Prisoner
of the Seraglio
A
Cordelia Delacourt Adventure
Chapter
18 Rain and
Romance
“Merde.” The Count glowered at the rain and at the landscape before him. It was a wide plain, stretching to distance hills that even now were slowly fading from view as the rain thickened. “Early,” he said. “Probably a month early, although the rainy season may differ somewhat in this part of the continent.”
“What does that mean?” Cordelia asked.
“Ah, forgive my language, mademoiselle. I forgot you were there.” He sighed. “It means we can go no farther until the rain stops. I dare not risk taking La Tortue any further.”
“Even across that?” Cordelia asked, looking across the flat expanse just below her.
“Especially across that,” the Count replied. “Do you not see what it is?”
Cordelia shook her head. “Forgive my ignorance, Monsieur le Compte, but it appears to me to be nothing but a grassy plain.”
“It is rather deceiving is it not?” the Count replied. “In actuality it is a watercourse, but one that is currently dry. However, with this rain it will quickly become an impassable morass and then as it fills up, a river in full spate. I dare not take a vehicle as heavy as La Tortue into anything that has the capacity to swallow her whole.”
“So we are stuck here then.”
“Until the rain ends and the water subsides enough to chance a crossing.”
“And how long might that be?”
“You are keeping me busy with your questions, mademoiselle,” the count smiled. Probably not for three months or more.”
“Oh,” Cordelia said. “So long. I will be…” A sudden thought occurred to her. “You know. I do not even know what month it is.”
“It is May 2,” the Count replied.
“May 2,” Cordelia repeated listlessly. “That would mean tomorrow is my seventeenth birthday.”
The Count detected the change in her voice. “Why so sad, mademoiselle. At your age a birthday is something to celebrate, n’est pas?”
Cordelia blinked back tears. “It’s just that my father always took me to the seaside on my birthday. And now…” She left the thought unfinished, replaced by another. She looked at Liz.
“I’ve never had a birthday,” Liz said, guessing Cordelia’s question. “At least none that I’ve celebrated.”
The Count looked at her closely and his eyes narrowed as if considering something. “Well then, tomorrow is a special occasion. We shall celebrate the birthdays of Mademoiselle Cordelia and Mademoiselle Elizabeth.”
The Count certainly kept his promise. The next day,
A fortunate break in the rain had allowed the Count and a few others to arrange
a hunting party and thus there was fresh game on the
table. The feasting and toasting
of the two celebrants started at about four in the afternoon and lasted until
dark. By that time, Liz was
undeniably drunk and leaning on the shoulder of the man the Count had chosen
as her table partner, a young man named
Cordelia quite liked him and she found that
It was quite a delightful affair. There was something comforting about sitting under a secure shelter and drinking fine wine and eating good food while the seasonal rains splashed down. Even the occasional rumble of thunder and flash of lightning did not detract from the celebration.
It enabled Cordelia to engage the Count in the longest conversation she had
yet had with him, not that she could remember much that was said after the
first two bottles of champagne. She
had a strong recollection of every member of La Tortue’s crew wishing
her
joyeux
anniversaire, which
apparently required that they kiss her on the lips, and of
Cordelia awoke with a feeling that something was
wrong. First of all, she had
a headache that threatened to blow the top of her head
off. Second, she was not lying
in her modest camp cot, and third all of her clothing was
missing.
With a groan she sat up, putting her hands to her throbbing
head. As she did so a light flicked
on. Cordelia clutched the sheets
to her and turned her head in the direction of the
light. She grimaced in pain,
the unexpected brightness sending needles into her eyes.
“Ah, my apologies,
mademoiselle.” The light
dimmed. “I believe you had
a bit too much
Cordelia looked around the dimly lit room. It was small, containing just the bed she was lying on; and a desk and chair, both of which were bolted to the floor. One wall was lined top to bottom with drawers in which she supposed were the Count’s personal possessions. The Count, fully dressed, was sitting in the only chair and studying her closely.
Cordelia tried to hold her head still. Any sudden movement sent a wave of pain through it. “What is the matter, monsieur?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I am a bit concerned for you. You were rather sick last night. “I was hoping you would feel better after a little sleep.”
“I feel awful,” Cordelia responded. “As if the top of my head is going to come off. She raised her hand to her head again, and then hurriedly lowered it as the sheet covering her fell away. “Where are my clothes?” she said accusingly. “And why am I in your room?”
“Your clothes are here,” the Count said, lifting a neatly folded bundle. “And as to why you are here, it is because your quarters are occupied. This is a little more private than sleeping with my crew.”
“W…why…am I undressed?” Cordelia stammered.
The Count smiled. “Not because of me, I assure you. Although I must accept some of the blame for giving you too much to drink. It was actually impossible to stop you without tying you up so I brought you here.”
“Impossible to stop me?” Cordelia asked, raising her voice. “What do you mean, monsieur?” She was instantly sorry. The outburst sent a wave of pain through her head.
“Please, mademoiselle, I am not trying to anger you, just tell you what happened.”
“I am sorry,” said contritely. “Please explain.”
“About
“That explains why my mouth feels like the inside of a camel’s,” Cordelia thought. “Unfortunately it is pretty obvious that I made a disgusting exhibition out of myself.”
She spoke the last sentence aloud and the Count responded. “Actually, none of the crew minded in the least, and they are all perfect gentlemen. I doubt that you will hear anything of it.”
Cordelia shook her head and then immediately wished she hadn’t. “But why bring me here?” she asked. “You said my quarters were occupied. Who is using them?”
The Count cleared his throat.
“Mademoiselle Brown convinced
Cordelia felt herself blushing. “You must think us very wanton. I’ve never behaved like that before.”
“I am certainly not one to judge you,” the Count replied, handing her a glass of water. “But as a matter of fact I admire you. Few young women could have gone through what you have endured the last six months and kept their sanity or sense of honour. You have not only survived: you have become stronger.”
Cordelia blushed again, but this time at the unexpected praise. “Forgive me if I do not feel too much like talking. My head feels as if it is going to come off if I move it too rapidly.”
“Perhaps I can give you something for it,” the Count offered, getting to his feet.
“No thank you,” Cordelia replied, raising her hand as if you ward him off. “I want nothing else in my stomach.”
“Perhaps this then,” the Count replied, moving to stand beside her. “If you will permit me.”
Cordelia clutched the sheet more tightly around her. “What do you intend, monsieur?”
“A little technique I learned when I was in
“Try it then,” Cordelia said. “I’m willing to try anything.”
“I will start here and then work lower,” the Count said, placing his fingertips gently on Cordelia’s temples.
Cordelia wasn’t quite sure what the Count did, but the pain seemed to flow out through her temples and into his fingertips. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “That’s so much better.”
The Count did not answer. He was sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. From this position Cordelia could keep the sheet clutched modestly around her while his fingers worked their magic. As the pain in her temples ebbed, he moved his fingers lower as he had promised, massaging the back of her neck and then moving to her shoulders.
The Count cleared his throat, as his fingers eased the tension in her shoulders. “Ahem, I have been meaning to ask you about the mark you bear.”
“The mark? Ah, the mark,” she said understanding. “It was part of the punishment dealt to me by the emperor. Liz has one as well.” She blushed as she recalled that the Count had seen her entirely unclothed, the shameful brand on her left breast fully revealed.
“Sacre bleu! You are sure this cochon is dead? I would very much enjoy the honour of killing him myself.”
“He is. I killed him.”
“Merde!” the Count muttered. “Forgive my language mademoiselle, but remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Cordelia laughed. Her headache was entirely gone, but what the Count was doing felt so good that she didn’t ask him to stop. Unconsciously, she allowed the sheet to slip from her shoulders, inviting the Count to work lower. As his hands caressed the area between her shoulder blades she found that another part of her anatomy was responding in a way that she had not expected.
Suddenly afraid, she opened her mouth to tell the Count to stop, but then closed it, her breathing quickening as his fingers worked their unexpected magic. As his hands reached the small of her back she dropped the sheet entirely and twisted her body to face him. Her heart was racing like a rabbit’s and she made no effort to stop him as he placed his hands gently on either side of her face and drew her to him.
The kiss was sweet and lingering. She could not bear to break the contact between them. Instead her hands went to his white cotton shirt and began to undo the buttons. “Ah, ma cherie, you have no idea how much I have longed for you to do that. I have wanted you from the first minute I met you.”
“Help me then,” Cordelia replied, her fingers fumbling with his belt.
The Count needed no further encouragement, slipping quickly out of his shirt and pants. As he lay beside her, Cordelia arched her body into his. She had no idea what had come over her, but everything she was doing felt right.
The Count took her slowly. He was a skilled lover and used every trick he knew to bring her pleasure. Cordelia was ready long before he parted her willing thighs and slipped between them, but he would not be rushed, teasing her until she was ready to scream in sexual excitement. And then she did scream, again and again, as he brought her more pleasure than she imagined possible.
She was not sure how he did it. He was certainly no larger than any of the other men who had taken her, but whatever he lacked in size he more than made up for in skill. He seemed to know just where to touch her to get the perfect response and he played her like a fine musician plays his instrument.
Later as they lay sated, the Count bent his head to kiss her nipple. A shudder ran through Cordelia at the renewed touch. After the exhausting coupling they had just had she was surprised that she could still respond at all, but there was something about her French lover that went beyond simple lovemaking.
“How is your headache, ma cherie?” the Count whispered in her ear, his tongue and lips tickling her earlobe.
“Gone, thanks to you, but now I ache in other places. Or rather another place.”
“I tried to be gently, ma cherie, but you were very demanding.”
This time Cordelia could not even summon a blush. She reflected that she had acted like a wanton whore. But perhaps this was what it was like when love was freely given, rather than being forced into someone’s bed. She moved even closer into the Count’s arms. “What time is it?” she asked.
“An hour or so before dawn,” the Count replied.
Cordelia kissed him on the lips. “An hour,” she murmured. “Do you think we have time to…?”
“We will make the time,
ma
cherie.” The Count
responded. And they
did.
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