The Honorable Officer (23 page)

Jean-Louis narrowed his eyes at his eldest brother, but Cédric chuckled. “You dote on her. You hold her hand in front of your family. You were looking at her with a puppy look.” Cédric opened his eyes wide and blinked, mocking.

Jean-Louis shook his head. “I can trust her.”

Henri shrugged. “I do not trust anyone, ever. It saves time.”

Jean-Louis glared at him, but Cédric barked with laughter and mimed throwing a spoon at Henri. Emmanuel crossed his arms angrily.

Henri turned toward the boy. “Our mother taught us all well, except you, Manu.”

Emmanuel looked like he was about to cry, but Cédric stood up halfway. “Henri! She might have manipulated us, but she’s been good to Manu. He still believes in her, at least. It gives me hope for her. Besides, Sandrine is eminently trustworthy. She doesn’t speak much to the rest of you, but she gives me excellent advice.”

Cédric sat down before his face cracked into another grin. “And see? I have just argued your point for you, Jean-Louis. If you trust her, then we trust her, right, boys?”

Henri faked a bow. “I suppose I trusted her even before you dictated it, oh my lord and master.”

Manu nodded once, tightly.

“Ah, we’re a sad lot,” said Cédric, passing the wine to Jean-Louis and lifting his glass in a toast. “To sweet, shy women.”

Jean-Louis lifted his glass in return, and the other two followed suit.

Cédric grinned and drank.

****

That evening, after saying good night to Ondine in the nursery, Jean-Louis went straight to Hélène’s room and knocked softly. He saw a movement at the end of the hall and thought it was Henri going through the door to the servants’ stairs. He forgot to think of it when a maid opened the door.

“I’ll speak to my wife alone,” Jean-Louis announced. The maid curtsied and came out, so he nodded to her. “You’re dismissed.”

“But Monsieur,” said Hélène, stepping into his line of vision, “she was helping me undress.”

Jean-Louis closed the door and locked it. “I will help you.”

Hélène’s eyes got even larger behind her glasses as he approached, his muscles tightening and his breath accelerating. He had to calm down or he would ravish his wife roughly. Or he might reveal his love.

His love? He refused to fall in love. He would take care of his wife, and she would care for him. His role was to protect and provide. Hers was to bear and protect his children. If they found pleasure together, then he could draw her closer to him. Purely to be sure she would bear only his children and no one else’s.

“Jean-Louis?” Hélène said, staring up at him from a few inches away. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” he said stiffly. He set his hands on her shoulders. Maybe he should not give her pleasure. Maybe if she did not know lovemaking, for lack of a better word, was meant to be a pleasure, then she would not seek it out with another man. Maybe that was where he had gone wrong with Amandine. No, Jean-Louis had taken her virginity, but she had known her way around a man’s body from the start.

Jean-Louis shook his head and stepped back. Perhaps he should leave.

“There is something wrong,” Hélène said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “I’m sorry I am not pretty. Sorry you were forced to marry me.”

“No,” he said to make her stop saying such awful things.

Her head drooped lower, and his breath hurt in his chest. He put his arms around her, wanting to comfort her.

“I’m glad you dragged me into the danger. I’m sorry it took a terrible threat for me to act. If I’d known you and Ondine were not safe, I would have acted sooner.”

“You had no way of knowing,” Hélène said softly. “I didn’t know, and I was there.”

“You are extremely pretty. You have hidden it.”

Her body stiffened. He held her close until she leaned against him again.

“I thought I was invisible when I was younger, after I moved in with my aunt and uncle. I fought back for a while, I even ran away, but they locked me in my room. Finally, I accepted I was nothing, that Amandine was everything. I wanted to be invisible, because then no one said anything to hurt me.”

Jean-Louis felt a wave of outrage and affection. “I hardly ever saw your face. You were always looking down or running out of the room. I wondered about you, even when I was infatuated with Amandine.”

Hélène stiffened again. “Amandine lit up a room. Amandine was beautiful and witty and enchanting.”

“Oui,” said Jean-Louis. “And yet she was not a good person. She wasn’t strong like you.”

Hélène pulled away to look up at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Of course she was strong.”

“Strong-willed, yes. Strong in her desire to have her own way. Strong in manipulation. She strongly wanted to be at the center of every room.” Jean-Louis’ voice rasped and his stomach churned. He hated admitting his shame at being cuckolded by his late wife.

Hélène looked at him with big, blue eyes full of pity. He hated pity. He started to turn away, but she held his arms. “I only figured out recently…” she said, but looked away and didn’t go on.

He sighed. She had already said what she figured out: Amandine died bearing someone else’s baby.

She finally looked up at him again. “I’m sorry. If I had known before…well, I hardly ever saw her. I was so busy with Ondine, and my cousin never confided in me.”

“What else do you think you figured out?” Jean-Louis asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

Hélène flinched. “She always meant to return to Bernard.”

The air rushed out of his lungs. It was true. Amandine wanted the excitement of life at court, and yet she thought the baby was Bernard Ménine’s, the son of a tradesman.

Hélène put her arms around his waist. “It’s not your shame; it is hers. I would like to say it is her sin which bothers me the most, but it’s not. What hurts me is that she hurt you.”

He wanted to deny it was a question of pain. He wanted to say he had not been hurt, only his honor had. But Hélène was right. He cleared his throat. “I almost never trust other people.” He winced slightly at echoing Henri’s sentiment.

“And you trusted Amandine,” Hélène whispered.

“I was insane with passion. I thought because my father had chosen her for me, everything would be perfect.”

“And your father was wrong,” she said.

“He was wrong about a lot of things. He would laugh it off, tell me to not be silly or sensitive when Cédric played a trick and I demanded justice.”

“He wouldn’t laugh about this,” said Hélène.

Jean-Louis was struck by that. “You are right. He would apologize and say he hadn’t known. He had no way of knowing. He found the perfect wife for Cédric, the perfect husband for Aurore, and he thought he’d found the perfect wife for me. He told me once he was sorry, when he saw how nasty she turned out.”

“He hasn’t found a wife for Henri or Emmanuel,” Hélène said.

“Henri told him he has no desire to marry. Henri is…” Jean-Louis had a mental picture of Henri going upstairs. He probably had liniment for Fourbier. He shook the picture from his head. “Emmanuel is too young, but it doesn’t mean Papa isn’t already looking for a wife for him.”

Hélène nodded.

Jean-Louis pulled her close again and felt desire trickling back into him. “This is how you are strong, my Hélène.”

She mumbled something.

“You have compassion. You understand others. You understand me.”

She sighed against his chest, and he ran his hands up and down her back.

“Now, let me help you with your dress,” he whispered in her ear.

She shivered.

“Are you afraid of me?” He stepped back, but only to reach for the ties at the front of her stomacher.

She didn’t meet his eyes, but nodded slightly.

“It will be much better this time.” His voice dropped as the ties came open in his hand and the stomacher fell away, revealing her thin chemise underneath. “It shouldn’t hurt.”

She nodded again, and his fingers fumbled. Finally, he had everything undone. He slid the bodice from her shoulders and helped her step out of the skirts before draping it all over a chair.

He turned back to her and saw her shiver, so he led her to the bed, pulled her chemise over her head, and helped her climb onto the high mattress, sorry he did not get to look at more than a moment of her nakedness. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and shivered again. He quickly removed his own clothing and turned to find her staring at him through her thick glasses. He climbed in next to her.

“Are you not putting out the candle?” she whispered.

“No.” He kissed her. He felt large and awkward as he shifted his body lower and leaned more heavily on his left elbow so he could use his right hand to stroke her body. He groaned at the sensation. “So soft,” he whispered.

Hélène’s arms came around his neck, and she kissed him, her lips barely touching his. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing as she placed small kisses along his lips from one corner to the other.

Maybe… He lay on his side and put his arms around her, then rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him so she flopped over his torso. She blinked at him owlishly.

“Kiss me, Hélène.”

She smiled shyly and bent to kiss his lips. He tugged her body up a little bit and put his hands on her hips so he could rub his hardness against her wet, tender places. She gasped, and he opened his eyes to smile at her. She blushed deeply and turned her face away from his, so he pressed her head against his chest, jostling her eyeglasses, and thrust against her before rolling her to her back again.

He wanted to enter her right then, to take her hard and deep, but he saw the tight set of her jaw. No matter how wet she was, she was afraid.

“Trust me, Hélène,” he whispered, pulling back. “Trust me, chérie.”

He ran his hands over her breasts, caressing her nipples until she whimpered in pleasure instead of fear. He left one hand there and dragged the other one down across her soft, white skin, blushing rosy pink in the dim candlelight. She stiffened. “It will feel good, Hélène. It will.”

She stared at him, still frightened, until he brought his finger up to the little nub. She gasped, watching him warily through half-open eyes and thick eyeglasses.

Maybe he should have taken those from her. Maybe he should have blown out the candle.

But then she raised her knees. He paused for a moment, and she smiled tremulously.

She thought she was ready.

As he leaned down to kiss her, propping his hands beside her head, he saw her flash of panic and sighed. “Trust me. Please.”

He kissed her long and hard, slipping his tongue into her mouth and waiting for her to touch it with her tongue. He was lost for a long moment in the kiss, holding his body just above hers, eager for more. His arms shaking, Jean-Louis kissed down Hélène’s neck and pulled the blankets up over his head as he slid down, kissing her breasts, savoring her sweet flesh as she twisted and moaned.

He slowly slid one finger into her. Her thighs convulsed against his sides, and she tried again to push him away, but he worked his finger until her thighs fell open.

He nearly came apart himself as a shudder ran through her body. He inserted a second finger into her heat, and she squirmed and called his name. He felt the rhythmic squeezing of her climax. He pulled away and crawled up out of the blankets so quickly that they slid half off him as he pushed into her in desperation. Her climax was still on her, and he slid in easily. He held her shoulders and breathed her name into her ear as she clutched him and moaned. He was lost in a haze of desire, sweat dribbling from his hairline, every fiber of his being focused on his Hélène, his wife, his love.

As he thought the word love, he must have said it out loud because Hélène whispered it, too, and he fell over the edge, thrusting jerkily into her lush body.

He floated for a long time, lying on top of her, spent, breathing raggedly. He finally had the presence of mind to roll off.

She cuddled to his side, her hand over his heart and her hot breath on his shoulder. They lay that way for several minutes, until he gently removed her smudged and crooked eyeglasses. He set them gently on the table beside the bed. He blew out the candle and rolled back to her, gathering her in his arms.

Hélène whispered, “I should have trusted you.”

Jean-Louis sighed. “Trust me now. It might not always be this glorious, but it will always be pleasant. I will always do my utmost to give you pleasure.”

“Merci, chéri.” It was the merest whisper.

He thought he heard her add, “
Je t’aime
,” but he chose to pretend he hadn’t heard it, since he was nearly asleep anyway.

He found, though, he couldn’t fall asleep, even as Hélène relaxed and her breath evened out. He felt guilty that he had not said he loved her. Maybe he did love her. He was infatuated with her, at least. He should never admit it. Love weakened him. He had to protect himself. He had to be a stern, strong officer in the army. He had to be a loyal brother, son, and husband, but he did not have to love Hélène.

He knew why he was empty, but he wouldn’t let his heart be filled, not if it meant betrayal.

****

Marcel Fourbier stretched out on the narrow servant’s bed, easing his sore legs straight.

Henri breathed a sigh against his neck and eased himself away to lie next to him, the daze of mutual pleasure fading to wariness as he blinked.

Their hairy legs brushed together under the blanket, sending a frisson through Marcel, still recovering from the intense physical sensations of a minute before. He dragged a finger through Henri’s chest hair, enjoying how his touch made his new lover breathe more sharply. He had a pang of sorrow for his old lover, now dead.

Henri coughed softly. “Will you go back to the army?”

Marcel—for at this moment, he was Marcel, not Fourbier—sighed. “I think I have to. Your brother, while a brilliant officer, is incapable of running his own household.”

Henri pulled away slightly.

“I am obligated to return. Desertion is a crime.”

“But once the Franche-Comté campaign is finished…”

Marcel ran his hand down Henri’s ribs to the soft skin above his hip. He shook his head. “I will have to be sure the colonel has men he can trust before I can leave. I owe him everything.” Colonel de Cantière had saved him from the front lines, from the suspicions of homosexuality, and from despair.