"I’m sorry, chérie," he said, genuine regret in his voice, "but despite your vow, I know that your natural morality will cause you to defend your virtue against me. I have far better uses for my hands at this time than fending off your blows." Standing up again, the King finished undressing.

Skye assessed him from beneath lowered eyelids. He was a tall man, almost as tall as Adam, and he was big-boned. If anything, he erred on the side of thinness, which gave him an awkward appearance, and she noted quickly as he climbed onto the bed with her he had huge feet. His hands, however, were big, slender, and very elegant, she saw as he drew her petticoat off her and caressed her hip.

He was gentle and soft in his leisurely exploration of her body. "How lovely you are," he said quietly. "You have skin like the finest silk, but I suspect I am not the first man to make that comparison. Still, I have never known a woman with such fine skin, chérie. It has an almost druglike effect upon me." He bent down and began to kiss her breasts, his lips scorching the tender nipples with their fiery touch. "Mon Dieu, chérie, but you are perfection!"

Damn him, Skye thought furiously as a tiny quiver rippled through her. He is an expert lover, and he is not going to devour me like a piece of cheese, but rather go slowly until I can no longer bear it, the bastard! The King's mouth closed fiercely over her left nipple, where it sucked hungrily, forcing a small cry from between her lips. Instantly he lifted his head.

"You like that, chérie? You must tell me what pleases you."

"I care not what you do," she replied coldly. "It matters not."

"What a little liar you are, chérie. Do you think that you can hold back your passion from me? You're too honest a woman," he laughed softly. "Soon, ma belle, soon," he whispered into her ear, "soon you will lie beneath me crying with your pleasure. You are one of those deliciously rare creatures born for loving, and I am a man who was born to love women! We will be incredible together!" Then his mouth left a trail of kisses down her straining throat before moving upward to capture her lips with his own.

He kissed her with an expertise born of much practice, forcing her own lips apart with the pressure of his. His tongue leapt forward to plunder within her mouth, tasting of her greedily, slid beneath her upper lip along her teeth leaving the scent of mint wherever he touched her. It swirled around her mouth to sweep downward, and Skye felt the first stirrings of desire awakening within her. She despised herself for her weakness. With an angry cry she tore her head away from him, hissing furiously, "You bastard! Have me and be done with it!"

He looked down at her, his amber eyes dancing devilishly, and then he laughed. "So, chérie, you begin to feel it, too."

"I feel nothing," she snarled back at him.

"I can feel you quivering, ma belle. Oh, it is very faint, and very deep down, but I am sensitive to such things."

"I am not sure, monseigneur, which is bigger, your imagination or your opinion of yourself!" she said scathingly.

Again he laughed. "Neither, chérie, as you will soon discover, for I possess an altogether larger part, and already it grows hungry for the taste of your wonderful body." Straddling her easily, he bent and again began to taunt her nipples with his tongue, nipping, licking, and sucking teasingly until she thought she would shriek with the pleasure that began to tug at her.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" Skye muttered the litany as she cursed her treacherous body, which was beginning to respond shamelessly to his ardent suit. Skye knew what she felt was lust, but she nonetheless was angry at herself that she could not prevent the delicious stirrings within herself.

What was worse was that he knew what she both felt and thought. The amber eyes looked mockingly down at her, daring her to deny the truth. With a sob Skye turned her head away from his gaze, hating him even more for his gentle tone as he soothed her distress. "No, ma belle, you mustn't hate yourself. Yield to me, chérie, and I will give us such pleasure."

"N-never!"

With a sigh of regret the young King moved from her lovely breasts and began caressing her long torso with his hungry lips. Slowly, tortuously, his mouth moved downward, firmly parting her resisting thighs, to stare admiringly at her hidden treasure, to kiss it softly. His curious tongue began to explore her, inhaling her haunting woman's fragrance, slipping along the folds of sensitive flesh, pushing gently into her to rouse her passions until she was no longer able to deny them.

Skye clenched her bound hands into fists, her rounded nails digging cruelly into her palms. She bit her lip so hard that it bled, but she could not prevent the sob that was torn from her reluctant throat. He lifted his head to stare at her, his eyes passion-drugged. Slowly he pulled himself up and atop her. Then with a quick thrust he was inside her warm body, moving smoothly, rhythmically. After what seemed like an eternity to Skye, the King demanded, "Does it please you, chérie? Will you admit now that I am the best lover you have ever known?"

"This is not love, monseigneur," Skye whispered. “This is rape! Do you not know the difference?"

"How stubborn you are, ma belle," he groaned, "but I will not give up. I have been known to stay hard and potent within a woman an entire night before spilling my seed."

From the city there was the faint sound of the two o'clock tocsin, and Henri of Navarre buried his face into the perfumed tangle of Skye's hair, inhaling the taunting fragrance of her damask rose scent. He had been modest, if anything, when he numbered the women he had possessed in his young life; but this woman! Never had he enjoyed a female as he was now enjoying Madame Burke. Had she been willing instead of reluctant, she would, he suspected, have unmanned him half a dozen times already.

Skye lay beneath him wondering if he would ever cease. She had been gone from the ballroom an hour now, and Adam might begin to seek her. How was she going to explain a longer absence? God only knew what Anjou would say to set Adam on the wrong track. The passion Navarre had managed to arouse in her died away with her concern. She had to force him to release his seed, and Skye knew just how to do it. Closing her eyes so he could not see she was deceiving him, Skye moaned convincingly, and began to move her body in time with his. Using the old trick she had learned in the harem she tightened her internal muscles about his manhood.

Navarre groaned with total pleasure. "Ah, chérie," he halfsobbed into her ear, "what delicious torture you abuse me with. Don't stop, I beg of you!"

He was not an easy man to break, she found, and she almost grew too tired to continue when, with a loud shout of triumph, he flooded her with his creamy tribute. Skye cried out herself, but it was with relief. Now perhaps he would be content, and she could go back to Adam before he learned of her shame. For several long moments the King lay on her breasts catching his breath. "Mon Dieu, chérie," he finally exclaimed, "you are magnificent, but then I will wager you have been told that, too."

Skye let a deep sigh escape her. "Now, monseigneur, now that you have satisfied yourself, may I please go?"

"Chérie, we have only just begun to love. I have no intention of releasing you until the dawn." Still lying atop her, he bent and kissed her softly. "Come, ma belle, did I not please you the tiniest bit? You most assuredly pleased me." He smiled winningly at her, and although Skye felt she should hate this arrogant young man, to her surprise she found that she did not.

"Monseigneur, if you hold me until the dawn what will I tell my betrothed husband? I will have to tell him the truth. That the Duc of Anjou kidnaped me from the ballroom under a false pretense, and prepared me for your rape. My husband's mother was with me when Anjou came to me. She will swear to my story. Think of the scandal, M'sieur de Navarre. You are married less than a week to a princess of the blood royal of France, and you are already philandering with another woman, and an unwilling woman at that. Release me now, and I can return to the ballroom with no one the wiser."

"You reason well, ma belle, but the fact I am already chasing other women will cause no scandal. It is my nature, and it is expected of me, bridegroom or no. My dear wife has already betrayed me with her lover, de Guise, allowing him into her bed in the afternoons when I have been with my brother-in-law Alençon. Now that, madame, is a scandal, but because I am a Huguenot and Margot a good Catholic, it is not considered a sin by the good people of France. Margot considers it her royal duty to cuckold me. Therefore my making love to you, madame, will be no scandal."