Marissa: Chosen By A King: Romance Reigns, #2

By Sandra Kyle

Marissa, a theater musician, desired an escape from her impoverished existence in 17th century France. After watching Marissa perform, King Louis XIV snatched her from the stage only to cast her in his royal court. Marissa plots a betrothal to a marquis to cement her place among nobility. Her plans are interrupted by Michael, a noble and gallant musketeer. When Michael meets Marissa, his service to the crown is challenged by a passion that overshadows duty. Surrounded by intrigue and clouded by doubt, can Marissa unravel the mystery of her own heart before it's too late?

 

Every Lady Has A Story. Marissa: Chosen By A King is Book 2 of the Romance Reigns series.

 

Note: This novel contains adult language and content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Kyle
• Release date: Dec 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386766506

Sandra Kyle

Sandra Kyle is a first generation American, born to Italian parents who came to the United States in search of a better life. Along with their dreams, they brought vivid tales: some wonderful, some far-fetched, and some downright terrifying. Sitting and listening to those stories around the kitchen table is where her love for storytelling began.  A historical and contemporary romance author, Sandra is also a film fan and proud introvert. She currently resides on the East Coast with her husband.  To contact or find out more about Sandra Kyle, visit: sandrakyle.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Palace of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, north-central France

March, 1660

Marissa palmed the cold wall. As she inched ahead, the dampness from the walls transferred to her fingertips. Amber light haloed the few torches mounted into the stone. She wondered who in Louis’s palace staff had the duty of lighting them.

I do not envy that one.

She had grown accustomed to the lingering mildew that first assaulted her senses upon accepting the dare to follow the unknown route. She would not let Robert see the fear churning through her veins at the stench of rotting flesh and damp fur. She brought her thumb and forefinger up and squeezed her nostrils shut.

What had begun as idle conversation in the halls of the palace with her latest suitor, the Marquis d’Aragne, somehow resulted in her leading the way through the secret passageway. She had seen Louis disappear behind the wall in her bedroom countless times. Never had she thought to ask about it or follow him. The king traveled those dank halls for his rendezvous or servants who provided much different services for Louis than she. It held absolutely no interest for Marissa whatsoever. The thing that did hold Marissa’s interest, however, had held her by the chin and whispered sweet incantations in her ear some minutes ago. Now, he followed her through the narrow stone halls, around a corner, down a flight of stairs, going only God knew where.

I am impressed, sweet Marissa. You did not even flinch at the dead vermin we passed. Robert’s deep voice held a different octave than usual as it wafted over to her right. The close, coffin-like quarters manipulated the sound, no doubt.

She held her tongue and released her nose from its confines. Any response would hint at unease. Maintaining the façade with d’Aragne remained paramount.

Too much at stake.

She spotted a tiny window, no bigger than her head, on the left exterior wall. If she stood on tiptoe her fingertips might touch the bottom of it. Iron bars crisscrossed the opening. The diamond pattern created by the sun projected on the opposite wall.

We mustn’t be too long. We will be missed. She noted some anxiety in his voice.

The truth behind his statement rested at the forefront of her mind long before he uttered it. Louis’s garden parties were nothing to take lightly. A year of living at the palace trained her for them. She knew certain advisors in the court also functioned as spies when it came to guests. Their job ensured everyone was where they needed to be whenever it fancied the king—the handlers of the aristocracy as it were. Louis’s whims were unpredictable, along with whom he would want to witness them.

A long sigh released from her lips when the door came into view, some feet ahead. The unassuming wooden-planked entryway had one simple adornment. The door’s latch, made of gold, could only lead to one room. Her hand launched toward the clasp.

Robert caught her wrist in midair, halting its direction. How do you know he isn’t in there, my dear?

Her eyebrows rose. It is too early for him to bring a conquest back to his room. If he fancies someone at the party—she narrowed her eyes—he will simply take her behind some bushes with a Musketeer or two standing watch. She tugged firmly from his grasp. I know my king.

I hope.

Her fingers fell into the groove of the latch. She pulled the mechanism. A click released the hefty door. It slid open only a sliver. Inhaling, she pushed her way into the bedroom of King Louis XIV.

She canvassed the room with her green eyes. They blazed a deep emerald shade as she glanced at her reflection in one of the many mirrors. She took a moment to adjust the scarlet curls placed in the most perfect of positions around her face earlier that morning. Patches of red shone through the talc covering her complexion. Her breathing steadied.

Extraordinary. Robert nodded over to his partner. You are quite the adventurer.

She bowed with a flourish as she used to onstage with her brothers and sisters. Thank you.

He pushed back his shoulders and strode toward the large canopied bed, bathed in golden silk shimmering in the sunlight, secured with oaken sentinels at each corner. To think there are still some things Louis manages to keep a secret. You said these passageways lead to other areas as well? He stroked the top of his mustache.

She shrugged and turned back to her reflection. That they were alone in a room, with a bed, and Robert wished to discuss the details of stone structures rather than the soft contours of her own structure, proved baffling. She watched him in the mirror. His dark features observed everything in the room but her. I assume so. Louis mentioned they were meant to provide for a quick escape from the palace if need be.

He nodded. And the servants have use of it, of course.

Marissa huffed. We should get back.

Robert took notice of her, as if for the first time. Of course, my dear. Your intellect supersedes mine, as always. He strolled over and puffed his chest. His warm hands twirled her curves so she could meet his gaze. You know all I want to do is have you right here and now, atop the sheets that Louis will sleep between tonight.

She grinned, then placed a hand against his chest.

That’s more like it. Oh, Robert, you are terrible.

His lips bowed. You have no idea, my sweet. It takes everything in my power to contain the need for you. Perhaps I may visit you the next time Louis is away on business?

She purred. That would be wonderful.

He nodded, placing a timid kiss on her pout. "Come, then. Let’s make our way back to your room. We know that exit is not guarded."

* * * *

Robert left her alone in her bedroom. He would dash down the hall that housed Louis’s concubines first, hopefully undetected. Though his friendship with the king spanned years, there would still be questions if a guard caught him in this wing of the palace.

Marissa counted the seconds. She filtered through her jewelry box with calloused fingertips, roughened by harp strings. Rings were her enemy. They would draw attention to her digits and the stubs she called nails. She frowned. They were laborer’s appendages, not typical of a lady-in-waiting. She recalled how Louis’s eyes had lit with intrigue when he clutched her ungloved hand for the very first time. The sensation enthralled him when they became intimate only days later. During one rather detailed tryst, he demanded her rough pads of skin brush over every part of his body.

She wiggled her fingers in front of her face and produced an unwilling smile of acceptance.

I have you to thank for all my baubles.

She eventually picked the ruby bracelet from the assortment of treasures Louis had given her. A more recent acquisition, the filigree elements of the gold surrounding and enfolding the gems had captivated her for a good part of an hour when she received the gift. She’d modeled it in every pose imaginable that night, taking account of the light and how it reflected in the facets.

Jewelry was her downfall from an early age. The necklaces worn by the ladies in the theater boxes always attracted her attention. The liquid pearls and bright jewels made her miss many a cue for a line that needed reciting. Her father, Joseph Malone, realized early on her knack for playing the harp superseded her ability to partake in skits or plays. After many years she could close her eyes on stage and know the exact placement of each string. As sure as her strokes became, so did the resolve that music would be the key to her escape.

Fate intervened on a cool night in 1659. Moliere and his lover, Madeleine Bejart, required a musical intermission between the tragedy and comedy scheduled at the Theatre du Marais. As one of the Bejart family’s former troupe members, her father eagerly volunteered his daughter, the harper. That night she had been dazzled by the blue eyes of her king. He and his entourage perched themselves in a theater box close to the stage. He watched, barely blinking, as she strummed the massive instrument. Three days later, a messenger came to her family’s home with a note from the king’s mother, Queen Anne. Marissa had been selected to join the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.

That must be more than enough time.

She jangled the rather loose bracelet on her wrist and grasped the side of her skirt. Sure she could unobtrusively add herself to the throng, she strutted out of her room and down the wing.

A buzz of guests surrounded Louis like flies in the middle of the castle courtyard by the time she marched into the expanse. Robert, in his violet velvet coat, could not be found in the crowd. Her lips smiled and nodded in agreement at each person she passed.

She hated when the courtyard had to host so many. Its three-story stained glass windows, surrounding the yard and filtering the sun’s rays in dazzling colors, were more appreciated by the daily inhabitants of the palace. Wide-open doors at the other end of the hall beckoned her toward the moat bridge. Past that, an unending waterfall of steps flowed into the garden. If she closed her eyes and focused, she imagined she could inhale the scent of orange blossoms floating in the April breeze.

Marissa! Her attention turned at the command and the well-known voice of her king. He grinned and motioned her with an outstretched gloved hand. She acquiesced dutifully and bowed when she approached.

Bending deep, she presented her cleavage to him in the lavender gown. Your Majesty.

His gaze roved over her chest. You’ve taken forever to join us. His cocky smile returned. But I can see that the preparations were worth it.

Don’t tease, Your Majesty. She stood up and flirted in the style that would appease him in front of his guests. A titter of laughs formed in the swarm of bodies.

I would never. Unless, you requested, of course. Another expected round of chuckles followed his retort. Do me the favor of providing Lord Beaumont with your company this afternoon. His wife did not join him.

Of course, Your Majesty. A lord would typically not be worth a side glance from Louis. But this one—from what she overheard in many a conversation—had connections with the diamond trade in India.

I hope I won’t have to let his hands have a travel under my skirt anytime soon.

Lord Beaumont, for all the sparkle that apparently surrounded him, had a rotten set of brown teeth. She would have to stay upwind when he spoke.

Enjoy the party, my dear. Louis nodded at her in approval. With that, she scampered off in search of Lord Beaumont.

She found the Right Honorable Ernest, Vicomte Beaumont with his mouth wrapped around the mouth of a jug of wine likely pilfered from a frightened cupbearer. His plump body leaned against the edge of one of Louis’s favorite fountains. Marissa plastered on a smile. Lord Beaumont, how wonderful to see you again.

He looked about in confusion. He found her with tiny eyes that then widened like saucers. Lady Marissa! He dropped the jug into the basin of the fountain. Marissa cringed for a brief moment, awaiting the clear liquid to shoot forth from cupid’s trumpet in a rosy tint. Have you been given the job of nursemaid?

She offered a hand to him, hoping she could manage his weight. He lurched after attaching himself to her palm. Both of their bodies rocked in rhythm until she regained control. Hardly, my lord. Your gracious host told me your wife did not accompany you this fair afternoon.

He mumbled under his breath, a putrid mix of rot and wine, while ogling her chest. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to nurse at those.

Marissa continued the conversation unfazed. Can you manage a walk with me through the garden or should we have someone assist us to a bench?

He hobbled back a step or two. While Marissa wished an early end to her afternoon duty, him falling back and cracking his head on the marble of the fountain would receive too much attention from the surrounding crowd. She smiled even brighter when he righted his body and stammered, No one assists Beaumont!

Of course not. She clasped her hands in front of her skirt and walked ahead. He eventually followed.

My wife, Lady Elena, she says you must be assisting the devil with all that red hair. He lumbered to catch up beside her. Guests cleared a path for the aging, drunk lord. He ambled sideways as much as he did forward.

Does she? I must say I get that a lot, my lord. She kept the conversation light, intent on floating amid the crowd in case Beaumont got any lascivious ideas.

Up to no good, she says. You were all she talked about at the last of the king’s parties she attended. He grabbed a goblet off a cupbearer’s tray and swallowed the sweet wine in one gulp. Thrown off to his side, the cup and its contents splashed a bit of red on the skirt of an oblivious passerby. I believe you are up to plenty good in the king’s bed. He snickered.

I am honored that I take up so much of Lady Beaumont’s thoughts. Please extend my good wishes to her.

He wiggled a finger at her and licked his lips. Once your beauty fades, my dear, charm will get you only so far. You remember that.

Marissa’s plastered smile retained its brilliance. I most certainly will. The musicians’ tune, four trumpets in unison, alerted them of the impending entrance of Louis into the garden. If you would do me the honor, Lord Beaumont, please escort me to attend the king.

The king. He huffed. Still has his diapers changed by Cardinal Mazarin.

She grabbed his hand, no longer concerned with pleasantries but still smiling, and dragged him through the crowd toward the base of the steps. A spot near a group of musketeers proved promising. If his loose trap of a sewer mouth continued to insult Louis, she could assist in making an arrest more plausible.

The wine finally caught up with Lord Beaumont. He leaned into her frame.

I’ll be damned if I get this gown ruined with dirt and grass stains due to your drunken bloat of a body.

She pushed him against the step’s edge where he rested. He plopped face-first into a stair.

May I be of assistance, my lady?

Marissa cocked her head. Her nose almost brushed against the white cross adorning the blue tabard of one of the musketeers. Her gaze wandered over the lace collar around the male’s neck. Tan skin and a strong jaw met her stare. He inspected her with onyx-colored eyes.

He narrowed his lids for only a second. Do you need assistance with your father, my lady?

She giggled at the assumption. Not my father. And no, he’s made it clear that no one assists Beaumont. She realized this musketeer indeed took his duty seriously and quipped, But I appreciate your concern.

He nodded his head and removed his feathered cap as Louis appeared at the top step. Of course, Lady Marissa.

She felt her eyes enlarge when a mane of wavy black hair fell from under the tall man’s cap. The stirring in her core surprised her. It had been a while since she had not been in control of her body’s urges. She merely nodded back, shook her head quickly, and redirected her stare up the path toward her king. His manservants trailed behind.

Try as she could to give Louis her complete attention, the presence of the concerned musketeer towering only a foot away distracted her. The expression on Louis’s face, absorbed in watching someone in the crowd, realigned her focus. She recognized it. That’s how he looked at me the first time he watched me on stage.

Marissa listened to the murmurs around her; she had not been the only one to take note of what transpired. When Louis descended and made his way past her group, the handsome musketeer spoke quietly. It is done.

What? A female companion off to his left, hidden from Marissa’s vantage, responded.

You will be his. It is only a matter of days.

You can’t be certain.

How naive. Did I ever sound like that?

Sister, I have seen that look before...

Marissa thought she saw the musketeer glance down at her own figure for a moment.

...as have others.

Heat rose to her cheeks. Lord Beaumont groggily moved his head back and forth against the marble step.

The musketeer spoke again. You must be sure, Cecilia.

The reality of what she overheard formed a lump in her throat.

Another lady-in-waiting. Not good news.

The last time a new mare had been brought into Louis’s stables, it had been Mathilde almost six months ago. Celine had been escorted from the castle in the middle of the night with no forewarning before Mathilde arrived. A similar panic would ripple throughout the court.

I cannot leave yet. Not before I gain a promise from Robert.

My lady. The musketeer pushed her aside. How long had she stood there, deep in thought? Long enough not to notice Lord Beaumont tumbling backward toward her. The gallant musketeer caught the short and stubby vicomte. He threw his arms under the armpits of the aged fellow, who was still mumbling something about the king. Using the imposing weight in his favor, the musketeer deposited Beaumont onto the grass. He knelt beside him. The crowd stepped away. Some stayed to look on in interest; others strolled off unconcerned.

Marissa tugged at her skirt and bent down, jiggling Beaumont’s shoulder.

Lord Beaumont? Bastard will stain my dress today after all. Are you all right?

Of course. Come and give me a kiss. The man, old enough to be her grandfather, snatched at the air in front of her face.

The musketeer deftly captured the old man’s arm and brought it to the grass. There, there, Lord Beaumont. There are some things that even a kiss from a beautiful woman can’t fix. Marissa stole another glance at the visage with the commanding voice. "Rafael, see if you can’t track down the king’s physician. It seems like a bit too much