His hand found her nether lips and teased and pulled as she came down on him again and again.
“Ah, Beauty, enough,” he rasped with one hand gripping her buttocks, about to take control.
“Not yet.” She tried not to come, showing him just how happy he had made her but the rough pad of his finger against her swollen lips was too much as his engorged member hit her womb.
Arching her back, she held onto his legs behind her for support as she gushed over him
He sat up, enfolding her in his arms as he speared her in his own release.
* * * *
Opéra de Paris, Paris, France – June 28, 1789
Roman sat in the balcony, listening. Not to the opera, but to the sounds of the city.
He glanced at Claude sitting in the first row with Simone and Jacqueline. The Comte also scanned the crowd in the theatre with a wary eye, but was obligated to support the monarchy and look the other way in the face of his sovereign’s offenses.
I must get Jacqueline away from here.
There was talk of rebellion against the crown. This week he would meet with the crew and hear what more they were able to learn about the insurgents. He would send word to King George with an update on the state of affairs and their imminent arrival in England.
“If we do not go down now for refreshment, I fear we will miss the second act.” Marchese Falco stood next to him, gripping Margaux’s hand. Her eyes twinkled in mirth.
The first act had ended and the curtain went down. The audience was standing in applause. The alcove beyond their box was already filling up with thirsty patrons.
Roman stood and moved out of their way. “Indeed, we can’t have that, can we?”
Marchese Falco’s thick brows furrowed in question, but Roman would not worry him. He could not divulge his mission even to his friend the Marchese. The less the young man knew the better. They would all be gone soon on their way to England. The Marchese and Mademoiselle Margaux would simply have to be wed there. Simone St. Clair would mourn the lavish wedding on the grounds of their beloved home in Asnières-Sur-Seine. However, by the looks of the affianced couple it would not matter to them where they got married as long as the deed was done.
He waited for Jacqueline by the now deserted curtained alcove. Without a word, they came together and he lifted her chin to feast on her lips.
“I wish I could take you away on my ship tonight.”
“You can do it, we can sail together, just the two of us.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were dark, serious, and feared resistance to their match. She did not know what fate awaited France. She could not know that they must take her entire family on this voyage, or she might never see them again.
“I will not have the Comte disown you. You will be my bride in England with your family’s blessing.”
He loosened his hold on her hand and rubbed her fingers where he’d held them too tightly.
They followed the crowd out for refreshments, walking together in silence.
Chapter 7
The Raven, Paris Docks – July 14, 1789
Three weeks.
That is how long it had been since he had seen Jacqueline.
Roman was in a foul mood and his crew was on tenterhooks in his presence, giving him a wide berth when he was on deck.
He had ridden to Bordeaux and Lyon. The news he gathered sent him back to Paris shouting orders to round up any crewmembers who had not yet returned from wenching. He had already sent word to King George that they would be sailing immediately.
It was rumored there were plans to burn title deeds and châteaux, as part of the general agrarian insurrection known as La Grande Peur. There was such widespread unrest that the Swiss Guard was called in to reinforce the woefully inadequate number of veteran soldiers under Governor Bernard-René de Launay.
Dutch had taken several crewmembers and scoured the streets for more information. The commoners were up in arms over the ancien régime. They presumed the king plotted against them in Versailles. The large number of men on the roads as a result of unemployment led to rumors of insurrection. Like a plague, the undaunted spirit of independence had spread throughout France. There was no turning back now.
With the Comte’s many holdings, it was only a matter of time before one of them was targeted.
There was a knock on the door and Dutch filled the doorway. “Captain, they’ve stormed the Bastille!”
He shot up from his chair with an oath. He gathered the documents on the table and thrust them into his case.
“There are hundreds of them. The prison would not surrender and they broke into the courtyard and cut the chains on the drawbridge. Sir, the French Guard joined them, the mutinous bastards! De Launay’s men fired on them. He’s dead, Captain. They dragged their commander through the streets, tore him apart.”
Roman grabbed his waistcoat. “Secure the ship. We will leave as soon as I return.”
* * * *
Late that night, Serge announced his arrival to the Comte in the study.
“Captain Roman,” Claude said. “I did not expect you back so soon. What brings you here in the dead of night?”
“I rode straight through, Comte. The Bastille has been invaded. The people are revolting throughout the countryside. We must leave France now.”
“I cannot believe it has come to this.” The Comte sat back down heavily in his chair. He picked up his wine glass. “The people do not believe in Louis’ promises. They have turned against him. I had heard the rumors of rioting, but I believed the king would set things right before it got out of hand.”
“My men are waiting for us at the docks. You will need to gather your things.” Roman strode across the room. He stopped in front of the Comte, who was staring into his wine.
The man looked defeated, but Roman’s patience had come to an end. “Claude,” he said. “What have you told the Comtesse about affairs in Paris?”
The Comte would not meet his eyes. “Nothing more than some disgruntled workers who had ridiculous ideas about democracy.”
“It is time your family knows what is happening, for their safety. The state of the country has reached the extreme.” He took the wine glass from the Comte and set it down on the desk. “You will need a clear head on the morrow.”
The Comte nodded slowly. “Yes, we must leave.”
They sat together and discussed the final arrangements for departure.
He did not go to Jacqueline that night. He did not want to interrupt her sleep. There would be enough strife in the morning.
He did not sleep at all, but lay awake thinking about the riots breaking out all over the country, and listening to the night for any signs of disturbance.
* * * *
When Jacqueline arrived at breakfast, her parents were talking quietly with Roman at the table. She looked at him and then dropped her gaze.
He had come back. He had been gone so long she had feared the worst.
She thought her father had found out about them and sent him away. Her days were spent agonizing over what she would do if she could not be with her capitaine. With relief, she glanced back at him. Coldness crept into her at the guarded expression he wore.
Something was wrong.
She recalled now when she entered the room that they had stopped their discussion. Maman’s eyes were red and swollen. She had been crying.
“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” she asked.
Before anyone could tell her what happened, Margaux entered the dining room. “Good morning…” she trilled, and stopped when she saw the morose expressions of the three who sat at the breakfast table. She stood next to Jacqueline in the doorway.
“Girls, please sit down,” Papa said with a sober nod.
Jacqueline glanced once more at her lover’s dour expression. His beautiful blue eyes were tired and yet angry. She had never seen him so.
“My dears, we must prepare to leave France. There have been riots and they are getting worse. The Bastille has been a
ttacked.”
Margaux started to cry. Jacqueline held her sister as they walked to their chairs.
Her father hurried on. “Please do not be alarmed, we are safe here.”
Roman’s lips remained a firm line, his eyes intent on her.
“Papa?” Jacqueline dragged her eyes away from Roman to look at her father, afraid of the truth even as she sought it.
Papa’s bleak countenance frightened her. She caught some of the confusing words he muttered under his breath, something about shattering his daughters’ idyllic outlook on life with harsh, plain facts. “The people are unhappy with the king’s taxes, ma chérie. Many are without work and food is scarce.”
“Papa, can we not help them?” Margaux cried.
The Comtesse, who remained silent in her own anguish, took Margaux’s hand.
“We cannot do it alone, ma petite.” Even now, Papa refused to blame his king.
“We are leaving today, mesdemoiselles.” Roman’s eyes bore into hers.
She gripped the chair’s armrests to stop herself from running to him.
“We shall pack our things after breakfast, my dears.” Maman wiped a tear away with her handkerchief.
* * * *
The house was a flurry of activity. The maids were whirling dervishes, in and out of rooms with boxes and bags.
Isabelle packed away Jacqueline’s gowns and was about to put away her jewel box when Jacqueline took it out of her hand.
“Wait.” She picked up the ruby dragon anklet on her night table and dropped it into the box on top of the other dragon rubies. The earrings, necklace, bracelet and anklet would be packed away with the latest gift, a ruby ring. The stone was so huge that it seemed to glow from within. Looking into the stone gave her a headache. It was so garish one might expect to see it on King Louis’ hand. At any rate, she would never wear it. She could not wear Lord Alsborough’s jewelry any longer.
Isabelle tsked and went for the nightgowns.
She waited until Isabelle bustled out of the room with her arms full before digging under the rubies in the jewel box for the sapphire ring. She held it up, reading the inscription on the gold band “Jacqueline, my beloved. Forever, Roman, 1789.”
She placed the ring in a small sachet and tied it to the inside of her skirt. It comforted her to know she had the ring on her person.
She looked around the room full of memories and of the nights with Roman.
Now that he was back, she was no longer worried about the future. He would speak to her father in England and they would be married. She would tell Papa she would have no other. If necessary, she would confess that she had given herself to Roman.
She had to stay away from Lord Alsborough. Logic told her the dreams were just terrible fantasies, but in her heart, she knew there was something dreadful about her fiancé.
She wanted to speak with Roman alone, but it was mayhem. She had not seen him since breakfast. It was late afternoon now.
Knowing Margaux would be fraught with worry, she went down the hall to her sister’s room. Margaux had Zoë in hand. The poodle was agitated with the ruckus in the chateau.
Margaux was on the balcony staring out across the green and did not turn when she closed the bedroom door.
“Maman has sent word to Carlo that we will be in England.” Margaux’s head bowed with tears.
“It will be all right, ma chérie.” Jacqueline stood behind her sister, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You can come back when this is all over.”
“Are you so certain, Jacqueline? What of our home? What if there is nothing to come back to? England is a dreary land. I have heard it rains all the time, not like our beautiful France. I wish Carlo was here.” Margaux ended on a sob.
“I have no fear of England,” Jacqueline whispered. “We are sailing with my beloved.”
Margaux turned toward her with eyes the yellow gold of a harvest moon. Jacqueline watched her sister’s expression change by degrees from dawning comprehension to horror as the import of her confession became clear.
“You are not coming back,” Margaux rasped in shock. She put Zoë down on the floor. “Jacqueline, what have you done? Papa will be so angry!”
“Is it such a crime to love?” She grabbed her sister’s arm. “Margaux, in England he will ask Papa for my hand in marriage.”
“Papa will not allow it! What of Lord Alsborough?”
“He…will…never…touch me.”
Margaux shook her head vehemently. “Have you lost your wits? Papa will see the captain hung in chains for ruining you!”
Tears streamed down her sister’s face, and her own vision blurred. “Do you not wish me the same happiness that you have found with your Marchese?”
Margaux turned back to the balcony and gripped the stone. “Of course I do, but I am afraid for you, my sister.”
“Don’t be. All will be well.” She hugged Margaux and they stood together, drawing strength from each other for the ordeal that lay ahead of them.
* * * *
They should have left hours ago. Time was wasting away, and the servants were packing up the entire house. Finally, Roman stopped them, taking boxes out of a footman’s hands and directing him to find the Comte so they could depart.
He went looking for Jacqueline but she was nowhere in the château. He searched the gardens and then crossed the green to the riverbank.
There she was, staring down into the Seine, watching the water eddy around the rocks on the banks of her secret pool.
She had come out here by herself. He almost scolded her for scaring the hell out of him like this. Instead, he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
She did not turn, but covered his hand with hers. “I was miserable without you. I never want to be away from you again,” she said.
He kissed the top of her head, and turned her in his arms.
“It is bad isn’t it, Roman?”
“Do not be afraid, my Beauty. I will not let anyone harm you. It just means we will be in England that much sooner.”
“What will happen here?”
He would not lie to her. “There are bands of men roaming the countryside, taking out their hostilities on the landowners.”
She hugged him, sobbing into his chest and he murmured sweet words to calm her. She molded her body to his. It seemed that she was trying to get inside of him to hide.
“Kiss me.” She looked lost. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rooted up to his lips.
He kissed her deeply.
She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses with wanton abandonment.
Dear God, she could not get close enough.
He knew what she needed, what they both needed. In the midst of this ugly reality, they wanted a comfort only true lovers could give each other. He raised her skirts and lifted her.
She wrapped her legs around him and rubbed against him, demanding to be taken.
“I…will…protect…you.” He pulled down his breeches and speared her. She made a soft sound of satisfaction in the back of her throat that rippled around him enclosed in her softness. He held her by the waist and raised her until only the tip of him remained inside of her.
“Love me…fill me. Now,” she implored him.
He brought her back down slowly, impaling her inch by inch, until she covered him to the hilt.
The delicious friction increased with his pace, faster and faster. He groaned at the way her muscles clung to him, greedily drawing him in. He was merciless, for both their sakes, thrusting himself deep into her until he drove her over the edge.
She slumped over him, boneless and quiet in his arms.
He sat down on a boulder by the bank, still inside her with her skirts covering their entwined limbs.
“me Soeur,” she breathed as they caressed each other.
“We must go back, sweetheart.” Their love was welcome solace, but they could not stay here on the banks. Her private pool was no longer safe.
She nodded, smoothing her skirts.
He wiped her tearstained face with his handkerchief and dabbed at her red nose. “Beautiful, even in tears.”
* * * *
When they started up the bank to cross the green, Roman saw the dark clouds marring the sky. His eye caught the flicker of lightening.
“Damn, there’s a storm coming. The horses will slow in the muck.”
Further, up the green, his eye was drawn to the still flickering lightning in the distance. Odd that it seemed so constant.
He stopped. Those were not dark clouds. They were plumes of smoke.
The château was on fire.
He ran, ignoring Jacqueline’s call.
Men were milling about the château, shouting and carrying torches. There must be at least thirty of them. They were on horseback, riding through the gardens, setting fire to the gazebo, the rose bushes.
Shouts and sounds of breaking glass followed torturous screams, which reached them even this far across the green.
“No! Margaux!” She ran past him, but he scooped her off her feet, muffling her hysterical wails with his free hand.
“Maman! Papa!”
He dragged her behind a row of plane trees bordering the lawn. They were shielded from view as the large leafy branches of the trees grew into each other.
Watching the mob, he held her. She beat against him, trying to get away.
The entire first floor of the château was ablaze.
“Damn the whoresons!” He had a pistol, but he would not get all of them. They would be on him by the time he fired the first shot.
Their time had run out. Poor Claude and Simone, and Margaux, only eighteen, and all the servants who had been hurrying and packing to get away in time.
Jacqueline sobbed inconsolably as she stared across the green. He turned her face away from her burning home. Her family was gone.
They sank down in grief onto the grass beneath the concealing trees. If she had not left the château and he had not gone looking for her…
“I am so sorry, my love, so sorry.”
Sorry for not taking you away sooner, sorry your family has died this way. I should have known this would happen…
There were no more screams now. Noxious smoke and the smell of charred wood drifted down to them on the breeze.
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