An Affair to Remember

<D'Azyr>

Just as the carriage door was opened so were the doors to the building it halted before, neither door was held open long for with a few long strides Gervais was off the step and into the building's luminous interior. Cream panels contrasting wood framing and eloborate carpets to muffle the sounds of footsteps. None of the establishments patrons would want undue attention draw to them. The maitre�d seeming to have materialized from the shadows of corner, was at his elbow performing some elaborate greeting which Gervais merely shrugged off. The man was too oily for his taste, but then that quality seemed a requisite for the position. A whispered name and generous gratuity slipped into an eager palm ended any further unnecessary talk. The man gestured for him to follow, an eyebrow arched insinuously. Gervais scowled and the eyebrow dropped. Too cheeky by far.

Without a word, he was escourted through the dining room, staring ahead as he walked, but casting cursory glances at the faces he passed least one was a face he knew. It wouldn�t do for him to be seen and recognized, especially when his companion arrived came. The maitre�d lead him to a private table, obscured from the view of the rest of the establishment�s occupants. A bottle of fine wine left open to breath, the flicker of candle light reflected in the glass.

*She* was there.

Her back was towards him, her hat sporting a veil which obscured her lovely face, but he knew it was her. Who else possessed that long graceful neck, the alabaster skin? There was no one who sat with the same bearing and present. Even now she took her breath away. He had to remember to breath. The memory of her eyes sent his heart racing and in the time that he stood captivated by her his escourt disappeared. Was he late? No, he had come early � he was certain of that. She had come earlier.

At the sound of his footsteps she stole a glance over her shoulder, a charming gesture. He could imagine the sparking eyes that hid behind that heavy veil. With three long steps he was at her side, taking the tiny white hand she offered him and pressing it to his lips. "I am honoured that you have consented to meeting me, Madame," he said as he took the seat opposite her, invisioning the blush that even now lingered on her cheeks.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

�You may thank your benefactress for the meeting, M. de le Marquis,� Terese said quietly, her voice carrying no further than her companion�s ears and if then he leaned slightly forward to catch them. It had been an agonizing decision going to meet the Marquis de la Tour d�Azyr provoked in no small part by the Marchioness, who felt inspired to play matchmaker in Plougastel�s absence. The Marchioness had intercepted the young Marquis�s ardent glance and Terese�s modest blushes.

�My dearest Terese,� Jeanne-Antoinette confide, �it is all the fashion for ladies to take lovers� and this one I wager is more satisfying than a cucumber in your husband�s absence.� The grand lady had cued in on the fact that the young Marquis�s interests were reciprocated and used that fact to press the young Marquise forward. How her family would rage if they knew she was meeting him under these conditions.

�Madame speaks very highly of you, Monsieur. How is it that she has come to know you so well?�

<D'Azyr>

It was Gervais�s turn to color, unfortunately he was not shield by a veil. �Madame is too kind,� he replied modestly. �My cousin was an artist in her circle for a time. When I was younger he wished to indulge my love of art by inviting me into the midst of the great ones. Though I fear I did not have the talent then to capture the beauty of the great lady in her heyday.� He stared into the veil, willing it away, trying to perceive even the faintest of traces of that exquisite profile. For a moment he dreamed he caught a twinkle from those large expressive eyes, a moment where the light pierced the veil to illuminate them just for him.

�You, on the other hand, would inspire even the simplest of men to aspire to capture your likeness.� Bold words for a man fearing that she would fly at any moment, but she was here. Was that not reason to hope?

<Mme. de Plougastel>

Mme Plougastel blushed at the suggestion. �Capture my likeness?� she laughed awkwardly. �Monsieur, you are too bold.�

<Mme. de Plougastel>

Thank goodness for large hats and veils! Terese thought to herself, feeling the hot flush to her cheeks. It was words such as these that had prompted her to meet with Gervais, more than the persuasion of their mutual friend. But then this was not the first time he had attempted to woo her. Perhaps he thought she had forgotten the ardent looks and anonymous letters he sent her before she was engaged to Plougastel. Letters signed �Your eternal servant� and written in the same hand that wrote the invitation she received to meet him here. His words now confirmed her suspicions.

�I thought it was you,� she murmured, looking around and then removing the veil from her hat. �If any part of that is true it is that you�ll get your wings burnt if you continue.�

<D'Azyr>

He anticipated the gesture before she made it � had she read his mind (surely not or she would be leaving) or was he desire so strong that it effected her? A small gloved hand that rose hesitantly to move aside the veil that masked the darling face. Gervais felt his heart race in anticipation, it seemed to take forever for the hand to rise and with it the veil, but the wait was well rewarded.

�If any part of that is true it is that you�ll get your wings burnt if you continue,� Terese warned, but something in her eyes spurred him on.

"But I am not the only one willing to take the risk," he observed. "You are here... with me." If she was here then the feeling had to be mutual. "You would be here if you were entirely happy. How can you be satisfied with your newly married husband away for lord knows how long..." And from the tales he had heard, even when Plougastel was present he was hardly equiped to satisfied such a vivacious young woman. "All I ask is that you permit me to help you while away the time until he returns."

<Mme. de Plougastel>

"You are here... with me," he countered, causing the color to return to her face. He had her there. Meeting in the company of mutual acquaintances could be explained away, but to consent to such an intimate engagement with a man whose intentions were so obvious... there was no way to explain the matter away. "... permit me to help you while away the time..."

Terese took a few deep breaths - well as deep as was allowable when a woman had stays squeezing her into the mode of perfection - and tried to keep her voice level. What would he think if she allowed the emotion in her voice to ring through - would he sense the hesitation, the excitement, the longing? Emotions she couldn't even put names to swirled through her head and were stifled on her lips. "Let us say if I were intrigued, there is still my family and my husband has contacts that could make life complicated for you."

<Mme. de Plougastel>

If she wished to see Gervais again she could not even say that much. Her family would be livid if they knew of this meeting. If she was to proceed they mustn�t know. "Would you have me accept your devotion even if I could not return it?" she asked inching her hand away even as she longed to return the gentle caresses he had administered.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

She stared at her hands enclosed in his, her husband had never shared this sort of intimacy with her. So tender it was... it was almost a tragedy that women couldn't marry for love. She might have chosen Gervais, or someone very nearly like him, as husband. With such a union she might never care to leave home.

It was a monumentous decision... but if they were careful... what did it matter if they were... friends? Surely there were other women with male confidants... "I will give you your chance...BUT, whenever I choose to dismiss you you must consent to put up no quarrel about it."

<D'Azyr>

It was shortly after his supper with Terese that Gervais sought out and rent a little apartment off rue Planchette, not the most opulent of rooms, but cozy enough and it had the advantage of a private staircase and door on the side opposite the main entrance. The landlady was the sole of discretion and willing to please a client paying as much as D�Azyr was paying for the use of the room. He convinced Terese that the place on the rue Planchette would be idea to meet where they could take a rented carriage to wherever their hearts desired (or no where at all).

Thus far their relationship � could it even be considered a relationship? Was progressing slowly� painfully slow. For a full month she would only mean with him once a week, at first an hour which grew with each meeting, he was lucky enough to see her face and kiss her fingertip � far from what he hoped to be doing with her. He drew her portrait, wrote her poetry � what more did she want? he thought as he paced the room waiting for her. He dropped onto the settee and eyed the bedroom door � that room was not getting as much use as he hoped.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

It was becoming more and more difficult to come up with pretenses for hiring a conveyance when her husband�s carriage was at her disposal, but then who took their husband�s coach to a tryst? Today she had told Bertram that she heard a worrying noise when she rode in it and asked him to seek it out and put an end to it, it was too cold to used the other, so a hired one was to be procured. Enough money would keep the drivers silence � at least it had so far.

The coach had pull up to the backdoor and before the door was opened for her, Mme. de Plougastel lowered her veil to mask her identity. She found the door unlocked � he was here already � and the key just inside the door so that she might lock it after her, and so doing, dropped the key into her reticule. Silent she crept up the stair to the stairs, listening for any sounds that might come from the street behind or the room at the top.

When she arrived before the door she paused, listening, then slowly opened it so that it would not creak. Gervais was sprawled on one of the settees and immediately jumped to his feet as she appeared. �Forgive my tardiness. It was difficult procuring transportation.�

<D'Azyr>

�Forgive my tardiness. It was difficult procuring transportation.�

D�Azyr had sprang to his feet at the appearance of Terese, his heart was beating too fast to remain still. He instantly was at her side, drawn by the hand she offered to him, which he kissed at least a dozen times. He looked up to her face, but could see little beyond the veil. �The torture of waiting is surpass by the fact that you are here, my dearest.� The tension he felt in her dissipated slightly with his word. Still holding her hand, he slipped the other around her waist � hearing the slightest of gasps � and led her to the settle. �How long can you stay?�

<Mme. de Plougastel>

When D�Azyr came towards her, Terese felt certain he would swept her up in him arms and kiss her � much to her surprise and disappointment she was wrong. Instead he kissed her hand and pulled her towards the settee where he sat beside her

�A few hours� perhaps three,� Terese whispered, �I told the household I would be out shopping. I will have to bring something back with me.� He was sitting so close, she could feel the warm emanate from him.

<D'Azyr>

�Is that all?� he muttered, brushing back the veil that obscured her face. �I could gaze on you forever and never be sated� but if we�ve so little time we must make the best of it, hmmm?� He helped her remove her hat and marveled at the golden curls that spilled down her shoulders as the hat pulled loose the comb that held them into place. �Now� how were you sitting last?� He rose to his feet and looked down into her large eyes. �Oh, yes� allow me�� He took one of the large pillows on the settle and propped it under her elbow, then laying one hand on her waist, he shifted her into a reclining position. A shiver passed through her and he smiled, it was a considerable improvement over the tension she exhibited when first they met. He could picture her posing as the living Venus, what little remained conceal under golden curls, her entire body blushing with desire. Still kneeling beside her, �I am beginning to fear, I could never do you justice.�

<Mme. de Plougastel>

Terese blushed under Gervais�s complements, as he laid his hands upon her. �Far from it, my dear Marquis, I imagine you are too flattering,� Terese demurred. �But I of a mood to do someone other lounge on the settle. I wish to talk.� She sat up abruptly and patted the cushion next to her. Gervais stared at her for a moment that complied. �Why is it I do not find you married yet? I would imagine you in search of a wife at this age."

<D'Azyr>

Gervais slid on to the cushion beside her, marveling at the heat that seemed to radiate from her. It would take little effort to push her back into the cushions and make love to her there and then... but if he did he risked the possibility that she would refuse to return, then again could he stomach satiating his desire with some nameless wench all the while dreaming of her.

"Why is it I do not find you married yet?" she demanded and Gervais flinched, the tone was nearly like that of his own mother demanding the same question.

"Ah, that question," he stalled. "You're not the first to ask. I have yet to find a lady who measures up to my expectations... my father demands a hefty dowry for the name I bring. But what does marriage matter? You are marriage - are you happy?"

<Mme. de Plougastel>

Terese blushed at the question - was she happy? Who had ever thought to ask such a thing? One did not marry to be happy! "That is impertinent!" she flashed back and immediately regretted it. Gervais sank back into the cushions behind him, putting a little more distance between them. "Married life isn't about being happy," she confessed. "Bernard-Francois was called away so shortly after we were married that I have little idea what married life is like... unless it is this - this loneliness." She blushed even more with her revelation. "So you see it is an unfair question."

<D'Azyr>

�Then I regret to be the one to tell you that this is very much what married life is like� so I�ve observed,� Gervais settled himself into a more comfortable position form which he gaze upon her at his ease without intimidating her. �That is why affairs are so common. Everyone has a lover in addition to their husband or wife � everyone. From the king to the butcher, all marry for gain, but more often share their bed with the ones they love. That is how the loneliness is avoided� by finding someone you love and holding them close to your heart, even if you cannot be enveloped in the bonds of wedded union� Life is ironic. Did you know that once you and I were considered for marriage? My mother mentioned it once� Pity the deal wasn�t settled, we would have made a perfect match.�

<Mme. de Plougastel>

The potential marriage had been news to her, "Really? Do you know why?" D'Azyr's title and fortune were nothing to sneer at. Why would her father turn his nose up at such an offer? Besides the monetary aspects she and Gervais were so much more better suited for each other. Given the choice she would have picked Gervais in a heart beat.

<D'Azyr>

�At the time, your father believed an alliance with Plougastel was more adventitious,� Gervais replied. �I image it would be his connection in Austrian� but why talk about your husband when it is you I am more interested in knowing about?� Teresia gazed into his eyes from lowered lids, which meant that she had to tilt her head back leaving her lips enticing placed at his mercy. Over the days and weeks her words and laughter had become freer, she had developed a habit off touching his hand and forearm when she was excited. Her hand rested there now. How could he resist?

With painstaking slowness, he lips descended on hers. The first contact was gentle � velvet! The first was followed by a second and a third, each lasting later than the last. On the fourth her lips parted � emboldened he continued. She felt her sinking back into the cushion of the settle and followed her inch by delicious inch.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

It all happened quite unexpectedly, not that she was complaining. One moment they were talking, then the next he was kissing her and she found herself returning his kisses. With clinging hands she pulled him closer � oh god the heat of him! She felt anxious hands glide from her waist to cup her breast, his mouth trailing downward to kiss those parts that her too tight gown had not concealed. It was never like this with Plougastel. Never! She needed to remove her stays, she thought frantically. Her breathing had become heavier and her stays were too tight to accommodate her breathing. �S-stays�� she gasped. Gervais sat up, a puzzle look in his eye, then realization. He worked his way through shirts and petticoats to loosen her stays � freeing her � then proceeded to kiss her again.

<D'Azyr>

Bliss! Oh heavenly bliss! Gervais thought as the lady responded to his kisses and tender strokes. She was his! She was pulling him closer, her firm round breast crushed against him yearning to be freed from that confining bodice. "S-stays..." she gasped out writhing beneath him in ecstasy. She was ripe. Ready for him. He vaguely wondered what had finally convinced her to open the draw bridge, but it didn't matter!

Quickly his hands burrowed through yards and yards of silks, until he found the ribbon that held tight her stays and loosened it, making no rush to extract them as they grazed along the soft flesh of her warm thighs. He kissed her again and she let him explore her face, throat, and breasts. Her usually light eyes were dark with passion and desire and she tore at his cravat. In a bold, abrupt gesture Gervais scooped Terese up into his arms and carried her to the boudoir. Despite his urgency, he was determined not to despoil her on the settle. They needed space and comfort, then she'd see why a couple of hours was not nearly long enough.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

She felt herself melting into the cushion, then suddenly lifted as though she weighed nothing at all. So giddy was she from the kisses that for a moment she thought she was floating, she might float if not for the strong arms that held her close. He set her down with infinite gentleness, moving down to remove shoes and stockings... kissing her calves, her thighs. She was more than receptive to his touch, when he moved something she did not resist, when he indicated he wanted something moved - she complied. It was when he kissed that most intimate of places that all doubts, vanished. It was an ecstasy she had never experienced before. "Mon dieu! mon dieu!" Whoever thought it could be like this?

She could scarcely see - scarcely breath - when Gervais sat up and came down beside her - kissing her. She felt her own hands fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, felt the animals inside stirring, straining to get out. Release, it homed in on it's counterpart, then all was bliss.

<D'Azyr>

It was well worth the effort and energy he'd put in to make this moment happen, Gervais reflected, cradling the exhausted Terese in his arm. If this was to continue, he would have to be careful - so very careful- not to let her husband or family to discover this affair. If Plougastel learned he'd been cuckolded, he would use his impressive resources at court and abroad to severely damage the reputation of the lover. It had to remain a secret between them.

He craned his neck to drop a kiss on the top of her head, smelling her soft golden hair. Plougastel was a fortunate fool to marry this beauty. She was perfection. "I will remember this night always as the happiest moment in my life," he whispered into her hair, and he believed it, wishing they might stay this way forever.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

"Will it always be like this?" Terese asked, lifted her face up to kiss his chin. "As much as I know I must eventually go, I wish we might lie like this forever, my love." My love. In so little time he had built his place in her heart. Oh what cruel fate had prevented them from being united before this.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

Drowsily Terese snuggled closer, breathing in the musky smell of the man beside her. It felt as though for this brief moment in time their heart were beating as one, she knew she would never share this degree of intimacy with her husband. The thought startled her into reality. How long had she been here? She would have to leave soon or someone might become suspicious. �I� I should go,� she said abruptly, sitting up with the counterpane pulled close to her chest and searching the floor for her clothes.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

�The time...� she managed, struggling to tighten her stays. �I did not realize it was so late. I�ve been gone too long and I will be missed.�

<Mme. de Plougastel>

�When can I see you next?� It was a good question, one that did not come with an easy answer. Every time they met their risks grew, but to spend a day like this again� surely it was worthy some risk. �Same time a week from today. Here.�

<D'Azyr>

She scarcely waited for a nod of his head before she her hood low over her forehead and her cloak tightly around her shoulders to hide her indiscretions she could not repair. Then she was gone in a clatter of little footsteps down the staircase and out the door. He was half tempted to watch her through the window as she came out and darted into her coach, but if anyone should see� no, there was no good in being indiscrete now.

He wandered back to the back and dropped down on it, stretch luxuriously out. Impulsively she plucked up the pillow where she had last lay her head and smelled the lingering perfume of her hair. It would be a whole week before she could smell the real thing again.

<Mme. de Plougastel>

My dear Gervais,
Do not write me or visit me. We can be only distant acquaintances now, my family suspects too much and you are becoming colder to me. It is best we forget everything. Do not come I will turn you away.
Therese

The letter was in part true, but in much the same way a lie in the fact it did not relate. And as Terese wrote it, steady tears slid down her cheeks not only for the realization of what she would lose, but also with the burden that she carried all on her own. She was late and while it has yet to show it would and there would questions and scandal. She had decided to spare Gervais the knowledge that she would bear him a child, but there was still the fact that a child would be born.

Sealing up the letter, she laid atop the bags she packed for her departure, where her personal maid took a hold of it. "Have it sent by a special courier for M. de la Tour de Azyr's eye only." The woman nodded and departed.

<D'Azyr>

The Marquis de la Tour d�Azyr was lounging on the settle in his sitting room, idly thumbing through Voltaire (bourgeois rubbish!) while waiting for his suit for Gu�m�n�e�s salon � abruptly interrupted when Mattias entered bearing a letter free of perfume or address. He recognized the handwriting on the letter the moment it was placed it in his hands and ordered the messenger to be paid handsomely for it. He hadn�t seen or heard from Terese in over a fortnight, it was as if she dropped out of society. True, arranging their liaisons were becoming more complex to arrange� but this long silence? Now the silence was ended with this ominous note.

The message was as brief as it was direct � she was ending it. Refused to see him or hear from him. Why? But she refused him even that much. What could he do? He would not humiliate himself in an effort to find out. If that is what she wanted so be it! He wasn�t going to let her think she had stomped on his heart. Tearing up her note, d�Azyr tossed the pieces into the fire, scooped up the booklet he�d been leafing through and tossed that into the fire as well. He had better thinks to occupy his time before he went out that evening.

Therese knew her letter would not be well received, but it was the only choice. The only choice. She must stop think of how hurt and betrayed Gervais must feel and focus on the more pressing problem of an unexpected pregnancy. She knew enough to know that she couldn�t stay in Paris where scrutinizing eyes would ferret out her secret. She would have to go out to the country... someplace like Moreau.

A thought struck her and she began a second letter:

Sealing the note, she handed it to her lady in waiting to see off.

Quentin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac, appeared far removed from what most expected an aristocrat should. He worked the land just as hard as any peasant on it, and found it far more appealing than any fancy dress ball or society soiree. He left such political manueverings to his brother Etienne, who had considerably more affinity for it. So it was quite understandable that the courier experience some degree of shock at delivering a letter addressed to "the Lord of Gavrillac", to a sweaty, dusty figure straight from the garden.

Gavrillac bade his seneschal, Benoit, to see to the man's needs while he tore open the letter, written in a hand he recognized immediately. 'Quinten, my dearest friend, I beg you receive me when I come two days hence. I must speak to you on a most urgent, desperate matter. If you have any love for me you will not refuse.' and signed by his cousin, Therese. Gavrillac's brow furrowed in thought at the queer missive, then added at the bottom of her message. "I will prepare for your arrival. Your servant, Quentin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac."

As soon as the messenger was refreshed, Quentin sent him with his replied. Conferred with Benoit about the arrangement needed for Mme. de Plougastel's arrival, then returned to his work.

Therese took heart as she read her cousin's response, but would it last after she told him? He could reject her as well once he knew what she had done. His response could not have arrived at a better time, the messenger arriving within an hour of her sheduled departure (what would she have done if he'd refused!)

She travelled only with her personal maid, the coach had been hired as an excuse not to take her typical retinue. "I wish to get away from everything," she told them. Especially because any one of them was untrustworthy.

The coach ride took ages, it seemed, though it truth the coachman had given the horses free rein, and in relatively quick time the coach stood before her cousin's home, his personal man was there to help her from the coach. He showed her into a drawing room and told her the Lord of Gavrillac would be forth coming.

Therese took Quentin's hand, gripping it tightly. "I've done something dreadful!" she exclaimed. "There is no one else I can turn to, but I fear that you will reject me for what I've done. Do you swear not to hate me if I tell you?"

It was a difficult situation she put him in, forcing him into a blind oath. Oaths were not a thing to take lightly and the French were a passionate people... but then this was Therese, whom he knew and adored from his youth. A woman he at one time considered proposing to, what could she have done that would make him despite her?

He thought of the most horrible thing she could have done... (murder?)... then asked himself whether he could forgive. "I will not hate you. Now tell me this trouble you've gotten yourself into."

Therese shifted in her seat, fidgeting with the folds of her skirts while she tried to think of how best to tell Quentin that she was bearing the child of a man who was not her husband.

"As you know my lord husband has been away for over a year, and I scarcely saw him before that... well, it would be difficult to convince him that the child I bear is his." Quentin's mouth dropped open in shock. "I had an affair, which I can only justify by saying that I was very lonely and that it is over now � but that doesn't excuse what I've done. I can not have a child when my husband returns...!" She stopped short, unable to find any more words to plead her case, her eyes did the rest.

Therese bowled him over with her confession, stumbling over her words on an effort to get them all out, as if she feared she might explode if she kept them in any longer. That she would have an affair was not entirely unexpected, many bored, unsatisfied wives filled their free time with lovers, Therese�s condition might not have been so dire if her husband had not been away. The child could have been explained away as his and the indiscretion kept silent, but now what was there to do? If a gypsy or witch women to brew something to be rid of the child? Did she expect him to know where to find such a creature?

�What is it you require of me?� he asked.

Therese shook her head insistently. "I don't know what to do. I know that I can not have a child when my husband returns. I am at my wits end!" She stood and began to pace. "If I am to have a child, it must be born in secret... even my personal maid must not be privy to it's existence... and I must see that it is cared for... but how?" She spoke more to herself than to her cousin, it was a topic she had gone over many times in her mind since she discovered her pregnancy and now, spoken aloud, it seemed all the more hopeless. Her family would find out... her husband would find out... and then, she shuddered to think.

Therese blinked several time as she stared at Quentin. It always came back to that. What did she want? Sometimes she didn't know herself... "Who would care for the child? Where would it go?"

At Quentin's suggestion, Therese sank down into the settle. Subconciously folding her arms protectively over her stomach. "You will?" she whispered. "... well, I suppose I should go someplace where my face is not known and bear the child out. I was think of going to Moreau... do you think you can make the arrangements?"

"The excuses have been made," she explained. "All that is left is to place myself in your hands." She took his hands to emphasize the point. "I am trusting you with my life."

When the courier came that morning, all he had to do was sstate from whence he came and Quentin knew that his dear cousins was ready to bear her child. In little time he ordered a horse prepared and washed and changed and was ready within an hours time to ride to Moreau. The sun had beat down unrelenting on him, cooled only by a light breeze in his face, but there was good reason for haste, for the longer he took the more time elapse during which, Terese might cave into motherly urges and refuse to give the child up.

He arrived in Moreau at sunset and saw the wet nurse first, who informed him the child was a healthy and hearty boy. Quentin looked at the child for but a moment. "Can the child travel?"

"I see no danger in it, but the mother...?"

"She will be staying a while more. If the child is ready to go, then you must make yourself ready to go," Quentin told her, in less than his usual pleasant manner. Then left her with the child to see to Terese. "He knocked softly on the door to her room, fearing he might wake her if she was asleep.

Terese stirred at the rapping at the door, watched the doctor shuffle to it and open it a crack, then step back to allow the visitor to enter. "Quentin," she murmur, exhausted after her ordeal. Come here." She held her hands out to him. "Have you seen it? The doctor won't let me. Tell the nurse to bring it in."

Gavrillac took the hands that she held out to him, and took a seat beside the bed. His eyes caressed her pale, waxy complexion, her rose lips and dark eyes. She looked as though she were tettering between this world and the next, even her musical voice seemed like a hoarse and strained. It was not an easy message he had to give her and he nearly bent to her request, but some how he knew what must be done and found the strength to do it.

"You cannot see the child," he told her, looking down at her hands rather than to meet her eyes. A pained gasp chipped away and his resolve. "You must give the child up and I fear if you see it, it will kill you to do so. I will take it with me when I leave, but you must trust me when I tell you that it is for your own good and the child's that you do not see him."

She could hear the baby crying in the next room and all her instincts demanded that she go to it. And yet here was Quentin cruelly telling her that she was never to see the child. How monstrous!

"How cruel you are!" she scolded. "Have you no heart? Can you not hear the baby in there crying for his mother?"

"That child has no mother," Quentin said simple, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "You have no child. Can you not see the logic in what I am telling you? Already you are tettering on the verge of disaster. For your own safety, as well as the babe's, that child can mean nothing to you." He hated playing the part of the villain, but how is it she could not see? "I will be leaving in the morning, it is the best way. For the night I will board the wet nurse at the inn I am staying at... try to forget the child. Think of it as lost, grieve for a time, and go on with your life."