The Visitor

Everything about England seemed to grate on the Marquise�s nerves. The oppressive weather wreaked havoc on her fine hair and had her sniffling and sneezing every morning. She had to start an hour earlier each morning just to look presentable. And the people! Colorless, boring, and significantly, on the whole, less attractive than the collection she consorted with back in France. The language was brutish and hurt her throat to speak it properly, but god forbid see give one of those Anglais the opportunity to butcher her native tongue!

Surrounded in a household of servants were perhaps four could speak passable French, she was suffering. The girl that arranged her hair could only say, �Bun-joor, mad-am!� and thought herself clever. The marquise seriously wondered at the cost of importing French help.

No, the Marquise de Merteuil had yet to come to terms with her new home. Each day she prayed the Austrians would charge in and wipe that lot of rabid revolutionaries off the face of the Earth, but it wasn�t like to happen anywhere near soon enough.

Then to make matters worse, her current lover was brushing her off like an unsightly piece of dust on his sleeve. Hadn�t even had the balls to confront her in person. He�d learn the error of his ways soon enough.

�Your visitor has arrive, madame,� a footman announced as he entered.

He was late. After all, what had he to be early for? Last time Merteuil summoned him it was to tell him that he could no longer enjoy the pleasure of her... company. Yet suddenly, in exile, she had started writing to him and now the invitation. What did she mean by this renewal of acquaintance? He was suspicious, so he had made her wait and hoped she was worried that he might not show up. Hearing himself announced by the footman, he stalked into her chambers.

The marquise took note of her guest�s brisk gait and furrowed brow, but decided to overlook them. Valmont had had long enough to get over his petty grunge, this was a new country which entitled all to a new start.

Graciously, she offered him a smile and her hand. �My dear Valmont, I am grateful fortune has delivered you from the savage hoards seething over our fair country. But I take it that this country doesn�t agree with you. Never have I seen you scowl so or keep a lady waiting.�

�My dear Valmont, this pettiness and bitterness does not suit you,� Merteuil chided, choosing to ignore Valmont�s barbs in favor of furthering her own agenda. �Hearing of your great works since, I would have imagined you would have been grateful to be otherwise unencumbered. Come, Valmont, let us put the past behind us like the bones of an unsatisfactory meal.�

"Fickle females!" he muttered, then louder, "Very well. Let us be friends once more." Merteuil seemed to wish to renew their acquiantance and Valmont had no objection. He would take her and then reject her, just as she had done with him... oh, sweet revenge! Besides, she was good in bed. Valmont hated to admit it, but not one of his subsequent lovers had had quite the ability of the Marquise and he secretly longed to visit the dizzy heights she could take him to... just one more time.

Merteuil smiled sweetly and offered him a seat beside her, though not on the same settle. "I have been following your *career* with great interest, my dear Valmont. A true artist in every sense of the word... but I also know you love a challenge and have found one that none but you could do just to."

"Really?" he said, sounding bored. He hadn't failed to notice that she was keeping her distance and now this talk of a challenge, with all the accompanying flattery... it was obvious that her renewal of their acquaintance was not for the reason he'd hoped. Still, he might yet turn things to his advantage. Valmont sat back and polished a fingernail, waiting for her to continue.

�Indeed,� Merteuil pretended she did not hear Valmont�s disinterest. �It is an excellent test of your art and an opportunity to strike back at one who has wronged you. Recall you Monsieur G-, the English officer who stole the Intendante away from you?�

"You see, I had been following your career very closely," Merteuil smiled. "Did you know that Monsieur G- has the most ridiculous concepts of marriage? He insisted on claiming nothing less than purest of girl taken directly for the convent for his wife. Now, I have discovered that child, he plans to take to wife. In fact, he arranged to smuggle the child out of her convent but a month ago and brought her and her mother here to England."

As fishermen referred to it: a bite. �Indeed,� Merteuil continued. �He has been bragging to all about this ideal match, but has refused to provide the identity of his little bride. However, it was the child�s own mother that has revealed her to me. He has set his eye on Volange�s only child, Cecile. The girl is but fifteen and has spent most of her life among the nuns.� She�d had wagered G- would have taken her younger if he could have managed it. �She is an exquisite little creature, to be sure. Everything he has hoped for� but then it occurred to me, what if on his wedding night Monsieur G- finds his virgin bride well versed in skills that a gentleman would blush to request of a whore? A man of your talent, my dear Valmont could seduce the young lady to any indiscretion. And on his wedding night you could take glory in his humiliation.�

G would have taken her younger if he could... yes, that sounded more like the man Valmont knew. A slow smile spread across his face at the Marquise's suggestion. "I like your thinking, but really you don't need me. A convent girl, scarce old enough to know her own mind... why even your footman could seduce her inside a second."

�And do a botch job of it in the process,� Merteuil replied. �Certainly I could ask one of my footmen to woo her into some indiscretion, the details of which would soon enough been made common knowledge neither through the man�s carelessness or the child�s ignorance, and G- would tear up the contract before the marriage is announced. What is required is skill and artistry and control. You have a talent for getting a woman to do as you wish far superior to most other men... And if I know you, she�ll be seeking you out to further her education before long.�

Merteuil inched closer. �I could arrange the introduction for you...�

"You are silver tongued tonight, but what you ask is out of the question. My aunt has summoned me to Hampshire. She's staying in some rural hell-hole belonging to a friend of her late-husband and wants me to pay court to her there. It's a chore, but I'm still her heir and she did manage to leave France with a sizable chunk of her fortune intact." He waved a hand lazily around as though to indicate that there was no way out. "I'm sure you'll find a suitable replacement. You replaced me once before, remember?"

Merteuil was not one to take no for an answer, that Valmont wanted to play hard to get just made her more determined to have her way. Her eyelids fluttered and her smiled broadened, the only signs of her agitation, before she ploughed on. �We have forgiven each other and are friends once more, remember?� she chided. �There is no need to dwell in the past. Besides, you�ve never let such obstacles hinder you before, my dear Valmont. I�ll wager you could have the girl and play dutiful nephew to your aunt if you were so inclined.�

"Impossible! I shall be 70 miles away and my visit may last some little while." he smiled, slyly, "I have my sights on a far more interesting chase. A quarry really worthy of my talents and she's go to ground at aunt Rosamonde's new home."

"And who is this worthy prey?" Merteuil asked through a rigid smile. Valmont may have piqued her, but she'd be damned if she'd let him see it.

�Tourvel!� Merteuil laughed. �My dear Valmont, you are jesting me! You would do better wooing a nun. La Presidente Tourvel is the plainest of face or personality. I doubt she could keep you awake through a session of love-making.�

"Do not be deceived by appearances," he retorted, "I have often found the most diabolical desires concealed within the straightest-laced of minds. Which means that Tourvel should smoulder like moulten lava beneath that ice-queen exterior!"

"Or freeze your manhood right off," Merteuil quipped. "Come now, Valmont! How many times have we shared laughed over the utter ridiculousness of that woman? You see she's bore no children, which makes me think she wouldn't even let her husband part her thighs."

�You set your sights to high, my dearest Valmont,� Merteuil insisted. �You would do better to woo a bride of Christ. I have had the misfortunate of conversing with the little nun and can assure you that you will come away from it all disappointed, unsatisfied, and bored to tears.�

Merteuil raised one finely plucked brow in amusement. "A wager? On whether you can woo the ice queen? It might be intriguing... if you could provide irrefutable proof of the deed. And what, pray tell, would you demand in exchange?"

Merteuil smiled as broad as a cat�s. Men were predictable become they thought foremost with their genitals, and Valmont, who prided himself on his passion and sexuality, was the model, not the exception. �Besides the loss of your reputation, what have I to gain for this little wager?�

The lady grinned at Valmont�s blatant ego. Did he not consider she would play to win as well? �And if my prize was that you would forego the pleasures of the opposite sex for the rest of your days and close yourself up in the silent servitude of some bleak monastery? Are you so ready to give up the lose of your honor and your pleasure?

"Well, nothing so provocative as hanging the blood-stained sheet out of your window," Merteuil laughed as she detected the vicomte's discomfort. "But it will have to be something irrefutable... something... something like a letter. A letter from the lady herself proving without a doubt that the deed had been done. Yes, the prove must be a letter from le Presidente in her own hand comfirming what has taken place between you."

She tolerated his kiss, still piqued at him for not accepting her original request. "Three months then," she repeated, looking him directly in the eyes. "I will be sure to have my coach ready to deliver you to the nearest monastery."

�As you wish, my dear vicomte,� Merteuil smiled back at him, �but I thought it poor sportsmanship to celebrate your failure. At least to your face.�

He stood up stiffly, slightly peaked that she could remain so cold toward him. "Three months." he said, omitting the silent: and you'll eat those words. Then he turned on his heel to stalk out. At the door he paused, "Oh, by the way, good luck with Cecile de Volange. If you find a suitable suitor, let me know!"

Oh, but she did know how to push his buttons! Then again it was all about power anyway. "Let us not part on such harsh term after we have only jest made up, dear Valmont." She held her hand out to him to be kissed, unrestrained glee in her eyes. "Let us part as friends."

It was rare that Valmont worried whether his advances would be accepted and even rarer that that actually stopped him, but it did now. He would not run to the Marquise like some pathetic spaniel just so she could have the pleasure of slapping him away again. "Three months," he repeated softly, "and then I shall kiss more than your hand and in the friendliest of terms."

�Three months,� she grinned triumphantly. There are many ways to win battle and, if not a victory, to come out ahead. Always ways of manipulating a situation. If Valmont wanted to wander off into the wilderness to pant after the frigid Presidente de Tourvel, so be it. She knew where to find him� and situations could always be manipulated. �Happy hunting.�