The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  Jean-Louis sneered unattractively. “She needs to stay far away. She is poison to anyone who does not do exactly as she says. Then she changes her mind.”

  “Was she spoiled as a child?” asked Hélène.

  Jean-Louis thought about his answer. It was one of the things she loved best about him, that he thought carefully before speaking. Amandine had been impatient with him because he seemed slow. Amandine was another who changed her mind a lot.

  “I think she might have been. I think Papa spoiled her at first. I remember him always agreeing with her when I was small. After she had Aurore… She almost died having Aurore. Even then, for a while, Papa would give her everything she wanted. It was only when she found out about Papa’s mistress and Michel…”

  At Hélène’s small expression of shock, he chuckled. “Time to lay the family secrets bare, since you are in my family now.”

  She wanted to tell him to stop, because she already knew these secrets, but he went on. “She had the mistress—her companion—sent away. Papa insisted on keeping Michel nearby, and even now I do not know if he kept him to punish Maman or if he just wanted his son with him. He only returned to his mother, who was living near the de Bures château, when Maman was pregnant with Emmanuel.”

  ****

  Jean-Louis felt silly for telling her about his mother. He was a grown man. What did it matter that his mother had been cruel? His father had loved him. The servants had been kind. He had been sent to Dom’s château for training when he was eleven, joining his brother who was as funny and affectionate as their father. His father had bought him a commission, and his family had advanced his career. His father had found him a wife who should have been an asset. Now, he was only twenty-five and had a long career ahead of him, with Hélène as his wife. He wasn’t sure he wanted a long career.

  He stopped walking, and so did Hélène, peering up into his face. He leaned down and kissed her, finding her lips and cheeks cold.

  “We should go in,” he said. “Henri and the others are probably ready to leave by now.”

  Charlotte, out of sight around the house, screamed.

  Jean-Louis tugged at Hélène as he started to run toward the sound.

  “Go!” she cried, panic on her face.

  He would be faster alone. He rounded the corner of the house at a full run, only to find Emmanuel leaping onto a horse and racing up the driveway toward someone on horseback who was already at the lane.

  Someone shouted, “Stolen!”

  Someone had stolen a horse? Jean-Louis looked around frantically for a horse for himself, but saw a groom already riding after Emmanuel.

  “A horse!” Jean-Louis shouted, but there were none ready.

  Jean-Louis shouted to Henri to go to Hélène, who appeared at the corner and tripped over something. He sprinted across the grassy lawn, dodging through trees, angling toward the road in the direction the man on the horse had turned. He could just spy the man, struggling with something in his arms. He choked on a yell when he saw Ondine’s red hair. Stolen.

  Emmanuel passed as Jean-Louis neared the road, hopelessly far behind the rider. Manu was gaining, the groom riding full out behind him. Jean-Louis bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath, watching the unfolding drama. Manu had chosen the faster horse and bent low to its neck.

  Mon Dieu, when did he learn to ride like that? Jean-Louis wondered with the tiny part of his brain not panicked by the kidnapping of his daughter.

  Manu pulled level to the other rider and leaned out over empty air and hard, rough road to grab Ondine with both hands. The kidnapper held on to her, and Jean-Louis almost screamed at the sight of his tiny girl dangling between two racing horses. Manu is leaning too far. He will fall.

  But Manu yanked hard and swung his body back into the saddle, Ondine in his arms, nearly pulling the kidnapper from his horse. Manu reined his horse in sharply, making the beast buck and kick, then turned and galloped back up the road toward Jean-Louis. The groom continued on after the kidnapper, who recovered and galloped away.

  Manu slowed as he approached, but Jean-Louis shouted, “Take her to the house! Get her inside!” even though every part of his body wanted to grab the screaming girl from his brother’s arms. He jogged back across the lawn to the house and arrived to find everyone bustling. Just inside the door, Henri held Hélène upright as she clutched Ondine to her, sobbing.

  Jean-Louis shoved people aside, going straight to Hélène and Ondine—his wife and daughter. He had almost lost his daughter. He stumbled slightly from the fear and put his arms around Hélène and the girl, sinking with them to his knees. Hélène was scrabbling at Ondine’s cloak, trying to get under it to check her.

  Henri grabbed his arm and tugged. “Hush. You will make her more frightened. Come, Jean-Louis, stand up, pour l’amour de Dieu. Hélène, get up. Sit in the drawing room and speak softly.”

  They followed Henri’s commands. Jean-Louis’ hands were shaking as he held Ondine while Hélène checked her for cuts and bruises. She had some angry red marks on her chest and belly and was holding one of her arms at an odd angle, crying out when anyone touched it.

  Hélène lifted Ondine’s chemise to look at the bruises again, and Jean-Louis said, “Is she thin? Is she all right? Shouldn’t she be fatter?”

  Hélène looked at him, and he felt like an idiot. She laughed, though, the happy sound quieting the others, creating a pause in their worried conversations. “She eats constantly. Haven’t you noticed?”

  He smiled. “Yes. I suppose I have.”

  She turned back to Ondine, with a little smile still playing across her face.

  Emmanuel stepped into the room, and Jean-Louis rushed to him, gripping his upper arms, scaring the boy. Jean-Louis kissed his cheeks and Manu blushed. “Thank you, Emmanuel.” Overwhelmed by emotion, which he hated, Jean-Louis nodded and stumbled out to regain his composure in the hall.

  Just a minute later, hearing footsteps behind him, he hastily wiped his eyes but kept his head against the wall.

  A hand came down on his shoulder. Henri said, “Quite a day, mon frère.”

  Jean-Louis could only nod.

  “We’ll send for the surgeon for her arm,” said Henri.

  Fourbier said from behind them, “I’ll look at it first, if you don’t mind, Messieurs.”

  Jean-Louis waved his hand, still unable to speak. Fourbier was sometimes called on in the camps for minor injuries. Fourbier’s voice slipped into the sounds from the drawing room. The valet spoke softly for a minute. Ondine let out a sharp wail, piercing her father’s heart. There was a short silence, followed by a burst of talk.

  Jean-Louis sighed. He went back in to find Ondine holding out both hands for the doll Charlotte had.

  Jean-Louis nodded to Hélène, who might or might not have noticed his presence, as Aurore was gripping her arms, speaking earnestly.

  Emmanuel stood in the corner, staring at the books on the shelves. Jean-Louis went to him. “Tell me what happened.”

  Emmanuel didn’t look at him. “Someone said maybe it was another rider from your estate with more news. So many of us were milling around, talking. Servants bustling, the grooms just starting to saddle the horses. The rider got down, grabbed Ondine, and jumped back up. Charlotte screamed. So I ran for the horse and… C’est tout. That’s all.”

  Jean-Louis nodded. “Quick thinking. No one told me about your riding. It’s beautiful.” His voice shook as he tried to commend his brother as he would any young soldier.

  Emmanuel blushed and gripped the bookshelf.

  A maid came in with news that the groom had returned. He had lost the kidnapper when his horse threw a shoe. By the time he reached the next village, the rider was gone. Another man was waiting in a carriage. They had gone south.

  Dom shook the groom’s hand and praised him for his quick action. Jean-Louis could only nod, overwhelmed again by emotion.

  “We should go right away,” said Henri. “In case they mean to go east and rescue th
eir compatriot.”

  Within minutes, Henri, Fourbier, Emmanuel, and a few armed men set out on horseback, hoping to reach Jean-Louis’ estate before nightfall.

  Supper was quiet; even Aurore spoke only softly. Jean-Louis could hardly believe it was his wedding day. His new wife pushed the food around on her plate, her satin cheeks pale. They debated the wisdom of sending men away, though Dom assured them he had enough armed men to hold against an invading force.

  The manor house had no ramparts and only a low wall around the lawns. But even the ramparts at Dom’s château had not withstood an attack, both when the fort was lost and when they regained it.

  Chapter Ten

  Ondine refused to sleep, so Hélène said she would lie down with her until she calmed.

  In his smallclothes and a dressing gown, Jean-Louis paced in his bedchamber, wondering if his wife was going to come to him. Unable to wait, he paced the hallway for a while before tapping on his wife’s door.

  Charlotte opened it.

  “Is my wife coming out?”

  Charlotte giggled.

  Jean-Louis continued pacing. After an eternity, Hélène came out in billowing linen nightclothes, her red hair unbound. Had it faded already? He longed to see it glowing golden instead of copper. She jumped slightly to find him a few feet away and raised her glass to her eye. She had only started to smile when he closed on her, kissing her with every ounce of desire he felt. Her lips parted under his, and he pressed onward until he finally had to pull away to breathe. “Come with me.”

  He led her by the hand and opened his door, pulling her into the room.

  ****

  Hélène lifted her lorgnette to her eye and glanced around. The room was very like hers, but it smelled like Jean-Louis already. She supposed it was the perfume Fourbier dabbed into his clothing or the mud and gunpowder her husband carried in his skin. His things were already in their places, surely Fourbier’s doing, though how he had time to unpack before leaving again, she didn’t know.

  She sighed. Was it just that morning they had married?

  Jean-Louis went around the room, checking the candles. She fidgeted, wondering why he would want lights to sleep. “Please, Jean-Louis? Could you put out the candles?”

  He paused, then nodded. “However you want, Madame.” He went around again, blowing out candles.

  She couldn’t see anything at all. Her vision at night was terrible, having grown worse in recent years. She listened to Jean-Louis’ steps approaching and then felt his arms slide around her waist.

  “Come,” he said. “I cannot wait any longer.”

  She let herself be led the few steps to the bed, then felt him unbutton her robe and slip it from her shoulders. When he started to undo the laces holding her nightdress closed, she grabbed at his hands.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  He stilled, but his hands didn’t move from their place at her neck. “I am undressing you. I consider it a luxury to sleep naked whenever I can.”

  She shivered violently. Naked? Her hands loosened as he kissed the side of her neck. She felt the nightdress open. She was glad he couldn’t see the blush burning her face.

  “What if Ondine needs something?” Her voice was loud in the silence.

  “She has Charlotte and Aurore. If that is not enough, they might come and get you. I will help you dress again.” His hands moved to the next ties. The nightdress slipped off her shoulders and down her arms.

  “Ah, Hélène.” His voice was scratchy and choked.

  “You can see me?” She stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Only a little in the firelight.” As he pulled her toward him, she stumbled, uncrossing her arms to steady herself against his chest.

  His shirt rubbed against her bare breasts, and she gasped. The nightdress fell from her arms and slipped down her legs with a whisper. His hands slid down to her waist to fumble with the strings of her drawers. Soon, those fell to the floor too.

  Her head spun, though she was pleased she couldn’t see anything and he could see very little.

  She could feel, though, and his hands were warm and rough as they ran over her hips and onto her waist, pulling her tight against him. He no longer wore his dressing gown, and she could feel the heat of his skin and the large lump pressing into her belly. His hands smoothed over her buttocks and up her back. She was breathing fast, but didn’t know if it was panic or desire. She couldn’t move.

  “So soft, my Hélène,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her on the side of the neck again and sliding his lips across to her mouth. She got lost in the excitement of the moment, reveling in how her skin tingled and her lips burned as he kissed her again and again. He tipped her head back and eased her mouth open slightly, sliding his tongue in.

  She started to push away, overwhelmed, but he whispered, “Trust me.” She opened her mouth and let him put his tongue in again, wondering why he would want to do such a thing. He kissed her on and on, his hands sweeping over her body, until finally he pressed her back to sit on the edge of the bed.

  She was frozen in fear—or desire—or shock. When he didn’t join her, a voice in the back of her head told her she should be relieved. But after some rustling, he pressed her to her back and swung her legs up. The bed jolted and sagged as he lay next to her, running one hand down her body. She shivered, and he jerked the blankets over both of them.

  He kissed his way down her neck and pillowed his head on her breasts. She was vaguely surprised it didn’t feel at all like when Ondine pillowed her head there, and not only because she was clothed when Ondine did it. He rubbed his face against the slope of her bosom, muttering about how soft it was. She supposed she had never thought about her own skin before, then forgot to suppose anything when his big hand held one breast completely and his fingers brushed over her nipple.

  She was sure she whimpered, and her face burned hotter.

  “That’s it, chérie, tell me what you like best,” he murmured before she felt his mouth close around the other nipple and she let out a squeak.

  She was lost in a cloud when his hand snaked down and pulled one thigh to the side and then his fingers were there, in the wet spot between her legs. She froze again. He was going to touch her there?

  Jean-Louis moaned something about how wet she was, and then she jumped in shock as his fingers moved. Only he hadn’t done it by accident, apparently. He caressed her and it was too much; she couldn’t catch her breath. She thought her panting would disgust him, but he lifted his mouth from her breast and the mattress jostled until he was kissing her mouth.

  “Flow, sweet Hélène,” he whispered in her ear. “Come for me.”

  She didn’t know what he was talking about, but he changed the angle of his hand, and her body tensed all over and she could not catch her breath. A moment later, she realized she must have made another noise, as Jean-Louis chuckled in her ear and ran his hands over her body again. He rolled between her legs and lifted her knees up, muttering “a long time” and “it might hurt” and “Hélène.”

  Then there was nothing but horrible, sharp pain. She cried out.

  ****

  Jean-Louis stopped. It had been so long since he had lain with a woman, since before the Franche-Comté campaign, he thought. When they were assembling near Dijon, he’d had a discreet relationship with a young widow. He shook his head, trying to concentrate as he eased himself back slowly. My wife. My Hélène.

  Hélène’s mews of pleasure had changed to whimpers. Her entire body was rigid, and she pushed him away.

  “I am sorry, Hélène. It only hurts this first time, I promise. Trust me. Trust me.”

  He thought maybe he should stop, but his hips pushed forward, taking all thought away from him as he pushed into her. Not just any woman, his wife, his Hélène.

  “Mine.” He pulled her hands away from his chest and lay on top of her, his elbows on either side, his forearms under her shoulder blades, cuddling her close. “My
Hélène.”

  He didn’t mean to move again, but his hips moved independent of thought. His brain shut off completely and he flowed into her, gasping and grunting into her ear.

  He returned to his senses only a moment later. His new wife’s sniffling and the consciousness that he was crushing her into the mattress stabbed at him. He climbed out of bed, going to light a candle and get a damp cloth to clean her blood.

  He pulled the sheets back again. She appeared to be struggling for breath, her body rigid. He eased her legs apart and gently wiped her thighs and her intimate area. She shuddered.

  “Désolée, mon âme. I am so sorry, Hélène. I promise it only hurts the first time.”

  He finally let his gaze travel up her body. He almost didn’t look past her breasts—so lovely, soft, and sweet, the nipples dark pink.

  He finally looked at her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face pale.

  His heart broke.

  He covered her up and threw the rag into the fire with unnecessary force. Just before he blew out the candle, he looked at her again. She was on her side, curled in a tight ball under the blankets, her long, red hair fanned out around her head. He had imagined it spread across his pillow, but blonde and with her face drowsy and sated.

  In the darkness, he wrapped his arms around her. She had her knees hugged to her chest, so he curled around her snugly.

  He whispered, “It’s all right, Hélène. I’m sorry I hurt you. I should have warned you sooner. The next time…”

  She curled in tighter, and he caressed her and kissed her neck until she relaxed.

  “The next time it will be better for you,” he promised, hoping it would be true. “Do you remember the pleasure you had before the pain?”

  She nodded so slightly he could barely feel it where his forehead touched the back of her head.

  “That is what it is like most of the time. It is pleasure and excitement and…and my heart beating out of my chest for the joy of being inside you.”

  She wiped her eyes on the sheet. Then, slowly, her body relaxed against his.

  “Do you like this, mon âme? With me lying against you, warming you?”