The Vicomte's Prize

By Patricia Bates

When his younger brother is summoned to Versailles, Vicomte Frederique de la Tour decides to intervene and takes his place. King Louis's XV court is stunned when instead of a lad, the legendary spy, known to his underworld associates only as The Wolf arrives.

 

Lady in Waiting Hélène d'Ètoilles' life has been serene: serve Her Majesty the Queen of France with grace and obedience. Now her life and her sense of self are in turmoil when she discovers she's been gifted to a nobleman for his family's loyalty and years of service. No longer a lady in waiting to the Queen of France, she's thrown into a world of subterfuge and passion, of lust and power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781926681528

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A picture containing text, person Description automatically generated

The Vicomte’s

Prize

PATRICIA BATES

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

The Vicomte’s Prize

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.

~~~

Second Edition 2021

eISBN: 978-1-926681-52-8

Copyright © 2021 Patricia Bates All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Robyn Hart

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

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This book is dedicated to my readers

and to my girls: Leanna, Caralyn, Randi,

and Celeste.

You ladies are amazing.

Chapter One

The heels of his Hessian boots thudded against dusty floorboards as he made his way through the gloom. He pushed a door open with a flattened hand, wincing at the faint whine of a dry hinge. A flash of light and a single candle flared to life to force the shadows back. Cobwebs and dust covered every surface. A rickety table leaned heavily against the far wall, one leg broken off. Several chairs in disrepair were tossed about the room, a thick layer of dirt on the simple wooden frames.

Impatience nipped at his body as he stomped to the window to stare out the shattered, filthy glass. A pale harvest moon hung low in the sky, casting its eerie glow about like a fine cloak. His horse stood in the yard below, flicking its tail, as impatient to be gone as its master.

Hours late, the youth he was to meet had yet to make an appearance. If it weren’t for the importance of the documents I seek, I’d abandon him to his fate, he muttered as he raked a hand through his short dark hair.

Hurried footsteps along the stone walkway pulled him from the window and he turned. The crooked door swung inward to reveal the slim, simply dressed youth he’d been waiting for. You’re late.

Beggin’ your pardon, milord. The baron did not retire as he is wont to do. He’s entertaining a pretty young lady this evening and I could not slip away.

I care not for excuses, boy, did you bring what I requested?

Indeed, sir. As you demanded, Monsieur Wolf. His Adam’s apple bobbed with the force of his swallow as the boy dug into his shirt and pulled out a brown document. The boy held it out with a hand that trembled so; the parchment appeared to be waving.

The pale light revealed a dark wax seal upon the page, and he smiled with satisfaction as he traced a finger over it and recognized the familiar crest imprinted in the wax. Without taking his eyes from the parchment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black leather pouch. As promised, your livres. Your assistance is a great benefit to our king. I’ll send word if I need anything else. As per our usual agreement, turn the grey out into the southern pasture if the traitor receives another audience with our enemy.

The boy clutched the coins in his hand and bowed low before he darted away into the shadows. A calloused finger traced over the seal as he listened to the fading sounds of life. When he was certain the boy had gone, he shifted his attention to the parchment. A vile rumor was circulating that Great Britain and Prussia were in bed together. If true, such a political shock would surely rip the country apart—and the proof had come to him.

A wicked smirk crossed his face as he tapped the parchment against his fingers before he strode out of the abandoned and decaying building. The truth would come to light, and his king would make the right decision.

~ * ~

Hélène adjusted her position in her chair, focusing on the delicate needlework in her lap. She rubbed her tired eyes before casting a look at the multitude of candles flickering in the growing darkness. Alone, in the shadows of early night, she awaited Queen Marie’s visitor without complaint or concern. The rustle of silk drew her attention. The queen entered the room.

Rising, she curtsied. Good eve, Your Majesty. Can I get you anything?

No, thank you, Marie replied as she swept passed Hélène. I’m quite fine. She settled with a thick book near several candles and opened the text.

Warm, comfortable silence stretched between them with only the whisper of pages being turned to break the monotony. Half dozing, Hélène started at the soft, rhythmic knock upon the side door. She shot Queen Marie a glance and rose to answer the summons.

She opened the door a couple of inches and spoke into the shadowed hallway. "Oui?"

I’ve come at the request of Her Majesty, Queen Marie of France, with news from her country.

Hélène nodded and glanced over her shoulder. Marie sat reading, her face serene, and her posture perfect as though clandestine meetings were commonplace. A messenger, my lady.

Oh? Queen Marie set aside her book and rose. Allow him in, Hélène.

With a nod, Hélène opened the doors then waved the man inside. She bowed to Marie. I’ll leave you to your talks.

Thank you. The queen gave a quick, short nod to show her appreciation.

Good eve to you, Hélène curtsied to the queen and backed away, intending to retreat to her simple chambers.

Good evening, Hélène, and thank you. The tall, blond man smiled at Hélène and pressed a kiss to her hand before stepping aside.

Farewell, Lumièr, Hélène whispered as she slipped through the nondescript door to her chambers. She closed the door with a soft click, her ears catching the rustle of a parchment being unfolded.

~ * ~

Madame Fidela de Boucher patted the delicate coif of her hair as she paused before the massive ornate doors of her king’s chamber. Her bosom heaved with the exertion of running, the pale flesh nearly bursting from the lace of her tightly lashed décolleté bodice. Taking a deep, calming breath, she nodded to the guard who returned her greeting. The door swung open with a soft sigh as she darted through the opening.

Her shoes beat a quick rap against the marble floor as she glided across the rich opulence of her lord’s bedroom. The room’s décor was decidedly masculine. There was no trace of the queen’s decorative touch. His massive four poster bed took up most of the room. Richly covered in silk and jewels, the bedding was neatly arranged—showing no signs of the passionate night before. Ignoring the furniture, she hurried toward the tall, robust man standing before the window.

My lord? Assuming a perfect curtsy, she bowed.

The soft rustle of the silk of her gown the only sound in the room before the king turned to her. A powdered wig sat atop his head, as was the fashion. A brilliant red coat stood out in stark contrast to the white ruffles of his shirt. Tight breeches clung to his muscular thighs, the buttons at the hem of his trousers held silk stockings up over the delicate embroidered shoes that covered his feet. Every attempt had been made to give the illusion of youth, despite the graying hair at his temples.

His voice held a note of power that could not be denied when he spoke. I have a need of you today, my lady Fidela.

Of course, sire. She raised her head when he held out a hand. She clasped his clammy hand in hers and pressed a kiss to the massive ruby on his finger. Whatever your desire, I shall do my best to please.

There are many courtesans in my courts, some nearly as beautiful as you. He smiled at her. Although, none so skilled at their craft. You’ve pleased me a great many nights, milady.

She smiled slightly at his veiled praise and waited for him to enlighten her on his needs. When he bent to reach for something on the tabletop, her fingers immediately went to the lacings of her gown and deftly began loosening them—no mean feat to accomplish without the aid of a maid. The king could prove impatient in his desire, and she had no wish to see another of her gowns ruined. With the bottom threads loosened, he paced to the small table and picked up one of the gold, jewel-encrusted goblets.

A favorite count’s son is coming of age, a handsome, strapping youth, King Louis XV declared. He’ll make a fine lord, but he is unskilled in a particular aspect of his training.

A slow, seductive smile crossed his face. His gaze followed the loosened strings as they slipped gracefully over her lush curves to her waist.

I give you this task because I know your skills are as exemplary as any before you. Indeed, you’ve done so well at pleasing me that I could not replace you for all the gold within my coffers. You rival even my beloved Jeanne. For a moment his voice softened, a deep yearning in it that hadn’t faded in the years since the end of his passionate sexual affair with the beautiful Madame de Pompadour.

At the mention of the woman who held her lord’s heart and ear, Fidela’s stomach twisted with jealousy. While she appreciated the other woman’s assistance in securing her position within Louis XV’s bed, she did not want to be reminded another woman held more sway over her lover. It was a mark upon her skills and her willingness within her lover’s bed.

Still, to comment would bring the wrath of the king down upon her head and she would not risk losing her place. With ruthless determination, she held her tongue and awaited the king’s comments in silence.

Yes, it falls to you. Make his education as pleasant as possible and the rewards will be great.

Yes, my lord. A hard knot formed in Fidela’s stomach as she awaited her orders.

It was not unheard of to be passed to a favorite once a mistress lost the king’s favor. Still, she doubted she had; he’d been well served and pleased the night before when she’d left his bed. Indeed, dawn had been creeping over the horizon when she’d slipped through the empty corridors to her chambers, her sleeping gown stained with the evidence of their copulation.

The king stared into his goblet as he swirled his wine before casting a thoughtful look in her direction. You’ve a fine pupil in Maria, but Hélène is more exotic, and she is innocent. I have decided to give her to my count’s son. It will be your duty to teach him the finer points of seduction. The maiden is untried and as a reward for his father’s service, I’ll allow the young man to pluck that particular flower. Over the years, the Comte de la Tour has come to court, and yet he asks so little of me. I cannot ignore such loyalty.

Fidela blinked in confusion. My lord, surely that right is yours.

Indeed, but I have heard the rumors around court as well as you. I’ll not risk an uprising by dallying with one whose parentage is so in question.

Shock ripped through her. My lord, have I displeased you? Do not send me to another’s bed! I beseech you; if I have done wrong let me appease you before you send me from you.

She gasped, her hand at her throat. Her heart pounded like a drum within her chest, and she couldn’t tear her gaze from her king. The very notion of his dissatisfaction brought an ache to her chest no physician could heal.

I know it has not been long that I have warmed your bed, but I will do my best to see that you are well served.

He smiled kindly and stroked her cheek with the back of his bejeweled fingers. No, it is because you please me so much that I ask this of you. I know it will not be easy. He is young, clumsy and untutored. But I feel you are quite adept at teaching him what he needs to know. I’ve summoned the youth to my court. He’ll be here within the week. I trust you will show him the same care and devotion as you’ve bestowed upon myself.

As you wish, my lord, Fidela whispered, bowing low.

Her eyes burned with tears of rage. Rising to her feet, she kept her head bowed and tied the laces of her chemise. A startled gasp escaped her when the king grasped her fingers and the laces. He gave a sudden harsh jerk and yanked her closer to him.

Before his arrival, milady, you shall continue to warm my bed. Your duty is to train this young man in the arts of seduction—your loyalty is to me. Your place is in my bed when I desire you to be.

Fidela swallowed against the darkness within his gaze. Of course, my lord.

Her words placated him. The shadows vanished from his eyes and warmth filled them. His dark brow rose in a graceful arch as he studied the lashings in his hands.

ʼTis a pity to have such cumbersome attire, he muttered, his large hands coming up to rest upon the edge of her gown.

My lord, surely you grow tired of replacing my gowns, Fidela murmured as his fingers bit into the tender flesh of her breasts. It is unfastened; I have but to slip—

Then make haste and do so, Louis barked, his hand coming up to tangle in the golden mane of hair at her nape. I’ve no use for feminine fripperies at the moment.

Fidela laughed softly in the face of his passion and shimmied her body to tantalize his desire. A subtle tug had the loosened gown sliding over her hips to pool at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her stockings and shoes. She uttered a soft whimper as he tightened his fist around her hair, pulling her toward him as he backed slowly across the room to the bed. Her hands clawed for purchase as he pushed her across the brilliant red coverlet.

Her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, he shed his clothes. Each discarded layer revealed the imperfection he kept hidden. Thickened around the waist, his body was covered in dark hair. It flowed down to the juncture of his thighs to surround the flaccid length of his penis.

Fidela swallowed when he reached for her. His grip around her ankle was brutal, tight and unyielding as he jerked her toward him. The burn of velvet against her bare flesh barely penetrated the fog of her mind as his fingers reached for her.

His fingers were like hot brands around her ankle. A slow, sultry smirk crossed his face. A deliberate gasp slipped from her lips at the hard press of his penis against the portal of her womanhood. Arching up as his soft hand slithered up her torso to grasp a pale breast, Fidela moaned, a sultry growl in her throat. Her body was on fire as his fingers plucked at the hardened tip of her breast.

You shall warm my bed most thoroughly. Rough, almost angry, his voice grated over her, and she clasped his hips between her thighs.

Yes, my king, she whispered against his lips.

Her eyes met his and held as he slammed into her body. His hardness sank deep, deeper than ever before, drawing a strangled moan from her. In, out. Again and again, each thrust of his hips more powerful than the last.

Velvet and silk bunched beneath her hips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving angry red lines along the pale expanse of his back. His grunts echoed in the otherwise silent room as she followed the dictates of their bodies. Lust roared through her as crude words slipped past his lips. His teeth sank into the flesh of her neck, and she moaned in pleasure bordering on pain.

Her orgasm hit her by surprise, and she cried out, her body jerking as the inner muscles of her core clenched down on his turgid length to milk his essence from him.

Panting to catch her breath, Fidela lay atop the covers of his bed as straightened his attire before he departed from the room with only a brief nod. She lay on the bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Hot and sticky, the evidence of his pleasure oozed down the bare flesh between her legs to pool into a cold puddle beneath her buttocks.

With an unladylike expletive, she rose and dressed. As she slipped from the room, she ignored the dark glare of a soldier as he grimaced at her askew hair and rumpled clothes.

She recalled that the man’s sister had vied for her position and lost. His anger and jealousy were his right—although she would tolerate it only a short time before she spoke of it to the king. Indeed, if the young upstart thought to usurp her, he and his sister would find themselves far from court in some hovel begging for livres to survive.

With her head held high, Fidela hurried toward her chambers, her mind racing. She needed to solve the difficult matter handed her by her lover. Fidela paused and curtsied as she caught sight of Her Majesty the Queen gliding toward her. A knot of ice formed in her chest at the disgust and jealousy in the older woman’s gaze as she passed her.

There was more to think about than simply pleasing the king. How could Fidela seduce and educate a young man the king had found worthy enough to give one of his courtesans and still maintain her distance? The mere thought of allowing the young stud to mount her sickened her.

Only a fool falls in love with the man holding her contract. The angry mutter bounced off the gilded walls of Versailles as she hurried toward her chamber and sealed herself within it.

Chapter Two

From the front steps of his father’s stone castle, the young Lord Frederique de la Tour, Vicomte of Decovey, eyed his dappled grey mount with horror that quickly turned to rage. The flanks of the tired animal heaved while pink-tinged foam oozed from the ugly spur gouges covering its sides. The poor horse’s head hung nearly to the ground, and it trembled with each breath.

What is the reason for the misuse of my horse? he roared at his father’s grooms and the well-dressed liege lined up to await his judgment.

Begging your forgiveness, sir, I had to make all haste, the older liege drawled, his tone mocking as he glanced from the animal to Frederique. There was a missive from the king. I knew you’d not wish me to delay its arrival over concern for the beast.

Frederique shook his head, fury leaving a sour taste within his mouth. He marched down the steps until he stood mere inches from the messenger. You will give me this missive, he ground out through clenched teeth. "After which, you will walk my gelding until he is bone dry before you retire him to the care of the groom. If you ever use a crop or spur on any animal within my stables, you’ll be subjected to the same treatment. Do you understand me?"

A shadow of fear crossed the censured servant’s face before he bowed, every vestige of swagger swept away in the face of Frederique’s wrath. Yes, my lord.

He reached into his vest, pulled out a scroll, and handed it to Frederique with a hand that trembled like a wet newborn kitten and excused himself to seize the reins of the exhausted horse.

Francois will escort you, Frederique ordered with a nod at the tall, barrel-shaped blacksmith. He gave him a cold grin. To ensure you are not so lax in following my orders as you seem to be in everything else you do. Be gentle with the reins, else it shall be your head.

Leaving the servant in his wake, Frederique strode to the castle he had called home throughout his youth. He checked the seal upon the parchment and sighed; it came from the French court. It could not be good news, nothing the king ever sent his family was.

Still, he was a loyal subject—when he wanted to be. Frederique snickered and slammed the door shut behind him as he stomped into the library.

He ignored the walls lined with books, the ornate and expensive furniture. All were for show, a mark of wealth in a world where men of power were often poorer than their servants. ʼTwas a sad fact that his own father had only recently settled with creditors for a sum far more than the family was worth. A young maid, a recent hire and obviously nervous, huddled in the corner next to the hearth.

He waved the girl from the room. His long strides carried him to the desk where a slim gold dagger lay. Sliding the edge of the blade under the wax, he unrolled the scroll and held it to the light filtering through the window.

Good news, my son? His father’s rich baritone filled the room, drawing a smile from Frederique.

No, Father, Henri has been summoned to court. The king wishes to see him at Versailles by Friday to gift him with a special reward.

His father’s control marveled Frederique as he met the older man’s gaze. Favored by the king, their family had often been the recipients of special rewards over the years. The last had created strife between his parents when the king had given one of his young mistresses to his father whilst at court. The young woman was now set in a lavish apartment in Paris at the family’s expense, while his sister—sweet, angelic Elisabeth—was at court playing the queen’s handmaiden. A rarity considering their mother was the daughter of a wealthy English merchant.

All knew what service at court meant, and he often cursed the king for corrupting Elisabeth. Even the queen could offer no protection to those within her entourage, for they were all pawns to the king’s whims.

Regardless, the family remained loyal to the monarchy. To defy the king and his wife would surely put Elisabeth in jeopardy, something Frederique was not prepared to do no matter how much he harbored a personal dislike for his king and his lack of decency. One could be loyal to a man he despised—it was something the de la Tour family had done well for a great many years.

I forbid your brother to attend this summons, George de la Tour roared, his face mottled with rage. He is but sixteen—hardly more than a boy. I’ll not allow the court to corrupt him.

The king has summoned him, Father; you know he cannot refuse. To do so would prove unwise for all of us. Think of Elisabeth, if the king was to grow angry at us, what would become of her? Frederique grinned as a sudden thought struck him. Unless, of course, we answer the summons, as he dictates.

The elder de la Tour frowned. What trickery do you speak of? Your brother will not be attending—

I’ll go in his stead. I have business in Versailles, anyway. Frederique contemplated the locked desk drawer and the parchment within it.

Secrets needed to be revealed, and the king’s aide was awaiting the proof of his suspicions. While many suspected the country was on the verge of war, it was not something widely accepted. The king still held out hope his ally would aide in this conflict. Frederique, much more realistic in his assumptions, doubted either man was aware of the other’s activities.

Henri is much younger than you. The king will certainly be aware of your trickery.

Frederique denied his