Homecoming

�The bath is ready, milady.�

The announcement broke Marguerite�s train of thought, though she knew not for long. Since Chauvelin�s visit that morning there was little else she could think about other than his proposal and it seemed that time passed to quickly since. �Thank you, Mrs. Davis. I shall follow you presently,� Marguerite replied, not bother to look away from the window. She had been standing there for hours looking out across the landscape, measuring out the risks in escaping through the window. The sun had been high in the sky and now it was beginning it�s descent beyond the horizon bathing the sky in impossible brilliant colours. Had she been in better spirits then the sight might have left her in awe, instead she felt her options narrowing.

She couldn�t escape through the window as she had hoped. It was likely that from lack of experience or possibly faulty construct of a rope might see her drop to her death, or if, by some chance, she was successful in climbing down she would be seen and stopped on the grounds. Should she elude detection London was a considerable ways from Richmond�

The more she thought on it the more she was certain her only option was to align herself with Chauvelin. When he returned she would agree to do what she could, not that she could do anything, but at least Armand would continue to benefit from Chauvelin�s protect. It would buy her some time until more opportunities or a better plan presented itself. She was convinced that the only way Armand would be free was in identifying the Scarlet Pimpernel, but could not bear the thought that she would play a hand in the brave man�s demise.

Even as she began to turn from the window to follow Davis , a movement on the road outside caught her eye. She turned back to see the approach of a rented chaise and knew it to be Chauvelin. He�d probably received her message to delay their meeting and instead decided to return sooner to spite her. She turned away from the window, Mrs. Davis stood by the door waiting for her. �I see that M. Chauvelin has return. Have Sanders� �was Sanders the one guarding the door at that moment? � �inform him that I am not fit to see him.� She looked down at the shift that she wore, she wouldn�t image the thoughts Chauvelin might get seeing her in it. Davis left the door could be heard whispering instructions at the door to Marguerite�s sitting room.

Marguerite heard the chaise pull up at the front doors and could picture the footmen bristle as Chauvelin stepped out. At that moment he was probably demanding to see her, perhaps her message crushed on one clenched fist. She was sure that when Sanders arrived on the scene they would take great delight in sending the ambassador on his way.

Pity she wasn�t there to see it.

<Percy>

Surely it had forever, Percy thought, since he�d travelled the roads of this glorious England . As his conveyance flew past small towns and prosperous farms Percy occasionally overheard the conversation of doves, or the chorus of pigeons. Often the heavy wheels of the mail coach rolled close by the timbered fa�ade of an inn where the friendly lowing of cattle reminded him of all he�d been separated from. After two hours, he stumbled into the taproom of a roadside tavern where he fell into a chair next to a dusty, roadside window and asked for a cup of tea. It was served in a large crockery pot, sitting beside a pitcher filled with thick cream. A plate, unasked for, accompanied the pot, holding a thick slice of fresh bread liberally spread with butter that brought tears to Percy�s eyes. People in Paris he knew, would kill for something as simple as this! He dropped a golden guinea on the table as he left, hurrying away before anyone thought of providing change. It felt obscene to expect any sort of return after all he�d received. So long had he been away in France that he�d lost the feel of a bluff English welcome.

<Percy>

The mail coach from Dover was a crowded mode of travel, especially for someone used to better. The trip was long and Percy arrived dusty and thirsty. He walked toward Bond Street , stretching his cramped legs and breathing the stench of London . He was walking the four blocks to Ffoulkes�s house where he knew he could borrow a horse. He was determined to reach Blakeney manor before nightfall. He knew he could do it and what better way to surprise his lovely wife?

<Percy>

The swift grey mare Percy had borrowed from Ffoulkes made excellent time. She was familiar with the road to Richmond and had spent time in Blakeney�s stables. Perhaps she was thinking of barley and oats, or whatever it was that motivated horses to run. For his part, Percy was contemplating beef and gravy, brandy and cheese, a hot fire on a cool night and his pretty wife ensconced in his lap. He remembered how she would lie her head against his chest so that her thick curls tickled his nose. He would remember the look of firelight in her eyes until he was laid in his grave. He thought about how she�d giggled at the heat of brandy on her tongue and how he�d kissed a drop from the corner of her mouth and wondered if they might return to those magical early days before the death of Saint-Cyr had taught him to hate the French. Would he never cease asking why? Why? Why?

Someone was waiting at the gate � Percy had forgotten his parting words at Blakeney manor that Marguerite must be watched at all times. His staff had done hard duty for weeks. The door was pulled open at his approach � someone recognized his tall hat. Percy halted at the gate.

"My lord, is that you, Frank Lovett?" Percy called.

"Aye sir."

"Come in, man; come in! I outrode the rain, but it�s coming from London . You�ll be soaked through if you stay out here. I shall watch over milady this evening."

"Aye sir," Lovett said, gratitude in his tone. Percy was playing the sound of his words in his head. He *would* watch over his lady. Aye, that he would.

Marguerite hummed the bars of a familiar tune, trying to remember there were word that accompanied the melody. Eyes closed and head tilled towards Anne Davis, thoroughly enjoying having her scalp messaged as the older woman washed her hair. Regardless of whatever Davis thought of her mistress, she was very good at what she did � Marguerite had to credit her with that. If anything disrupted the pleasure of that moment it was the persistent thoughts of Armand � she wondered if what he was going through could possibly be a horrible as the possibilities she envisioned.

If it was ever discovered what she planned to do England would no longer be safe for her, was that part of Chauvelin�s plan? �Mrs. Davis�� Marguerite began hesitantly, opening her eyes so she could see Davis . �� I was told that not lob ago there was a mob raging through Richmond , breaking lanterns and terrorizing poor Maria Fitzherbert� Tell me are these mobs a common occurrence?� It was far time she had thought of that story, but the first time she had asked worried what the answer might be.

Davis felt Marguerite shudder and told pity on Marguerite, not thinking to ask who it was that told her the tale. �Oh, that? That was over a year ago. It�s not likely to happen anytime too soon.�

A chill ran through Marguerite, Percy had lied. Well� not entirely lied, but he had deceived her. Deliberately tried to terrify her� but for what purpose? To make her more complacent or more agreeable to being imprisoned? Or to distract her from asking where it was that he went off to for long � she certainly had a hunch what he was up to. �A year ago? I thought it was a lot sooner.�

<Percy>

He was dusty from the road, exhausted from the ride and hungry for the hours in the saddle had been long. But he was home. Home! The housekeeper stared at him from over the banister as if she�d forgotten what he looked like, while the butler came rushing to take his coat and exclaim over his sudden appearance. �Nothing is ready.� �Stir up the fire!� �Brandy for milord!� and �I�m sure supper is nearly ready, sir,� perhaps the most welcome phrase of all.

Percy passed his hat and coat, wiggled his toes in his boots, and sighed with contentment at the feel of his own house. The familiar scent of polish on wood and vinegar on glass. Applewood on the hearth. Beeswax candles. Two, three, four, girls in white aprons and green skirts checked him out from over the railing before running away to light a fire in his bedroom, to freshen the air, to ensure the sheets were clean. He was home at last.

Where was Marguerite? �My word, Mrs. Perry, it is chilly tonight. And black with clouds. I think we�ll have a good rain. My wife, is she well?�

Is she here? Is she confined to her room with the door locked? Has she been sent word that I�ve returned? So many questions to ask and he was afraid to voice any of them. �Uh,� he asked haltingly, �Lady Blakeney is well? Will she be in the dining room for supper?�

Percy cringed at the condescending tone in his voice. It was as if his father was still alive and he was a green lad of fifteen. �Please see that she is,� he said, changing his tone. �And I�d like a large glass of decent port while I wash the dust from my hands.�

He left the staff to ponder and gossip as he went to the library where he might scan the mail received and pray that he hadn�t been gone too long.

�Tell Mrs. Perry I�ll require nothing more than tea and soup for supper,� Marguerite told Anne Davis as the woman toweled her hair dry. She scarcely had the stomach for much more - Chauvelin had a knack for putting someone off eating. �� and a book from the library,� she added. �Something light� but none of those explicit ones that Sir Percy is so fond of.� Indeed, some of the novels in Percy�s collection were fit to make one blush. It was one of the many striking differences between them.

The house had come alive within the space of time that she had been bath, things seemed brighter, the servants hurried with purpose. What had changed in that time? It had been long since she had seen so much activity, turning a questioning glance on Anne Davis she found the other woman equally at a loss to explain. Had wretched little Chauvelin pushed forward the clock � but no! Such an effort would not have been made on his behalf. Had a guest arrived in her absence? Unlikely, no one but Chauvelin would have the poor taste to arrive without notice � unless the news was dire or his lordship had finally returned.

Forgetting the state of her dress and hair still damp from her bath, Marguerite dashed down the corridor to the foyer with the slower Mrs. Davis rushing to catch her. By the time Mrs. Davis reached the stairs, Marguerite was already at its base and questioning Lovett. �Where is he?� she demanded, and caught his glance at the library doors. She didn�t wait for a response, rather she dashed to the door and paused� what if it were Sir Andrew or Lord Tony waiting to tell her that Percy had been injured or would not be coming home? Could she bear that news in light of the news of that morning? Armand and Percy. She couldn�t bear the loss of both of them. Placing one shaking hand on the door handle, Marguerite rested her forehead on the door for a moment and prayed that it would be Percy she found on the other side of the door. Straightening herself up to her fully height she open the door, �Percy?� she called as she entered.

<Percy>

Notes and letters from friends in England and in France ; Percy didn�t have time to go through them all. He riffled through the sheets looking at dates and addresses; turning them over and checking signatures. Mrs. Bosford, the Richmond busybody, had written nearly daily � short missives that decried the �unsuitability� of his wife living in the house without female companionship. Percy shrugged and tossed one after another of Mrs. Bosford�s notes into the fire. He�d had enough of hearing about unsuitable conduct, especially his own. Marguerite was his problem, his alone.

�Percy?� Her call penetrated him like a shot through the heart. Pain contorted his face, joy mingling with fear. He wasn�t ready to face her yet; had intended to face her on his own terms, but so typically Marguerite, here she was invading his privacy. He looked past her, blinking quickly, steadying himself before he dared face her. His wife. Then he turned fully toward her, took a step forward, and froze. It was like a scene in a badly acted opera, he struck dumb by the appearance of a half-mad prisoner racing through the house dressed only in a nightgown, her feet bare and her ankles exposed, her hair in a riot of tangles and curls and wild fringes hugging her white sleeves and equally white face.

�My lord, are you ill?� He hurried to her and knots of unease curdled his stomach. She looked wan and drawn. Thin. Not pregnant. Had she lost the child? God in heaven, women died in childbed � he could have lost her!

�Marguerite, my darling!� he opened his arms, crossing the floor quickly. �I�m so sorry that I�ve been away so long; endless delays. Everything possible went wrong.� His right arm slid around her waist, his left hand moved upward to cup her chin. �Are you well, dearest?�

He wanted to kiss her, moved forward to do just that, then froze. Something in her expression froze him clean through. �You look like you�ve had bad news, sweetheart.�

Marguerite�s hands and eyes roved over Percy � he was alive and uninjured, perhaps a little weary, but it was a far cry from the visions that kept her wake nights wondering if he would ever return. �Where have you been?� her voice hoarse with emotion. �It�s been a month with no word. What manner of business can there be that would prevent you from writing to let me know you are well?� The answer rose readily to mind, why should he think to write if he were arms of a mistress?

As she recalled, he did not appear pleased to see her when she entered. In fact, he couldn�t even look at her directly when she first appeared. There was a time when he would sought her out immediately upon his arrival, whether she be in bed or bath, now she found him rifling through letters. Were those the actions of a man in love with his wife? He had bestowed his heart to another � she was sure of it. Was he hesitant to kiss her because his lips were contaminated with the taint of her kisses? Perhaps that was the reason for his exhaustion, can�t get too much rest if he�s using the bead for things other than sleep.

Marguerite rested her forehead against his chest, blinking back tears, before lifting it again to face him. �Where have you been all this time?�

<Percy>

The question, the one he feared most, �Where have you been all this time?� During the ride to London he�d plotted an elaborate, infallible answer. "I shall give you full details in a minute; darling, why are you running through the house undressed?"

He picked her up, carried her to the big chair nearest the fire and sat down with her in his lap, little bare feet facing the fire. "You haven�t been ill, I hope." God, god, what a welcome home. He could feel every exotic curve of her lush body through her thin nightgown, and barefoot to boot. She *knew* how that stirred him � little minx! He had been so long without her, his nights filled with images of her perfection; he wanted to make love to her. Here. Now. But he knew this woman who would wait until his head was emptied of every thought save the passion of loving her, then she would ask him, in her most seductive tone: �Where have you been all this time?� How could he resist the temptation of his too-desirable wife?

He wanted to warm her feet with his big hands, but resisted. Tore his eyes away from the sight and concentrated on her stormy eyes. Would he be considered a cad if he kissed her with all his heart, only to discover she�d been ill for three of his four-week absence?

"I shall give you full details in a minute..." he promised and Marguerite *knew* that he was eluding her question � trying to stalling for time to conjure up a convincing lie. Marguerite�s heart sank, no more was needed to convince her of Percy�s infidelity. Why not admit the truth? That he love for her had died and another held the key to his heart. Infidelity was far from uncommon amongst the set, but why make her cling to the illusion that he loved her still? "... darling, why are you running through the house undressed?" Undress? She had nearly forgotten herself. She must look the part of Ophelia fished from the river, dripping and mad eyed. She blushed. "I was just coming from the bath... I knew you were home..." Hoped really � fervently prayed. But it wouldn�t do for him to know how desperately she missed him least he use it to his purposes.

She was about to repeat her question when Percy scooped her up into his arms, her arms went instinctively around his neck. He carried her to a seat by the fire and settled himself in it with her in his lap, one arm still circling her waist, the other resting limply across her lap. No kisses. None of the manners of a man overjoyed to see his wife. He stared down at her little feet with no effect. He didn�t love her� no anymore. She rested her head upon his chest, his embrace offering her little security or comfort. In the time she knew him she asked himself for almost nothing, no jewelry, no gifts, not even those most women expected � she set one demand only that she did not want to share him with anyone else. Unreasonable? Possibly. But the fact that he continued to woo her implied his consent. But now�

"You haven�t been ill, I hope." Still stalling, bide his time. Of course she�s been sick. Sick with worry for his well being and that of Armand�s, how could she not?

�Where have you been, Percy?� she repeated, knowing the next words out of his mouth to be a lie.

<Percy>

Twice now she�d evaded answering his question, �Have you been ill?� Instead she continued to stare pointedly into his face and demand, �Where have you been, Percy?� Her eyes flamed, daring him to evade the question any longer.

"Italy," he said, "but that�s not the whole of it." His voice grated on his own ears and Margot�s eyes were shiny � with tears? His gaze canted upward so he didn�t have to watch the brightness fade as he recited his story.

"I went north, as I said I must. Met a ship newly arrived from the Indies . Not one of mine, but to fetch letters for news of what�s become of mine � Glorious Prince � which is late. I told you this, didn�t I?" His tongue felt numb as he said the words. He had mentioned Glorious Prince, which was not late, not due to return until March. He *had* received letters about her progress, letters he could show Marguerite to verify his story. She wouldn�t know they�d arrived in London by courier while he�d been delayed in Paris . Percy patted his coat pocket where the letters resided.

"In addition, the ship, Golden Magi, had brought a chest of rare emeralds and I bought it. Impulse. No one else seemed to know what they were looking at, so I bought the lot and took it off to Rome . They�ll be set into gold and fetch a pretty price when I pick them up." He felt Marguerite�s hot eyes flicker over him, felt her distance herself from him. Impulsively he squeezed her tighter.

"There�s a little something being made special, something that won�t be for sale," he whispered into her ear. Any other woman would melt and yield her anger at that � wouldn�t she? Whether it was true or not, Percy knew Margot would never yield � she didn�t want jewels. What did she want? She used to say all she wanted was his love; well, she had that in addition to everything else, but still she was unsatisfied.

Oh, the ease with which he lied! Still he couldn�t even look in her eyes as he did so, did he fear that she would read the truth in his eyes? It was so much worse than she imagined. Just as she thought to pull away and return to her room, he pulled her closer still. How she longed had longed for the comfort of that sweet embrace while he was away, but now� now it offered no comfort.

"There�s a little something being made special, something that won�t be for sale," he confided. He was attempting to placate her � did he learn nothing? She was not to be bought before; he was a fool to think it would any more acceptable now.

�You had no time to write? Not even a few words to say that you were safe and well?� she asked. �Did you not think I�d worry?� Did he think of her at all? He who claimed that he held her above all other things in the world. What else was there to suppose? That she meant less to him than his business or that his thoughts were occupied by a mistress.

�Who is she?� she asked impulsively. She knew she would regret it later but she felt a desperate need to put a name to the source of her anguish.

<Percy>

His shock was so perfect, even Marguerite could not question his sincerity when Percy replied. "�Who is she?�" He stared unblinking into Marguerite�s angry face. "You think I have a mistress?" When would he have time for a mistress? How might he find the strength to satisfy a mistress when Marguerite was the only woman he could think of. Every beauty he encountered reminded him of her and paled in the comparison. A dozen times a day he recalled the perfections of his incomparable wife.

"I admit that I thought to write, even composed a few lines on a page one afternoon while waiting for Daydream to pick me up at Anzio , but the thing went unfinished. It was never a letter. I thought of you all the time, but I did not consider that you would worry. Why worry?" he asked, leaning forward to kiss her, feeling her weight shift at the change of position. "There was never any reason to worry."

With deliberate slowness his mouth descended to meet hers; he felt his pulse quicken with anticipation. It was a tender kiss, withholding all passion. Passion would come later, Percy knew. "You compliment me, darling," he said softly, "imagining that I could stomach the thought of a mistress after bedding you. I�m not possessed of that degree of strength." He shivered with his rising ardour as he pulled Marguerite closer against him.

She wanted to believe him � *needed* to � but instincts told her that he was hiding something. He seemed stunned by her accusation � if not a mistress then what? Was she supposed to believe that Percy�s business was so important that it kept him away from home and wife days and weeks at a time? Before they wed, Marguerite had become accustomed to Percy�s long absences as he, presumably, returned to England � now that she were wed it seemed as though she saw less of him if possible than she had before.

She basked in the warmth of his admiring gaze, felt herself melt under Percy�s tender kiss, and yearned to respond in kind. "You compliment me, darling, imagining that I could stomach the thought of a mistress after bedding you..." he whispered, drawing her still closer. How many times had she imagined this moment! Dreamed of lying in the safety of her husband�s arms, being lost in the depths of those merry, twinkling eyes, even now she felt her fingers reach out to ruffle his hair.

And yet just before she lost herself in the moment, she checked herself. The last time she had given in to her husband�s honeyed words and sweet kisses, he turned on her the next morning, hurling vile accusations, and ordering that she remain locked away in that house. She couldn�t entirely trust him, not when so much lay at stake. �You were so angry when you left, I feared�� Not so much that he would never return � this was *his* home � but that she might wither away and die of loneliness before he returned or that something might have happened to him and the last thing she would know would be her husband�s scorn. �What could I think after all this time? That your business was so much more important that it would cause you to forget me all this time?� she tried to swallow back her emotions � and choked.

�Do I have your word that all that you have told me is true? That you�ve been to Italy on business and� and that there is no one else who has claim on your heart?�

<Percy>

"Tell me," Marguerite demanded, "No one else has claim on your heart." She wanted him to swear � "Gladly, my love. I swear there is no one else. My darling, I wonder how you can ask me that if you think of the passion we�ve shared. You and I are more than lovers, don�t you think?"

The purity of his words was clear; but even as he said them, Percy kept hearing Margot�s earlier question, "Who is she?" With that question she had planted the seed he couldn�t ignore. Women, weak vessels as they were, saw situations through their own feelings. What filled their hearts they read in others� which was why they were either tender and loving creatures, or vicious conniving ones. Of course Marguerite saw him as an unfaithful spouse, attributing her own crime to him.

Even as he crooned inconsequential absurdities into her ear, he was sifting through the faces of society�s lechers, wondering who had seduced his pretty wife. For all that he kept her locked in the house, Davies had whispered that she�d not been alone.

"She received only one visitor, that little French devil. Arrogant pug. Don�t recall his name . . ." Davies scratched at his periwig as he concentrated. "Something like Shovel."

Shovel indeed! "I know precisely who you mean, Davies," Percy said, brushing the footman aside. "I expected he would call." So, she was still measuring him against her French lover, was she? God, he wished he knew what sort of guide she used in her mind; in what way was he inferior to that stinking revolutionary? In no way! None!

Percy looked afresh at his wife, fresh from her bath. Fresh from washing the stink of Chauvelin out of her hair and erasing his fingerprints from her velvet skin. It would be defeating � humiliating � to lie with her after that slime-ridden piece of filth had done so . . . but . . . there were other ways . . .

With one hand anchoring her firmly in his lap, Percy used the other to capture a foot. "Tell me how much you love me," he demanded as he stroked her instep. The picture of society marriages rife with their frequent infidelities did nothing to ease Percy�s fury. It was the custom that a wife would stray; why had he not expected it? *His* wife was society�s most glittering jewel; of course she was pursued by others. She had only to take her pick. He had always known this; yet never had he imagined how it would rip his heart to shreds to live through the event. Would he feel worse if she�d gone to Grenville�s bed? Dashing good looks had Grenville, for all that his personality was as thick as stew. Or Hawksbury? Now there was a hot-blooded fool! He could lose her love to a devil such as Hawk. Would he feel less betrayed had she given herself to the prince or some other close friend . . . Hastings! But Chauvelin � why did *he* continue to stir Margot�s interest? He was the least presentable of men, the poorest dressed, the worst mannered. He had no art, no conversation, no interests save the spilling of blood; what did his wife find alluring about him?

Slowly, deliberately, Percy licked the ball of Marguerite�s foot, repositioning her until she lie in his lap with her head resting on his knees, her hair pooling at his feet. He opened her robe, revealing her breasts, watching the firelight paint her skin gold and rose. "Tell me all the ways you love me," he demanded.

��I swear there is no one else�� This declaration relieved her and yet he swore only that there was no one else � he did not swear that he had been to Italy on business. He was hiding something. What was it? What was she contending with for his attentions? If not another woman � what?! Her heart retracted � the mystery added to the ever widening chasm between them. Resignedly, she rested her head on his shoulder � there would be no getting the truth from him.

Percy shifted position and captured her foot in one of his strong dexterous hands, stroking her instep sensuously. A sharp intake of breath betrayed her. A month had passed deprived of all intimacy, all passion � haunted by the memory of long passed nights lying in Percy�s arms. How was it that she hadn�t realized her feelings for him until he had begun to fade? "Tell me how much you love me," he demanded. How could such a things be done justice with words? She had left those she loved above all others in order to be with him. Despite his cruel words and crueler orders, she was miserable over his absence. How could she convey that every decision she made was further weighted by her love for her husband.

For his part, Percy waged a valiant campaign to destroy her inhibitions � with no small degree of success. She wouldn�t lose herself again, only to have her heart dashed again by his vile allegations and another lengthy absence. Her pulse raced as his tongue caressed the ball of her foot and her limbs a little more compliant and accommodating than she had intended as he turned her so that her body sprawled across his thighs, her calves resting on his shoulders and head resting on his knees. What kind of world was it where she would be filled with such doubts and hesitations while sharing so tender and intimate a moment with the man she loved? She did love him� but she couldn�t trust him. Not anymore.

She leaned her head back against his knees and closed her eyes - it was too painful gazing up into his eyes. A shiver passed through her as Percy parted her robes and felt the heat of his touch upon her stomach and chest. "Tell me all the ways you love me," he commanded.

�Don�t you know?� she began. �I love you so much that it breaks my heart.�

<Percy>

"The last thing I want is your heart broken, my love." A small frown marked the furrow over Percy�s aristocratic nose. (Aquiline, a legacy from his Exeter mother.) It took all his strength to keep from seducing her right here in the library.

"Tis a pity with the French declaring war on everybody � my uncle swears we�ll be next � that my need to travel has increased. Lord Margot! How I wish it were possible to take you with me." His voice was a husky rasp as his eyes raked her uptilted breasts. Thoughtfully he tongued a toe and watched her shudder with delight. Her eyes held his � direct. Flirtatious. Bold.

For the moment he meant what he said, refusing to think of all the reasons why it was impossible. He really meant what he�d said as he pulled Marguerite up into his arms to brush her erotically parted lips in a slow, wet kiss. She was charming, his little wife, more uncovered than concealed by her nearly sheer gown and what was veiled was still enticingly revealed in tints of pink flesh and strategic raven curls.

Percy took her two buttocks in his hands, lifting her, pulling her closer. His erection was stabbing the gentle curve of her stomach. "We�re not going to make it up to bed I�m afraid. This is why your maman should have warned you never to leave your boudoir without a wrapper."

�How I wish it were possible to take you with me.�

He knew how to rouse her interest, she had to give him that much at least. Despite her reservations and fears, she found herself responding to her husband�s advances - giving herself over wholly to his embrace, not grudging him one single kiss or passionate caress. �Why can�t you?� she asked, a shiver of delight passing through her at the skill of Percy�s too agile tongue, his blue eye almost black with passion. Instinctively she knew she should be pushing him away, demanding explanations � where had he really been? why had he locked her in the house? � such a moment seemed a crime to destroy. This was what she yearned for more than jewelry or gifts� being in her lover�s arms, feeling safe and peaceful and loved�

In a moment Percy pulled her up into his arms crushed her to him and silencing her question and doubts with a kiss. As he rubbed his long, slender hands up and down her bare back, she felt the temperature of the room rise, there was so little between them now, Percy�s shirt and breeches and the dressing gown that hung about Marguerite�s waist. Even as he pulled her still closer she could feel the physical demonstration of his longing for her pressed into her stomach. �Tell me you love me� only me,� she whispered as she kissed his chin and throat. She needed to hear it even if it were a lie � needed some sort of solace for the weeks of intense misery in Percy�s absence. It chilled her thinking of the ease with which Percy lied � how much was true? She kissed him hard on the mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as she tried to pull him closer � a desperate effort to banish the suspicions that plagued her. She loved him, but she couldn�t trust him.

She knew the sweetness of this moment would sour come morning, when she would consent to Chauvelin�s demands � thus fulfilling the Percy�s expectation of her. Would not the passion of tonight make that betrayal all the greater? What choice was there? Armand�s life could be saved by a name, despite the fact that the cost was so great. Marguerite�s stomach twisted at the thought� not only would she be betraying the man she loved with all her heart, but she would also be betraying a noble soul who�s only crime was helping the innocent. �Percy, I don�t want to see you hurt.�

<Percy>

God, how he'd missed this! My god, how he adored this woman! Oh god, oh god . . . the way she undid all his good intentions . . . just as she'd undone most of the buttons on his shirt. "I love you, Margot. Only you. I have loved only you from the first day I saw you." Why did she ask him to tell her this again? Hadn't he made all these things perfectly clear to her in a hundred ways? He'd defied everyone in society by marrying an actress - and a French actress at that! He'd become a laughing stock among everyone he knew because he lusted after his own wife and he allowed her to make a fool of him in the name of the overwhelming passion he felt for her.

Marguerite had her hands in his hair - vixen! She knew how much he loved that - her thumbs against the nape of his neck and tickling...

At the end of a highly combustible kiss, Margot was plastered against him. Tenderly he caressed her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her again. Her low moan invited him to part her lips and snake his tongue against hers. She nipped at it with her teeth. Pulling back, Percy slapped her protruding buttocks and she slithered closer to him. "You'll finish me," he murmured. "Ruin me." The look she gave him was all brazen allure as she straddled his thighs. He felt like a small boy on Christmas morning when all his wishes have come true. With a growl he kissed her. With one hand he undid his breeches - all restraint gone - his other hand worming its way under her transparent robe. To hell with any servant mad enough to walk in on them! Percy couldn't wait another moment.

"You've missed me, I think," he whispered to her. His erection was as straight as a sapling, standing between them. "What now, milady? Up, or down?"

Her move. Her choice. He moved her hair that he might lick her apple-round breast. Marguerite sighed and gave herself up to his delicious advance. Languidly she lie back in his arms so that her nipples thrust forward toward him. He kissed one, then the other, then she came to him, raising herself, impaling herself and wrapping her legs around his waist. Oh god in heaven - what a welcome home!

"You've missed me, I think."

Had she missed him! As if the answer weren�t readily apparent! Would any wife who did not desperately miss her husband run through a house full of gossipy servant half dress on the desperate hope that he had returned? She brushed aside her doubts so that she might enjoy that exquisite moment in the arms of her love. Her love. She had to believe he loved her� More than the proof of his physical attraction that stood proudly before her, the proof was in the way his eyes sparkled as if he could behold enough of her and that intense feeling of being wholly loved � how could that be an illusion? It worked as a balsam to her wounded heart. How long it had been� a month� and before that�? Too long to be sure. Too infrequently.

He planted kisses on her neck and breasts, melting the last of her resolve. God! the skill with which he used his tongue! She could not be close enough, lowering herself on him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, where her fingers could play in his soft hair, all but freed from its ribbon. Her lips and tongue explored his face, neck, and chest, a playful nip here�there... Perhaps later she would be tortured with the thought that Percy might have shared such a moment with another during his long absence, but for the moment he was all hers and her mind would not grasp such a horrible hurtful thought. �God I love you!� she gasped into his ear in the heat of their passion, and knew that at least that much was true. She did love him, despite her better judgment. Despite whatever was to come� at least that much was true.

Finally � exhausted, spent � she collapse against his chest, her head resting upon his shoulder, one hand massaging the back of his neck and the base of his skull, while the other wandered languidly through the hair on his chest and belly. �Tell me we can stay like this forever.�

<Percy>

Fuelled by the unstinting tenderness of his wife's kisses, Percy gave himself up completely to loving her, shutting his mind to everything save the sensuality of the moment. He allowed himself to descend into a realm where emotion underscored feeling, where the sensual enhanced every action and thought. For this night, at least, his sweet wife, his Margot, belonged to him alone.

Marguerite's love was the *everything* that had been missing from Percy's life; the strength that underscored his convictions came from within her fiery eyes. Until he'd met her he'd been incapable of understanding that love and power transcended class and quality. It was their secret; no one else could understand it. Based in this one truth, how could anything else Percy had known from birth be correct? He and his friends had been raised in a tradition whereby a woman such as Marguerite was meant for pleasure alone - and he could attest that the pleasure of her adoring love was the delight of his life. That it was only the marzipan atop a deep and complex confection of love stirred his imagination.

Her eyes were black, the lids heavy with passion as he kissed each one, revelling in this tenderness while they were engaged so intimately. His kisses were so delicate considering the moment, and Percy was rewarded with the distinct sensation of her heart fluttering at the pressure of his lips against one veiny lid. He felt it, a heart-flutter, as Marguerite pressed her wondrous breasts tighter against his sparsely furred chest. Her breasts! Every man who saw pretty Marguerite was enchanted by her wondrous breasts. Small, but round and full, suggestive of passion and fecundity, the nipples were large and dark and, even when the fabric of her bodice was not so light as to be nearly transparent, their maroon tips darkened the cloth when they rose to betray her excitement. Percy's hungry lips lost themselves there for a moment.

Oh her shivers! Marguerite moaned and clung, nearly strangling him in her urgency. She was close - that excited him! He leaned forward the scant foot separating them to kiss her and her sigh filled his mouth. Somewhere deep inside him his pride gloried in the fact that he was man enough! Thank god he was man enough to please this magnificent woman who demanded much of his virility, of his passion. Mindlessly, he thrust deeper. God, he was stiff. Strong. No one had ever demanded of him such ardour as did is darling Margot.

She mumbled something about melting, melting inside; he couldn't make out the words, jumbled in French and English as they were. He couldn't think with her sharp fingernails clawing his back and there was something in the flavour of her kiss that drove him to madness. Passion begat madness - so sayeth the lord!

"Darling wife!" Percy whispered, trying to erase the sense that such glory must be a sin. It was all too marvellous, this passion. Passion. He revelled in the idea how, at the same time as he was discovering unrivalled passion, this complex, sophisticated woman had also taught him the freedom of democratic society. She had trapped him between the layers of privilege. Vacillating between need and propriety, he'd wondered, 'dare I marry her?' Did he have the strength to live with society's endless censure? He did! The strength came from this - this love.

"Oh, oh my . . ." She seemed to be lost, struggling for the word she wanted. No matter, he knew!

"Love, love!" he whispered over and over again. He would do anything - had done everything - for her love. And no sooner had he conceived of it than this independent, thinking woman had sliced him to the core with her treachery. He could live with her common status. He could swallow her unsavoury past. He may even be able to ride the crest of knowledge that she was unfaithful to him now, but how could he accept that she was the weapon that had destroyed Saint-Cyr?

The strength had drained from her limbs and she lay limp against him, her breath ragged with exertion and he cradled her in his arms with her head on his shoulder. His beloved. His heart's desire. The thought of the perfect love they shared brought tears to his eyes; the reality of the betrayal between them set those tears free. Was there never love without some sacrifice?

Would it ever be so, that each time he bedded her, the memory returned? How ironic that his greatest delight was forever shadowed by his greatest horror. The love that transcended place and class, and at the epicentre stood his perfect wife -- a murderess. How long could any man continue to adore a woman who had cold-bloodedly sent an entire family to their deaths?

<Percy>

Marguerite's tenderness revived him. How could he imagine she did not love him when she showed so abundantly that she did? Truly, he could not understand love! Too complex was the equation and he a simple man.

"I'm grieved by many things; the time we spend apart gnaws at me, especially when it makes you unhappy. I wish we might remain like this forever - belly to belly and heart to heart." He still glowed with the feel of her secret heat and her special passion scented the room. He began to kiss her hard, demanding, then drew into himself, allowing love to overwhelm the hunger that rose in him when he was with her. She responded to his gentler kiss with increased ardour. He broke free, eyeing her cooly.

"How can you ask me if I have a mistress when we're capable of this perfect sharing?" He watched her eyes change colour and bit down the rest of his demand . . . how can you give yourself to others? Perhaps it was only in his own mind that he was man enough to please her - could he survive hearing such a thing? His too vivid imagination painted him a picture of his lovely bride with her awkward French friend, Chauvelin. Paul-Armand was older than Percy by what? - ten years? Perhaps more. Was he a better lover? Inconceivable. Percy couldn't imagine the man as a lover; he was of such unnatural characteristics for one thing. Chauvelin looked the type who needed to be goaded into excitement. Some men had perverted tastes and the little inspector certainly looked...

Percy felt the excitement drain out of his body as he recalled his purpose. Grenville. He'd forgotten entirely about the man! Oh, and it was late - too late to rush off to London.

"How can you ask me if I have a mistress when we're capable of this perfect sharing?" Was it so perfect when he kept secrets from her? Overcome by the passion of her darling husband, she had had enough sense about her to note that there were questions she put to him which he evaded with his tender kisses. Was that why he made love to her merely to silence any further questions? No. It was far too horrible a notion to contemplate. He didn�t trust her, why else would he keep her locked away like a prisoner? Why else the accusations before he left a month ago? The memory of those words chilled her, ��you have given yourself to Chauvelin at the least and any number of others in the bargain, I suddenly realized how wrong I was to have married you.� She could hear the words again as though he had just spoken them. It was those words that had planned the seeds on doubt in her mind. If his love for her were so true, why could he see past the slander especially when it came to Chauvelin? Why Chauvelin? She had never expressed the faintest interest in petit Chauvelin, quite the contrary in fact. Pitt�s accusations would seem logically to a guilty conscious. And all that time away� even when he was home he was rarely there, preferring to spend his drinking and gambling� was it only that? How could she tell him his own accusation were what caused her to suspect his duplicitous nature?

�Is it so perfect?� It was painfully clear he didn�t trust her� and for all that she couldn�t trust him either. Not when Armand�s life hung in the balance. The one man she should be able to turn to in trouble and she couldn�t trust him. What would he do if he learned of Armand�s peril? He couldn�t appeal to his friends in government. �I doubt anyone in the English government would consider intervening on the behalf of one of so little consequence. In fact, given your reputation, I feel they would be more inclined to watch you for fear that you would barter their secrets for your brother,� Chauvelin warned her, surely Percy would realize that. Would he charge into France himself and risk his own life? She couldn�t allow that, could bear the thought of losing him as well, at least in England he was safe. Or it was likely Percy would realize the position she was in and security would be tighten, Chauvelin would barred from seeing her and she would lose touch with the one man who offered any hope of Armand�s safe return.

Her only choice was to become the very thing he believed her to be. If he ever discovered her treachery it would crush his precious heart, the very thought of it made her sick to her stomach. �You will get us both hanged for treason, Marguerite!� the word haunted her. The room seemed to grow colder, shivering she pulled her thin robe over her and crawled out of Percy�s lap, sitting at his feet before the fire in the hopes the closer proximity to the flames would ward of the chill that seemed to go to her very heart. She knew what she had to do and hated it. Hugging her knees, she wondered if she had the strength to do what needed to be done.

�Percy, are you truly happy? Is this how you pictured our life would be when you married me?�

<Percy>

"Happy? My word, you and your questions! How can you ask me that, especially after . . ."

He was puzzled beyond understanding at her scattered logic. Somewhere in his past he had been told that women were soft-headed and illogical, but knowing women such as Georgiana, Devonshire 's intelligent duchess, had made Percy doubt it. Illogical! The woman kept Charles James Fox on his toes. Marguerite on the other hand, supposedly one of the cleverest women in all Paris (so they said) was most illogical. Her mind flitted from topic to topic and she followed questions like crumbs, tasting one, then rushing to another. He couldn't comprehend where her probing led. Unless . . .

Percy swallowed, his own joy evaporating as he gazed down into his wife's troubled green eyes. "You ask me because you find our loving . . . insufficient?" There it was. Spoken at last. She would destroy him now, show him that he'd never been the lover of her dreams - as she was his, that she was incomplete in his arms. Did she pursue others because she found him inadequate?

Percy leapt to his feet, moving to the fireplace, where he poked at the logs with venom. He couldn't listen; he would not! It was too much to bear to have the last of his illusions shattered. "I have to leave at first light, for London ," he said breathlessly. "I must see. . ." the Ambassador . . . "my tailor!" The word sounded ridiculous as it shivered the air around them. More words exploded from him and it was beyond his strength to stop them. "Yes. Mr. Stringer. I have the. . . well, it's the most daring waistcoat ever conceived of that he is preparing. It must be ready by now!"

Marguerite�s heart sank, the blood ran cold through her vein, as she watched the delight fade from her husband�s eyes. It was much worst than she imagine it would be. "You ask me because you find our loving . . . insufficient?" He could not completely hide the pain from his voice so that every bitter syllable cut through her.

�Percy, you misunderstand me,� she cried, but even now he was on his feet and lashing out at the logs on the fire. Marguerite rose as well and rested a hand on his tense should. �Percy�� He wasn�t listening anymore. "I have to leave at first light, for London ," he began and proceeded to ramble. Marguerite gave a pained gasp � he�d planned leaving already! After abandoning her for so long he was leaving again� was she less important than a waistcoat?

She took his face in her two hands, forcing him to look at her, to listen. �My darling, these tender moments are more precious to me than anything you could ever buy, more precious than jewelry or carriages. You offered gifts when that which you wished to purchase was the gift. Since I met you there are no other arms I wish to be in, no other lips I wish to taste.� She let one hand glide across his cheek to brush a stray strand of hair behind his ear. She had his attention now, but knew that the part that came next would break his dear heart, just as even now it was breaking hers.

�Do you remember the night before you left,� she asked. �Many things were said that night � terrible, hurtful things, but one that stood out amongst them. In the garden you said, �I suddenly realized how wrong I was to have married you.� Do you remember?� She saw that he did. �I confess those words have haunted me these last four weeks. I can hear them even now�but now I know that you were right.� She released him, finding her strength already leaving her. �I should have thought it through more thoroughly� I was foolish not to realize how much I love you. Do you remember how I told you love ends badly? Love makes the wounds all the deeper, do you see? Look at how deeply we�ve hurt each other.�

�These moments are so few and far between and the happiness lasts so briefly� the last time it lasted only a few hours, this time not even that. I cannot even tell you how much it grieves me to know much I�ve hurt your heart. How often have I told you I don�t want to see you hurt, especially by me or because of me? I love you too much.� Marguerite slumped into the stair, staring into the fire rather than looking any more into Percy�s hurt-filled eyes. Would that she had the opportunity to mend this rift, but there was too much at stake. �I beg you to have quits with me, to find another less cruel wife.� Chauvelin had set a hefty price on her brother�s life, a price that possibly risked her husband�s as well. �You will get us both hanged for treason, Marguerite!� Percy had warned her. And yet, if she were to cease being Lady Blakeney, sent back to France, she could not fulfill Chauvelin�s request, she would not put Percy�s life at risk for her actions. His heart would be broken, but at least he would live, possibly find another more deserving of his heart. And in France she could appeal to those who had once paid her homage on the stage and in her salon, who now had risen to loftier positions in the new government. Perhaps there she would find a way to save Armand� If she stayed she would have do choice but to concede to Chauvelin�s villainous schemes and pray that she did not destroy Percy as well. What other options were there? There was no one in the English government that she could appeal to, why help an insignificant revolutionary, when there wasn�t even anything they could do for a king? Chauvelin had told her, ��given your reputation, I feel they would be more inclined to watch you for fear that you would barter their secrets for your brother.� And Percy? If she asked, he might go and act on Armand�s behalf and risk giving killed himself� or would he lock her away from the world completely fearing rightly that she would do the very thing she was prepared to do?

She didn�t have the strength to hold back the tears that pressed against her eyes, her heart ached with such intensity that she thought she was dying. �Don�t you see that this is for the best? I fear if we go on we will destroy each other.� If he divorced her, then he could save some degree of his reputation � the reputation he claimed she tore to shreds. They would say he came to his senses about his unsuitable wife. It was the best way, she tried to convince herself.

<Percy>

'Since I met you there are no other arms I wish to be in, no other lips I wish to taste'. Percy could hardly credit what he was hearing. What lies were these pouring from his pretty wife's lips? The sudden buoying of his spirits at her insistence that he had been her only lover since their marriage fuelled his thoughts. Why, if she was not bedding that scurvy weasel Chauvelin, then what possib...

The wash of happiness drained out of him. This confirmed she was a spy. Bathurst had seen her with Chauvelin and, if she was not engaged in afternoons of langorous adultery, then what other reason was there for her to meet Chauvelin in a hotel, save for the privacy of passing classified information? Percy raised tired eyes to meet his wife's tear-filled ones.

Marguerite was churning ahead, speaking as the tears slid down her cheeks. '. . . remember the night before you left . . said terrible, hurtful things . . . how wrong I was to have married you. Do you remember?' Words he'd forgotten until this moment. Words he'd shouted in a moment of fury - in a situation so much the mirror of this evening that he couldn't help but remember. Anxiety crippled his tongue; how might he explain his meaning? Surely there was no way of backtracking and making all the past go right! He was nearly wild with fear at her misunderstanding . . . which was no misunderstanding save his own.

'Look at how deeply we've hurt each other.' Percy seized Marguerite's words and pounced on them. Despite being worn to exhaustion, Marguerite was luminously beautiful, all save her eyes which snapped with resolute fury. He leaned toward her and kissed the pinched mouth. "You are my only love," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I wish I had never doubted you, but I confess there are reasons why I suspected you. Let's not pursue this ugliness any further. What we need now is to move on to forgiveness, if we may."

Warily, Marguerite said nothing. She hadn't expected this about-face; he hadn't anticipated his change of thought either. "I can't bear the idea of your giving me permission to find a less cruel wife when the torture I endure at your hands is my greatest pleasure." He grabbed her two hands, forcing her to look into his face. "Believe me when I say I'm a deluded fool in everything save my love for you. Hear me say I deserve to be kicked. I will lie down and let you take your mark - I deserve it! Kick me. Brutalize me in any way you wish, but I beg of you don't say you'll leave! I have loved you forever, but there are whole weeks when I forget it. I'm a stupid man who is possessed of some kind of insanity, I guess. Did I ever tell you that my mother was mad? Believe me when I say that I'm mad, too. I lose all reason when I'm away from you. Promise me you won't leave me - promise! Give me tonight to prove my love..." He dropped his mouth onto hers and kissed her with all his heart. He felt her hot tears against his skin and pulled her closer.

"French sweets aren't yet on the contraband list - perhaps we might try it again? A slightly different way, this time?" A flame of tenderness licked him, raising his ardour. God, what was this madness? No doubt it was a manifestation of his joy that she was not favouring Chauvelin over him during the long weeks he absented himself from her bed. Percy had no doubt Chauvelin was capable of any treachery, including compromising Marguerite's reputation so that everyone would believe her to be an adulteress. He'd done well to keep her safely secure at Blakeney Manor, but that couldn't last. Inevitably, he would have to trust her - well, trust may not be the right word. What he needed to do was watch her since he was inclined to believe she genuinely loved him, to find out why she was meeting Chauvelin in the city in seedy hotels where she could be seen by the likes of Bathurst while he prowled the pick-up bars in search of exotic company.

Why was he making this so much harder? Oh he loved her! How could she doubt it now as he thrust his pride aside and begged her to stay? How much easier it would be if there was someone else, someone to ease his breaking heart � the pain of which she could read in his eyes. His too expressive eyes. Those eyes which could set the tone of a room at a glance were turned to her exuding fear and desperation. She turned away from the sight of them, knowing that look would haunt her to the end of her days. Still he would not relent, ��the torture I endure at your hands is my greatest pleasure.� Would that she could die and be spared this horrible decision! Whichever her choice she was destroying someone she loved more than herself.

As though sensing her hesitation, Percy took her two hands in his, forcing her to look at him. Pride set aside so that the heart could speak. ��Brutalize me in any way you wish, but I beg of you don't say you'll leave� give me tonight to prove my love . . .� It was a stab to the heart, the pain physical. She couldn�t trust herself to speak least she beg his forgiveness for cruelly stepping on his heart, when Percy undid her resolve with a kiss. His heart spoke to her with that kiss � did he not once tell her, �words can lie where kisses cannot.� She felt fresh tears spring up and rush forward, without the power to stop them � god how she loved him! Marguerite wanted with all heart to melt into that kiss, to throw her arms around his neck, and bury her hands into his hair and reassure him that she want never leave. But it was Armand�s life at stake! Armand, her brother, whose life depended on her actions. Instead she kept her arms folded tightly over her churning stomach.

She scrambled for every argument she could think of, he had to see her point. Had to. And she had to convince him quickly before she lost her resolve. �You say that we should move on to forgiveness?� Percy brightened a bit with this and Marguerite turned away, staring into the fire, not daring to look directly at him. �Was working towards forgiveness your intention when you proposed Scotland then left the every next day? Or when you swore you would make it up to me as I lie trembling in your arms fearful of a story that was fully a year old? How can I believe you? You lied to me as an excuse to keep me locked away because you don�t trust me, a prisoner unable to do anything�� She caught herself before revealing her worry for Armand, lest he probe further. �Once you were the man I could turn to in trouble, but now� I love you with all my heart, but how can I trust you?�

<Percy>

"My darling," he breathed, allowing his hot lips to score the flesh of her shoulder. "I admit to having said and done all manner of stupid things that last night; I'm sure you recall I was drunk. Some of my incoherence can be blamed on that. I'd come through a most unpleasant scene at White's where I was informed by three men I call friends that I was being cuckolded by my French whore wife. Each of these men had seen you at the Chartroom Eating House. Lord, darling, it's dangerous enough to walk the neighbourhood, but to enter such a place. . .of course I was furious to hear that! I think I understand now that you wished to talk to your little friend, Chauvelin. I blame him for not considering your reputation in escorting you to such a place. I was desperate to keep you safe. Safe from him and everyone else who wished to harm you, so my first thought was to get clear away from London - Scotland. But, I realised at once that I couldn't leave; there is this business . . .so I . . ." Percy's explanation ground to a halt.

"Why must we rake over these coals yet again? I sense you growing distant again when I want only to draw you closer. Why can't we simply bury the past like the bones of an unsatisfactory meal? You can trust me if you try; that's all that's required. Tell yourself that you will and then stay the course. Now, come to bed and allow me to comfort you, darling."

"My darling," Percy whispered, his lips placing smoothing kisses along her shoulder, his soft hair brushing softly across her cheek, scented with the dust from the road. Her impulse was to return his kisses along the exposed neck that was inches from her, to pull him close to her heart and demand he never leave her, but the request was unreasonable for them both. Her arms remained folded over her stomach, futilely trying to quell her churning stomach. "...I was informed by three men I call friends that I was being cuckolded by my French whore wife..." he explained, the word sending a fresh tremour through her. That night. That terrible night.

"Why must we rake over these coals yet again?" Percy demanded, his touch tender, affectionate. Intoxicated by his sweet kisses, she longed for the comfort his words and eyes promised.

"Stay the course?" Marguerite asked. "I trusted you and you left. Without a word. You knew how much it breaks my heart... and you left on such ugly terms. You plan on leaving tomorrow, you said as much. Not even a day and you plan to leave again, can't you see how much more it will hurt on the morrow?" She wanted to tell him. How could she trust him when she knew he lied, knew that he did not trust her? He asked for trust he was not willing to give. "Shall I trust you as you trust me, darling?"

<Percy>

He was stilled by her words, words that seemed to shake him out of himself. Words that invited inside the scent of pine and the river. It was the essence of everything - trust. There was no trust between them, how could there be? It was naive to imagine trust could exist between people as different as they were - but did that mean there was not love? Shades and degrees of love - but what did it mean to two people trapped inside a cage of deceit? Percy understood that Marguerite loved him in much the same way as he loved her. He worshipped the pleasure of her body and the understanding he gained from sharing her intellect, but, what did it mean this word: L-O-V-E? In a day not so long ago, he'd believed loving Marguerite meant that she was equal to his soul in all things, that she was as nearly attuned to him in all ways as he was to her. He desired her, cared for her, wanted to nurture her and wished above all to be included in her every thought. Her. She was the root of everything that was important in his life, but there was no way to show her how much she meant to him - especially now that he comprehended how she didn't see him in the same way as he saw her.

With eyelids shading the weakness in his heart, he asked, "Why would you not trust me? Have I not provided for you in every way?" Was she not housed in one of the greatest houses to be found in England , nourished with her choice of food the land could provide, gowned and adorned with clothing and jewels from three continents? He was daring her to say she was unsatisfied.

At a word, Percy�s whole demeanor was altered, shutting himself off from her. The greatest distance between them was never physical, it was the distance between their hearts. Each of them had contributed to that ever widening chasm between them � lies, mistrust, suspicion, all of which augmented the differences that love might have conquered. They had become to accustomed to fortifying their hearts against each other that it was only a matter of time before they drifted forever apart. He now gazed at her, not with the passion eyes of a lover, or the tear-filled eyes of a man on the verge of a broken heart, but with that lazy eyed stare that he so often affected in public. The mask. The expression that led many to believe him a fool, spoiling his usually handsome face with a look of perpetual boredom.

�I fear you misunderstand me again,� Marguerite said regaining her composure. �We speak two different languages, you and I. It is not merely the difference between French and English, it is also a difference in ideals and upbringing.� Marguerite rose to her feet, finding her strength returning with her conviction.

�You have given me so much, dear,� she made a sweeping gesture for emphasis, �you always have. Any woman would be overwhelmed by your generosity� I suppose I am vain in that I demand your love in addition to all you provide, but I told you all I ever wanted was this.� She placed one palm against his chest. �We could live in a hovel in poverty and I would be content with this. But you are forever distancing yourself from me. Our happiness together has become increasing briefer, I fear it will dwindle into nothing before long, all the while the resentment we feel towards each other builds. You ask me how I can question your love, when you know how much it pains my heart when you are gone. I see you less now than before we were married. You ask me why I would not trust you, I could ask the same you. I ask you to end this while there is still love between us, I could not bear seeing your hate, your resentment.� Marguerite�s hands dropped to her sides, fatigued, still holding his eyes defying him to prove her wrong.

�I beg milord�s pardon, while I turn in for the night,� she said dropping into a slight curtsey, �but I fear I am feeling most unwell this evening.� Her voice was emotionless, perhaps later that night she would shed tears in the solitude of her room, but for now she was too spent to feel anything.

<Percy>

Percy blanched as Marguerite touched lover's fingers to his blanched lips. 'I am vain in that I demand your love in addition to all you provide,' she said with a haughtiness he'd grown weary of in the last year. It did not convince him; her tenderness was as well acted as her roles upon the stage. Wistfully he watched her model imprecations, listened to her spout words and wondered what play they came from. She was too polished, too word-perfect in her plea for understanding for this to be an unrehearsed scene. He had married an actress! Abstractly, he wondered if she would perform so flawlessly were she aware that he had brought her brother to her - and lost him in Dover . He had to resolve that problem. He had to ensure that he spoke to Lord Grenville before he left for France once again - and this time he would travel alone. Andrew was escorting the du Tournai family and Tony was having none of travelling to France again. Percy considered that he may look up Hastings...

Marguerite stood across the room from him, assessing him coolly from beneath eyes veiled by thick lashes. Impulsively she tugged at the ribbon that tied the neck of her nightgown and Percy imagined it ripping free and spilling her breasts into the open. What had become of their shared happiness, their shared passion? He wanted to shout, 'Don't you love me?' but was afraid of what her answer would reveal.

Marguerite was chilled by cool, emotionless expression on her husband�s face � how he do such a thing and ask why she questioned his love? Perhaps he was protecting himself, shielding his heart after her cruel request, but it was far from the first time that those eyes regarded her so coldly. How could this be the same man who loved her a moment before?

She took his silence for dismissal. What more could be said? She had not the strength to argue further and she fear he would shut his ears to her words if she. She turned away from him, head slightly bowed as she left the library, outside of which her appearance ended a whispered conversation between Davis, Sanders, and Lovett. Already the gossip was flying. Straightening her shoulders, head held high she swept passed them up the staircase, pausing only long enough to reprimand Mrs. Davis on her negligence. �Mrs. Davis, in all that time you might have considered setting aside idle gossip to fetch me a shawl,� she said coolly, then continued on her way. Davis colored and quickly followed, tailed by Sanders, who she struck on arm at intervals as a reminder to keep his eyes cast down rather than fixed upon Marguerite�s retreating buttocks.

At the top of the stairs she turned left toward the front wing of the house, walking down the corridor towards her own suite, halfway down the corridor Sanders jogged past her to open the door for the ladies and to assume his previous post guarding the prisoner. Marguerite sank into a chair beside the fire and listen to Davis bustle about in the room behind her, a moment later a shawl was produced which Marguerite gratefully wrapped herself in, trying to break the chill that came from no external source. She shouldn�t have gone to see him, shouldn�t have let her weakness get the better of her. She confessed her heart to him and he shut her out. Far crueler than physical blow was the knowledge that the heart she loved was shut against her. In a moment her thoughts were interrupted by the clinking sounds of the dinner service arriving. �I am not hungry,� she announced over the whispered conference at the door. Footsteps went away, by the clinking plates were set down on some surface and the voice of Mrs. Davis was heard near at hand.

�Your ladyship will make herself sick if she goes without eating,� Davis said and after a moment without response. �It will be there if you change your mind.�

�You may retire if you like, Mrs. Davis. I have no further need of your services.� It was more if a command than a suggestion. Marguerite listen to the woman move about the room for a few minutes then the little bed in the alcove creak with her weight. She watched the fire and wondered. Where was Armand at that moment? Was he safe and well? And Percy� how deeply had she hurt him by her request? Not even a day returned and already he was planning to go. Would he be gone another week, another month? She couldn�t wait as long as that. If he abandoned her again, she would not be there when he returned.

Mrs. Davis�s breathing became heavier as sleep over came her, snoring slightly as she inhaled, comforting. She smiled wistfully, reminded of Percy raucous snoring � even in sleep making his presence known. How was it that she was surrounded by a house full of people and yet, surprisingly, she too often felt alone? Isolated. Percy had brought her away from all that was comforting to a house of stranger who regarded her with suspicion and contempt � then left her! This decree that she be confined to the house was the cruelest yet. How she prayed this was all a nightmare and she would wake up safe and loved in the arms of her husband. She would tell him, �Percy, I had the most horrible dream that you stopped loving me, locked me away, and left.� And he would kiss her and she would know it wasn�t true.

What silly dreaming, she thought as her eye lids grew heavy with sweet. Curling her feet under her she rested her head on the arm of the chair, allowing Mrs. Davis�s breathing to lull her to sleep. It made her feel was though she weren�t quite so alone.