The Honorable Officer (20 page)

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?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He ran his hand over her hip and onto her stomach, moving her back more firmly against his front. He shivered at the pleasure of touching. This was what he had missed for years. This was what he’d had with Amandine for only a short time before she insisted on separate bedrooms. Then he was transferred hundreds of miles away with no warning. When he visited—because she never traveled to see him—she was passionate in bed, but shoved him away as soon as they were both satisfied.

Here, with his sweet, soft Hélène, was more than what he’d had with Amandine. His first wife had never loved him. Hélène looked at him like he was a hero, and though he knew he was not, he wanted to be one for her. He wanted her to worship him, to be true to him. He was never going to share her. Not that he had wanted to share Amandine. By the time he found out she had a lover, his heart was already hardened against her, bruised but not broken. Hélène would not break his heart.

No, he would never fall in love with her, so she would not be able to break his heart. Just in case she ever wanted to. But she would be faithful only to him. She was loyal to a fault. She would be the mother to all his children.

Hélène was asleep, her body relaxed against his, her breathing slow and regular.

He settled against her further, sliding his arm under her head. He scooted his hips back as his body reacted again. Jean-Louis wondered sleepily if she would scream if he tried. She would probably let him take her again, whimpering in pain and fear, but he would feel even more guilty than he already did.

He finally fell asleep, thinking of how many more nights he would have with her before he had to go back to his command. If he had a command to go back to. He was too tired to worry about his future in the army.

****

Hélène awoke, far too hot and sweaty. She tried to roll over and was stopped by a large, naked body instead of a tiny, clothed one, which jolted her awake immediately.
Mon Dieu
,
I am naked!

She clutched the sheet to her chin and squinted at her husband. Jean-Louis was snoring, his head tilted back too far to be comfortable. She thought of tipping his head forward or making him roll to his side, the way she did with Charlotte, but she was too embarrassed to talk to him if she accidentally woke him up.

She smiled, warm and content. Her private places ached terribly, and she remembered the stark pain and fear of the night before. She wondered if it was normal to feel sticky down there. She lifted the sheet to look and found a small patch of blood. She hoped the servants had put down something to absorb blood so it hadn’t ruined the feathers in the thin down mattress which rested on top of a more prosaic wool-packed mattress. Once, when she was fourteen, she had started her menses in the night and her aunt had made her take all the feathers out of her mattress and sort them and scrub the stains out of the ticking. She had been very careful since then.

She slipped out of the bed, then stumbled around until she found her nightdress. She pulled it on before going to the washstand and rinsing her nether regions with cold water. Someone had already been in to stoke up the fire, and once she found her lorgnette, she realized there was also a pitcher of warm water by the fire.

“
Bonjour
,
ma belle
,” said Jean-Louis from the bed, his voice husky and deep.

She whirled around and looked at him through her glass. He was disoriented and goggle-eyed, and she stepped closer to him to pat his hand where it rested on the blankets. He held on to her and sat up while pulling her down to kiss her gently. The sheets slipped down to show his strong chest, covered with hair darker than the blond of his head. She looked down to where his belly disappeared under the covers before he said, “Here is the rest,” and sat up further, shoving the covers down to the tops of his thighs.

She put her free hand over her mouth at the sight of his… his… What was it called? His penis—she knew the word, but there had to be a nicer way to refer to it. It was sticking up from his body, and he chuckled again. She turned away, blushing in confusion.

Before she knew it, he was standing behind her, kissing the back of her neck.

“One of the things I love about you,” he said, “is that you are innocent.”

She blushed and looked down toward her feet, shoving her lorgnette into her pocket. “Ignorant,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Ignorant. I am almost twenty-four, and this was… Why did my aunt and uncle not want me to marry?”

He strode to the fireplace and picked up the pitcher of warm water, then poured some into the washbasin and scrubbed his face. She had the urge to pull the lorgnette from her pocket to look at his back and his…buttocks. There was surely a nicer word for those, too, and not the cute ones she used with Ondine. She resisted the urge, though, and he turned toward her again. She turned away because she couldn’t look at his…front…again.

“I am not awake enough to tell you everything I think of your aunt and uncle,” he said harshly.

She sighed. They had been her only family for so long. She wanted to defend them, but the more she was away from them, the less she could.

He was suddenly in front of her, his…penis still sticking out. He lifted her head and kissed her gently on the lips. “I hope you will forget everything they ever told you,” he said softly, “and listen only to me.”

“They did say nice things sometimes,” she said. “And they kept our governess, who is now the widow Pinard, even though Amandine disliked her. Their judgment isn’t completely wrong.”

“They spoiled Amandine and were cruel to you.” He turned around to search for his drawers and shirt, which were no longer where he had dropped them on the floor, just as her nightclothes had been draped over a chair.

She nodded, but since he had his back turned, she cleared her throat and said, “Yes.”

“And they told you lies about your vision and your lorgnette. And about your looks. And they dressed you badly, while spending a vast fortune on silks for your cousin. And…” He paused. “No, I shouldn’t say anything without proof.”

“What is it?” she asked, frightened.

“I think—well, Dom agrees—they must have taken your inheritance when your parents died.”

Her mouth gaped. She nearly defended them, unable to believe her own family would… Finally she said, “My parents had a lot of debts.”

“Yes, but the company—your mother inherited a third, didn’t she? You should have been earning income equal to theirs.”

Lifting her lorgnette to her eye again, she said, “I think they sold my parents’ share of the company when they sold the house I grew up in. They told me about the house, so I assumed they sold my parents’ part of the business, too.”

Jean-Louis shook his head as he pulled on his robe. “Sold it to whom? Are there other investors than the Ferands and the Ménines?”

Hélène sighed, thinking about her years and years as the poor relation, constantly reminded she was there only out of charity. She had tried to make herself useful, of course. When Ondine was born and she had someone to care for, she was truly useful. She was also already half in love with Jean-Louis, as she had been since they first met. If she could gain his approval by caring for his baby, she would. Even after Amandine’s death, she never thought she would be here, married to him. She held her breath to hold back panic. Married!

Jean-Louis stepped in front of her and put his hands under her elbows. She lifted her face to look at him and he kissed her forehead, bumping his jaw against her lorgnette. She put her hands around his neck as he kissed her lips.

She was weak in the knees, but his arms held her tight.

She could feel the hard part of him pressed against her again, and he stepped back quickly. “Tonight,
mon âme
, we will explore each other with candles lit.”

She blushed so hard her whole head was hot and her ears buzzed. Yet her stomach churned. It had hurt so much. And her courses had started. Unless the blood was just from her virginity. And she didn’t dare mention the blood.

“I heard a thump and whispering in the hall. I am sure Ondine is awake,” Hélène said.

He kissed her again, putting lingering kisses on the corners of her mouth.

“I could do this all day,” Hélène admitted.

Jean-Louis stepped back, smiling. “Go, chérie. Get clean and dressed, and I will meet you downstairs for something to eat with my…our daughter.”

She sighed happily. She had a daughter now.

****

By midday, Jean-Louis was frustrated. His wife had been struck dumb. It was sweet to see her blush, but he wished she would show a little more interest in him and not slip out of any room he entered.

Just after midday, though, their plans again changed suddenly and her innocence was the least of his worries. A guard called out that riders were approaching, then that they were friendly.

Jean-Louis stood on the front steps of Dom’s manor house as Henri and Emmanuel swung down gracefully from their horses. Fourbier eased himself down, his face expressing all the words he would not utter with ladies present. He staggered to the door and bowed slightly.

“
Jamais
,” Fourbier muttered. “
Jamais encore
. Never again. I could hardly walk this morning, and they talked me into riding back.”

Henri and Emmanuel exchanged sly grins, and Jean-Louis scowled at them.

“He rides quite well,” said Henri, “for someone with no experience.”

Fourbier bowed to him and staggered bow-legged into the house with as much dignity as he could muster. Jean-Louis knew he could arrange his own hot bath.

Turning to his brothers, he decided not to say what he was thinking about their mockery of his most faithful servant. Henri’s eyes still lingered on the door, though Fourbier had slammed it. “What did you find? Who hired these men?”

“The one they caught escaped,” said Henri, dragging his eyes from the house to Jean-Louis’ face, pursing his lips sourly. “Two other men came and set a fire at the back of the inn where he was held. They have no other plan, it appears, but fire. The innkeeper got everyone out, and the man disappeared in the chaos. All we learned was that he used to be a soldier and did not know who hired them. He only knew another of the men—whose name he would not give—received letters and wrote letters and they were to kill or capture the blonde lady and the little girl.”

Jean-Louis gritted his teeth against a wave of nausea. His wife. His daughter. “And where would they take them if they captured them?”

“To Paris. There was a house in Paris where they would go to hand them over,” said Emmanuel.

“And get paid,” said Henri.

“So they were wealthy enough to have horses and carriages and inns for several weeks, in anticipation of being paid?” said Jean-Louis.

Emmanuel shrugged, but Henri said, “I hypothesized that there was someone with deep pockets in Dijon who gave them a good deal of coin to follow you. The man agreed, though he never held the purse, never knew how much was in it. But after they lost you, it only took them a few days to find your trail, and from there, red-haired Protestants in Catholic villages were easy to spot.”