After the Salon

The remainder of the Salon had dragged painfully on, Marguerite's patience was tested to the point of endurance as what she had wished to be an intimate encounter with Sir Percy, was constantly interrupted by her other guests. She was grateful as she saw the last of the guests out, and turned to find that only Percy remained, still sitting beside her chair. His gaze only broke her to make a quick sweep of the room, to assure himself they were truly alone. She slowly crossed the room, enjoying the way his eyes darken with desire.

"I feared they would stay forever," she laughed, standing over him, running her finger through his hair. She smiled. Alone at long last... well, not quite. She had nearly forgotten poor Suzanne, in the kitchen. She sighed and the smile faded, "I left poor dear Suzanne in the kitchen, you will forgive me for delaying our dinner long enough to see her off, won't you my darling? I fear that the company upset her."

<Percy>

"Do invite her to join us," Percy said, his puzzled gaze asking �Who is she? Why have I not seen her?� A rustling of leaves at the window echoed the rustling of Marguerite�s skirts and somehow increased the temperature within the salon. Percy�s fists clenched, he worked at controlling his breathing. This languid atmosphere and the woman before him � alone at last � all he wanted was to feel her satin cheek and the heat of her skin. He ached to breathe in the perfume of her hair and taste the wonder of her lips.

"I�m not so terrifying as your reactionary friends. I must admit they had me trembling in my boots; especially the stuttering one." That stuttering fellow � deadly. Dangerous. He watched Marguerite frown and wondered how she felt secure in inviting such riff-raff to her home. Wasn�t she afraid they might return in the night bearing sharp knives?

"Did you see his eyes?" Percy shook his head. "He will do a murder someday � I can see it!" Easy enough to see � why the heat of early July conjured such feelings of violence. None of the fashionable people remained in Paris in July. It was a wonder that the Comedie was still running. Surely this was the last night of their season!

The Actress was disquieted. He watched her pace to the kitchen. She left him alone for awhile and briefly he heard another voice through the door. Agitated. Eventually, she returned alone.

Marguerite looked down into that adoring gaze, �It�s hard to imagine anyone any one setting you trembling in your boots, darling,� Marguerite breathed, leaving the unspoken questions as yet unanswered. A most unfortunate afternoon it had been, but one with many revelations. Percy and Suzanne had been treated vilely, but she had been able to gather that something monumental was soon in coming. That her salons had gradually shifted from intellectual discussion to political debate had not escaped Marguerite, they provided her invaluable information despite the fact that subject matter might be considered treasonable. It left her well warned of the times ahead, a warning that she had hoped Suzanne would pick up on.

�Did you see his eyes?� Percy continued to speak, stirring in her a sense of forboding. And yet, despite this unease, when their eyes met she felt safe, his look was concerned, protective. She wondered how someone who loved her this much be real. Brushing the back of her hand along his cheek she left him to check on dear Suzanne, wondering how she would ever be able to make amends with her dear friend.

She found Suzanne still in the kitchen, still in the same seat, pale as linen. It seemed as if the poor girl hadn�t moved since Marguerite left her. �They've gone, darling," Marguerite said, soothingly. The only one here is Sir Percy, I told you about him. Do come out and meet him. He's nothing like the others.� Suzanne responded nervously, her interaction with Robespierre has obviously had a worse effect than she had previously imagined, coupled with the fact that she had probably felt that Marguerite had abandoned her, sent a guilt pang through her. "I'll make today up to you, Suzanne, I swear. You don't have to speak with him for long..." Something in Suzanne's look stopped her. "All right, my dearest. Whenever you are ready I'll see you to your coach." With a soft sigh, she quietly closed the door and returned to Sir Percy.

She met Percy's quizzical expression with a winsome smile. "Suzanne is my oldest and dearest friend," Marguerite explained as she returned to him. "We met in the convent and have remained good friends since. We even when to London together to study your language." She took his hands in hers. "However, she has always been a bit shy. I fear Msr. Robespierre upset her when she first arrived and she has been attempting to settle her nerves ever since. I think it best that she returns home when she has collected herself."

<Percy>

His hand in hers - Percy yearned to drop her hand that he might use both of his to circle Marguerite's waist and pull her to him. He couldn't be close enough! There was something welcoming in her gaze that settled his wanderlust tendencies, drawing him out of his hermit's need for privacy. He wanted to pull her onto his lap, but dared not. She would misread such action within all its sexual connotations - and why not? Didn't lust and desire fill his eyes? Glazing his palms with sweat, loosening the tight seal he usually kept on his too-agile tongue.

Marguerite squeezed his hand, caressed his cheek, welcomed him with the heat of her admiring gaze. Did she like the cut of his waistcoat? The cut of his jib? An actress with knowing eyes, was she measuring him for her lover? Measuring his intentions, his ardour? Or evaluating the cost of his diamond cravat pin? Percy had never given jewels to an actress before, but this was a woman to teach him extravagance. He'd never had cause to learn the art of offering rich presents; inappropriate it was to bestow such a gift on a lady. He'd proffered bonbons along with his hand in marriage and had both items rejected. He'd offered kisses under the stars and been thwarted. He'd paid in cold currency for the use of a harlot's bed and derived a release as insubstantial as the clouds in the sky.

"I cannot help but recall," Percy murmured, holding Marguerite's hand against his lips, "how you said you did not bestow kisses lightly." Nibbling her knuckles, he felt her flinch, heard a sudden intake of breath. "An actress who does not kiss on demand is something I've never encountered before." It was mighty difficult for a woman to have a high opinion of herself, Percy thought, when she appeared before several hundred people in nothing but a shift, back-lit to reveal the shape of her legs and the shadow of her body. True, her voice was tender and true, each note of her solo proving her talent as a singer, but an actress, by her very profession, had acknowledged talent in more pedestrian activities.

"I accept that you are not for sale at any price.� He leaned back in the chair so that he could fix her in his gaze. �Perhaps we might work a wager.� Marguerite�s eyebrows shot up in polite disbelief, and Percy hastened to explain himself. �I propose you ask any task of me and when I have completed it, you will reward me with a kiss." He turned her hand over and nibbled the flesh of her palm, making her giggle. She squirmed, bumping his arm, his shoulder, and making him break out in a cold sweat. How fortunate for The Actress that she had her friend closeted in the kitchen - how easy it would be to sweep her off her feet and steal the kiss he bargained for.

"A supper at Palmier's? Dancing at the assembly? A night at the opera? A picnic in the woods?� He recited the list as if he should be ticking it off with his fingers. Then, with a smile that wobbled crookedly, he added, �Or would you prefer to ask me to hang pictures, or to wind yarn . . . or carry water for your bath?" Percy winked, wishing that she might ruffle his hair once more. No one had ever ruffled his hair before � not that he could recall. It was a pleasure beyond anything he�d experienced in his life. He would have to set her hand free so that she could � no! First he must kiss each knuckle.

Marguerite blushed. It was almost unfair the hold she had over this man. The desire in his eyes, in his tensed frame. He bartered for a kiss that other men would try to take � how unusual he was, an enigma. That he offered the wager for a mere kiss was surprising when most men attempted to barter for so much more. And after his ministrations to her hands, she sorely tempted to kiss him to satisfy her curiosity as to how skilled his lips were. �Just a kiss?� she asked playfully, arching an eyebrow. Hard to believe he would settle for so little. She ran her now free hand through his soft hair and watched his eyes light up, whatever mistresses he may have had were evidently far too neglectful. �And what manner of kiss were you hoping to receive? For the task should be up to the payment. A kiss cheek on both cheeks like old friends? A light peck on the lips like school girls do?� As she said this she tapped his lower lip with a finger, her other hand still stroking his hair. �Would you like me to kiss you as I would on stage? Hmmm� no. I don�t think those are the sorts of kisses you�re looking for.�

She leaned in close, her cheek briefly brushing his as she bent to whisper in his ear, it was a deliberate contact mean to seem accidental. �Perhaps you are looking for a kiss that would make your knees buckle, your eyes roll into the back of your head, and leave you at a loss for your own name.� She straightened up to register the surprise on his face, a fair turn for the surprise he had given her. She wanted to excite him, to watch the changes in those deep blue eye, which seemed to change in color with his changing emotions, darkening with desire. She wondered if it wasn�t cruel to excite him so. Cruel to him and cruel to his poor mistress who would be the recipient of the passions she was stirring up. �Don�t give me that look, darling, it is not something I give to just anyone. As I said I am not liberal with my kisses.� Which was true enough, the first time she had given such an incendiary kiss she was uncertain that she could, but it had landed her the role that launched her career. What was it they said? �Virgins get the worst roles.� And it was true, but it did not mean she had to give herself over so freely. It was not always so necessary to be lie on one�s back to get one�s way and that was where she excelled over many of her peers. �Such a kiss requires a Herculean effort,� she smiled.

She turned his offers around in her mind. Supper at Palmier's � she would prefer something more intimate. Dancing? Enjoyable, but too easy. A night at the opera was tempting, but all of these offers seemed efforts at flaunting a fortune. She smiled at the thought of those fine manicured hands set to the menial task of hanging pictures or winding yarn or carrying her bath water � with that last offer would he be willing to soap her back? What did she want of him? If he could set Suzanne�s nerves at ease or convince du Tournai to take up residence outside of Paris until the storm that was brewing broke, it would be worth an infinite number of kisses. But these thoughts were too ridiculous. �What I ask you can not be so easily bought.� She lean in close again, cheek to cheek she whispered, �I want you to bear your soul to me under the stars.� She felt him tense. �A picnic under the stars,� she explained. �Where you will read me your poetry.�

She straightened up, looking down into his eyes. �That is my task for you.�

Marguerite�s smile faltered. Something in her request had offended the young lord � these English and their peculiar customs. Perhaps what she requested was inappropriate where he came from, where in France suitor would leap at the chance to share his talent � or lack of talent. He avoided her eyes where only moments ago he was unable to drink his fill of them. She would have to consult a friend on these strange customs, particular those concerning poetry. It did foil her attempts to get to know him that way � unless that was were her mistake lied.

�Perhaps I have been unfair, my darling,� Marguerite smiled again, stooping down to try and capture his eye as she might try to coax a child from a hiding place. �I should have been more considerate, I can think of something else if you like.� She took his hands in hers once again, caressing them with her thumbs. She had his full attention again. She lightly kissed the back of one hand before dropping them into his lap.

�I do hope you are coming to tonight performance,� she said softly, as she moved away from him and seating herself on the settee. �If you do I�ll dedicate my performance to you. Besides, it is likely that Msr. Chauvelin or Maximilien�s little friend will waylay me if you aren�t there to protect me.� She removed her slippers as she spoken, then curled her feet under her.

�Come,� she said, holding a hand out to him. �I don�t want to shout across the room, and the only way that we�ll both fit in that chair is upon each other.�

<Percy>

"Unfair?" he asked, his voice husky. "Not unfair, but my talent is not so legendary as to carry a night's entertainment. I knock off a few verses, usually when the fancy strikes me, and they seem witty because they fill the moment, but as for *poetry* -- I'm not prepared for a critical reading."

His humiliation was complete. He yearned to shine in her presence, but how could he? What were his exceptional qualities? He made the Prince of Wales laugh with his bawdy couplets - usually about a woman they all knew. He was a dab hand at changing the lyrics of popular songs so that his friends would howl with laughter. He had a fascinating ability to match up cream silk with red velvet and create an ensemble that made people gasp with admiration and not ridicule. He knew cloth, jewels and leather with an instinctive grasp of their quality. In this list there was nothing that would make this woman admire him. Aside from the fact that she seemed to like his hair . . . there was nothing!

His concentration was destroyed as Marguerite sauntered away, then hitched up her skirt and seated herself on a two-seated settle. The saliva in his mouth dried up at the sight of her neat ankles. Heaven - oh heaven, she wore dainty embroidered slippers with sharply pointed toes and on each toe rode a leather rose. He was drawn to her like filings to a magnet, unaware of standing or of moving for all his attention was focused on the shoes. He slid onto the cushion next to her and boldly took one of her feet in his hand, cupping it from heel to toe in his long, slender palm. With the thumb of the other hand he touched her ankle with a tender brushing stroke. One slender finger slid along her arch and into the shoe and then his eyes impacted hers like a physical blow and the slipper came off in one hand, leaving her stockinged foot in the other.

"I must minister to these pretty sweet things. Weary little toes and . . ." the words faltered as he kneaded her toes and the ball of her foot. His eyes closed and his hands worked as if he were in a trance.

Marguerite watched Percy in a state of perplexed amazement, his actions had been truly surprising. Save for this afternoon when he lead her away from, Percy was shy, hesitant � that hesitation was gone. He had changed so suddenly. On moment she struggled to gain eye contact and now he seemed like a man possessed. The look he gave her was one she had seen in the eyes of men certain that they would gain admission into her bed.

She gasped, giggled. That some much pleasure could be found in caressing feet she had been unaware, and Sir Percy was extraordinary skillful. What that man could do with his hands! He tended to her feet with expert skill and infinite care. Percy seemed as aroused by her feet as most other men were fascinated by other portions of her anatomy, was not Chauvelin but an hour ago fixated on her breast. The situation might have been strange if she hadn�t been enjoying it so much. She leaned her head upon her arm, watching him, fascinated.

The temperature in the room seemed to rise by degrees. Her eyes flickered to the kitchen door, worried that she would blush crimson if Suzanne were to appear at that moment, not that what they were doing was indecent, but it felt... well, she would hear Suzanne before she opened the door. �Your talents continually amaze me, my darling Percy,� Marguerite said softly. �I never dreamed that you possessed such skill with your lips and hands.� What other portions were so adept. �Is this your offer in place of poetry?�

Marguerite found herself surprisingly disappointed that Percy had stopped, on the point of opening up � he closed before she had had the opportunity to unravel this enigma. She sat up abruptly, leaned forward as if to kiss him before the moment was lost, stopped herself inches away. The impulsive gesture surprised her as it had appeared to surprise him � did she appear too forward? �Sometimes it is the moment that matters,� she smiled, taking his hand in hers. �I�ve never met a man like you before� it intrigues me. Most men would have settled our terms before asking about dinner.�

She gently traced the lines of his palm with her forefinger, eyes locked on his � the only clue to unearthing what lied behind. �I fear I have done you a great disservice, my darling. First, you are accosted by my guests� and now I must tell you that there is no dinner being prepared. My cook has taken the day to tend to a sick sister, I had intended to take you to a little place I know near the theater, I arranged for a table away from prying eyes and free from disruptions� and poor Suzanne is still in the kitchen, I had no idea that she would take this afternoon so poorly.� She glanced at the door again, wonder how much damage had been done that Suzanne still had not made an experience even if to merely take her leave. �You must think me absolutely horrible. I shall have to make this up to you. Shall I wax poetry?

but those words belong to another � I do not have the skill of your tongue.� She blushed slightly at the reference, as it made her realized that she had never moved back. Percy�s eye were as dark as midnight.

<Percy>

"There is no dinner being prepared," Marguerite had said � fighting words to any healthy young man, save for one seriously in love. Perhaps he could live on his ardour for a time. Percy was beginning to imagine how he might pine and grow thin, when her pretty lips informed him, "I arranged for a table away from prying eyes and free from disruptions..."

"Ah, capital . . ." he interrupted. This was something he understood; a sumptuous meal, he and The Actress t�te-�-t�te � he might woo her with tender words and earnest glances. This fantasy was also interrupted by the temptress spouting poetry of her own.

At the conclusion, Percy cocked his head. "I confess I don't understand Italian." Although he should - having been to Italy . Having learned the language, so it was believed, while he was there. "But I have heard that poem before. My cousin spouts all manner of . . ." Obscenities, he'd nearly said. Tony and he shared a passion for ribald poetry. Surely this was something else. "Well, he's memorised all manner of classical works," Percy said, rapidly covering his near slip. "What is it? Something from Dante?"

Marguerite laughed. �How precious you are, my darling Percy! But I have not care to hear about your cousin, I want to know more about you.� She stroked his hair once more. �You are right, it is Dante. From his Vita Nuova, the poet returns home overwhelm with joy at the thought of seeing his beloved, he debates on the hold that Love has over him... but I go on and you are undoubtedly ravenous, my love.� Perhaps dinner would provide more insight. A chance to be alone, uninhibited. She looked to the kitchen � nothing. Well, Suzanne couldn�t stay in there all night.

�I think it is time for Suzanne to return home before her father and mother think something foul has befallen her.� She went to the kitchen and peeked inside. �Suzanne, you have been trapped in here for hours. Please let�s get you home before your mammon thinks you were stolen away!�

Lost deep in thought, she bolted when Margot opened the door and addressed her. "Oh Margot! I'm so sorry. Yes, of course I'll go. We wouldn't want Mammon upset with you about something *else*. I should have left a while ago... I must have gotten distracted. I was thinking about what you said earlier... about leaving for England . You're right. I shall have to convince my father."

She stood and straightened her skirt. She turned and picked her reticule from off the seat cushion and pulled her gloves from it. She tugged them onto her dainty hands as she spoke. "He will be difficult to convince and will most likely argue with me for hours about it, but I think he knows that you are right.... Oh no! I'd nearly forgotten... wasn't I supposed to meet your English friend? He hasn't left yet, has he? I would feel awful if he has departed before you could introduce us. After all, I want to meet your friends Margot... well, the ones that won't bite my head off for being born." She joked, hoping to get a laugh out of her friend.

"Besides, if we are to move to England , it is better for my family to have some contacts there. Father knows a few from his trips over there on assignment for the government. I've met one of them. He was very nice." She sighed, the memory of the time she met Marguerite stirring around in her mind. "Goodness, I used to be so shy! Now I'm insisting you introduce me to virtual strangers! I didn't think I could change Margot... I suppose you've rubbed off on me." She grinned at her friend.

Marguerite took her friend by the hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "No, dear Percy hasn't departed. We've been amusing ourselves while waiting for you to recover." She led Suzanne out of the kitchen, they found Percy standing tall and straight. "Percy, my darling, this is my oldest and dearest friend, Suzanne. I fear she found my salon just as disagreeable as you found it, but I have promised her that you are as gentle as a lamb."

<Percy>

Bowing before the child, he took her hand and kissed it. The little hand stretched stiff in his palm � either she was truly terrified of people, or she was very young and unused to the dictates of society manners. In order not to frighten her further, he gave her the most cursory glance and received an impression of fluffy hair in fashionable curls topped by a white cap � the standard thing for a young woman�s afternoon attire. Her gown was pale with swirls of colour in it. Organdie. Yes, when she bobbed her curtsey, the fabric rustled. Definitely organdie. Percy�s impression was of a slender young woman, fair, pale, thin and quiet. Perhaps she was to be a nun. No; how absurd to suppose he�d meet a postulant in the home of an actress.

"Bun joor madem-was-elle. Ca-mon sa va? Eel-ee-ya un dees-cussion tray toor-bu-lant, yes?" he intoned slowly. The petite mademoiselle cringed at his words and he worried that he�d said something amiss.

He tightened his grip on her tiny hand reassuringly. "Be at ease. I�m certainly not one of the revolutionary rabble who were set to devour you at luncheon, what?" Percy glanced at Marguerite, "My French is desperately poor. D�you think she understands me at all?"

Marguerite exchanged knowing glances with Suzanne, then gave her a reassuring smile. Though greatly improved since the first time they had met, Suzanne had been forever skittish in the presence of strangers. She kept her arm round Suzanne�s shoulders, least the poor dear swoon. �Don�t worry, darling. Suzanne is merely a little shy,� Marguerite smiled up at him.

<Percy>

�My word, your English is tolerably good!� Percy�s French was somewhat strained when it came to words in social conversations. The stiffness in his shoulders eased as he reverted to English. The Actress liked to mix English phrases into her sentences to help him follow her conversation; but this lovely mademoiselle was going to speak to him completely in English.

Her little hand touched his. He hoisted it to his lips and kissed the back. �Enchantez, mademoiselle. Most pleasing to have the opportunity to speak easily with someone.� She said she was a nobleman�s daughter, but he was certain she was teasing him. No nobleman would allow his daughter to consort with an actress . . . especially not so tender and shy a flower as this one. He felt a flash of anger at this blantant lie offered so casually to a stranger, then paused. That was the point � he was a stranger, and she was wary of strangers. Percy glanced around the room. The three of them were alone. No, she was no nobleman�s daughter, unchaperoned. No waiting maid in sight.

He felt pity for the poor child. �My pleasure, mademoiselle, to make your acquaintance,� he said, bowing once more, then dismissed her from his mind. He gave Marguerite a quizzical look, his puzzlement disappearing as he caressed her blue eyes with his and watched them glow impossibly bluer. He smiled as delicate colour warmed her cheeks.

�Suzanne and I studied English together, but I fear, as you can see, her mastery is far better than mine,� Marguerite smiled. So that was the reason he was so hesitant to open up to her, his lack of mastery over the language... perhaps a change to a more familiar tongue over dinner might prove more revealing. What was this power he held that enticed her so? He, like many men, fell at her feet proclaiming their love, but never before was she filled with such a desire to know more about them. It couldn�t be because of his foreign upbringing � she had had other foreign suitors. Wealth? No, there were others who had offered to lay their fortune and titles at her feet. There was something about him that fascinated her, the way he watched her with such longing, his love was almost a physical presence � sweeping over her, overwhelming her. The effort was in not responding in kind. Even now she could feel the color rising to her cheeks as their eyes met again.

�You will forgive my abruptness, my darling,� Marguerite finally said. �But I fear that your mother will prohibit us from ever meeting again if I don�t get you home.� She urged Suzanne to the door, lightly stroking Percy�s cheek as she passed. When she felt Percy could not hear her she leaned close to Suzanne�s ear and whispered, �I think he loves me.� She urged her friend on faster when she saw the shock that spread over Suzanne�s face, lest the girl say or do anything to inadvertently betray this confidence. �You must write me and tell me your impression of him.�

<Percy>

Percy admired her movements as Marguerite escorted her friend to the door. He was used to court ladies in hoop skirts; Marguerite wore lawn and gauze that made her seem taller and more slender than the women he routinely saw. Her hair was simply dressed and covered with a lace-edged white cap that gave her face a startlingly vulnerable look. Her friend walked quickly, her arm through Marguerite�s, her head canted to hear The Actress�s words. Graceful, she was. Marguerite stole the eye, it was impossible to concentrate on anyone else when she was around . . . but this other � now he�d forgotten her name.

Percy blew out a breath, shoved his hands into his pockets and paced to a grouping of portraits on the wall next to a long, narrow window. The one that captured his attention was of a yellow dog.

Outside of Percy�s presence Suzanne appeared less reserved, giggling. Her spirits had seemed to improve in the little time since she had left the kitchen, if it was a brave face that she wore for her friend, then she was a better actress than most. The smile she wore for Suzanne�s benefit faded as she watched Suzanne�s coach depart � would her father understand and heed Marguerite�s warning? For Suzanne�s sake she hoped du Tournai would act cautiously. In all likelihood she was being foolish, overprotective... but the anger and hostility showed through in the heated debates she hosted. If pushed too far...

She pushed these unpleasant thoughts aside as she returned, wanting no more worries for the remainder of that evening than to unravel the six foot two enigma. She slipped into the room silently and found him scrutinizing a portrait by the window through his quizzing glass � his tall, straight form silhouetted against the light. �I fear I have treated you most unfairly. You must be disappointed in me... but I promise I�ll find a way to make it up to you.�

Marguerite drew nearer, almost confused by the abrupt change of topic, looking upon the face of the woman in the portrait. Laughing blue eyes, a winsome smile on her fair, pleasant face � it had been a long time since she had stopped to look at this portrait. Armand still gazed upon it and its neighbor for minutes at a time, did he feel the loss more acutely? No, just less time for mournful reflection.

�Yes, that is my mother and her dog... Fritz.� Later Armand�s dog when he outlived his mistress. She ran her fingers along the bottom of the gilded frame. Her eyes shifted to the portrait beside her mother to a man who bore a remarkable resemblance to Armand with a fine black moustache. �And this one is my father.� All the faces on this wall were relations many years past, what solace did Armand find in these faces? All she felt was loss � memories best left unremembered.

�Shall we be on our way?� Marguerite said turning her back on her parent, collecting her cloak. It was too much to continue looking them.

<Percy>

Percy sensed Marguerite�s inability to face her loss in the way she abruptly turned her back on both the portraits and his questions. His heart swelled with misery � oh this was something that he understood. Impulsively he stepped behind her and ran his long, slender hands down her arms, smoothing the fabric of her cloak against her skin.

"Grief is the very devil! No matter how long ago the loss occurred, the sudden remembrance can break the heart afresh." He felt Marguerite grow very still, as if her breathing had stopped, before an uncontrollable shiver ran through her. He pulled her closer, her back against his chest, both his arms circling her waist.

"I understand. Completely. Grief is an enemy I know better than anyone should. Perhaps you are my companion in that misery, my dear." A second shudder ran through her which she forcibly controlled. Oh her iron will-power! Her inner strength was startling. He loosened his grip, allowing her to go free, when what he wanted most was to turn her to face him and to kiss all the hurt away.

She kept her back to Percy as she fastened her cloak, unexpected, powerful emotions welled up in her and should their eyes meet, hers were certain to betray her. The atmosphere of the room had transformed since her attention was drawn to those portraits - this was why she left them largely ignored. Why did she need this misery? They called to mind the anger and sadness that felt when they left her at an age when all she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was her love for them. Then there was the guilt at ignoring their memory...

"Grief is the very devil! No matter how long ago the loss occurred, the sudden remembrance can break the heart afresh." How true his words were - spoken as if he knew. She paused to reflect that she knew nothing of his family. Did his home contain pictures to stir painful memories? Those portraits had forever been a source of grief to her - how many times after they had gone did she stare longingly up at those faces, then pray to god that she would soon be joining them? What a foolish, childish thing to think! That wish only ceased when she realized that its fulfillment would mean the abandonment of poor, dear Armand. A shiver passed through her at the memory.

The hands that had been comfortingly stroking her arms, pulled her gently back to rest against the warmth of Percy�s chest, his arms around her waist. She folded her arms over his and sensed the strength of that powerful frame that held her so gently. It surprised her that she felt so safe in the arms of a man she knew so little about. "I understand. Completely. Grief is an enemy I know better than anyone should,� the words came from above and she felt his warm breath on her temple. She believed that he had known grief too well � perhaps that was the reason for his elusive manner, why he hid behind that silly fa�ade... �Perhaps you are my companion in that misery, my dear.� How much easier � wonderful � it would be to know she had found a kindred spirit� together to banish the ghosts that haunted them. But how long would it be before he left her? That comforting embrace couldn�t last forever. Another shudder pasted through her which she managed to suppress. This was not the appropriate time to be thinking of such bleak possibilities. She was being foolish. She felt his grip loosen, turned to face him and was overwhelmed the pain and infinite compassion in his eyes.

�Why companions in misery, my darling? Why cling to those memories that inflict pain and torment? Why not companions in joy? Move beyond these shackles that weigh down our hearts... a perhaps some happiness can be found that outweighs the sorrow. Love may break hearts, but love can also mend them.� But then what did she know of love.

<Percy>

She looked into his face with startled eyes. It wasn�t what he had expected. Maidens dissolved in tears over far less provocation than this. He�d been preparing to catch her fainting form � he�d already begun to wonder what he might use for smelling salts � but The Actress was not about to faint.

�Why cling to those memories that inflict and torment?� she asked. "Why?" he echoed. "What is there left? I, too, have lost my parents � lost them at an early age and in tragic circumstances. If I banish the tormenting thoughts, there would be nothin� left of Blakeney. This," � he motioned to himself � "is nothing but a caricature. Robespierre they call a self-made man. Surely, I am more self-made than he."

Her expression was as gentle as her words. Reassuring. Comforting. Percy yearned to enter that comfortable place her words evoked, but they weren�t well enough acquainted to share to that degree � yet. He reached for her hand, captured it, and placed it over his heart. "Mademoiselle is wise with her experiences," he said, his tone very low. "Allow me to continue to sit at your feet and learn from you. Allow me to come every day. You speak of love and joy and I want nothing more than to discover them."

She though that beneath the layers of cloth she could feel his heart beating, or was it her own that raced at such a furious pace? Perhaps they were more alike than she had at first though... both experiencing loss at a young age, both moving through the world under masks. At times like this she the merest glimpse of the man that lie beneath � surely he must be quite the actor to hide it so well.

�Your request is not one to be taken lightly, my darling.� Indeed. Of a truth, the topics that were thrown about in her salons were often treasonable and those who attended were highly suspicious of strangers. But... it was possible... most knew her to be an eccentric actress and surely they would not attack a guest in her home. �You may come whenever you wish � but on condition. You must avoid being baited into any arguments, no one would attack you within my home, but it would cause me no end of grief to worry that some hot-tempered fool might think to do you harm outside it. Furthermore, you must not speak of what you hear here. As I�m sure you�ve gathered, the opinions expressed here are of a... sensitive nature.� Even if they are the opinions shared by the majority of Parisians, she put herself at risk by hosting such discussion.

She smiled playfully, trying to restore the atmosphere that had been lost to sorrow only moments ago. �And perhaps when you�re ready, you will show me the man that lives behind that caricature.� She lightly stroked his cheek with her free hand. �For I know he exists and am most anxious to meet him � but only when you�re ready to show me,� she added, noting his slight tension. �Let us hope my wisdom meets your expectation.�

<Percy>

Marguerite�s eyes devoured him, seeking the man within the caricature. He couldn�t quite accept the sweetness of her expression that suggested she admired his words and wished to hear more. She, who aimed for a position among the French philosophers, showing favour to him � why, he was an itinerant poet! Percy was warmed by her interest. "You are wise as the sun is wise," Percy said, "for it knows when to shine."

Percy took Marguerite�s hand and kissed it reverently. "Man is capable of baying at the moon in a bid to change the night, but unable to change a thing. Let your dangerous friends cry for change all they wish! Do you imagine they can transform the course of life? Kings there have always been for it is the divine order of things. Baying at the moon has never prevented the sun from rising on the morrow."

Ah, he was winning ground with her, castling into position. He envisioned her friends in the drawingroom, picturing their shocked expressions were they to see how The Actress sparked with interest in his presence. The Stutterer had desired her for himself, Percy was certain of it. The Sober One, haughty and insulting, had not understood that sincerity was what Marguerite wanted now. Words and idealism were all well and good, but a woman wanted something warmer and more enduring to wrap about her shoulders of an evening.

"Do you think so? Perhaps you underestimate them," Marguerite replied, slipping her arm through the one he offered her. The desire was there, all it needed was the right provocation to tip the scales from words to action. "If only ..." she stopped herself. Percy was a foreigner and an aristo, it was unlikely he would be privy to the information she had. Would his opinion change after he had attended a few more of these discussions? "Time will tell. Necker's proposal appears to have found favor with the members of the third estate... if it is accepted, it may decrease the 'baying' you speak of, if not... Ah, but I forgive me! I nearly forgot you have been prohibited from political discussion." She lead him out on the street.

"I think you'll enjoy where we're going. It is small and private and the owner adores Armand and I - perhaps due to the infatuation his daughter has for my brother. I think Msr. Leon hopes I'll convince Armand to woo the girl. It is called le Coin Confortable, and fortunately lives up to it's name." Which was more than she could say about her home as of that afternoon.

<Percy>

"I must confess that I find it startlin' unusual to find you living alone here with your brother," Percy said. "In fact, I had expected to find you married." Most actresses were married, although few lived with their husbands. He couldn't help but wonder how Mademoiselle Saint-Just had avoided matrimony.

"It's even more unusual to find you without so much as a footman to speak to your reputation. Your brother is gone; your friend, too. We are utterly alone here." The thought of being alone in a room with Marguerite fired his imagination. Passion deepened his voice. "Who's to swear I haven't taken advantage of you?"

His eyelids canted low and his eyes were full of his desire to kiss her. Surely she could read the intention in his expression. Perhaps she did, for in quick order she had led him outdoors into the light of a glowing Paris evening where a thousand eyes could keep watch and ensure the Actress�s reputation remained no worse than it already was. Percy grinned sardonically. Of all the women to fall in love with � a woman he could have at will, but would not. Her hand rested demurely on his arm as they walked toward her restaurant of choice.

�I�m yours to command, my dear,� Percy said, very low. Everything about spending time with Marguerite Saint-Just was fascinating. Everything!

�I find it far more startling that you are not married then I. I can only imagine what means you use to fend the ladies off,� Marguerite laughed... or was it the other way around? Seemed hard to believe the latter from her advantage point � perhaps a little tall for some women�s tastes� or they felt he lacked sufficient wit, but something to that didn�t ring true. Perhaps the problem was in the grief he spoke of � which undoubtedly could be alleviated by a sufficiently compassionate and adept lover. She could see no apparent flaws when she examined him and though his manner was not entirely like most other men, it was far from unappealing.

�You have seen the price of my kisses, I set higher standards on my hand in marriage. And as you see, none have as of yet measured up. I look for a man who sparks my interest, someone challenging whom I won�t grow easily tired of. Why commit myself to someone I can�t imagine spending a great quantity of time with? The many of the men you saw earlier are brilliant and passionate, but once their favorite topics are exhausted, they really become quite dull.� If ever their ideals were realized, would they remain forever silent for lack of interesting conversation? �But most importantly, I demand nothing less than their whole heart, which is a considerable price for most men. It is the part I am most unwilling to share, not with any mistress... Am I too idealistic? I am fortunate that my young and position allow me such lofty ideals, I am told with age that such ideals have less importance.�

<Percy>

�Ha ha! Married,� he said. A delicate subject. It made him feel hot to say the word. Marriage. Marriages were about marriage beds and consummation and the babies that resulted. Ownership and deeds of procurement. Marguerite Saint-Just was a world away from those ideas.

Touching her hand and feeling the skin of her palm, Percy brought the back of her hand to his lips to kiss and noticed her rounded fingernails. Could this woman be a wife? She was too perfect, too peaceful. Wives were all about litigation and dower rights, weren�t they?

�I have been betrothed and seen the contracts torn up,� Percy explained. It was difficult for him to speak of these things � he knew little about betrothal and wedding vows. Knew only that he had no desire to be tied by such. �For a period of time I was a most desirable party, but now I am free. My father conveniently died between the tearing up of one contract and the signing of another, which I did not pursue. Allow me to tell you about marriage, dear Mademoiselle Saint-Just.

�I am blessed to have a minor title; my cousin is not. Heir to one of the oldest titles in our land and a considerable fortune to boot, along with one of the most historic houses in all the country and a perfect London house - perfect!� Percy blinked and the golden eyelashes fluttered. He sensed her lack of interest in all this historic minutiae and wondered if he should continue � embarked on the story, however, he did.

�Add to that he is young and wild and far too good looking for his own good. A woman of our acquaintance � widow of a marquis, but not financially stable � determined to marry her daughter to our lad, but he didn't fancy her. Not that this matters in a marriage among the titled, but Tony, rascal that he is, won't marry a woman for her title alone. Next thing, the word is whispered that our Tony has compromised the lass and must wed her.

��Compromised?� I asked. I know my cousin and he�s not the sort to compromise a woman he doesn�t want. Not when he could have anyone. Anyone! But the gossip was that he wrote her compromising love letters. �Demand that she deliver them,� I said and there was the difficulty. Delivered they were. Forged. With seals that were broken. His father, the duke, was able to prove the handwriting was not Tony�s and what an embarrassment to milady the Marquise. Her daughter had nothing but the infatuation of marrying a green-eyed man who had winked at her at a ball. No, marriage is not something I think about. It is well, I say, that you and I are both unencumbered.�

�You are quite right, my dearest Percy. I think it is very well for us both.� Marguerite smiled provocatively at Percy. No wife or fianc�e to content with... as for any other mistresses, she�d soon have him forget any he might have. After a night in her arms, he would be fortunate to remember his own name, much less some inept little chit who likely favored the gifts to the man who gave them.

Most of Marguerite�s lovers, in fact most of the men she knew, when they were not heaping her praise, spoke endlessly about themselves. Not Percy. She knew more about his cousin than she did about him, the real source of her interest. �Perhaps one day I might have the opportunity to meet this cousin, Tony, whom you speak so highly of.� Possibly if she met the cousin Percy would feel less inclined to speak of him so often and open up to her more... still there was the possibility that this Tony might enlighten her on Percy.

The Comedie Francaise rose on the right, as they drew nearer le Coin Confortable, it was almost a pity they couldn�t dine outdoors and watch the sky fade to night, but inside they would have a bit more privacy. �Here it is,� she stated as she led him inside. Within the doors, Marguerite was set upon by a portly, good-humoured man who seized her and kissed both her cheeks, tickling her cheeks with his thick moustache.

�I was beginning to think you weren�t coming, chere,� he said, holding her at arms length, then glanced over at Percy. �But then you must have gotten yourself distracted.� Insinuating.

�Forgive me, M. Leon, but my dear friend Suzanne took ill this afternoon. We couldn�t leave her in such a state,� Marguerite suppressed a blush. �But fear poor Sir Percy may be on the point of perishing from starvation now.�

�Say no more!� They were immediately shown to a table with a partition that separated them from the rest of the room. When M. Leon left them Marguerite leaned over to him and whispered in English, lest they were overheard, �Did you see the little one by the kitchen doors? She is the one I was telling you about, I do think she was disappointed to see you were with me rather than Armand.�

<Percy>

"Meet Tony? Lord, I�d be the biggest ass if I allowed that! Tony delights in stealing my conquests and you..." He felt different about her. In the space of two meetings he knew this was different from anything he�d felt before. "You are no conquest." That told her nothing, but what else could he say?

The restaurant was intimate and friendly. The host was cordial and effusive. It smelled promising; was it pork roasting? A touch of garlic and onions frying lingered in the air.

�She is the one I was telling you about. . . .� Marguerite pointed out an elfin face topped by a white cap, a lick of dark hair covering most of the forehead. "Young," Percy said, then turned his back to the girl. "But you are the woman I wish to know about. Tell me how you came to be an actress. Tell me why you�re so beautiful and clever and free to spend time with a scarcely comprehensible foreigner. Why do you speak English? Why are you so incredible? Why do I feel like I�m falling in love when we�ve only just met?"

Marguerite blushed modestly. Love. So it was love that she detected amidst carnal desire, lurking along side the lust that filled his eyes - he claimed that she was more than a conquest. �So many questions, darling! Will your interest last after I have given you all the answers, if I had them all to give?� she asked playfully. �Should it not be I who asks you why you think me beautiful and clever? You ask me why you feel like falling in love. What can I say if you don�t know? The heart speaks a language altogether its own, we can feel want it desires but not why it feels that way. I have never been in love, by I have seen it enough to recognize it. I have made my time free for you because you intrigue me, you are so unlike other men that I would be a fool to so causally let you slip by. Your words and actions touch my own heart, it is hard to image any heart not moved by them. You present me a mystery I am most anxious to solve... why it is that my pulse beats faster when you are around.� She took his hand and pressed it to a spot on her throat that he might feel her pulse. �Is it the moment or is it something more?�

Percy leaned in closer as though he would kiss her, but with some reluctance she placed a finger to his lips to halt his progress. She would never have come this far if she had given in so easily to her impulses. Ah, what control it took not to meet his lips half way.

�You are not nearly so incomprehensible as you think, my darling,� forcing the tones of her voice to lighten. �I understand you well enough. But since I told you I would make this afternoon up to you, I shall by setting you perfectly at your ease by using your language. You can feel free to speak your mind and no one here will understand you but me. Though you may find that my grasp of your language may be as imperfect as yours is of mine.� Marguerite colored slightly, how clever would she appear struggling with his language? She did not use it nearly so much that she had mastered it, only on those rare occasions when a foreign admirer came pay their respects. But Percy had been accommodating thus far, and remembering how his eyes lit up when Suzanne offered to communicate with him, it was a fair price.

�Now, when you ask me how I came to be an actress, do you mean the process or the reason? The process is easily told, it is the same as path that every other woman who aspires to acts takes if she is to be successful. The profession allows for little compromise.�

<Percy>

�You intrigue me,� she said, and his heart flipped over. Surely this was a magical place; nowhere had there ever been a woman who had found him in the least interesting before. He was nearly legendary among his friends for owning the dullest wits among a set not known for their intellectual prowess. Percy blinked with incomprehension. She must be falling in love with him to find him intriguing.

Marguerite took his hand and placed it against her throat where he felt the tiny pulse leap against his palm. Velvet skin. Her eyes glowed darkly, inviting him to kiss her. He leaned closer . . . only to have her stall him with a cautioning finger pressed against his lips.

She found him not so incomprehensible � ah, but her actions startled him. First she invited intimacy, then she pushed him aside. This was the game as he�d played it during the London season with Francine Sinclair. She took his hand, tugged at his sleeve, led him into the gardens where they might find a secluded place to sit, then she turned a cold shoulder toward him and let tears fall when he wrapped an arm around her tightly corseted waist. He let her go, watched her fly up the walk as if he�d said something indecent to her. When he followed, shoulders hunched forward in defeat, she leapt out at him from an alcove, and as he cowered against the wall, she tiptoed and kissed his cheek � and then she ran away! Percy sighed deeply, exhausted with the idea of taking up the gauntlet once again. He was tired of chasing maidens through the apple grove, tired of making conversation around some improving book he�d scarcely read. Why did it take so much effort to fall in love?

Suddenly, Marguerite was speaking English, her honeyed accent liquefying the consonants and sweetening the vowels until he felt physically aroused by the sound of her voice. He closed his eyes and allowed the sound of her words to caress the interiors of his mind. �Process. Reason. Profession. Compromise.�

"The process I�m sure was interesting for you," he responded. Lord, he was falling into her eyes, losing himself in her wonderful eyes! "Were you a surprising star? Did you struggle for years? Did you start as a dancer, or were you always cast in dramas? The first time I saw you, when you played Saint Joan, I confess you brought tears to my eyes. Lord, I queued up to see you afterwards, but Tony . . ." No, he wouldn�t tell her about that unfortunate incident. "I thought about you all the time and couldn�t wait to get back to Paris so I might visit the Comedie Francaise again. How I prayed I would see you! That you would still be here."

�Interesting, to say the least. Terrifying. Sometimes a dream, sometimes a nightmare. I did start as a dancer, because it was common knowledge that the leading lady had a habit of tearing down any woman who came to the theater with potential. A horrible creature she was! Her understudies never lasted long... but she stayed because the public adored her and her lover had considerable influence in the Comedie Francaise. After about a year, I acquired the part of her understudy � I can not begin to tell you the horror of that position. The woman was bent on destroying me... only I had seen her methods and was prepared. Try as she might I would now quit. Finally there came an evening where she had injured herself lacing costume and could not go on � though someone told me later that she may have pulled a ruse to spite the theater director � and so I was called in her place and manage to stay ever since,� Marguerite concluded. �So I suppose I was a bit of a surprise.�

She caught her breath at the mention of the cousin, preparing for another tale of this other man�s skills and exploits and felt mightily relieved to be spared it. Instead he spoke of his desire to meet her, of how she filled his thoughts. Such sweet sentiments! He seemed to know exactly what words would appeal most to her. She�d have to be careful of that agile tongue of his. She leaned forward resting her head upon one hand and gazed into those unfathomable eyes, dark as the night sky, sparkling like stars � how quickly they changed to fit his mood. And his mood just then was all too easily read. �And now that you see me, away from the glamour of the lights and such augmentations to enhance one�s appearance � am I everything you hoped for... or did your memories paint you a goddess where there was merely a woman?� As if she couldn�t guess the answer. �Well, I am fortunate you didn�t shy away or let naughty cousins distract you this time.�

<Percy>

Grinning, he said, "I *knew* you were a dancer!" Oh, her seductive grace. With elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, he gazed into her eyes until she stopped talking. A silent conversation continued after the words had ceased. Percy read beyond Marguerite�s determination; he saw the streak of independence that drove her personality. God, weren�t the two of them nearly identical in their desires and needs? She no more fit into her world than he did in his, so courageously she turned actress.

"Glamorous that world may be, but we two both understand the value of tinsel and what lies beneath it, I think," he told her. "A good illusion is worth the work that went into creating it so long as the illusion points the way to some deeper, greater truth."

�Am I everything you hoped for?� Goddess or woman? "I can�t say that you are at all what I expected, for I started with the wish to discover how much of the perfect beauty was illusion . . ." But, how could he explain the thunderbolt that had riven his body when her eyes had met his? She was not at all what he�d expected. Sculpted perfection with a plaster smile and a price that would feed a faubourg of Parisians � that was what he�d expected. She should have been available and the sweetness of the night he�d intended to spend in her arms would have turned to vinegar with the sunrise. He always felt small afterwards, and miserably alone.

"You are the first actress I�ve met who has interests beyond the . . . stage." He�d nearly said boudoir, but caught himself just in time. She was the first woman he�d met whose conversation was not at all bent on improving him.

Marguerite�s sharp caught the slight pause � was he looking for the right word� or replacing the first that came to mind? Instinctively, she assumed it was the latter, but suppressed the urge to call him on it � he was skittish enough as it was. What had he expected from the evening... a hearty meal, a brief t�te-�-t�te, waking the next morning in her arms? That seemed the expectation of most men who courted actresses. She wanted to ask him more, instead she asked, �I only hoping reality wasn�t terribly disappointing, darling. Most everyone is startled to find an actress more interested in philosophy and politics, than competing from the wealthiest lovers. More the pity for them... they see the change of wind too late and swept away by it.�

<Percy>

"I had no idea the competition was that intense for a place on the stage," Percy said. Weren�t there always fresh faces needed in theatres? It seemed to him that the actresses were keen to be noticed, to be squirreled away in love nests � that there must always be a need for someone new to take their parts in the play. "Thus, we have the process involved in becoming an actress. Will you tell me your reason for needing to undertake so determined a battle?"

He had cleverly turned the conversation, avoiding The Actress�s probing discussion. That she was interested in philosophy and politics dismayed him a little. It placed her in a position he understood all too well � hadn�t he fled London society during the height of the season to avoid exactly those torpid subjects? Politics! The only thing worse was philosophy. Briefly, Percy had found himself sharing his private thoughts with Marguerite as he did with Andrew. Her welcoming eyes invited him to bare his soul, promising . . . what? He had to know more!

Her body was an enticement that made his hands tremble when he stood near her, but he sensed that she was not like other actresses, inviting his touch. She was more like Lady Dewhurst, Tony�s sister, who chided him for his puns while trying to teach him gravity and prudence. That thought shocked him to the core. It was inconceivable to compare an actress with a duke�s daughter! He needed to kiss her, to ground himself. She was a woman of the streets, and he had been raised to know the differences in bodies and blood. What sorcery was this � a woman who understood a man, an actress with the grace of a lady, a beauty whose radiance grew beneath his gaze instead of splintering into her many clay pieces? "You must tell me everything," he directed.

�It's not so much a competition for part as it for lovers, and the perks that come with them. Intimacy with the right person can get you what you want. But I'm sure you are quite aware of all this," Who wasn't. "For me acting offers me powers and freedoms that I probably wouldn't have otherwise... and the adoration! It is an incredible feeling to know that for even a brief time you have capture the hearts of a room full of people, that you sparkled in their eyes... Do you think anyone would have been in that room if I were merely Marguerite Saint-Just and not the eccentric actress, that is anyone who would provide conversation beyond trivial matters or attempts to find their way into my boudoir?�

Sensing Percy's attempts to steering clear of politics, she conceded to his desire and gave him leave to speak as he wished - she was rewarded for this as he began to open up to her. She listened, smiling, captivated by his words and the sound of his voice � and most especially those eyes. She could easily give him those things he had been so long deprived of... make him feel welcome and wanted. With enough kisses he would easily forget the misery he had earlier eluded to. She saw his trembling, took it in her own, and stroked it reassuringly, believing it to be caused by his candidness. His words trailed off, perhaps lost in the sea of his own thoughts.

�You must tell me everything,� he abruptly stated.

��Everything�?� Marguerite laughed. �What do you mean by �everything�? I doubt there is much that isn�t known about me. You are more the mystery than I, darling. What more do you wish to know?�

<Percy>

How unusual for him to have a conversation with a woman at all - he who had difficulty in saying the right thing, in not parroting some boring pronouncement fabricated by some intellectual. His inane laugh was in check and not punctuating every other remark. Marguerite's expression was sober, she was absorbing his words and responding to him. Incredible! Women inevitably yawned in his presence. Changed the subject. Often they made excuses and walked away. This was his opportunity to ask anything � what did he want to know?

While he stumbled around trying to put his feelings into words he sensed the silence in the restaurant, matched an equal silence outside where not even a breeze rustled leaves. It was as if all the world had gone away and left him alone with The Actress, to make it or break it on his own.

�Your current lover, does he fulfill all your expectations? Or is there room for improvement?�

Marguerite�s questioning glance made him stammer a little. �That didn�t quite come out as I wished, hehehe. . . uh, I meant to ask whether you are totally satisfied, or is there a chance for someone new.� Percy broke off in confusion. His second attempt hadn�t been any better than the first. Lord, he�d have to take lessons from Tony on how to flirt with women. Hadn�t he learned anything in a decade of getting his face slapped?

Percy's question wasn't quite what she expected... it seemed out of place - puzzled her. Perhaps she had misunderstood what he was asking, English was somewhat tricky at times. As though sensing her confusion, Percy made a second attempt that sounded very much like the first, this time her silence made him color noticeably.

The men she knew never asked about her other lovers, they told her of their skills, promised gifts and undying love, spoke of how they outstripped all others... but never did they ask. He was blunt. It seemed almost impolite, but judging from his expression that didn't seem his intent. Why would he...? Unless... Comprehension dawned on her - he was looking to fill the position. Laughing she said, "If I were entirely satisfied, I wouldn't be sitting here with you." She gave his hand a little pat.

"And you... are you entirely satisfied with your mistress or are you looking for someone more capable in fulfilling your expectation?"

<Percy>

�I wouldn�t be sitting here with you,� she�d said with a burst of laughter that he should have found intimidating, but didn�t. Marguerite was a woman who made him break into a sweat at a distance of ten metres. When he�d seen her from his box at the Com�die Fran�aise, she had captured his attention with a strangling grip. Percy had drunk in the hand-span of her waist and the delicate thrust of her small breasts, been enchanted by the graceful movement of her arms, the absurd tininess of her lovely hands. He felt the incipient stirring in his breeches, the rush of blood and the resulting surge of power in his loins. He had to meet her, to look into her eyes! But now � now, she was more than the object of his lust � how could he let her know? Oh, this had never happened to him before and he, confused in the company of women, was at a loss to explain.

Gazing into her eyes, he grew hotter, felt the sweat gather in his armpits and sheen his palms as he recalled her long, slender feet. The feel of her silk stockings covering mobile toes. He had kneaded the balls of her feet and felt his heart pound like that of a racing horse. What kind of a world was it when a man could caress a woman's feet and not be permitted to kiss her pretty mouth? Lord, she'd stretched back into the cushions with her knees canted wide, acres of petticoats obscuring the landscape, but god! Oh god! How close he'd been to the promised land. A more vulgar man � an opportunist - would have pinioned her into those cushions and she'd have been helpless. The thought had come (of course - as it would to any red-blooded male) and evaporated as he watched her eyelids close against the sheer pleasure his hands were delivering through her delightful feet and he'd known with sparkling certainty that this wasn't a woman with whom he wished to enjoy a furious coupling, followed by desultory, distancing conversation. Instead of plotting ways of having his way with her, he was becoming enmeshed in her dreams, plans and ideas. Knotted into her thoughts. Snared like a rabbit, and too engrossed to think of escape.

She patted his hand, her eyes locked with his and asked �are you entirely satisfied with your mistress?� and he choked. Choked on nothing. �What?� he demanded. �What mistress?� He�d turned cherry red in perplexity and embarrassment. �I�ve never had a mistress,� he confessed. �But if you�d like the job . . .�

She was near to strangling on her laughter, biting her lip, her eyes nearly bugging out of her skull. �No!� he cried. �Never mind. I didn�t mean to say that. Let me say instead, dear Miss Saint-Just, that I have no mistress and I really don�t want one. The thought of setting up a woman in an apartment and being one of a troop of followers who might visit her there has never appealed to me. It may be very chic to have a mistress with a reputation for hospitality or wit or whatever, but I want a woman who will love me. . . . uh, love only me.� He repeated the phrase very quietly, to provide emphasis. �I can afford it. To be exclusive. Do consider it.�

Oh lord! The whole episode was going from bad to worse. And where was the waiter with their supper? He could chew through any sort of leathery cutlets about now and feel nothing. Perhaps he might be able to keep Marguerite here just a little longer as he tried to think of something more original, something more heartfelt to say that would convince her that he wasn�t the greatest idiot the British Isles had produced in a hundred years.

Marguerite laughed so hard that it became difficult to breath. Never, *never* had she expected! Surely he was joking! The horrified expression on Percy�s face told her that he did not � the laughter died on her lips as abruptly as it started. Suddenly his novice attempts at winning her made more sense. The poor boy hadn�t had sufficient practice in the subtle art, she only image how unfulfilled his options were.

The poor dear rushed to explain himself, his words touching her heart. �...I want a woman who will love me... love only me...� He was opening his heart to her and she couldn�t help but be affected. She found she image herself spending more time with him... possibly only with him. The physical attraction was there and she found herself wanting to know more and more about him. So unique. Their conversations went on even when the words had ended. It was startling how quickly he had grown on her.

She made to reassure him, gave his hand a gentle squeeze, until his next words set her on her guard. �I can afford it...� She listened slightly shocked, hoping that there was some sort of misunderstanding � unconsciously withdrawing her hand from his. ��Afford it�?� Marguerite repeated, confused and more than slightly hurt. Did he propose to buy her love... or exclusive rights to her boudoir? Is that what he asked her to consider? She thought that they understood each other, that her favors were not to be bought.

<Percy>

"Despite this poor beginning, I do know how the thing is done. I will pay for your apartment and a carriage." His generosity should have lit her eyes, brought out her lovely smile, but instead she was hesitant. She�d grown quiet. What had he done wrong? "Uh, of course, your young brother must come and live with you . . .or is it this house? Your family�s home? Would you prefer to stay here?"

What he wanted foremost was to demonstrate his respect for her. His tenderness and respect, two things she may not have much experience with. That thought turned his stomach, and he suppressed it. He wouldn't think - envision - the lovers of her past. He could give her a new sense of herself that would raise her above her past; provide her with a brighter sense of what she could be. What she deserved. What he was capable of providing.

He sat up straighter, his back touching the chair, drawing him away from her. What signal was he sending, hot eyes locked in mortal combat, attempting to overwhelm her last reserves. He drew back, sighed. Ached for a sense of calm he doubted he was capable of reaching. However much he may desire her today, how much more joyous it would be to win her over time. To win her heart, her love. Win her respect and admiration. That was what he wanted even more than her passionate kisses.

"My cousin, you see," he said by way of explanation, ". . . well, I know how the thing should be done. But, it doesn�t mean we can�t write out own rules, does it?" If she wished to stay in her own home, well, he could work with that. Perhaps she needed tuition for her brother, or a trip to Rome might appeal to her. "When you dream of the impossible, what do you see?"

Marguerite straightened up in her seat, realizing the extent to which she had been leaning towards him... opening her heart to him. She always prided herself on being an excellent judge of character, only to find that Sir Percy had proved that intuition wrong. What had she expected? She had foolishly thought him different from the other men she had known, more compassionate and sincere � one eager to look beyond the beauty and get to know the woman beneath the fa�ade she maintained. Now, much to her chagrin, she found that he was not so different � perhaps more awkward in his approach � but in truth no different. What she was unsure of was the extent to which he wished to purchase her favours. Did he really believe he could buy love? her love? She thought they understood each other and was wrong, he didn�t understand her at all.

She folded her hands on the table before her and politely listened to his proposals, trying to understand the bitter disappointment she now felt. Why did it disappoint her that Percy was so like every other man who tried to woo her? How much of his charm was wishful thinking? Perhaps Armand�s sentimentality had affected her... Armand who wore his heart upon his sleeve and rushed blindly into foolhardy ventures... sure she had learned the lesson he could not. Marguerite wondered when M. Leon would arrive with their meal � it might provide a sufficient distraction to the awkwardness of the moment. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, casting an occasion glance towards the kitchens.

Percy stumbled on until words failed, then continued to implore her with his eyes, asking her to accept his offer, trying to win her over. But after several minutes of silent persuasions, he sighed and drew back further in his seat in resignation. Had he not intended to buy her she might have accepted � they seemed well suited for each other. Or so she thought. Marguerite had opened up to him, trusted him, allowed him into her home, extended subtle invitations, welcomed him her eyes and gentle strokes... but he wasn�t the man she thought he was. Shouldn�t she have assumed these much of him when he bargained for her kisses, instead she made excuses for it.

He continued again on that vulgar topic after a time and M. Leon had not appeared, she was beginning to consider excusing herself so that she might prepare for the matinee, when a question before her attention back to his speech. �When you dream of the impossible what do you see?� he asked. Their eyes met again and she paused before she could excuse herself. What was it about his eyes that seemed to captivate her? Some of the bitterness was replaced by sadness at the thought that this man was so desperate to find love that he was willing to pay for it. Her thoughts were in conflict vacillating between sympathy and her wounded pride.

�What do I see?� Marguerite repeated. �I see myself and my brother both finding true love, finding a place far from the miseries we�ve known where we can find peace... safety... happiness... I see him with a loving wife and children... grandchildren... I see myself with a man who adores me as much as I adore him, who loves more than the case but the content... I know true love does exist, my parents loved each other more than anything or anyone else on this world... but true love never ends well. This place I dream of... these people... don�t exist.� Her father loved her mother so much that when the latter died he was soon to follow - it seemed near impossible that she would be so fortunate. Love was the source of a pain she knew all too well... why fuel it?

A rattled of dishes marked M. Leon�s arrival. �It appears our supper is here.�

<Percy>

She was cautious, this Actress. He sensed her withdraw, saw her eyes turn opaque as she considered her next word, her next move. For whole minutes he'd felt her in tune with his ideas - now it was gone. She was a woman who had been hurt by men, used by men who pretended to be one thing to hide their inadequacy or their self importance. She would appear as a pretty bauble to most men - he saw that. Damnation, hadn't that been his first impression of her as well? But she'd turned that thought inside out for him and turned him inside out with the recognition of what her uniqueness meant to him.

Suddenly she was talking about being loved as if she read his thoughts . . .his stomach turned over with the shock of his transparency. Her words continued, but the tone changed as she said, "I see myself with a man who adores me as much as I adore him," and he knew his eyes had opened so wide in alarm that she was trying not to laugh at him. Or was she chastising him � mind-reader that she was?

"Adoration is certainly a part of love," Percy said shortly. "I will promise you that � it will be easy to promise you that." She wasn�t listening. She was outlining her terms. ". . . .who loves more than the case but the content..."

Percy settled his shoulders more comfortably against the carved back of his chair, nodding agreement, trying to keep all her list straight so he might respond. He heard and understood the wariness that was in her voice. Already he could see how well suited they were. While they were different in many ways � background and religion � in the important things, in their mutual yearning for tenderness and refusing to accept less than their worth � in those ways they were alike.

"I know true love does exist, my parents loved each other more than anything or anyone else on this world," she explained and as Percy watched her blue eyes glowed impossibly bluer. The words stabbed straight into his heart. "Did they?" he demanded. "... but true love never ends well."

"It�s so unfashionable for married people to love each other; how strikingly odd that yours did, for mine did too." Percy spoke quickly, the words falling over each other in his eagerness to explain. "So thoroughly against convention, and as you say, it did end badly. While I know it's a fact that not everyone will hurt you, I'm sure you have to retain your natural caution." Her eyes fastened on him. Direct. He had her attention now. "As for what tests you might wish to employ to judge my sincerity . . ." He lay his hands palms upward on the table between them. "I put myself entirely at your disposal. I wish to be tested and prove to you that I am worthy of your attention."

His hands remained on the table, inviting her to join with him. Would she? Perhaps in this world of courtiers and bravado she had never met with the straightforward approach. Heaven knew, it was as novel as he was. Perhaps it had never been tried before in all of history!

Marguerite stared down at the long slender hands that lay open before her, the white silken flesh and fine fingers, inviting her to take hold of them. Were these not the same hands that so tenderly caressed her little feet? Were they not the same hands that had circled her waist attempting to comfort her when her grief over her parents threatened to overwhelm her? Yet how much could she trust him? She had trusted him before, in her home, where he might have easily had her on her back with her petticoats thrown over her head before she could raise alarm. He had not failed her trust then... but his words had left a bitter taste in her mouth... 'afford'... 'pay'... as though she were lifestock! How could this be the same man?

"Best time and place to measure a man's character is when he least expect to be tested," she finally said looking up into the blue eyes that were fixed intently upon her. They wore the same expression compassion and comfort as they had when he spoken to her about his own experience with grief. She had thought she'd had found a kindred spirit then, but that seed of doubt had taken root. "But I suspect that time will tell the degree of your sincerity and the tests will come when they will." With some slight hesitancy she slipped her hands into his and felt his fingers close around hers, his bright blue eyes sparkling. It was worth some risk to find a man that lived up to what Percy promised.

<Percy>

�Best time and place to measure a man's character is when he least expects to be tested,� Marguerite said. It was difficult to respond to so vague an answer and the desire to look away, to present a more composed expression, was strong, but Percy refused to give in to it. �You do know something of life,� Percy responded with an equally oblique reply. Hopefully, because he didn�t waver, he looked confident. At least his open hands didn�t tremble.

�Time will tell the degree of your sincerity,� Marguerite said and there was something in her eyes that gave him pause. She would get up now and walk away, abandon him to the dinner and the night. His life would be empty. Suddenly everything that filled his life in London seemed hollow. He felt hollow inside. He wanted to grab onto Marguerite�s hands and force her decision, but his hands remained still, palms upward on the table. His expression was a schooled vacancy, the lips scarcely turned upward in expectation. Percy willed himself to stillness even as his fear that she would reject him threatened to overwhelm his calm... and then her fingers came up, widely separated, and they both stared at them while she hesitantly moved her hands towards his. It felt as if she might pull away at any moment. Percy held his breath, so that he let it out in a gushing sigh at the moment her palms touched his.

With the sound of his sigh, their gazes locked. Percy slid his palms a quarter turn and clutched her hands with a firm pressure. �Well,� Percy said, no longer able to maintain the steady gaze, �now that we�ve reached that decision, perhaps we�d better eat.�

Percy had appeared confident � calm � as he awaited her decision, and yet the sigh that issued from his lips as she placed her hands in his seemed to contradict this brave front. Was he worried he would slap him... throw a drink in his face... hurl scathing insults in her native tongue? He broke eye contact and set in to the plate before him. What she wouldn�t have given to have a peek inside thoughts in that tense moment.

The tension hovered in the air - how quickly things had changed. She felt tremendous pity for him � she, the offended party � and yet she had the impression that that moment of hesitation had cost Percy dearly. Something that flickered in his eyes... that sigh... If she had refused him would it have wounded him deeply or would he quickly find another actress who dispensed her favours more freely? She had agreed to give him a chance and a chance she would give him. Impulsively she leaned closer to him, stroking his temple lightly with her fingertip to get his attention. She smiled warmly wanting to restore the sparkle to those wonderful blue eyes. �You never told me whether you would come to tonight�s performance?�