the benefits that come with it.”

  Unfortunately, that was true.

  Elisabeth had better apartments, better treatment from the courtiers, more influence than her lesser siblings. Veronique wanted to take that from her.

  It worried her. In truth, deep down inside it terrified her. With the ruthlessness of Veronique and others at court, if she lost her standing with the King, God only knew what would become of Claire. Or her.

  “We cannot let Veronique succeed in her schemes,” Elisabeth said. It was all about survival. Those who didn’t have the favor of the King were treated poorly and had a miserable existence at the palace.

  Elisabeth had Claire to think about. To protect. Even when she was married to the Duc, Elisabeth had protected Claire and had kept her sister with her at the Duc’s château, away from the glittering corrupt court of Versailles.

  If Veronique ever managed to win favor and any kind of influence with the King, she’d cause undue misery to Elisabeth and Claire, simply because she could. Simply to exercise her power. A power Elisabeth had, but never abused in her privileged position.

  Born months apart, Veronique and Elisabeth had always been rivals. Elisabeth’s mother had replaced Veronique’s mother, Diane, as the King’s favorite mistress. Diane had spent the rest of her days trying to gain preferential treatment for her daughter she couldn’t get for herself.

  Since her mother’s recent death, Veronique had not relented in her ambition to advance her status at court. It motivated her every action. Her every move.

  Veronique was using the unwitting Balzac in her plot—positioning and angling—trying to get close enough to the King to affect his choice, to influence the King in selecting a powerful husband for her. Elisabeth didn’t care who Veronique married, though she suspected Veronique had someone high ranking in mind. If Elisabeth hoped to secure a better match for herself this time around—and a good match for Claire—she couldn’t lose her standing.

  Once Claire had a good husband, she’d be safe. And Elisabeth could then breathe a sigh of relief. Elisabeth’s betrothal to the Duc had been a surprise. She hadn’t known her father had been in talks with the man or she would have delicately swayed the King away from Roussel.

  This time she knew the King was looking for husbands for his unwed daughters.

  This time she was doing something about it.

  Elisabeth turned toward the window again and spotted Tristan once more. Her insides danced. She was beyond besotted with him.

  Being wedded to Tristan would be heavenly.

  Claire walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around Elisabeth’s waist. Resting her chin on Elisabeth’s shoulder, she said, “Why don’t you tell him you love him?”

  Her heart gave a hard thud. Elisabeth twisted around to face her sister. “Pardon?”

  Claire dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. “Don’t bother to deny it, Elisabeth. You’re in love with Tristan de Tiersonnier. That is why we are here, isn’t it? You want to wed him. That’s the reason for the workers and gardeners. That is why you want Tristan reinstated—though I am not saying the other reasons aren’t valid as well. You are trying to convince the King that Tristan is a suitable husband for you .”

  Elisabeth was gripped by fear. “How—How did you—”

  “Know? I’ve caught you looking at him, not just here, but at Versailles when he was Captain. It is the briefest of looks—in a way you don’t look at any other man. Don’t worry, Elisabeth. Tristan can’t tell. No one can—except me. I’m your sister and I know you best of all. I’m the only one who sees it.”

  Elisabeth’s heart pounded. “You’ll swear to me, you’ll not tell a soul. Do you hear me?”

  “Of course I swear. I’ve known for some time and I’ve never breathed a word. I don’t understand why you don’t tell him of your affections. He seems to have grown quite fond of you. I don’t think he’d find the notion of marrying you disagreeable. Discuss it with him, then with the King.”

  Lord, how naïve Claire was. Perhaps she’d sheltered her too much. “It isn’t done that way. Nor is it that simple. You cannot embark upon any course of action without first reducing the chances of failure. Even if Tristan were agreeable, the King likely won’t be. Walking up to His Majesty to request Tristan as my husband could and likely would be met with a resounding no. Then what? Once the King makes a decision, he’ll not change it. The matter must be carefully handled, steps taken that are well thought out.”

  “Fine. Perhaps being more prudent with the King is a good idea, but why not tell Tristan how you feel?”

  Elisabeth was aghast. “Are you mad? Claire, it is bad enough that I have done the unthinkable—fallen in love—when I know better. When I have seen the devastation that particular emotion causes women. We live at the whims of men. You know that. A woman under the influence of love who makes the mistake of declaring her affections pays the ultimate price. You know what happened to our mother when she professed her love to the King. Soon after, he became disenchanted and sent her away to the Convent of the Sacred Heart. This after she’d maintained his interest for years.”

  Claire lowered her gaze to the floor, looking doleful. The subject of their mother was difficult. Claire had been young and devastated when their mother had been sent away. Elisabeth had consoled her sister as best she could, despite her own broken heart.

  Placing her hands on her sister’s shoulders, Elisabeth sighed. She didn’t want to distress Claire by bringing the subject up, but God help her, she had to be made to understand. “You mustn’t ever wear your emotions on your sleeve.” She squeezed Claire’s shoulders. “You must remain guarded—with your thoughts and emotions. Never give anything away. Unless you wish to suffer. Unless you wish to lose the man you love.”

  Elisabeth had come to Tristan with the hope of ultimately purging him from her blood. It was now clear, it would take much longer than a week to accomplish.

  It would take several lifetimes.

  She hadn’t wanted to love him so deeply, but she did. With all her heart. She always had.

  She didn’t want to lose him, and so she was forging ahead with her plan.

  “I’m sorry, Elisabeth. You’re right, of course.” Her sister’s eyes were large and sad.

  Elisabeth hugged her. “You’ll help me tomorrow, then?” She purposely changed the subject, not wanting to distress Claire further.

  Claire pulled back, a small smile on her lips. “Yes. Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

  “Good. We’re going to show the King that Tristan is as capable as he always was to command the Guard.”

  Until today, Tristan had been avoiding his former men. Elisabeth could make no sense of it until Gabriel had confided that it was a matter of pride. She couldn’t believe Tristan actually thought he’d been diminished by his injury. That he’d truly believe the King’s foolish physicians and their ridiculous notions about his being unfit.

  Or that Tristan would take to heart the King’s misconceptions.

  It only made Elisabeth want to see Tristan’s reinstatement all the more.

  There was only one man fit to command the King’s elite corps, standing head and shoulders above any other candidate, and that was Tristan de Tiersonnier, Comte de Saint-Marcel.

  The door opened. She pulled away from her sister and turned toward her visitor.

  Tristan had walked into the room, filling it with his commanding presence.

  Her heart swelled with joy.

  Even with his cane, he still moved with a certain masculine grace that made her pulse quicken.

  “Forgive me, I thought you were alone, Elisabeth.” His rich sensual voice was like a warm caress down her spine. She loved how he spoke her name. There was such sinful promise to it. It swa
mped her senses and made her feel dangerously reckless and out of control. As much as that unnerved her, it also had a certain astonishing allure. At the moment, she could barely keep from throwing herself against his chiseled form and claiming his mouth.

  “I was just leaving,” Claire said after exchanging pleasantries with Tristan, and left the room.

  A half-smile on his lips, he approached. Her insides danced with excitement. He stopped before her and slipped his fingers under her chin. “Have I kissed you good morning?” he asked.

  She couldn’t hold back her smile. “Yes.” He’d done a lot more to her than kiss her that morning.

  “Good. Because it’s afternoon.” Then his lips were against hers, his tongue possessing her mouth, and her arms by their own volition drew around him. She moaned.

  She could make him a good wife. He would make her an excellent husband.

  She’d failed to convince him to keep the workers and gardeners she’d sent, but she couldn’t fail in any part of her plan tomorrow.

  This hunt was too important.

  So much hinged on its success. Briefly, she wondered if she should wear her lucky boots. Then Tristan’s hand caressed the curve of her breast and her thoughts turned as heated as her body.

  Chapter Six

  Claire peered into the streaming river at the water’s edge. “Have I told you how much I don’t like this idea?”

  The sun was high in the sky. Standing in the glen, Elisabeth could hear the voices and laughter coming from the King and his party as they drifted down into the narrow valley. The hunt had ended an hour ago. Elisabeth and her entourage had arrived just in time for the feasting and gaiety that were afoot.

  Tristan was up there. It had taken well-placed words and kisses to convince him to join the escort that would take her to the picnic after the hunt—not that she minded the kissing. Or the amorous encounter that ensued. Only when she lay weak from the second intense orgasm in a row did he advise her—with the most devilish smile—that he’d had every intention of seeing her personally delivered to the hunt all along.