TheEnglishHeiress

by Roberta Gellis

  For a time Leonie managed to keep still, except for clutching Roger to her, but it was becoming harder and harder. She began to whimper and try to grasp him with her legs. The blanket frustrated her. Feeling her movement, Roger released her lips.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  “Yes, yes!” Leonie cried softly.

  Swiftly he slipped from the bed, pulled off the cover and let himself down upon her. He knew he should have given her one more chance to change her mind, but he knew also that it would be beyond his ability to let her go now. He must believe she was willing. He feared he would take her by force if she were not. Still, he had not forgotten Leonie nor the reason she had given for this union. He did not thrust deep and hard, seeking a quick satisfaction, which was all he had craved for years. Slowly, lingeringly, he made her his until the drive of Leonie’s own body pushed him quicker, harder, and brought them to a culmination that wrung groans of joy from both.

  Chapter Eleven

  They did not leave early in the morning. By the time the sunlight struck their uncurtained window, it was already past eight. Roger groaned when the ray fell across his face and tried to bury his head in Leonie’s shoulder. Leonie, however, started awake. It had been many months since she had wakened into sunlight. She cried out fearfully, thinking at first that she was in Louis’ room and they would be found out. Roger jerked awake at her voice.

  “It’s all right, Leonie,” he soothed. “I won’t hurt you.”

  His voice brought everything back into focus for her, and she caught at him to keep him from leaving the bed. “Not hurt me!” she teased. “Liar! You nearly killed me.”

  “But Leonie,” Roger exclaimed in a horrified voice, still fuzzy with sleep and thinking the quiver of laughter was fear, “you said—”

  “Wake up!” Leonie chuckled. “When you do not know a compliment from a complaint, you must still be asleep.”

  He searched her face with troubled eyes, wondering whether it was again her kindness that was speaking, trying to mask a real shrinking in a jest.

  There was nothing in Leonie’s clear eyes or sweet smile that could resolve his dilemma, but after a moment she began to look concerned and a little puzzled. She must not, she told herself, joke with Roger about lovemaking. He seemed to regard the matter with great seriousness, almost with fear. Leonie restrained a sigh. She would have to be careful, very careful not to act too free.

  “I have never had a compliment before, only a multitude of complaints,” Roger said slowly.

  That was not strictly true, of course. Many women had told him he was a good lover, but he discounted that. Since he paid for their services, what could they say? Leonie, however, took his statement at face value and blushed with pleasure. She assumed that he had made a special effort for her, which was true enough, or that she had inspired him to a more than usually virile performance. Both alternatives were flattering.

  “I would gladly give you more proof of my sincerity,” she said, “but it is late, I fear. Fifi must be let out and we must be on our way or we will never arrive.”

  “Of course.” Roger had reached toward her tentatively, but he turned the movement into a stretch, swung out of the bed and concealing himself as much as possible, began to dress.

  Fifi, hearing voices and movement, was out from under the bed, prancing about the door, her tail whipping the air. Roger recognized the little bitch’s need and gave Leonie credit for her tenderness to all creatures, large and small. He only wished he knew whether the dog’s need was a welcome excuse to her or a duty she acknowledged with regret. She had seemed to respond with enthusiasm each time they had coupled.

  Perhaps, however, that was why she was making an excuse. Unaccustomed to sharing his bed, except when he was with a whore, Roger had wakened several times at her touch and had caressed her instinctively. By the time he was awake enough to remember the true situation, he had also been sufficiently aroused to wish to continue, and Leonie had seemed as eager as he. That was also why they had slept so late and why his legs felt like overcooked noodles. Fifi frisked ahead of him as he returned from the jakes. She had obviously finished her more serious duties also and was ready to return to her mistress.

  I will have to explain, Roger thought, that I am not usually so exigent. His unhappy marriage told him no decent woman could enjoy having her rest broken four times in a night, yet Leonie had seemed equally eager each time. Old hurts twisted in his mind, raising unjust suspicions. Could she think she had to pay this price or be abandoned? But if it had not been pretense, it would be offensive to Leonie if he now said he would not share her bed. I will make a full explanation and then let her choose, Roger said to himself firmly. However, when he reached the room, Leonie was dressed and waiting for him, exclaiming that she was starving.

  Plainly this was no time for lengthy and involved explanations about the results of sexual frustration and how satisfaction diminished activity. Roger merely agreed that he was very hungry also—at which Leonie blushed, making Roger tongue-tied because of the implication about what had caused their mutual appetite. Moreover, the public room of an inn is not the place for discussion of intimate subjects, and later Roger found that Leonie was not willing to meet his eyes. Even when they got into the carriage and were private, she was much less talkative than usual and gave him no opening.

  Leonie was too busy with her own thoughts to notice Roger’s uneasy glances. She was wrapped in a mixture of intense joy and poignant regret. The nearly subconscious craving for sexual satisfaction awakened but never fulfilled by Louis had driven her to tempt Roger into her bed. However, Leonie had not really known what to expect. To hear others speak of the pleasure of love, of which Leonie’s friends had told her, even to see the results of it as she had seen Louis’ enjoyment, was a far cry from tasting it oneself. The explosion of release that Roger had brought her was far beyond her expectation. Still better, the fact that the excitement and delight had been renewed with equal or greater intensity several times promised a whole future of thrilling delight.

  It was for the future that Leonie felt regret. After Roger left, she had used the chamber pot, washed, and dressed slowly, reliving the experience of the past night and Roger’s every word and gesture. During that delightful process it had dawned upon her that Roger’s statement about her compliment had to be a polite lie. It was a convention that a gentleman did not blab of his amours—a convention probably more frequently violated than kept by most “gentlemen”. However, Leonie believed that Roger was a real gentleman. He would never think of implicating any woman by ever admitting there had been one.

  It was not so much that Leonie was jealous of Roger’s past, although she was, as that she was jealous in advance for future rivals. It seemed to her that only an exceptionally skilled lover could have produced the effect Roger had upon her and doubtless so skilled a lover must have had very full and diverse experiences. Then the unpleasant notion that it might be hard for any woman to hold him for long occurred to Leonie. She could not believe Roger would be deliberately cruel. Perhaps his past mistresses had been like the women she knew who spoke so cynically of their lovers. No one was hurt in parting in such affairs because no one had felt anything to begin with, except a desire for novelty and excitement.

  However, Leonie already felt a great deal and realized she would feel more the longer she and Roger were together. Having fixed her affections, it was unlikely that she would cease to love. If he knew it, Roger would not cast her aside—not even if he were bored to death with her. Leonie understood that, but she did not think she could bear to hold him by pity.

  Through a long, silent day of steady travel, broken only by stops to rest the horse and let Fifi run, Leonie and Roger both worked on their own problems. Neither made any decision or developed any plan of action. For Leonie, of course, the matter was not critical. All she could resolve was that, under the guise of innocent experiment, she would “rediscover” the things Louis had taught her and she had inve
nted. Tried one at a time, they should keep Roger interested for a while.

  Roger’s mental exercises bore even less fruit. He was reduced to telling himself that he would ask Leonie outright what she wanted him to do. However, it was full dark before they finally stopped in the town of Sens, and all personal considerations were temporarily pushed out of their minds. The advance of the Prussian troops and the fall of Longwy on August twenty-third seemed to have reduced the government in Paris, such as it was, to complete, demented hysteria.

  A young renegade priest was at the inn, his tongue loosened by wine and the sympathetic attitude in the town. On the twenty-sixth, he recounted to a breathless audience, among whom were Roger and Leonie, the legislative assembly had voted that all priests who did not take the oath to obey the assembly and abjure the instructions of the pope were to leave France or to be transported to a penal colony. That was not all, he went on. There was a strong movement in the assembly to execute out of hand all the prisoners now in the Abbaye prison.

  “In God’s name, why?” Roger asked before he could stop himself.

  He received a contemptuous, monitory glance. “Because they are traitors to the revolution, and they will kill the wives and children of those who go to defend Paris against the Prussians.”

  Roger swallowed and held his tongue, even forcing himself to nod seeming agreement after Leonie squeezed his arm warningly. There was nothing he could do for the prisoners in Paris, and Leonie was his responsibility. He could not endanger her by engaging in a political argument.

  “But if they are in prison already—” someone else began.

  “They have relatives and dependents who can incite or pay others to begin a counterrevolution,” another man growled, scowling at the one who had implied prisoners are harmless. “Marat says in L’Ami du Peuple that we must cleanse the state with blood.”

  Roger thought sickly that blood was not very cleansing, but he said nothing, only drew Leonie, who had shuddered, closer to him.

  “Oh,” the young priest said proudly, “the assembly will take care of that. There is a proposal to take the families of all the émigrés prisoner and hold them hostage.”

  There was more to follow. Rule by law had been virtually overthrown. A deputy who had protested that the imprisonment of innocent women and children was an evil thing was answered by another that “To combat the enemies of the country, all ways are good”. Still another—the priest remembered this name, Jean de Bry—proposed the formation of the corps of volunteer tyrannicides, whose purpose would be assassinate all the foreign sovereigns leagued against France. Later, a decree was passed that punished with death any citizen who, in a besieged place, should speak of “surrender” and the utter destruction of Longwy was decided. When the city was restored to the power of Paris, it should be razed to the ground and its inhabitants be deprived of all civil rights forever.

  At this, most of Roger’s horror dissipated. It was utterly and completely ridiculous and self-defeating. He cast his eyes up to heaven, and said sardonically to Leonie, “The most practical and humanitarian idea I have heard in a long time. Just the thing to inspire loyalty.”

  It was not, however, a matter for jest. As soon as their retreat would not cause unfavorable notice, Roger led Leonie up to the room they had been given. Here they discussed the news in lowered voices, debating the subject of whether, considering the situation, it was wise to go to Paris. The major advantage was that Paris was so large a city and in such turmoil, already filled with strangers and refugees, that they would never be noticed. In almost any other place, they were marked as outsiders and therefore suspicious persons. Also, England had not yet thrown in her lot with Austria and Prussia. Roger had asked the priest, who admitted he did not know for certain but believed the newspapers that circulated so widely would have announced so drastic a political event.

  In the end they decided to go on. There had been much violent debate, but no actual violence. In addition, from the general talk in the inn, Roger had determined that the smaller cities were following Paris’ lead. If the hysteria grew worse and all strangers were to be seized and interrogated—which was not impossible, as spies from Austria and Prussia were suspected everywhere—they would be far more vulnerable in a town where everyone knew everyone else than in Paris. Nor would they need to be exposed to the dangers of the city for long. Once past the gates, where the worst danger would lie as they actually entered the city, they could go directly to Lord Gower’s residence. There they should be safe from anything except a general insurrection, such as that which had broken into the Tuileries to seize the king.

  “But if you will be afraid, Leonie,” Roger said finally, “perhaps I could—”

  She walked into his arms. “If we are together, I will not be afraid. Come to bed now. We cannot plan until we know how matters really are. It is not impossible that that stupid little priest was exaggerating everything to make himself more important.”

  That settled Roger’s personal problem temporarily. Obviously it would be ridiculous to ask Leonie whether he should join her after she had invited him. And he found, when they were in bed, that she turned toward him quite naturally, offering her lips as if it were an old custom. In one way, Roger felt as if it were. There was no embarrassment, no strain, no sick expectation of a sharp Well, if you must, hurry and be done. In another way, it was all new and thrillingly exciting, as if he had never touched any woman ever before. His knowledge of her past ill-treatment made great care necessary. It was like having a virgin each time. An eager and willing one, but still a tender creature who must not be alarmed.

  One other problem was also settled that night. Sated, both slept without stirring until the morning noises of the inn woke them soon after dawn. Roger was greatly relieved. Somehow it did not seem so bad to take advantage of Leonie’s generosity if he did not take too great advantage. Just now, when their situation might turn dangerous at any moment, she needed him to comfort her, Roger told himself. He was doing her more good than harm. Once they reached Lord Gower, it would be different. There could be no questions of sharing a room then or of being afraid of seizure. Then their liaison would end quite naturally without any need to say anything.

  The depression that gripped Roger when he came to that conclusion was intense. He began to discuss again whether they should turn aside from Paris. However, when Leonie said cheerfully that she was ready to do anything he thought best, he realized what he was planning. To satisfy his own desire of her, he was thinking of dragging her all across France under the most dangerous and even degrading conditions. Furious at himself, he reversed his arguments and made for Paris by the most direct route. In fact, he would have pressed on right into the night, except that Leonie reminded him Paris had reverted to an earlier age and, unlike London, was closing its gates and setting guards at them.

  Roger did not need much convincing. They stopped for the night outside Pringy, about fifty kilometers from Paris, obtaining a bed and dinner in a farmhouse. The people were not willing to talk about what went on in the city. Roger could not guess whether they were merely taciturn or were frightened, and he was too cautious to press them further than a general question as to the latest news. He and Leonie did not make love that night. The bed they shared was in a large room where the farmer’s old father and aunt also slept.

  Surprisingly, it was a wonderful experience, full of peace and joy. Roger was able to hold Leonie in his arms and feel her pliant body against his almost without desire, with only the memories of the rich tumult of passion to add warmth to the embrace. She clung to him, not speaking of fear, although each knew that it was possible this was their last night together. Still, there was no need in either for more than the embrace, the gentle touch of lips. It was solace and comfort enough; both found in it the courage to face the peril of the next day.

  At first it seemed as if all their qualms had been imaginary. The questions at the gate were cursory. No one asked for identification or where Roger and Leon
ie came from. Instead, Roger was asked whether he was afraid of the Prussians. To this he replied quite truthfully that he was not in the least afraid of them. Would he fight to defend his country against them, he was next asked. By all means, he replied, barely restraining a smile. It was not likely, he said to Leonie after they drove away, that England and Prussia would come to blows, but he would certainly fight for England any time he was called on to do so. Leonie laughed, a bit more than the joke deserved, giddy with relief.

  Because they were concerned exclusively with their own affairs, neither Roger nor Leonie stopped to think that the closing of the gates might not be to prevent people from entering the city but to keep them from leaving it. This only became clear after they met with their first shock of disappointment. The entry to Lord Gower’s residence was locked. This was not much of a surprise, considering the events of the past year. Roger rang the bell with a will until, finally the caretaker came down.

  “Begone,” he said crossly. “There is no one here. Lord Gower has returned to England.”

  “Returned! When?” Roger asked.

  “He left five days ago. There is no one here except myself and my wife.”

  “Good God!” Roger exclaimed. “But who is here to attend to the affairs of Englishmen?”

  “No one, I say.” The caretaker turned away.

  Roger rattled the gate ferociously. “Wait,” he ordered with a cold authority that stopped the caretaker in his tracks. “Where is Mr. Lindsay, the chargé d’affaires?”