Sat, May 19 2012
"Now when did I mention that? Oh, right. It was nothing really, just a very silly incident."
"Involving noses?" asked Jules. He wasn't sure why, but he was rather enjoying being the interrogator for once.
"Yes," said Rebecca, looking away quickly. "It's a very silly story, you see. There was this party, and being fifteen, I was absolutely smitten with this boy, a real boy, only seventeen or so. I was trying my best to flirt - Sir Boniface wasn't aware that I had already made up my mind that a secret agent might not be a lady all the time, and so I had learned a few things watching the maids that he was not aware went on in his kitchens."
"You must have been so lovely," mused Jules dreamily. Rebecca smiled and reached out to twirl a curling lock of hair around her finger.
"Actually, I was rather…awkward at that age. Quite tall, you see, and much too skinny. I had been a dreadful tomboy, too, for the longest time. I wanted to do whatever Erasmus and Phileas liked to do, wanted to play the games they played. I had little use for girls and girls' things, until Sir Boniface started hinting, you see, that being a lady was necessary to my having any sort of a future. He was quite right, one must appear acceptable." This seemed a little farfetched coming from the woman who had been a brazen nude in his bed only minutes ago, but Jules nodded nonetheless.
"At any rate, Cecil -" She stopped when Jules started snickering.
"Cecil? You were infatuated with a boy named Cecil?"
"Oh, hush, you silly thing. Do you want to hear the story or not? Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted -" she paused to shoot him a look. "There was a party at Shillingworth Magna that night. We didn't have many parties, really, so you can see that this was quite special. The storm started during the party, I remember Phileas going around, telling people not to worry, that the fete would last longer than the rain." Jules smiled at that, and leaned against the wall, but shrank away from it when he realized how cold it was.
"I persuaded this Cecil to come with me into this parlor, and I was very determined that he should kiss me. Oh, there was all this thunder and lightning, and I pretended to be frightened..."
"Pretended?" Jules' eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Yes, pretended. Well, at first, but then we had one of those monstrous drafts blow through the room, it put out the light, and I couldn't see what I was doing, and then everything just went terribly wrong."
"How?"
"Oh, the thunder went off, Phileas and Erasmus found me, walked into the room bearing torches or something, just in time to see me run my head smack into the gentleman in question."
"Oh, no" Rebecca noticed Jules inching closer to her, and decided to pretend not to notice.
"Oh, yes. I'm sure Cecil thought he was going to get it, and he very well might have, except that Phil and Ras were doubled over on the nearest piece of furniture available, laughing their heads off. And then, you see, I had whacked Cecil rather hard, and his nose started to bleed, and well, he fainted." Jules fell back laughing onto the bed.
"Oh, it wasn't funny, Jules! Sir Boniface found us all after that, and the lecture I got -- it was all fire and brimstone, not like him at all. And from Phileas and Ras, once they recovered, you don't know what these things can lead to, and all of that."
"And did you know? Really?"
"I - I don't know. I suppose, theoretically, we did live in the country, after all, but it was never going to lead anywhere. It sounded quite disgusting to me at the time, you see. It was the kiss that drew me, the idea of the kiss that captivated me." There was a hint of a leer in her eye as she added, "I think it was the kiss that captivated me now, too, but things have changed considerably since then." Jules seemed to have nothing to say to that, he simply watched her. She supposed that his fascination had always been there, just hidden from her view. She joined him in his prone position, seemingly much to his surprise. He seemed to expect so little of her. Rebecca was uncertain whether to find that encouraging or distressing. She turned to Jules and ever so carefully ran her hand along his jaw line. His hand stole out towards her in response, unsure of where, exactly, it had permission to light on her person. Rebecca silently guided his hand towards her waist. That seemed safe, as she wasn't quite sure yet about what she wanted.
"What happened this morning?" he started to ask, but Rebecca looked away, clearly distraught, and he fell silent again.
"I can't talk about that…I'm sorry, Jules." He turned her face back to his and kissed her lips lightly in response, partially to show that he understood, partially to see what she might do.
Rebecca gazed at him thoughtfully. Ever so briefly, she considered unburdening herself to him. That would put a swift end to his desire for her, though, because she didn't expect him to understand. She didn't want him to understand, nor did she want that longing she had seen in his eyes to fade, at least not yet.
"You're very sweet," she said softly. Jules grimaced, so she noted, "Sweet is a compliment, Jules." He didn't look certain about that. "You are also very cute. Absolutely adorable."
"Cute?" He looked utterly devastated by her appraisal.
"There's nothing wrong with cute, if it gets you what you want."
"Oh." Rebecca smiled, rather impishly, he thought. She arranged herself onto her side and ran her fingers over his lips, down his throat, over his chest. She seemed to have arrived at a decision Jules hadn't realized she was making. He closed his eyes in anticipation of her next caress, or perhaps the real kiss he craved so very much.
"Jules, what is that noise?" He opened his eyes to see her profile, only inches away, looking off towards the foot of the bed. A considerable mass of tresses fell into his face. That was not what he had in mind.
He brushed the hair out of his face. "What noise?"
"That plunking noise?" He listened for a moment, and then groaned.
"That is the roof leaking. Again." Reality was really not his favorite place to be right now. It was filled with all these little reminders of all that would separate them outside this room.
"Is that going to be a problem?"
"No…I never moved the bucket from the last time it rained like this." Rebecca bit her lip to keep from laughing at his annoyance, so easily readable on his face. Her effort failed, however, and she started giggling. Jules began to seriously consider hiding under the sheet until she regained her composure, except that he couldn't figure out how to get it over his head without ripping it. He settled for turning over and wondering if he could actually smother himself in the pillow. From the creaking of the bedsprings, Jules could tell Rebecca was moving, and he winced when her hand came in contact with a bruise on his hip, still in its formative stages.
"Now then, where was I?" Rebecca asked, her voice sounding surprisingly husky after all that tittering she'd been doing. Jules was on his back again, uncertain of how he got there, but he didn't particularly care, since he was looking up at Rebecca's beautiful face. Her hair had tumbled over her shoulders, hanging all around like the velvet curtain on a stage, and it tickled his arms. She reminded him of the outdoors before a thunderstorm, the way all the colors took on an intense glow. The drunken sensation from before surged forward in him again.
"Please don't look at me like that, Jules. I feel like the Marquise de Merteuil seducing the chevalier."
"Seduction implies persuasion...I don't recall needing any." He looked at her hopefully, to indicate that he wouldn't need any now, either.
"Now that," said Rebecca with that wicked smile, "I am very glad to hear." She rewarded his lack of resistance with a long kiss, and Jules briefly reconsidered his position on decadence. "You are so young," she whispered as she pulled away for breath.
"Yes," said Jules softly. He was surprised to see that her smile had faded, even though he could feel her heart beating faster beneath his hand. Had he done something wrong? What did she find in that kiss?
"They were very young today, too. Even younger than you." The would- be lovers from her mission, he realized. Why would she bring them up?
"Really?"
"Yes." She pronounced the word slowly, as if almost too much effort was involved. "Too young, though. They didn't know what they were doing…I was too young back then, too, to understand why they were annoyed with me. It's good, sometimes, not to be so young anymore." She peered at him quite intently, searching for something.
"You aren't afraid of me, are you, Jules?"
"No, Rebecca…" Something, somewhere in Jules' mind began a staccato communication to him in response to her words, although he didn't entirely understand the message. Rebecca, he processed, was afraid of getting old, or possibly of growing old alone, because the darkness she vaguely mentioned endangered the people she loved most in the world. She was afraid that she left nothing behind her. After all, there were no papers, no children, nothing to prove her existence. Yet she had just demanded that he leave no record of her.
Never once had Jules considered that Rebecca could be just as confused as he was about what they were doing. Her confidence in the physical had led him to believe that she was just as certain about all things emotional.
Jules found, though, that he couldn't do anything with these thoughts, they led nowhere at all for him. The rest of his mind hushed them, and pushed them away, as if he knew that if he tried to tell her, she would leave and take all of that heat and flesh with her.
Whatever was in Rebecca's eyes, she tried to ignore it, and coaxed him into forgetting it.
"If you aren't afraid, Jules, then why do you look so worried?" She smiled mischievously. "I don't bite." She sighed with contentment when she felt Jules' arms around her again, and he was certain that the sound traveled directly to a previously inactive part of his mind.
"You're an absolute angel," she told him, "my fallen angel," as she closed what little distance remained between them. The words were not what Jules wanted to hear, but when her kiss fell upon his mouth, Jules could think of nothing but surrendering to the oblivion she promised. In an instant he was lost in her kiss, and drunk with the thought that as long as she stayed in this room, in this bed, she was his. ***
Polly Anne Morris Rebecca would have gladly stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, engaged in this little mutual admiration society. She might even have enjoyed savoring the scandalous nature of her dalliance, wandering in the Place des Vosges arm in arm with an adoring Jules. It was unlikely that anyone there would know her, she would be an anonymous, slightly disreputable-looking woman. Not because of her clothing or her appearance, but only because of the lover she possessed. This would have to remain a secret, of course, as she told him earlier, there would be no parading of their affection in public parks. Neither of them could ever tell another soul what they had done that day, not without hurting someone. Rebecca was unaccustomed to having a secret so dependent on the will of another, but she accepted the risk in exchange for the diversion, and the pleasure.
As she persuaded him into sleep, the tiny pang of guilt started tapping again at her chest. Her motives in getting him to sleep were not entirely pure. Really, she craved a moment of peace and quiet, and a chance to think. She found the almost maternal concern his curled-up, sleeping form engendered in her absolutely perverse. It's merely instinct, she told herself. That's all the afternoon has been, a simple matter of instinct. If it's attractive and treats you nicely, mate with it. If it's little and cute, protect it. Even now, her thoughts turned towards the feral. This is mine, and if anyone tries to harm it, I'll slaughter them, Rebecca swore to herself. She wouldn't even have to think twice about it.
Yet she had tried to reason it all out beforehand, to explain it to herself in logical terms. The reasons she had given him were good ones, better than anything she could have invented beforehand. In some aspects, they were entirely true. Jules had wanted her, desperately enough to be on his knees. Better to show him what it was like than to provide one more temptation for that inquisitive mind. In fact, she doubted that she would ever have found herself in this situation, save for the novelty, and perhaps the honor, of being his first. Rebecca just hoped that she hadn't made the job of the next seductress the League threw in Jules' path much easier.
The morning's unpleasantness still hovered at the back of her mind. Rebecca sighed and snuggled closer to Jules' back. She was thankful that he didn't open the window, just thinking about the morning made her feel chilly again. He was quite warm, not just from the activity. Something to keep in mind if they were ever trapped someplace cold, Rebecca reflected, and filed it away in the Verne section of her brain, where it could keep strange company with "can't make coffee" and "hopeless romantic". If only the morning's operation had been so simple as the afternoon's, just a few words of persuasion…she pushed the thought away, then pulled Jules tighter against her until he cried out in pain. "My poor darling," she murmured, easing her grasp on him. For some reason, she couldn't bear any more apologies that day. He made some little sound into the pillow, halfway between a whimper and a grunt, and settled down again.
After several minutes of lying there, and trying to breathe with him without dozing off herself, Rebecca sat up and leaned against the wall, after slipping the pillow behind her back, and hushed Jules when he started to protest. Rebecca fished the shirt she had been wearing out of the space between the wall and the bed, where it had migrated to after Jules pulled it over her head. Apparently he couldn't deal with the buttons at that point. While wrapping it around her shoulders, since she didn't see the point in actually wearing it now, she smiled bitterly at the thought that he might keep it as a souvenir after she left. The wall felt cold and solid, exactly what she needed, as opposed to the hot thing trying to make itself comfortable in her lap. Rebecca stroked his head and back, trying to convince him that sleep would truly be the best thing for him now, and soon he was quite still again, breathing steadily.
The storm that had brought her into the situation had ended. She worried about the disruption of her schedule, and the nervousness increased when she wondered how long she had been lingering there in that bed. Naked people cannot wear watches, she thought with some annoyance. Rebecca knew that she needed to return to her hotel, to get a bath and to change her clothes, preferably with time for a cup of tea, and so she began mapping out the situation in her head. After Jules was still for a while, she began to move out of the bed in phases. Stealth was her specialty, and she figured Jules to be a reasonably sound sleeper, so escaping wouldn't be much of a challenge. She slid the pillow beneath his head to replace her thigh, lulled him back to sleep whenever he stirred. Finally, she was free, she could breathe again, and began reassembling her civilized exterior.
Rebecca realized that she had been rather thoughtless with her clothing earlier. Her skirt lay in a rumpled pool on the floor. She had left her blouse on the chair, but it had slipped off, and Jules' floor was not the cleanest. Her jacket, however, remained folded neatly over the railing, where Jules had considerately placed it, so that was something. She pulled on her catsuit and pondered what to do with the rest of the mess while she tied up her boots.
"Leaving without saying goodbye isn't very ladylike," growled a voice from the bed. Rebecca's head snapped up, and Jules' furious expression unsettled her. She realized that she probably looked guilty, although she really had no intention of going without saying anything. She also mentally recalculated her estimation of Jules' sleeping patterns.
"I have done several things this afternoon that would not be considered ladylike, Jules. That would probably be the least of them."
"True," Jules replied. He turned on his side, so that he could keep an eye on her. Rebecca noticed that he made no attempt to pull the sheet any higher. She would have to remind him that there was more than one way to reveal a secret.
"Jules, what are you doing?" He lifted something off the pillow, extended his arm out full length, and let the invisible object in his hand fall to the floor. He repeated the action, an irritated look on his face.
"Getting rid of your hair." Rebecca rolled her eyes and returned to the task of tying her boots.
"Throwing it on the floor does not constitute getting rid of it."
"You sound like my mother," Jules snapped. He suppressed an almost overwhelming urge to stick his tongue out at her. Rebecca finished, crossed the room, and sat down next to him on the creaking bed.
"You don't really think I would leave without saying anything, do you?"
"No…that would be cowardly. You're the bravest person I know."
"Then what did I do, Jules?" She gently rubbed the space between his shoulder blades, hoping to release some of the tension that lodged itself there.
"It's nothing you did. No, you did everything right." said Jules, his visage a heartrending mix of shame and sadness. He sat up so that he could touch the hair along the curve of her face. He desperately wished that this had been a genuine expression of sentiment, instead of just a new way for Rebecca to play the generous patroness. Jules knew that he shouldn't be angry with her for this. He had appealed to her heart, and he supposed that he shouldn't complain when she gave of her body instead.
"It's just that I should have known better. We both know the things I dream about never seem to work out as planned."
"Dream about?" repeated Rebecca.
"Of course," he said softly, as if this should have been obvious to her, "but that's not really important, except -" Jules stopped, unwilling or unable to finish his thought.
"Yes? Go on, Jules."
"Those dreams, if they become real…there's always so much pain that comes with them. Someone is always hurt."
"No, Jules, not at all -"
"Think about it, Rebecca. The mole machine, the rocket..."
"I would rather not be classified in the same category as the mole machine, if you don't mind, Jules." That brought a smile to his face, however unbidden.
"That's not what I meant. I know what you told me -- this is not a great romance." Rebecca clenched her teeth slightly, wishing her words had been kinder. "And I know you need to leave. I just-I never think about an afterwards, and that's what always gets me into trouble. I'm sorry, I must sound like an idiot."
"No, you don't," said Rebecca, smoothing the angles from his hair, which seemed to take on the shape of whatever surface it met. She looked away for a moment, wondering how to extract herself from the room while exacting the least amount of trauma on her friend. This was when the "if only's" could start their assault: if only she were younger, if only they had been together at night, and she could at least stay until the morning. Rebecca wished, yet again, that she had not proceeded without a plan. None of these bits of wishful thinking would solve her quandary. And really, she liked to think that "if only's" were Jules' territory.
After a moment, Rebecca turned to face him again, gently pressing her forehead to his. "This is rather ironic."
"What?"
"One of the reasons I decided, how shall I put this, in your favor, was that I couldn't bear to let the world disappoint you again."
"You didn't disappoint me," Jules replied, "You could never disappoint me."
"But I already have," she whispered. Rebecca found herself falling into the not entirely unpleasant trap of soothing the ache of her imminent departure with a kiss. In some ways, it would be so much better if she could stay, but there was no time left.
"I love you," Jules whispered into her mouth as she pulled away from him. Every ounce of shock and fear and regret Rebecca could spare came to her face at those words. Jules couldn't understand why, he thought he was supposed to tell her that, after all she had given him.
"Oh, my dear boy," Rebecca started to say, but she was cut off by Jules' finger on her lips.
"Don't - please don't say that. I hate to be called that, Rebecca." His quavering voice and the alarm in his eyes surprised Rebecca, and even worse, made the word "boy" seem all the more appropriate. She intended nothing by it, she found it a term of endearment. It was just a word, people used it so casually to refer to Jules, because of his youthful demeanor, his curiosity, his kind nature, because he was, well, boyish.
"Did I say that to you, Jules? Before?" He nodded solemnly. "And I suppose that hurt a great deal. Well, you know, you really mustn't put any stock in the things people say in that state. I know very well that you are not a child. You said you loved me then, too, you know."
Jules sighed. "Did I?" he said, a certain look of amazement she recognized from earlier in the afternoon crossing his face again.
"Indeed. I don't know if you meant to, but…" Rebecca saw no good way out of this discussion, so she opted to change the subject. "I really should get ready to leave. Are you going to stay in bed all day?"
"I'm thinking about it," said Jules, a small smile returning to his face. He rubbed the back of his head and yawned. "I guess I shouldn't though." He more or less tripped through the tangled sheet while clambering out of bed, and Rebecca shook her head. Apparently, this exercise did nothing for his coordination. Jules grinned sheepishly at her, and started locating his clothing.
"Phileas is coming to Paris in the Aurora to meet me this evening," Rebecca declared conversationally. "The storm will delay them, of course, but..." Rebecca stopped herself, noticing that the color had drained from Jules' face at the mention of her cousin, as if he had forgotten that he ever existed. Jules had apparently not realized that "afterwards" would come so soon.
"What will we say?"
"We won't say anything - to anyone. We've already discussed that, Jules," said Rebecca sternly, "Now for heaven's sake, get dressed. We're very likely to come here to see you, of course, so you should straighten up this room. Although not too much, it mustn't look like you knew we were coming." She realized that Jules wasn't paying her the slightest bit of attention.
"He'll know," said Jules, while he stared blankly out the window.
"He won't," laughed Rebecca. "You can't be serious, Jules. How would Phileas ever find out?" Jules shrugged. "He won't, Jules. It wouldn't even occur to him."
"I guess you're right," said Jules, trying to shake off the thought. His stomach really hurt. How could he have not thought of this? One incident of temptation and he had betrayed his friend, his protector. What kind of man was he? He certainly wasn't a pure one, in any possible sense of the word.
Rebecca slowly ascertained what bothered him. "This is not worth your heart's trouble, Jules, believe me."
"Why not?"
"Because this was my decision, too. And however unwittingly, you made certain that it was a decision, not just some mad impulse. I don't expect you to understand, but being everything to someone is, well, it's simply exhausting. It can be too much, even for me. And this…this was a respite. I promise." Jules still felt "mal au coeur", in all possible senses of the phrase, he thought. Even if Rebecca believed that she had no commitment, he should not have let fantasy get the better of him, but further arguments would be pointless.
"I do love you, you know," Jules said as he buttoned a clean shirt, having given up on the old one. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she might have flinched when he spoke those words. "It's really not as bad as you think, Rebecca."
"It isn't?" Jules realized from her uncertain face that Rebecca was afraid, as afraid as he had been when he realized that she was actually saying "yes" to him, as afraid as he was when he thought she might leave too soon.
"No…" Telling her this made him feel strangely intoxicated, and Jules couldn't keep the smile from his face. He crossed the room to be closer to her again. "I loved you before, I still do…you're one of my dearest friends, Rebecca. That hasn't changed. I won't let it - I can't." He took her hand between both of his own, the tips of her fingers had grown cold again. "Besides, you've told me before, so it seems only fair that I should be able to say the same thing." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, feeling satisfied that this was what she needed to hear.
"We're all right then, you and I?" Rebecca asked hesitantly, a guarded expression still affecting her features. Jules nodded enthusiastically, then released her hand.
"Yes," he said. "We'll be just fine." He chose to leave the "eventually" unspoken.
"No pining away, then? No poetry? You'll eat, you'll sleep?" Jules raised his eyebrows.
"You sound disappointed, Rebecca."
"Oh, I'm not, believe me."
"Poetry would really be the epitome of permanence, you know."
"No! No poetry!" Rebecca laughed. Her eyes were twinkling, and Jules smiled in spite of himself. "By the way, if you ever compare me to your mother again -"
"Death and dismemberment will follow?"
"What an imagination you have. I was thinking only of a slight maiming." She completed the task of returning all the various items she had laid out on his desk to their proper locations. When she turned back to Jules, he was leaning against the railing, watching her movements with a look she would probably describe as despondent etched into his face.
"Such a bleak face, Jules! Honestly, this rarely proves to be fatal." A weak smile formed at the corners of his mouth, but didn't exactly come to fruition.
"Really?"
"Well, perhaps once, but that was on purpose." Rebecca thought she succeeded in lifting his mood, as he nearly laughed, but not quite, and then his face fell more or less back into its previous condition.
"Jules, I'm being serious now. You can't look at me like that. Someone will notice." Jules knew exactly who someone was, and he understood why she didn't wish to mention his name. He frowned more definitively at the notion of that particular someone noticing.
"How am I looking at you?" he asked as he helped her with her jacket.
"You look at me as if there is something about me that you're missing. If you look at me like that already, then, well…" Rebecca turned to him again, laying her hand against his face, just as she had a few hours ago. She moved her thumb affectionately along his cheek, and she wondered if she shouldn't kiss him goodbye. "So you must be careful, you see, to look as though all of this is still just some distant dream. As if you don't know…"
"The taste of anise," he finished for her.
"Precisely," said Rebecca, dropping her hand to her side and concluding from the hollow feeling that his words left behind that a kiss was entirely out of the question. "You really will be all right?"
"I'll be fine. It's just that…endings are harder to write than beginnings." Rebecca fairly glowed with relief at this, and Jules stepped back, taking a quick glance at the room to make sure she left no weapons or papers behind.
"Um…wait." Jules held up the bottle of pastis.
"Keep it."
"But I'll think of you every time I see it, every time I taste it," he protested.
"Mmmm, exactly," was her languid reply as she mounted the stairs. "I'm written on your memory then, even if I'm written nowhere else." The feeling of drunkenness came at him again when she smiled, but somehow he blinked it away. "Well. I think you've managed to glean a happy ending out of this dream, haven't you?"
"I usually do," replied Jules. "I'll see you soon?" he asked. For once, he rather wished the answer was no. It might be easier if he had time to recover. Perhaps he could convince himself that it really was just an unusually vivid dream.
"This evening, most likely. I rather think you'll enjoy having our own little secret." He wasn't sure, but he nodded to please her. Jules tried to absorb the vision of Rebecca smiling in his open doorway. He thought that she posed for him for a moment there in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, looking over her shoulder. She was radiant, perfect and completely untouchable. "I really did have a lovely time, Jules." And with that she was gone.
Jules walked to the window and threw it open, and breathed deeply of the fresh, clean air after the storm. It was as if no cloud had ever appeared over Paris, now there were just a few things to clean up. At that moment, Rebecca stepped from the doorway into the awakening street. She looked up at him, and waved jauntily. Jules waved back, determined not to let this trouble him, to keep it from troubling her. He could give her that, after all that she had given him.
This is just an ordinary day, her smile informed him and everyone else in the world. Their encounter had been nothing more than an accident of timing and sentiment. Jules had deducted from several clues, among them her distracted air and the miniature arsenal she carried, that this was a lie, but he didn't care to find out what clandestine operation troubled her so deeply. He even avoided reading the papers for several days, afraid to learn why she may have needed an alibi for that afternoon.
Jules would have thought Rebecca had enough secrets, but perhaps she wanted one that didn't have the fate of the world hanging on it. In truth, Jules despised the need for secrecy with all his heart - wasn't the pleasure of a secret from sharing it? If he ever tried to put into words what had happened that afternoon...no, not what happened, what they had done, no use trying to push blame on some unseen force. Well, she would kill him. That was simple enough. Even so, details would beg him to be put on paper, as if he could forget them. That reassuring weight that made the sad mattress sink, the sheer warmth of her skin, and her giddy laughter in those first strange moments when they had crossed the lines of friendship into something more complicated. Barred from committing them to the page, Jules inscribed the minutiae of every moment over and over into his memory.
As Jules predicted, he thought of her every time he tasted the pastis. He created his own secret, by giving himself until the end of the bottle to get over the drunken sensation Rebecca stirred in him every time he laid eyes on her. But now he was down to the last swallows, and she remained as desirable and out of his reach as ever. Proof, if ever he needed it, that secrets that required absolute silence, secrets that could never be whispered into a waiting ear, were something he would avoid entangling his heart with in the future.
End of Chapter Two
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2