The Revolutionary Mistress
Leia Rice

www.spice-books.co.uk

Barmaid Mariette hates that she’s had to resort to giving favors to men for a few extra francs, but everyone is scrambling for money with the revolution boiling out of control. Even so, Mariette enjoys her illicit activities—particularly when she meets Rene, a caring, handsome patron whom she desires even more than his coin.

But Mariette has also caught the eye of a revolutionary who makes her share his bed and one of his missions. A mission that plunges Mariette deeper into the revolution when she’s tasked with seducing a rich lord and Rene at the same time…

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter One

When the gentleman left, Mariette felt exhausted. She never thought that as a barmaid, she would have to resort to giving favors in the back room for an extra franc or two. Unfortunately, with a revolution boiling and nearly out of control, she had little choice when it came to keeping the roof over her head. Everyone was scampering for a franc. Everyone was desperate. She was nothing special.

Mariette used her palms to push her skirts back down, and then held up a tarnished spoon to check her reflection and fix her hair. The sausage curls had fallen and frizzed, and the paint on her lips smeared onto her cheeks. “This is shameful.” With her thumb, she cleaned her face then tried to pin her hair back so it didn’t look so disgraceful.

Silence filled the front of the house. Not many patrons came to Le Fleur anymore, not since the organized mobs began to form. Sometimes, the crowds would filter in to enjoy a drink together, but it wasn’t often, as they had better things to do, plans to carry out. A revolution to empower.

Mariette wanted little to do with it. She worried more about keeping a roof over her head than if the king or queen stayed in power or not. She worried about where she would get her next meal, or if there would even be a tavern for her to work at tomorrow. It kept her up at night, made the circles under her eyes darker. Made her thinner and more delicate.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the permanent haze of cigarette smoke that filled the room. The patron that she had just serviced ordered her a drink on the house, tipping his head in her direction. “For you, mademoiselle.”

Mariette smiled prettily, trying her best not to let it falter. Usually, she would decline such a gesture, but this time, she wanted something to wash the taste of him from her mouth. “Merci.” With a tilt of her head, the glass was emptied. Whiskey. It burned down her throat, erasing the musky taste.

The tender of the bar did not look twice at Mariette. His name was Jean, and he was aged almost twice over than she. Whatever she had decided to do to earn her keep, Jean ignored it politely. He knew it wasn’t his place to comment, seeing as he sold illegal goods, like poppy seeds, from the back door. Unlike Mariette, Jean had other mouths to feed.

“Monseiur. We will be closing up soon.” It was a polite way of telling the other man that it was time for him to leave. Relief washed over Mariette. She already felt dirtied enough, but to stand in front of the one she had to please while he drank ale and leered at her was uncomfortable.

The man took the cue, grabbed his tricornered hat and turned to exit the establishment.

Mariette exhaled. Maybe she had been holding her breath the whole time; she didn’t know. “Are we closing up?”

“Yes, I think that will be it for the night.”

“Merci, Jean.” She went back into the cloakroom to find her hand-me-down coat. In some places, it was missing patches of fur, and up the front, buttons hanged from threads. Slipping it over her arms and shoulders, Mariette pulled the two sides to the middle and with her hands, she bunched them together at her neck. “Have a good night!”

“Be safe, mon amie.”

Mariette pushed the doors open and the mixed smells of the streets of Paris overwhelmed her. Piss and trash, women’s cheap perfume and the sweat of men, it all lingered in the air, and on the clothes, and in her hair. When she arrived at her flat, she went straight through the modest and sparsely furnished living room to the bathroom, where her favorite asset awaited her: the porcelain bathing tub. It would take some work to draw the water and prepare it for a washing, but Mariette wanted to scrub the stain of Paris off herself as soon as possible.

After lugging pails of water from the pump outside, she filled the basin with pails of nearly scalding-hot water. The steam rose into the air, filling the room with humidity. She dropped some crushed, dried rose petals into the water, and soon after, a sweet floral sent mixed in with the humidity.

Shrugging off her apron and dress, Mariette dipped her legs into the bathwater, sucking air through her teeth at the feel of the warmth on her skin. Her feet hurt from working all day, not to mention the other parts of her. Just as she sank down, water blanketing her shoulders and neck, the door opened.

“Mariette? Mariette? Where are you, my dear?”

With a groan, Mariette slipped down deeper until her entire head was submerged and sound became muted and far away. Even so, she could still hear Helene’s distinct, high-pitched voice. The men she worked under found it to be flirty and fun. Mariette thought of it the way she thought of morning birdsong—pretty, unless you are sleeping. Then it was just damn annoying.

“There you are.” Helene dipped a hand into the water and gently pulled Mariette up by her shoulder until she was no longer underwater. “Did you have a bad day at work, ma chérie?”

Mariette blew water from her lips and wiped them off with the back of her head. “Something like that.” She sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, scratching the grime off her head. “And you?”

“It wasn’t so bad tonight. I brought in three men.” Helene put a small, leather purse of coins on the table. It wasn’t much, Mariette could tell, since it didn’t fall as heavily as they both would have liked.

“One for me.”

“Don’t worry, ma chérie. You’re just starting out.”

Mariette’s eyes grew soft at Helene’s attempt to comfort her. One man was pathetic compared to what Helene could bring in a night. Once, Mariette spent a whole night helping Helene to cover up bruises and bites from men in the previous hours so that it wouldn’t make her look less dainty or clean for her clients in the later hours. By the end of the day, she’d had ten men in all. That night, the purse sounded heavy on the wooden table.

“Well, you hurry up out of that bath. There’s a meeting in the basement and Sebastian will want you to be there.”

Sebastian. Mariette groaned at his name, but pulled herself out of the tub regardless of her desire to stay there until her skin wrinkled. Sebastian was only supposed to be a one-night deal, but he quickly insinuated himself into her daily routine. Not going to the meeting was no longer an option.

Picking her corset up, Mariette turned to Helene, who had already crossed the room to help her tie the laces. “We will go, but we won’t stay long. I’m in no mood to listen to the same fanfare for another night.”

People packed into the basement of the hotel where Mariette stayed. They called themselves revolutionaries, and on every second Tuesday of the month, they checked into the hotel, descended the stairs and murmured to each other their plans of liberty. Their ingenious plans were always the same, and Mariette never heard of anyone actually going through with them. But times were changing, and the revolutionaries spoke louder and more passionately about stealing ammunition, provisions, artillery—anything to overthrow the French monarchy.

The room smelled like men’s armpits and booze. Dirt covered faces and hands, holes spotted across their shirts and pants. Some looked as if they had not eaten in days, which started to become common across the plebeian population. Helene pulled Mariette through the throng of testosterone and angst until they broke through the barrier and reached the clearing where a raised podium stood.

Mariette didn’t see Sebastian, but she knew he lurked somewhere. Somehow, he had risen up as a leader of the hotel revolutionaries, a celebrity amongst failure. “I should have stayed in my bath.”

Helene continued to hold Mariette’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “There’s no turning back now, Mariette. He has his eyes set on you, and everyone here is well aware of it.”

Self-consciously, Mariette looked over her shoulder. Dozens of sparkling, shadowed gazes fell on her, and immediately she turned back to face the front, uncomfortable. “Surely they are not. I do not belong to anyone.”

A man approached the podium and wrapped his gritty fingers around its edges. Looking over the group, he called them to order, voice rising above the others. “Attention, s’il vous plaît.”

Mariette’s conversation with Helene quieted, as did the rest of the room. She watched the man as he started what was going to be a long-winded speech about taking France back. The same speech as last month’s, just in different words. As the crowd(and Helene) began to cheer, Mariette felt a tug on her sleeve, which turned into a yank. She stumbled toward a shadowed side of the basement that led to the coal room.

“My beautiful revolutionary.” The husky voice brushed against her neck, heavy and thick.

“Sebastian.” Mariette turned to face him, her eyes level with the dark curls that peeked out the top of his shirt. She tipped her head back, looking up past his square jaw and slightly pointed nose to those unsettling, black eyes.

He wrapped a hand around her waist and jerked her toward him. Already, his cock grew hard and pushed against the thin fabric of her dress, brushing against her thigh. “Where have you been, mon amie? I expected to see you between meetings.”

Uncomfortable, Mariette checked around to see if anyone paid any attention to them, but all eyes were directed at the podium, and the crowd closed in tightly, packing the two of them closer together. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” He dragged her dress up, bunching it slowly around her hips, walking his fingers down until the tops of her legs were exposed. “Too busy for me? I find that hard to believe.” When he said “hard,” he jutted his waist forward, accentuating the obvious fact that his prick pushed against the front of his trousers.

“Sebastian…”

He leaned forward, brushing his lips just under her earlobe. “I’ve missed you. And you do remember our agreement?”

As much as she grew mad at herself, she could feel her clit pulsating between her legs. When Sebastian’s thumb slid around the curve of her thigh and into the slick folds of her cunt, she gasped for breath. “Yes, I remember.”

A finger slid into her, thumb pressed against her swollen button. Mariette sucked in another breath and stepped closer to him. Without missing a beat, Sebastian pulled his hand away, lifting her leg slightly. With his other hand, he freed his cock from his breeches, and with some practiced manipulation, pushed himself into her.

Still, no one paid attention to them, half protected by the shadows and the general tendency to be blind and deaf to anything that didn’t have to do with the revolution. Sebastian did not try to make it something pretty. He grunted a few times, thrusting his hips forward, forward, forward, filling her completely.

Too quickly, Mariette whimpered a cry, pleasure boiling over to a shattering, delicious orgasm. Her pussy contracted around his hard member, and almost immediately after she came, Sebastian grunted one last time, shooting his seed into her.

“I would like to now introduce our champion…”

Stepping back, Sebastian tucked his cock back into his pants, pulling the ties too tightly to keep his erection bound. He left Mariette where she stood, his black eyes showing no hint of pleasure or satisfaction. She hated that the most. How he could make her want him, and then make her hate him right after. But he felt so good.

And he paid her well.

She felt the warmth of his load slide down the inside of her legs as she turned and smoothed down the front of her dress. She spotted Helene jumping up and down, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. With a wave, Mariette pushed back through the people and toward Helene, just as everyone roared and clapped for Sebastian, who now stood behind the podium.

In her hand, she clutched a velvet bag of coins, enough to get them through the month.

Chapter Two

Mariette spent the next morning in the market. With enough extra money to purchase food, she couldn’t pass up the chance to get her hands on something good. Her stomach growled at the very thought. “Good” meant “unspoiled” now, as everything rotted and molded quickly. The French people received the dregs of the trade markets while the nobility bit into crisp fruits and chewed tender cuts of meat.

In the crowds of dirty Parisians, she spotted a man who didn’t quite fit in with the others. Though his clothes were ragged and the hem of his pants covered in mud (just like Mariette’s hem), his blond hair was washed and combed back too neatly. His cheeks radiated a clean glow, free of the usual grime that came along with the city streets.

Intrigued, Mariette half hid behind a bread maker’s stall, peeking out from behind the wooden beam that held up a shoddy roof. She could smell the pungent mold that grew on the loaves, which were highly priced. But from here, she could watch this enigma of a man safely, without him noticing her.

He browsed lazily, touching fabrics as he passed a tailor’s stall, picking up an apple and squeezing it at the fruit stall. His hand enclosed around the whole apple. Mariette imagined his hand holding her breast, her hands in his well-kept hair. He didn’t look rough and heartless as Sebastian did. Maybe he would even pay her better.

Breaking out of her daydream, Mariette realized that the man no longer stood at the fruit stand. She looked up and down the cobblestone street, but she could not find him anywhere. With a disheartened sigh, Mariette reprimanded herself for coming up with silly child’s fantasies. He could not be her knight in shining armor. There weren’t any of those in France anymore. With only an hour to buy what she had to buy and then get herself to the tavern, Mariette kept herself on task the best she could with the delicious and mysterious man on her mind.

“Jean, you have to believe me,” she said later at the bar. “He looked like an angel.”

“An angel? In all of this shit?” Jean dragged a damp rag over the top of the bar, wiping away the rings of water from glass mugs that once rested there. “I find it hard to believe.”

Mariette laughed at Jean. She tiptoed and pulled herself up to sit on the ledge, watching the door for patrons. “Yes, Jean. An angel. His hair, his hands…”

“His hands?”

Before Mariette could talk any more about this man of her dreams, the chimes above the door sung as it opened. Without paying much attention to who came in, she slid back down off the bar, grabbing her tray.

“Like him?” Jean nodded his head toward the door. Standing there, the very same man glanced about, and when his kind eyes found Mariette, he smiled charmingly.

Mariette’s breath escaped her. She imagined one of those new hot-air balloons she heard about falling to the ground, deflated and limp—this is how she felt. Or did she feel like a balloon rising and rising?

“Pardon, but are you open for business?” Even though the question was meant for Jean, the man kept his eyes on Mariette.

Jean’s brow lifted. He tucked the towel away under the bar and cleared his throat. “For a drink?”

A blush crept up her cheeks, tinting them a shade of rose. Mariette didn’t exactly advertise her other, hidden talents. She didn’t want to consider herself an actual working woman, past her usual tavern service. She felt ashamed of what she had had to resort to in order to keep a roof over her head. She hated it.

The man looked confused, glancing between the two. Something lit up in his eyes, and he suddenly understood. “Yes. For a drink. Unless other services are available. I’d only hope that they are as beautiful as this mademoiselle from the marketplace.”

“Y-you…you saw me?”

“How could I miss you?”

Mariette’s heart fluttered, sending a wave of desire through her veins. Maybe there was just one more knight in France.

Jean didn’t go any further to answer the man’s questions. He stopped there at the offer and quickly went back to cleaning his bar and ignoring whatever Mariette was going to do.

“If…if you wish, you can order your drink and I’ll show you to the…other girls in the back?”

“Sounds like a deal to me. I will meet you back there.” The knight smiled his charming smile as Mariette turned and forced herself to walk slowly to the back room and not run.

She pushed through the door and into the room that she had set up in the back. Furnished with a bed, a chair, a small side table and a lantern, it was minimal at best. On top of the tavern, Jean had a couple of apartments, where he, his wife and his six children lived. The back room was formally used to house patrons if they needed a night to sober up. In a way, she supposed it still served that purpose, to an extent.

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