Becoming Josephine Read Online Free PDF

sensitive skin under my ear. “You smell divine. Lavender?”
    I nodded as he drew his fingers softly over the roundness of my breast. Warmth spread through my limbs.
    “I can’t . . . we can’t . . .” I leaned against the wall for support.
    “Shh.” He pulled me hard against him and forced my lips open with his tongue. In a swift instant, his hand slid down my frame and lifted the hem of my skirts.
    I yielded to his mouth as it became more insistent. He moved expertly, pushing aside my petticoats, groping for bare skin.
    “Alexandre.” I tried to pull away. “Alexandre!” I pushed at his chest. Fabric ripped.
    “Don’t you want me?” His hand ran the length of my bare thigh. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
    I inhaled a sharp breath. “I . . . not now—”
    “I know you’ve had lovers in Martinique. Creoles are known for their sensuality.” He drew circles on my thigh with his fingertips. Fire blazed over my skin and I flushed. “You’re beautiful in this gown. I can’t resist you.” He planted a trail of kisses along my collarbone and his hand inched higher.
    My head dizzied and I wilted in his arms. The sudden plunge of his warm fingers into my sex made me cry out.
    Footsteps echoed from the next room.
    “Rose? Is that you?” Alexandre’s father called.
    The Marquis’s cane clunked across the study floor. His slow pace allowed just enough time to adjust my clothing. Alexandre wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. When his father opened the door, all appeared normal, or so I thought.
    “Are you well, Rose?” The Marquis’s eyes widened when he saw me.
    I swallowed hard and squared my shoulders. “I am quite well, monsieur.
Merci.
”
    He regarded Alexandre with a weary glance and limped back to his study. Alexandre bounded up the stairs without a word.
    I looked into the circular mirror on the opposite wall. My cheeks appeared stained, my eyes feverish, and the torn sash floated from my waist. A single tear slid down my cheek.

    One chilly morning the next week, I gazed at the geraniums nestled in their window boxes, their leaves painted with frosty patterns that glittered in the sun. I remembered Alexandre’s sudden passion. His kiss. His
hands
. He had treated me like a whore, then never mentioned it again. I didn’t know what to make of his behavior—his kindness and charming nature had returned. I laid my head against the pane. It must have been his drunken state that morning. I hoped that was all.
    I sighed. How I missed Maman and Manette, even Papa. And my friends—I longed to make new ones.
    “Mademoiselle, you’ll not learn your history by staring out the window,” my tutor scolded.
    I could not resist calling him Monsieur Ennui, at least in my head. His lessons bored me to death.
    “And your posture is atrocious. Like this.” He wrenched my shoulders back and tilted my chin up.
    “
Oui
, monsieur.” I stared into his cold face. His pale lips were the only spot of color on his over-powdered face. Why couldn’t Désirée have found someone more likable? At least my lessons were nearly done for the day.
    An unknown voice echoed from the foyer. Company? I forgot my manners in my eagerness and bounded into the front hall.
    Désirée gave me an exasperated look. “Like a lady, Rose.”
    Though she meant well, I tired of the constant admonitions. “Yes, Désirée.” I slowed my pace and then stopped suddenly to stare at the colorful woman by her side.
    “May I present to you, Madame . . .” a servant began his stiff introductions.
    Using her full hips and enormous skirts, the woman pushed him aside. He gave her a pinched look, and I giggled.
    “I am Fanny de Beauharnais, wife of François, Alexandre’s brother. But you have probably met my husband by now. Please, call me Fanny.” She beamed and kissed me on both cheeks. “Welcome to Paris. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
    Fanny’s style of dress resembled those in fashion, though a bit disheveled