Kit Black Read online

  I had to admit that for a girl raised in a house of ill repute, I didn’t know as much as I claimed I did about the act itself. Well, I’d know by tonight what these men came here for in droves. And at least the man who would be on top of me would be clean, good smelling, and as beautiful as one of the saints painted in the church up on the hill.

  I found a dress that fit in my mother’s wardrobe. It was a bit musty, but it was clean and had no wine stains on the skirt. The neck was low, as my mother’s bosom had been larger than mine, but the drawstrings gave it a modicum of modesty. Roger helped me to carry the bath water and left me to my ablutions.

  It felt delightfully good. Good enough to make me wish I could bathe in hot water more often. By the time it was over and I dried myself, I was pink as a new-shorn lamb. The water in the wooden tub was black. I looked into Roger’s cracked mirror, pleased with the way my hair had dried into wavy locks the exact color of wheat. My skin looked smooth and pale as cream. The only thing wrong with me were my ragged nails, which I tried to pare clean with Roger’s knife.

  He knocked and came in at my hesitant reply. I was just squeezing my feet into a pair of my mother’s slippers, not sure about how to tie the laces around my ankles. The skirt of the dress was about three inches too short, but it would have to do.

  Roger just stared at me. “My, God, Kit. Look at you. You’re beautiful. I can’t believe it.”

  I felt myself flush to the roots of my hair. “Am I really pretty, Roger? Am I?”

  “Aye, lass. Any man would fall flat on his face just to see you coming down the walk. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I want the boots, Roger. New boots. And I want the sword.” I didn’t say that I wanted to see him again. But I did. All the time I was bathing and dressing, I was thinking only about him. About his hair, his eyes, and that beautifully honed, muscular body. I ached to be touched. By him. By those clean, elegant hands. And by that carnal mouth. I knew I ought to feel ashamed of myself, but I did not.

  “I’ll take you over there.”

  “I can go myself.”

  “You’ll never make it looking like that, Kit. I won’t have any arguments. Sneak out the back, so Madame Evangeline won’t see you. And put the shawl over your head.”

  ***

  My heart was pounding as I climbed the stairs to his rooms. The landlady stared at me like I was something she dumped out of the slop pot. I wanted to shove her, but I pretended to be a fine lady and held my temper in check.

  “No screaming, mind you.” She held her block like fists on her ample hips. Her breath smelled rankly of garlic and wine. “We have paying guests here.”

  “I assume he pays his rent on time.”

  “Aye,” was her reply.

  “Then he can do whatever he wants, you old sot,” I said in a soft hiss. “I’ll bet you’re wishing you were me.” And with that, I flounced up the stairs like the finest lady she’d likely ever see. Except for the fact that my heels had broken out in blisters that hurt like hell. She huffed off as I tapped on his door, my heart pounding despite my false aura of bravado.

  He had just finished his own bath. I gasped when he opened the door. He was dripping wet, his lean hips covered with a linen towel that reached his knees. If he was beautiful in his uniform, he was even more so half-naked and dripping wet. He stole all of the breath from my lungs.

  “Isabelle?” he inquired, looking me up and down. “Is it twenty-one bells?”

  “You said twenty, sir. At least that’s…uhm…what you told Kit. I came on time.”

  He smiled and ushered me in. “I’m sorry, I was bathing. I meant to be dressed.”

  “It’s not a bother, sir. You’ll just be taking off your clothes anyway, to my thinking.” I nervously played with the ends of my shawl. There was something about the look he was giving me. I tugged the shawl a little tighter over my breasts, trying not to look at his flat light-colored male nipples. I’d seen many a naked man before, but none as finely built as this one. “I hope I’m not a disappointment, sir.”

  “A disappointment?” He gave a soft chuckle. “No, you’re not at all. You’re more than I expected you to be. You’re very tall. I don’t think I’ve ever been with…met a woman as tall as you are.”

  My heart plummeted. “Am I too tall?”

  “No, not at all. No, Isabelle, you’ll do very nicely.”

  I was breathing hard now. Just the smell of him. Clean and fresh, like a morning in the woods. I wanted to drink him in. To lick the droplets of water from those wide shoulders, that awesome expanse of smooth chest. He wasn’t hairy either, not like some of the men I had seen. Like great monkeys they were.

  “Would you like some wine? To relax you?” He indicated a decanter on the table.

  “No sir. I don’t drink spirits. But I would like the gold first. I want to put it in my slipper, sir.” I felt terrible saying it, but that was what I was there for. I had a feeling my mind was going to get quite foggy.

  “Of course.” He gave me a slow, seductive smile. “Three gold pieces, was it?”

  “No, sir. Two.”

  He nodded, prowling to the dresser and removing two from a bulging purse that lay there. Lord, to have all that gold. Well, one day I would have chests of it. He put them into my hand. I felt the weight of them and sighed. I was not so rude as to bite them to check that they were not bronze.

  “Are you in a hurry? For two gold coins I’ll expect you to stay the night.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  I hoped he didn’t expect me to be the one to start things. I didn’t have a clue as to what I ought to do. I guessed it would be kissing. That was how it started with most of the doxies in the brothel. A round of slap and tickle. I had seen the doxies take the men’s tongues into their mouths and had always thought it abhorrent. The idea made me want to wretch, but this man… Perhaps having his tongue in my mouth would be good. Maybe even delicious. I jumped a little as I felt him come up behind me, wondering if he knew what I’d been thinking.

  His fingers were at my shoulders. “Can I take your shawl? It’s warm in here, but I could still have a fire lit.”

  “No, sir. I’m fine.” I released the knitted shawl.

  He looked down at my breasts, and I suddenly wished I’d worn stays. My waist would have looked better, I think. He smiled at me.

  “Am I pretty enough, sir?” I was getting worried. He hadn’t said a word, just looked at me with those half closed, heavily lashed eyes.

  “You’re perfect,” he said. “An angel. But then, I knew you would be.”

  With a heavy swallow, I said, “Thank you, sir. You know, I have to tell you that I don’t really know what to do. Where to start...”

  In a way it was true, but in a way I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to follow my heart, my instincts, but I did not know if they were accurate. I wanted to touch his chest and see if it were as hard and smooth and damp as I imagined. I took a deep breath and lifted my hand, laying it on the heavy curve of muscle just above his heart. I could imagine I felt the heavy pound of his blood beneath my fingers. I let my fingers trail down the indentation of his sternum, toward his navel, just to the edge of the towel. His body felt hot and hard and velvety. I could see the outline of his manhood thrust beneath the damp toweling. That made me smile. Made me want to giggle. Then I felt the panic rise.

  He took a deep breath and grasped my hand, lifting it to his lips. He kissed the backs of my fingers. The gesture surprised me. “I think you know exactly what to do. You can start by calling me Armand. You don’t have to worry, we have all the time in the world. The whole night.”

  I nodded. Suddenly, one night didn’t seem like enough time anymore.

  “I think we’ll start with a kiss. Shall we?”

  “If that’s what you’d like, sir…Armand.”

  “Yes, I’d like that very much.” He stared into my eyes, and I was amazed by the color of them, so pretty surrounded by that thicket of lashes.

/>   I ran my tongue along the edge of my lips to moisten them. I had that odd feeling again…that strange tug from breast to thigh, the inexplicable sense of tightening, of wanting to burst out of my skin as if it didn’t fit me any longer.

  He pulled me toward him, and I gasped as the blisters on my feet brought me back into myself.

  “Are you alright? Am I going too fast?”

  “It’s my feet, they hurt. These shoes are too small. May I take them off?”

  He smiled and led me to the bed. I bent to remove the shoes, but he stilled my hands. He dropped to one knee and began to untie the laces. It was shockingly intimate, having his warm, long fingered hand wrapped around my ankle.

  “This must hurt you,” he said, touching the spot where my half boot had rubbed at my ankle.

  “I got used to it. All my shoes are too small, sir. Mostly I try to go bare foot, but last year I stepped on a nail and it got putrid. I was lucky I didn’t lose my…” I stopped short. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, as if he could not imagine being so poor. And I was not half so poor as most. I didn’t want to see the glaze of pity in those handsome eyes. Desire was something far more easy to accept.

  “After today, I can buy proper boots.”

  He winced. And then, he came up on his knees so that he was kneeling between my legs. We were face to face. He took my face in his hands, and I could feel his long fingers at my ears, his thumbs near my throat. He drew my face close to his and he kissed me. It was a dulcet kiss. A drugging, gentle kiss that stirred my very soul. I could smell his hair and his skin. It smelled of fine milled soap and lemons, and his mouth was delicious. Hot, spicy, sweet like the candied ginger that Roger had once brought me as a present. I waited for his tongue to invade my mouth. I prayed for it to happen with my eyes closed.

  “Are you sure about this, Kita?” he whispered against my lips.

  “Yes, oh, yes. I’m sure.”

  “You feel so good, but I want you to want this, too. I want you to want me, too. As I do you.” His tone was husky, sensual, but there was an underlying note that I didn’t want to dwell on. Had he called me, Kita? If he had, I didn’t care. I suppose I hadn’t fooled him with my disguise. He’d seen through it. He could probably see that I was half in love with him already. Something that he was used to having happen, I’m sure.

  “I do. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with than you.” I smiled at him and touched his smooth shaven cheek.

  “I’ll teach you all you need to know. I hope I can go slow, it’s been a long time for me.”

  I felt his hands at the ties to my bodice. He released the ties and pulled the garment from my skirt. I helped him pull it over my head. He looked at my breasts beneath my sheer chemise, his depth of concentration causing me to smile. He looked like Roger’s dog when he was expecting the cook to give him the soup bone. My nipples were plainly visible and hardened to points beneath the thin cloth. I felt no shame, just a heightened awareness of my womanly self. It was wonderful. I had denied it so long. I was stunned by the look on his face, the same torturous need that I seemed to be feeling.

  He picked up a tendril of hair that has fallen to my shoulder and studied it for a while, testing the texture between his long, elegant fingers. I looked at his half closed, heavily lashed eyes, the way his lips parted ever so slightly. He raised the lock of hair to his mouth and brushed it against his lips.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “You are too beautiful.”

  I could barely breathe. I could not think. I just stared at that mouth, coming closer to mine.

  “I am going to kiss you again, Kita. Tell me now if you object.”

  “I have no objections. It’s what I came here for.”

  He slanted his mouth across mine, teasing my lips with soft, slow, tantalizing kisses, each one just a foray into unknown territory, a promise, a taste of what would come.

  My heart raced and my thoughts flew about in my mind like fluttering birds. I thought I was going to die there in his arms and that I would burn slowly like a martyr on a pyre—and that was what some would say I had done without the benefit of a promise of forever, or love, or a gold ring around my finger—and I would enjoy every second of this delicious sin. It was akin to being licked by fire. Slow burning, just a flicker or a spark that would ignite all too soon and swallow me, swallow us both in its intensity.

  He took his time, and he planned his actions carefully. He was thorough. And patient. He gave me everything before he even thought of himself. But he was also a firebrand in his passion. A lamb and a lion. I found that with each passing moment I loved him more.

  He confused me and delighted me in the same moment. He was a scrumptious, intoxicating mixture of everything I wanted, both wanton and wild, safe and soothing.

  I think that when he was a child he at first willed himself to suck and savour his treats and then, later, having tested his will to satisfaction, plunged in to gobble. He made me feel as I were the best, most glorious treat he’d ever had and in return, he left me wanting nothing.

  Perhaps his initial patience was in deference to my inexperience. Part of me, that willful, bratty, headstrong girl, wanted to hurry him along. I wanted to find out all there was to know. Now. To stand on that precipice and just leap with my arms spread wide. I do not normally like to be shown. I want to find out for myself, and I always want to lead.

  He didn’t stand for that. “Let me show you,” he said, taking my chin in his hand, his voice husky. His eyes were wicked with promise.

  He stilled my restless, shaking hands, covering them with his as he kissed me, more to reassure than to control. They remained there, threaded to mine, pressed against my quivering thighs.

  He moaned then, leaning forward, letting go of my hands, holding me tightly on either side of my waist. His face was angled up into mine, as if he was in some way giving himself to me.

  I threaded my fingers through the silk of his hair. He slid his hands slowly up my sides, cupping my breasts. The sensation made me jerk in response. I pressed my legs together to still the reaction there.

  “I don’t know what to do. I do need you to show me…I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You’ll not do that. But I shall like being your teacher.”

  He rose to his feet and reached for my hand. “Come. I will not let myself take you without loving all of you first.”

  I took his hand, shyly, my legs so weak they could scarce hold my weight. “You’ll not need to take. I give myself to you freely and without regret.”

  He looked at our joined hands, his eyes closing slowly. I saw his throat convulse against to smooth skin of his neck. He pressed a kiss to the chapped backs of my fingers. When he looked at me, his green eyes glittered. “I shall try not to hurt you. Come. I can’t wait much longer.”

  He helped me remove my chemise, even if I told him I could do it myself. He said he wanted to undress me. He said he wanted to do it slowly so his eyes could make love to me as well. It was a strange and beautiful thing to say. He looked at me for a long time, my taut aching breasts, my waist, my hips, and my long legs. When he finally raised his eyes and smiled at me, almost in awe, I thought I might cry from the acceptance, the longing, the need I read within their depths.

  What I remember most is how he looked there in his bed, a bed so sumptuous and soft, I could not imagine such bliss anywhere. He pulled me down atop his body, brushing back the curtain of my hair, bringing my face down slowly to meet his, as our lips and our bodies joined as one.

  Afterwards, I remember watching as he slept, worn out from exertion. I looked at a fresh sword cut on his shoulder, still glaring red, an inch from where his heart lay beating. How close it had come to my never having known him. His hair had spilled on the linen pillowcase in loose, thick red-fire tinged waves. He seemed gilded by the moonbeams that streamed through the high mullioned window. When he opened his eyes to look at me, the prisms lit his eyes like jewels in their dense thicket of lashes. I
remember how his lips looked, swollen by our long, heated kisses, stretching in a cat’s contented grin over white, even teeth. He reached for me again in sated, sleepy contentment, wrapping me in the luxury of his embrace.

  I pressed my lips to the scar above his heart, smelling myself on his skin. Our scents mingling like some exotic perfume.

  “This is all I want,” I whispered. “This all I will ever want. This gift, this knowledge, this joy.”

  I love you, my Armand.

  Yet, I could not let the words past my lips.

  “Where were you born?” I asked him.

  “Marseilles.”

  “Why did you join the Navy?”

  “I’m the second son of a Marquis, so my older brother will inherit the title and the land. As the younger son, I was forced to find some way to make a living. And I like the sea.” He was playing with my hair as he spoke. His voice held a little regret.

  I didn’t quite understand the laws of inheritance, but I knew that was why my father went to sea. That’s what they had told me.

  “I’m glad you came here to Ajaccio, Armand Dupuis.”

  “I’m glad, too,” he sounded wistful. “I have to leave next week. We sail for about eight months, and then I go back to France.”

  “Oh,” I said softly.

  “I’ll be married,” he continued, his voice almost sad this time. “To Sandrine. It was arranged when we were children.”