Starlight and candlelight gave warmth to the night as nobles and royalty danced intricately choreographed dances to the soft sighs of strings and the rolling trills of woodwinds. In the flickering light, priceless jewels shone darkly against powdered white skin. Brightly colored dresses that billow from tightly laced waists swirl gracefully as those who wear them are twirled around by their partners in the elegant courtyard. The air is heady with the scents of many different perfumes mingling together, and their wearers also mingle as they laugh and flirt with each other.
Despite the light and music and plentiful women (whose morals became progressively looser the richer they were), Luc Devaux was utterly bored. He was not royalty nor nobility, but a very wealthy businessman. A businessman whom held the purse strings of a great many of the nobles who were now dripping in the very same jewels his loans helped them to keep. That alone would have given cause for his invitation to a royal ball. It was for his devastatingly handsome face, perfectly sculpted body, and a reputedly sinfully, experienced mouth that kept the invitations continuously flowing from shamelessly expectant hostesses.
His current hostess, the unfortunately plain Madame Le roux, the first cousin of the King of France, was all but plastered against him as he waltzed her around the dance floor. Each step he took was done with all the grace and elegance his royal partner did not possess. To all those watching, he was an attentive partner - smiling and gracious as he responded to her questions with poetic ease - yet his mind a million leagues away. So, when the song ended, Luc bowed low and excused himself from Madame Le roux's none so subtle hints and poorly executed flirtations.
Desperate to get away, he snaked through the crowd before the woman could suggest they retire to one of the dark niches that was so thoughtfully provided for the guest's convenience (not to mention their impatient lusts). Luc snatched a glass of Champaign from a wandering servant, downed it in a single gulp, and took another. This one he nursed as he leaned against a wall. The tangy taste of the wine bubbled and snapped in his mouth while his golden eyes languidly surveyed the revelers.
Everyone was having a good time eating delectable food, drinking expensive wine, and dancing to fine music. It was a party for the rich and powerful, and though he was now both, he did not feel as one of them. He remembered a time of cold and hunger; a hunger that none of these puffed up popinjays could ever imagine. The old fears he held as a child continued to haunt his dreams, though none would ever believe it of the exceptionally self-possessed man he had become.
Luc inwardly grimaced at himself, at the way his thoughts had turned. Here he was in high society, and all he could think of was his pitiful past. Suddenly determined to drown that past in the man he had become, he cast his critical eye about the courtyard for a suitable candidate.
There, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the advances of Madame Le roux's portly husband was the answer to his prayers. She was small - more than a head shorter than he - and exceptionally exquisite. Her waist was so tiny Luc imagined that he could easily circle it with his hands. Delicately pale skin was flushed from her attempts in keeping the large, sweating man's hands off her breasts. Those breasts, Luc noticed, were rather large for her small stature, and they rose invitingly from the low bodice of her fashionable gown in soft ivory swells. He could not blame the hideous man for trying his hand at her, but Luc wouldn't have it. The moment he laid eyes on her, every nerve in his body cried out: mine.
And he would have her.
He made his was to the couple, ignoring the hands and eyes of women (and a few men) that caressed him as he went, so intent was he on obtaining his woman.
"Monsieur Le roux, I do believe your lovely wife is looking for you," Luc said in an amused voice, watching as the man snatched his hands off the woman as if her lovely curves could burn. Not out of guilt that his wife might see him with another woman, for both husband and wife enjoyed the flavor of variety in lovers, but that he was going about it in such an indiscreet and reckless manner. As the King's cousin, it would shame the Madame Le roux to have her husband so scandalously blatant in his infidelity.
"Ah, yes, thank you Monsieur Devaux," he turned towards the woman, bowed, and hastened away to find his wife. The now very relieved woman faced Luc, and he could now see that her face was just as tempting as her body.
It was a small oval of porcelain, with green eyes commanding the center. She had a small nose and a forehead that rose till it gave way to ebony curls. Plump red lips parted and a husky, low voice spoke; "Monsieur Devaux? I am very much grateful for your timely rescue."
"Not at all, Mademoiselle..."
"Madame Rousseau. Jessamine Rousseau." She stressed emphasis on her married title, and offered him a charming smile and a small hand. It fit neatly in the palm of his, and he curled his fingers around hers and whispered a kiss along the satin smooth skin.
"And I am Luc. You are quite enchanting, Jessamine," he said, addressing her by her given name, though propriety required otherwise. Instead of being insulted, he received another smile, so continued; "You took my breath away from across the room."
Instead of giggling foolishly like the other women, Jessamine raised a perfectly curved eyebrow, "My, my, such compliments. This can only mean you want something."
Not just a little taken aback, Luc stared in surprise before he broke out in laughter. Never before had he met such an intelligently brazen woman. She had accurately summed up his intent in less than five minutes into conversation, delighting him with the realization that he would actually have to work for this conquest rather than have her falling into his arms like all the other woman of Paris. So, instead of trying to deny what was so obvious to them both, he said, "Am I that transparent?"
He enjoyed the way her emerald eyes roamed over his physique, hesitating ever so slightly in the general vicinity of his growing desire, before meeting his golden gaze. When she dryly answered, "So it would seem," he threw back his head and laughed again.
"Madame, would you do me the honor of the next dance?" He offered an arm, and she promptly took it.
"I would be delighted."
He led her out onto the dance floor, took up a fragile hand into his large calloused one, and then wrapped the other around her waist. As the music began, Luc led her into the steps of the dance. Though her back was rigidly straight, she moved like flowing water beneath his hands. She drifted into each turn with soft little footfalls, keeping her face diverted just so that her profile was presented to him. The column of her throat was long, the skin so fine that he could see the light, steady beating of her pulse.
"Where is your husband, Madame?"
Jessamine turned her head slightly so that she could see his face, "Oh, he's over by the buffet table with Madame and Monsieur Le roux."
Luc glanced over and saw a tall man speaking with the hosting couple. He was old - nearly sixty years in age - and looked every minute of it. His face sagged with age, his hair, still fully black, was nothing but a wisp that was combed over his age spotted skull. Though Luc had never actually met the man, he knew that Monsieur Rousseau was reputed to be a ruthless man in business, yet impeccably pious in the church.
"My dear, you have my complete admiration."
"How so?"
Luc swung her closer to the opposite side of the courtyard from her husband's prying eyes. "That you are able to speak of your husband without the slightest sign of revulsion. I commend you."
Jessamine laughed, stunning the cynical Luc Devaux with the beauty of her unabashed amusement. She stood on the tips of her toes, and breathed in his ear, "A great deal of money is a fantastic incentive to marry such a nauseating old man. I don't suspect he shall live much longer."
"I dare say you are correct." He had long since given up being shocked by her behavior. She was as cold-blooded as a man, with the beauty of a goddess. Such a formidable creature she was.
Luc made sure that the Monsieur Rousseau's attention was elsewhere before he tugged Jessamine off the dance floor. He was about to speak - to make certain she understood - when she pulled him behind the inadequate shelter of a large bush. Knowing now that they were of the same mind, he hauled her up against his hard body. Without hesitation, he plundered her mouth with his. Jessamine's lush lips parted willingly beneath his, and she slid her tongue alongside his. The friction was so erotic as they twined and caressed with only their mouths, nipping and tasting ferociously as if they were battling. Luc groaned when she rubbed a hand over his hard, throbbing shaft.
