by Marie Laval
‘They are going to the eastern border,’ he said when he came back. ‘Every single room in town is requisitioned for army personnel. We shall carry on. Hopefully we will find an inn nearer Autun.’
Marie-Ange nodded absent-mindedly. She didn’t care where or when they stopped. She didn’t care if they travelled all the way to Le Havre without interruption. She regarded the colourful crowd on the square. Soldiers in different regimental uniforms, market traders packing up, and town folks hurrying to buy food before the market finished. As the coach set off again, a man standing in a corner of the square attracted her attention. He looked familiar and she leant forward to take a better look at him. His dark hair was unkempt. A thick beard partly covered his face. He wore some kind of sheep-skin coat and high leather boots, just like one of Uxeloup’s henchmen. A few seconds later, he walked away into the crowd and she lost sight of him.
Should she tell Commandant Picard? It was probably a coincidence. After Uxeloup’s death, his men had fled Beauregard. Some would have gone back to Malleval, but others might have business to conclude elsewhere.
The next town was Chagny. It was dark when they stopped in front of a large inn on the main square. Picard found rooms for the night, arranged for Marie-Ange’s bag to be taken upstairs and for a maid to bring her some supper. She forced herself to eat some soup and drink a glass of wine. Then, feeling weary of the day’s travel, she put her nightdress on and took the pins out of her hair. She was just getting into bed when she heard men’s voices in the staircase.
‘I am very sorry Sir, but it’s late. I don’t think that you should…’ It was Picard’s voice.
‘I need to see Madame Norton now. Get out of my way.’
Hugo! He was here, he had come after her. The overwhelming joy she felt at hearing him was immediately replaced with anguish. She must tell him about Christopher’s visit to Beauregard. She had to tell him her husband planned to resume his former life with her in Norton Place.
He already knew.
‘Tell me it’s not true,’ were his first words when she opened the door.
He closed the door behind him and marched straight in. He seemed to take up all the space in the room. She stepped back, alarmed by the thunderous look in his eyes.
‘Tell me you’re not taking your husband back, after everything you said.’ He stopped a few inches from her and she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes. Her heart was beating so fast her chest ached.
‘Who told you?’
‘So it’s true…Sophie was right.’ He closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he reopened them, they were cold as ice.
‘Why?’
‘He came to Beauregard yesterday evening, begging me to tell him about his past life, about Norton Place, his family, and…’
‘And you were only too happy to oblige,’ he interrupted. ‘Sophie said you asked Karloff to hypnotise him to help him remember. So Norton told you all about his vile deeds, the men he knifed or shot in dark alleyways and the women he slept with in exchange for information. And still you found it in your heart to forgive him—even though you said he was dead to you.’ He gave a short derisive laugh.
‘It isn’t like that!’ She cried out, putting her hand on his forearm. ‘I couldn’t deny him the truth about his past, and Karloff didn’t pry into his deeds as an agent.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’
‘Before we started the mesmerising session, Christopher asked for my word that we would only ask him about Spain.’
‘How convenient! What a good little wife you are.’ He eyed her from top to toe, a sneer appearing on his lips. ‘I’m surprised you are no longer wearing his dressing gown.’
She shook her head, folded her arms on her chest. ‘I left it at Malleval’s house on Isle Barbe.’ She almost added that she wouldn’t have worn it even if she still had it. Things had changed. She had changed.
‘By the way, how do you know he’s sincere?’ He resumed. ‘That he doesn’t have an ulterior motive for this sudden need to be reacquainted with his past and return to England? I think it’s all very timely.’
What did he mean by that?
‘It would appear you have what you desired. Husband and wife reunited.’
His words cut as badly as his icy glare. She wanted to cry out that he was wrong. It wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore. She loved him and only him. Surely he must understand that if her lawful husband wished to return to Norton Place, there was nothing she could do to prevent him. He owned the place. And in a way, he owned her too. She was bound to leave France under the new émigrés law, there was nowhere else for her to go to but Norton Place.
But she didn’t know how to start, so she said nothing.
‘I was released this morning and rode straight to Beauregard, hoping to see you before you left. I had a proposal for you. Not that it matters anymore.’
‘What proposal?’
‘I was planning to ask you to marry me…as a way of getting your deportation order cancelled, of course. It would have bought you time to settle your business at Beauregard.’
‘Marry you? But it’s impossible. I am already married.’ A warm feeling spread through her. He wanted her to stay. He had been ready to marry her.
‘Only you and I knew that, since Norton denied it was the truth.’
She bowed her head. ‘Even if Christopher hadn’t come to Beauregard yesterday, I couldn’t have committed bigamy. No matter of how much I want to stay in France and marry you. It would be wrong.’
‘Well, it’s not going to happen since he now remembers who he is, so let’s forget I ever suggested it.’ He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You could still remain in France though. With me. I am owed a few favours. My name and position in the army should guarantee your freedom. I would put you up in an apartment in Lyon.’
Her cheeks flushed with the realisation of what he was implying.
‘You mean, I would live with you as a mistress?’ she interrupted.
He smiled. ‘What else? I’m not asking you to be my stable lad.’
His fingers rubbed her shoulders gently. She breathed in, trying to quell the turmoil raging inside her. She was torn between two men, between love and duty. There was one question she needed to ask Hugo. His answer would determine her decision and her whole future.
‘Why would you help me? I mean, why would you want me for your wife or your mistress?’
Hugo gazed into her eyes. ‘Isn’t that obvious? I told you before. I feel responsible for you—for what happens to you. It’s a damned shame you came all this way only to leave with nothing. If you stay, you will have time to sort out your inheritance, which is far bigger now you are Malleval’s heiress.’
‘You feel responsible? Is that all?’ She felt the blood drain from her face.
He didn’t answer.
‘You don’t have any other feelings for me? You don’t…love me?’ She insisted, hating the pathetic, pleading, sound of her voice.
He dropped his hands by his side, and arched his eyebrows.
‘What are you talking about, Marie-Ange? We have kissed a few times and yes, it was good. Very good even. I would more than gladly take things further.’ His lips curled into a smile. ‘I am sure our arrangement would be to our mutual satisfaction, but please don’t make it any more than it is.’
His voice became harsh. ‘Don’t make me anymore than what I am. I am a commoner, a soldier, remember? Not a courtier. I kill, I organise men and I plan battles. I don’t pick flowers or write poems.’ He crossed his arms on his chest and leant back. ‘That doesn’t mean to say we can’t have a good time together.’
He made it sound so coarse, so cheap. She bit her lower lip hard to stop it from trembling. She had her answer. It was plain he didn’t love her. He didn’t even believe in love. They were too different. She would suffer if she stayed with him, so much that with time it would destroy her. Destroy her heart and her soul. It was better to sever her ties with h
im tonight.
‘Thank you for your offer,’ she said, trying to keep her voice cool, ‘but I will return to England.
He stared at her a moment in silence.
‘It’s your decision,’ he said at last, before turning to the fire and presenting his back to her.
She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears. He was so close, and yet so much separated them. Suddenly, she remembered the warmth of his arms and the longing in his eyes as he had held her at Marzac. If they were going to part forever, she wanted a burning memory of him to last her a lifetime. He could be down to earth and ruthless, and so could she. She stepped forward and laid her hand on his back. His muscles tensed. Turning round, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her to him.
‘What do you want from me now?’
She was aching for him.
His stare was intense, his breathing fast.
This was probably the only chance she would ever have to make love to him. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. He moaned and pulled her against him, so tightly the metal of his uniform buttons, and the coarse fabric of his jacket bit into her body. He kissed her mouth, her throat, while his hands gripped the curves of her hips.
‘Why can’t I leave you alone? Even now you have chosen another man,’ he growled. ‘And why do you let me touch you?’
She didn’t reply but put her arms behind his neck and kissed him softly again.
He stroked the outline of her face, her throat, venturing further in the opening of her nightdress to the swell of her breasts. She shivered with the longing for his hands to explore the rest of her body. He bent forward and took her mouth in a hungry kiss, one hand tilting her head backward so he could deepen the kiss. His hands slid down her shoulders and pulled the night dress aside with such impatience the fabric ripped and the garment fell onto the floor. He raised a hand to her breasts, stroking and teasing until her nipples hardened so they almost hurt.
She heard a whimper of desire and realised it came from deep within her. With feverish haste, Hugo unbuttoned his jacket, loosened his shirt and threw them on the floor.
He raised a hand and caressed a lock of her hair which had escaped her braid and was nestling in the curve of her neck.
‘I want you, damn it. Why isn’t that enough for you?’ his voice was barely a whisper.
He untied her hair, gave her a slow, smouldering look, hot enough to make her cheeks and her throat burn. He put his hand in the hollow of her waist to pull her against him and his fingers ran along her spine. His hands covered the curves of her hips, lingering on their velvety softness, before sliding to the front and stroking her stomach. When they ventured further down, she closed her eyes and whispered his name. Her legs couldn’t support her any longer. She held onto his shoulders for fear of falling. His hands, in turn gentle and hard, seemed intent on exploring every inch of her body, on taking possession.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his voice low, his gaze burning.
She bit his shoulder lightly. ‘Yes.’
He lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. He kissed her again, before finishing undressing and discarding his clothes. As he lay next to her, he twisted her hair in his hand and tilted her head up towards his. Then he caressed her, in slow, feather light strokes, from shoulders to breasts, her stomach to her hips. His breath quickened, became raspy, as he parted her legs and touched the hot, moist, tender skin. His eyes never left hers while she arched against his hand and moaned, overwhelmed by waves of pleasure. It was as if he was staking his claim on her body.
He withdrew his hand and kissed her throat, the line of her shoulders, nuzzled her breasts, licked the pale pink skin around her nipples, and then sucked on the hard tiny buds. The harsh stubble on his cheeks rubbing against her skin increased her pleasure tenfold.
She clasped her hands at the back of his neck, ran her fingers through his hair. There was a dull, throbbing need within her which she knew could only he could fulfil. He took her mouth again, let out a groan before settling on top of her, hard and impatient. She opened herself to him, and he thrust deep inside. He was ruthless, diving deeper and faster, his hands clasping her hips to bring her nearer and higher still. She closed her eyes.
‘Look at me,’ he ordered.
She stared into his burning, intense blue eyes as heat exploded inside her. Holding on to his shoulders, she arched her back and cried out, and then it was his turn. He lay on top of her, still staring deep into her eyes as if he owned her body and soul.
Later, he kissed her lips gently and moved to the side.
‘Hugo,’ she nestled against his body. ‘I…’
He put a finger on her mouth. ‘There’s nothing to say. Are you thirsty?’
She wasn’t. He got up and poured himself a glass of wine. She looked at him in the glow of the dying fire. It hurt so much to think that after this night, they would part forever.
He came back to bed and pulled back the sheets to reveal her naked body. His fingers ran along her arm towards her neck and throat and rested in the hollow of her waist. Her hair glowed, spread like sunrays on the pillow. He had to look at her, touch and possess her again. He would never have enough of her. He pulled her on top of him and she rested her head on his chest while he toyed with locks of her hair. It used to be so simple, so straightforward. He had never wasted much time thinking about women before. If he saw a woman he wanted, he bedded her. Then he would move on. Sometimes there were tears and recriminations, but they never worried him and they certainly never stopped him. He had never wanted to stay with the same woman for very long…until now. Then again there had never been a woman he had wanted quite as much as Marie-Ange. His lips curled into a cynical smile. He understood at last what other men had told him over camp fires, their eyes dreamy on the eve of a battle they believed would be their last. Some women, they said, a man wanted to hold, make love to, and keep. Forever. Marie-Ange was such a woman. But she didn’t want him. Maybe it was justice for all his past sins.
His hands ventured along her spine and the fire between them started again, but this time there seemed to be a wilderness inside her. She kissed his face, his throat and chest, her lips as light as the wings of a butterfly, her tongue teasing and moist. He groaned when her breasts brushed against his chest as she moved. Her hand found him already hard and she stroked him, arousing him until he believed his heart would burst.
He buried his head between her breasts, tracing their outline with his fingers, feeling their soft weight against his cheeks, taking her nipples in his mouth. Pulsing with need, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the blood roaring in his ears. He let out a moan when she straddled him, sliding over him and caressing him while he stroked her.
This was torture. Unbearable pleasure. Surely he wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer. He gripped her hips to lift her, and she lowered herself onto him. His hands pressing firmly on her hips, they started moving together, faster and faster. Her moans filled the silence. He felt like a soul lost at sea, so intense were the sensations she aroused in him. They both cried out at the same time and she collapsed, shaking on top of him. He pressed her head against his chest, feeling the wild beating of her heart against his own.
They didn’t speak. They made love again and were both wide awake when the first light of day filtered through the curtains.
Doors creaked open and shut, footsteps and voices resounded in the corridor and the smells of soup, fried sausages and freshly baked bread wafted in from the kitchens downstairs. It was time to get up. His fingers trailed down the side of Marie-Ange’s waist. He pulled her closer, buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. She heaved a sigh and pressed her lightly curled fist against his chest, just above his heart, as if she wanted to feel the beats and capture them. He clenched his jaw. Yes, it was time. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable.
He pulled away and got up without a word, then picked up his clothes and got dressed quickly, aware of her gaz
ing at him from the bed, her eyes shiny, her breathing fast and shallow as if she was trying to stop herself from crying. It was as if he was abandoning her when it was she who was leaving him behind. Hell, what did the woman want of him? She had chosen her man, and it wasn’t him. With each layer of clothing he put back on he could feel his resolve harden, his anger forming a cold fist in his chest.
‘I will ask a servant to bring you hot water and make the fire,’ he said after strapping his sword belt across his hips, his voice harsher than he intended. ‘I will meet you in the dining room when you are ready.’ And he left the room without a further glance.
He was having breakfast with Commandant Picard and his two gendarmes when Marie-Ange entered. She was so pale, so fragile with delicate mauve shadows under her eyes, his throat tightened. The men stood up as she approached and he pulled a chair out for her.
‘Madame, we will be leaving as soon as the coach driver has harnessed the horses,’ Picard announced, his face blushing a deep red. He must be aware Hugo spent the night in her room.
Hugo poured some hot coffee in a cup and handed it to her.
‘I’m going back to Lyon this morning. I have been charged with reorganising the Second Cuirassier Regiment in view of forthcoming developments.’
Picard nodded and looked at him admiringly. ‘I heard of your promotion. Congratulations, Colonel Saintclair. Your manoeuvres in the south were decisive in quashing the royalist rebellion. And to receive the Imperial Eagle from Napoleon himself…What a distinction!’
‘You were promoted Colonel? Napoleon gave you the Imperial Eagle?’ Marie-Ange raised her head, surprised. ‘You never said…’
Hugo shrugged, neither seemed that important right now. ‘I escorted the King’s brother, the Comte d’Artois, to Sète when the mob wanted to lynch him. Apparently, Napoleon was grateful we avoided a blood bath. It wouldn’t have looked good for his return to power.’
