The Lady and the Unicorn by Tracy Chevalier Read Free Book Online Page B

changing his mind. ‘The Lady with the jewels or the Lady with the parakeet. Which would you prefer, Monseigneur?’
Nicolas began to speak but Papa interrupted. ‘The jewels — she is more regal than the other.’
Before I could cry out again, Nicolas reached under the table with his foot and pressed my own foot. I kept quiet and he left his foot there, tapping mine.
‘All right, Nicolas, add a tent to this one,’ Oncle Léon said.
‘Of course, Monseigneur. Would Monseigneur like a special design on the tent?’
‘A coat of arms.’
‘That goes without saying, Monseigneur. But I was thinking more of a motto for a battle. Something to indicate that it is a battle for love.’
‘I know nothing of love,’ Papa growled. ‘What would you have? I suspect you are familiar with it.’
I had an idea, and tapped Nicolas' leg. After a moment one of the drawings floated to the floor. ‘Oh! Pardon , Monseigneur. I am so clumsy.’ Nicolas crouched down to retrieve the drawing. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, ‘C'est mon seul désir.’ Then I bit him.
Nicolas stood up.
‘Is your ear bleeding?’ Papa said.
‘Pardon , Monseigneur. I knocked it against the table leg. But I have had a thought. What about “ À mon seul désir” ? It means — ’
‘That will do,’ Papa cut him off. I knew that tone — it meant that the meeting had gone on for too long. ‘Show your changes to Léon and bring the finished paintings here a fortnight after May Day. No later, as we leave for Château d'Arcy by Ascension Day.’
‘Yes, Monseigneur.’
Papa's legs moved away from the table. ‘Léon, come with me — I have things to discuss with you. You can accompany me as far as the Conciergerie.’
Leon's robes swayed as he began to move, then stopped. ‘Perhaps we should remain here, Monseigneur. It's more comfortable for discussing business. And Nicolas is just going, aren't you, Nicolas?’
‘Yes, certainly, as soon as I collect the drawings, Monseigneur.’
‘No, I'm in a hurry. Come along.’ And Papa was gone.
Oncle Léon still hesitated. He didn't want to leave me alone with Nicolas.
‘Go,’ I hissed.
He went.
I did not come out from under the table, but remained there on my knees. After a moment Nicolas climbed in to me. We gazed at each other. ‘ Bonjour , Mademoiselle,’ he said.
I smiled. He was nothing like the kind of man my parents intended for me. I was glad. ‘Are you going to kiss me, then?’
He had me on my back and was on top of me before I could think. Then his tongue was deep in my mouth and his hands were squeezing my breasts. It was a strange thing. I had been dreaming of this moment ever since meeting him, but now that there was a body on top of me, a bulge grinding hard into my belly, a wet tongue in my ear, I was surprised by how different it felt from what I had dreamed.
Part of me liked it — wanted the bulge to push even harder, and not through so many layers of clothes. My hands wanted to touch every part of him — squeeze his cherry bum and measure his broad back. My mouth met his as if it were biting into a fig.
But it was a shock to have someone's wet, thrusting tongue in my mouth, to have so much weight squeezing the breath from me, to have his hands touch parts of me no man had ever touched. And I had not expected to think so much when a man was with me. With Nicolas I found words accompanying everything we did — ‘Why is he doing that? His tongue is so wet in my ear,’ and ‘His belt is jabbing into my side,’ and ‘Does that feel good?’
I was thinking too of my father — of being under the table in his chamber, and of the value he placed on my maidenhead. Could I really throw it away in a moment, as someone like Marie-Céleste had? Perhaps that more than anything stopped me from truly enjoying myself. ‘Should we be doing this?’ I whispered when Nicolas had begun biting my breasts through the cloth of my dress.
‘I know, we're mad. But we may never have another