Invitation to Ruin Read Free

musing over the
brief notoriety she had gained two seasons ago with a few misplaced
love letters to a much younger cavalier.
    When dessert was at last cleared from the
table, I made my apologies and returned to my room, leaving Mother
and Mdm. Bilodeaux to their prayer books. Locking my door, I
stripped and crawled onto the bed, rolled on it, stretching my
limbs this way and that, imagining Louis on top of me. Catching
sight of my body in the cheval mirror, I jumped up and dragged it
to the foot of my bed. Returning to the mattress, I rested on my
knees and leaned back, examining the upward push of my breasts and
the way my nipples stiffened with excitement.
    My examination continued downward, and I
parted my lower lips, letting my fingers play over the button of
flesh at the top. I pulled and stroked at it until the light cream
that dampened the folds of my womanhood thickened and coated my
fingers. Gently, I probed at the opening, tried to gauge how many
of my slick fingers were needed to equal his rod. Surely, the head
had been bigger than all five of my fingertips pressed
together.
    I moaned at the thought, startling myself and
releasing a flood of worry that Mother might be out in the hall,
however unlikely. No, if Our Lady of Letters had departed, Mother
would already be in her chambers on the opposite side of the floor.
Not once that I can remember has she entered my room since father
died.
    Sweet isolation! Once I had hated it, now it
served a purpose. Quickly I tossed a light robe around myself. The
sheer lace and chiffon were meant to cover more substantial cloth
and I could see my body, every curve, every inch of impassioned
flesh, through the fabric. Opening my door, I poked just my head
into the hall outside. The way to the servants’ stairs was clear
and I dashed down the hall to them—going up, not down.
    At the top landing of the stairs, I opened
the small window that looks onto the back courtyard. I could see
that the lanterns were still lit in the stable despite the late
hour. Was he avoiding Maria? Drinking? He did so, I knew, after my
punishments. Was he doing so again?
    From further down the stairwell, I could hear
the sound of Maria doing the dishes and cleaning up the rest of the
kitchen. It was a muted, somber sound, and the plain, black livery
mother demanded the servants wear since father’s passing took on a
new meaning in my imagination. I could see Maria in my mind’s eye,
clothed in the color of death—the death of her marriage, of his
tolerance, of my tolerance, of her presence, of the barrier between
us that she had been...but no longer would be.
    Pressing my upper body against the window, I
watched for Louis to leave the stables. Would he look up? He had
to. Not just because it was his nature to look over the house
before he entered for the evening, but because I willed him to. My
heart began to beat faster, pounding against my ribcage when I saw
him barring the stable doors for the night. In the low light of
evening, I stared at his back, watched the ripple of muscles as he
lifted the heavy slat of wood and set it in place. He turned, his
gaze going first to the kitchen entrance to the house and then
traveling higher.
    He stopped at the second floor, his attention
focused on the window opposite my bedroom door. So different the
view must be now that he’d sunk his shaft deep into me, felt me
squirming in delight along its length!
    Higher! I willed him, almost tapped at the
window to make sure he would not miss me. But I didn’t need to. His
gaze caught mine a heartbeat later, his dark brows rising in
inquiry. I brought my hands to the front edges of my robe in
answer, parting them slowly to reveal my breasts to him.
    Louis looked around at the yard—I imagine to
make sure no one was watching our dirty little exchange. How I
wanted someone to see it even though I half-feared the world’s
hypocrisy and retribution should they find out. (I pictured myself
like Mdm. “Bilodeaux,”