Glass Slipper by Abigail Barnette

sharply. He could not marry her. He could not be a good husband. His years of philandering, his notorious reputation, they would not harm him. They would harm her. At court, the ladies would titter behind their fans at what a pretty fool she was, to believe her husband would be faithful. Those rumors would destroy her happiness. Julien would rather live without her than cause her that pain.
    He also doubted that he could be the husband she needed. Right now, every part of him cried out that he wanted her and no other, forever, but how long could that possibly last? A few months? A year? And what would he do? He would return to his instinct, sleeping with as many women as possible, and his affairs were never discreet.
    Philipe will do the same to her.
    Shushing that stubborn, drunken voice, he could not help but agree. But if Philipe made Joséphine unhappy—and there was no doubt he would—it would not be Julien taking that honor. Her sadness would not be his making, and he could live with that. It was selfish of him, but Julien had never fooled himself into believing he could act otherwise. His interest in Joséphine would wane, no matter how much he loved her.
    Besides, Henrí would never be comfortable with him as a son-in-law, and why should he be? He was the girl’s godfather, after all, and Henrí had seen firsthand exactly what kind of a man Julien was.
    Let Philipe have her, then. Julien slugged back the rest of his wine.
    The door creaked open, and he did not look up as he refilled his glass with the last remaining dregs of the carafe. “Brujon, more wine. And none of your scolding, you old harpy.”
    “Julien.”
    At the sound of Joséphine’s voice, he looked up. She stood in the half-opened doorway, her fingers clutching the door. She looked like an angel, with her golden hair curling about her head and her gossamer nightgown flowing around her.
    “You should be asleep.” He took a drink, grimacing at the bitterness of the last cup.
    “I could not sleep. I see that you can’t, either.” She stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind her. “There is much left unsaid between us.”
    “It might be best to leave it unsaid,” he warned.
    She took a deep breath. “Even so, you have not entirely prepared me for my life at court.”
    “Brujon taught you manners, I taught you seduction. You are as well equipped to deal with court life as any other woman there.”
    “Not that.” She walked slowly toward him. “You haven’t taught me what it’s like to be fucked.”
    “You asked me not to.” He suddenly wished he had not drunk so much wine.
    “I’ve changed my mind.” She reached for the tie of her nightgown at her throat.
    He shook his head. “So have I.”
    This halted her progress somewhat. “You don’t desire me at all?”
    “I don’t,” he lied quickly. “I desire a good night’s rest before we leave on a long journey tomorrow.”
    “I don’t believe you.” She took another step toward him, pulling the tie.
    “You don’t have to believe me.”
    She cocked her head to the side. “Are you drunk?”
    “I’m…comfortable.” Growing far less comfortable by the minute. The firelight clearly defined her every curve through her nightgown, tantalizing him despite the fact he had already committed all of them to memory. He shouldn’t have been able to feel his cock, let alone get it hard after all the wine he’d drunk.
    “Julien,” she said, pulling the tie loose. And the next. And the next. “Please fuck me.”
    His mouth went dry. She let the nightgown fall.
    He was on his feet before she could say another word.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Fourteen
     
     
    Julien caught her up in his arms so quickly that the air fled from Joséphine’s lungs in a loud whoosh. He lifted her up, pulling one leg to hook around his waist, and she wound both her legs tightly around him. His momentum carried them to the door, and she found herself trapped between him and the ornate wood. The