Au-delà du Temps: Beyond Time (LeatrixSage x SacrlettRose)

[LeatrixSage]

“Hey, Addie,” a warm feminine voice responded to the tingling of the little brass bell above the shop door as a young woman stepped into the reclaim shop in downtown Aiken. Autumn was well under way, and a gust of cool air pushed against the glass door as she tried to close it behind her.

“Hey, Lora, Comment allez-vous?” Adelaide Aedler called out to the familiar voice to ask how the older woman was doing. She received a light, airy laughter from somewhere in the room behind the front counter, and the sound made her smile. Mrs. Mills had been a good friend of her mother’s sense they had been small children, and after Addie’s mother had died, the little French woman had taken over. She couldn’t abide the wild temper that Adelaide had picked up being raised with nothing but brothers to hew herself against, and Mrs. Mills had made it her life’s mission to refine her best friend’s little girl into a proper lady.

“I’m well, ma fille, I’m well,” the older woman’s dark auburn hair glowed copper in the early morning light streaming through the shop windows as she made her way out of the back room, arms out to drag the taller, young brunette into a tight hug. “What are you looking for today?”

“Anything you think I may like,” Addie chuckled as she gave Mrs. Mills’ frail body a gently squeeze. “Or anything you think I can sell at a decent price.”

Antiques we’re the life’s blood of the little South Carolina town, and Addie was the newest shop owner on the Plaza. Her shop sat in a prime spot in the center of downtown. Everything that happened, happened in the Plaza, and because of that, she often supported the other shops by carrying product for them and sharing the earnings. In return, people like Mrs. Mills always contacted her with things she might like to buy outright. Of course, Mrs. Mills called her every day just to get her to come by and say hello. Particularly since Mr. Mills had passed. So, thanks to the lovely woman, Adelaide was also the leading in French antiquities in particular. Which, had somehow tied her into the small town more tightly than she had ever imagined. Once upon the time, among all the Irish plantations, there had been a small French quarter at the heart of Aiken. One of those founding families had been the d’Aleders, who had become the Aedlers, her father’s family.

“They closed three estates this week, trois!” the older woman fussed, throwing her hands up as she led Addie around the front desk and into the back. “Children throwing away their family’s history, c'est une honte.”

“It’s lucrative,” the younger woman teased, earning herself a cutting glance from the Wiley shop owner and a sharp, disapproving click of her tongue. Addie raised her eyebrows, inviting the other woman to deny the advantage, but she didn’t.

“You’re almost as bad as they are, ma fille,” she chirped, her fiery nature showing through her reserved decorum. Mrs. Mills was a creature caught between a modern woman and the old world of southern, polite society. The things she had seen in her life time were more than Addie could wrap her mind around. So, she supposed the woman could look down on the modern world, see the selling of the estates as a disgrace, as much as she wanted to.

The reclaim shop’s back room was a dusty place filled with boxes, trinkets, shelves, bags, and a multitude of strange shapes covered in sheets. Most people wouldn’t know it, but there was a veritable museum’s worth of history under all the dust and grime. From each estate that was auctioned or sold to the country as the younger generation left Aiken to seek larger cities and lofty goals, Mrs. Mills had collected something. Some antiques she sold, but some she held as if they were dear treasures. Those things she didn’t even allow Adelaide to see. Not that the older woman was hurting for money, but Addie was certain a fortune was hidden in the over-packed room.

“Maybe I am,” Addie admitted as her thoughts turned quickly to profits. She loved the history, the uniqueness, the beauty of old things that had lasted through the ages. But, this was how she paid her bills, and revenue was more important than sentimentality. “But, you brought me here to sell me something, Mrs. Mills, so you are on the same boat to hell that I am, aren’t you?”

“Ne pas taquiner,” the older woman laughed, telling her not to tease about such a thing, but relenting all the same. “You’re right. I found a dress.”

“A dress?” Addie asked, frowning. Clothing didn’t do well as it aged, and she immediately doubted the older woman had found a legitimate antique. Fabric simply broke down too easily, and moths were monsters. “Is it still in one peace?”

“Oh, je ne sais pas, I suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” the older woman flippantly claimed ignorance, pretending she had no idea what the condition of the dress was while she surreptitiously dusted off a box, and then lifted it to hand it over to Addie. “I don’t know if you can sell it, but it looks to be about your size. There’s no corset or anything, but I don’t think you’ll need it. Tu es si petite, ma fille.”

“I am not tiny,” Addie fussed as she took the box from her friend, and then leaned in to kiss the older woman’s cheek. “It’ll have to wait until this evening, though. I have so-“

“Non, now!” the older woman’s brown eyes lit up with mischief as she slipped passed Adelaide. “I’ll just wait out front, d’accord? It won’t take long.”

“Mariam,” Addie fussed, exasperated, but the woman paid her no mind at all. She didn’t even look back before she slipped out of the back room and shut the door. Addie’s eyebrows shot up when she heard the door lock click into place, and then she sighed and dropped the box. A puff of dust came off of it, and she coughed as she fanned it away. “Alright, what have we here.”

Adelaide pulled open the box to find a bright red fabric hidden beneath a few layers of delicate packing paper. It should have been dull with age, but as she reached in to lift out the dress, she found it heavy and durable. Frowning, she lifted it high, and her jaw dropped as she found herself looking at a stunning red gown in a style somewhere between British and French fashion from the 1800’s. Unless she missed her mark, it was early Napoleonic, right as Britain’s bustle style was over taking the wide hipped monstrosities still found among the wealthy in France. And, it was in fantastic condition! It had to be a recreation, but it was a beautiful one.

“Alright, now I’m curious,” she admitted quietly as she set the dress down in order to wiggle out of her boots, jeans, jacket, and blouse in order to pull the dress over her head. Even without the traditional undergarments, the dress fit surprisingly well as it slid into place. The fabric was supply and rich, every thread catching the light as she moved. She had to be cleaver about pulling the stays tight in the back, but once she had them tied at the small of her back, she ran her hands down the front in admiration. It was absolutely beautiful.

Curiously, Addie tip-toed across the room on bare feet to a long mirror that stood in the corner. She wasn’t a person that was normally given to vanity, but she had to admit that the gown made her look absolutely stunning. It made her skin seem pale, but in a way that glowed, and her dark blue eyes seemed startlingly bright against the magnificent red. In hindsight, she thought she should have put her hair up to show off her long neck. The only problem she could think of was that she’d never have a good reason to enjoy it.

As she was admiring the dress, her eyes caught sight of something in the mirror. She squinted as she leaned close to rub the glass. It looked like a smudge in the shape of a man. She startled when it seemed to move, and then as she leaned closer, she swore she could hear music. A masculine voice cursed loudly in French, and Addie jumped as she turned around, tripping over her own feet. She waved her arms as she tilted back, but there was no saving herself. Addie held her breath and curled in on herself as she fell back toward the tall mirror, prepared for the shattering of glass, the creaking and snapping of the wood frame, but neither of them came. Her stomach lurched as she fell right passed where the mirror should have been. The world tilted as she twisted in the air, and a brightly polished wood floor meet her hands as she collapsed on the ground.

“Ow,” she fussed as she pushed herself up on her knees… and then froze.

Adelaide was not sitting in Mrs. Mill’s back room anymore.

 

[ScarlettRose]

If there was one thing the French hated more than their own nobility, it was British Nobility and in 1814 it was dangerous to be English anywhere that wasn't Britain. But dangerous was exactly what members of the Hades Club specialised in. Of course, most believed the members of the elusive Hades Club to be licentious gentleman with more money than sense and to be those of a depraved nature. If only they knew the truth . . .

However, it was with good reason that the clubs true nature was kept deeply under wraps. The sensitivity of the situations they dealt with . . . well, suffice it to say it was for the public's safety. Whenever there was some upheaval in the world, there were usually two wars being waged - One, the one you read about in the newspapers and in pamphlets and two, the one in secret that delved deeper to the root of the problem and eliminating it at it's core. This, however, was not some new found institution. No, the Hades Club that stood in Mayfair in London today had existed since the times of the crusades. The same noble families sworn to protect King and country then still did so now. You, were simply never to know their sacrifice.

It was with this grave burden of responsibility that the Marquess of Wessex, Roarke Maximilian Roachester found himself in the mist of this pit of snakes - a grand ball at Joachim Murat (Napoleon's own brother-in-laws) house. It was with great difficulty and a time consuming task it had been to integrate himself into this new echelon of French society. However, there was still no reason he should find himself in the secret room behind Murat's study. Except, Wessex happen to know this was exactly where he could find the little French tyrants plan of attack. And he knew there was one. Though Europe was at a grudging peace now, the Hades Club had solid intel that strongly suggest that Bonaparte was moving his chess pieces. Hell! There was talk of the fiend crowning himself Emperor!

The strings to a quadrille carried on the air and flowed through panels of the cases that disguised this room from the ostentatious study. In comparison, this room was dark, lit by four candles that barely brightened the shadows. A bookcase lined the far wall, not a window in sight and a large rosewood desk sprawled with parchment was tucked neatly at the back, behind which the Hades Club member stood. A tight frown plaiting his brow above his sharp nose and day old stubble. The Marquess looked completely out of place in the dingy room, dressed in a royal blue tailcoat of the latest fashion. He very much doubted his disappearance had been noted below.

They did not, after all, call him a libertine or a rake for no reason. His reputation as a philander had indeed proceeded him and apparently the women of the new French court were impartial to an exiled English noble. Then there was always the fact that he did prefer other men's wives to having one of his own. The precarious life of a spy of the Crown hardly promoted a marital state, such as having to explain to a spouse why he had to traipse across Europe without her and why he couldn't specify a time when and IF he'd be back, if he'd even come back at all for that matter. The possibility of death on a mission was a certainty. The only thing that was up for debate was the when. Of course, he also had a duty by his title to marry and produce an heir but Roarke felt no such need - though his sister strongly disagreed - when he had a perfectly good cousin just waiting for him to die to take his title and all the entailment and inheritance that happened to come with it.

However, that was another matter altogether. For now, Wessex had to engineer away to remove these documents without being noticed. Not an easy task in the least. As an Englishman - so called exile or not - he would naturally be a prime suspect and that too, he'd have to ride out. Fortunately, he played the part of a rather ignorant and ignoble noble to perfection. As Roarke considered the possibilities, he thought of every single external factor that could hinder his removal of these documents from the servants, to the party goers and witnesses who could place him in certain parts of the property and specific times. Every possibility came with a risk. His life was the least of his worries. No, he had to get these documentations back to England safely. They contained too much valuable information.

The Marquess of Wessex rubbed his forehead in concentration when an unanticipated crashing noise filled the room as if someone had dropped a small sack of potatoes. It was from his training and instinct that he swept towards the noise, ready for action. His hand fisting up and pulled back slightly when abruptly he stopped in his tracks. Keen sea blue eyes fell upon the ruffle of red silk and the little sound of complaint.

"Êtes-vous bien madame?" Roarke's fist unclenched and slender fingers moved forward offering a helping hand as the gentleman came to the forefront with a lady in the room. His dark features narrowing on the small pale form as he wondered how on earth she had got in here when he had heard no bookcase sliding to admit her or any light that may come with such an action. His hackles were instantly up as he suspected something not quite right about this whole affair. Instead of waiting for her hand, he wrapped his cool fingers around her slender upper arm and yanked her up against him in one swift motion. Gazing sharply down into the pretty face that met his. He saw no sign of jewels at her neck or on her ears or wrist or fingers. Though her gown was certainly fine and denoted wealth but there was just . . . something about her. "Priez, comment êtes-vous entré ici madame? Je ne prends pas bien d'être espionné." His voice silky smooth in it's deadliness.

Were the French onto him?! Wessex wondered to himself, his mind racing back to see where in the last year and a half he could have set a foot wrong. Who was watching him?! How long had they been watching him?! Was the whole operation in jeopardy because of some silly, stupid mistake?! It couldn't be . . . Roarke mused darkly. He was far too thorough, he had not left any trace. No blood. No bodies. No witnesses . . . Then who in damn hell was she?! "Je m'adresse à vous madame! Parler!" The wicked Marquess demanded.

 

[LeatrixSage]

A moment ago, there had been bright morning light streaming through dirty windows, dust moats floating everywhere to catch and throw the light a thousand different directions. Now it was dark, with only a small bit of warm candle’s glow a few feet away. Addie blinked against the darkness, trying to help her eyes adjust. A supple wood floor with a thick layer of polish was slick beneath her hands, the boxes and nick-knacks that had been towering near to the ceiling were all gone; in their place, was a spacious and garishly lavish study completely with bookcases and an ornate desk looming large in the shadows.

Easy, Addie, you’re just going crazy.

“Are you alright, Madam?” a man’s voice asked in French so crisp and fast that it took her mind a moment a translate what she had heard. Out of the darkness stepped a tall man with sharp blue eyes that seemed to glow black in the candlelight. Adelaide’s eyes focused first on the finely tailored blue coat he wore, and then slid down to the tight breaches that completed the look. Like her gown, it screamed early 1800’s French fashion, and Addie shook her head to clear it. Addie stared at the hand that he offered her, and then her eyes slid up his arm to his face as he came closer. In the shadows cast by the soft, dancing light behind him, she couldn’t quite make out much beyond a faded, five-o’clock shadow.

That hand he offered her lashed out and lean fingers closed viciously on her upper arm in an iron grip that bit into her skin as he yanked her bodily onto her feet and flush against him. Her hands came out to catch herself and they ended up pressed against his chest where the warmth of his skin radiated through his clothes and his heart beat out a fast rhythm under her palm. This close, she could make out the hard line of his jaw and the thin press of his lips. As she watched his face, she could see one emotion after another chase through across his features until they settled into a flat, controlled anger.

“Pray tell me, how did you get in here, madam? I do not take kindly to being spied upon,” her eyebrows jumped high at the sudden cold timber in his voice. She wasn’t spying on anyone. She wasn’t even entirely certain if she was dreaming or not. The hand on her arm was holding her so tightly that it was starting to hurt, and the only reason she was docile and pliant was because she had no idea what was happening, where she was, how she had gotten there, or who he was.

“I’m speaking to you, Madam,” he snapped, his irritation and failing tolerance with her silence bleeding through to his voice. “Talk!”

“Je ne sais pas,” I don’t know, it was all she could think to say. Her heartbeat jumped into overdrive as adrenaline rushed through her. Her hands began to shake and the world swam. She was fairly certain she wasn’t dreaming, but if that was true, then…

Oh no, I’m going to be sick, she thought as her stomach heaved. Adelaide closed her eyes to steady herself, mentally counting to three before she opened one eye… and… Yep, he was still there, and she was still standing barefoot on the cold floor, in a gown, in an office, and there was music from somewhere filtering into the room, and he was really tall, and Damnit, her arm was really starting to hurt.

“Let me go,” she murmured weakly, pulling at her arm. This grip only tightened, and Addie frown at the offending hand that was bruising her. “Let go, I said,” her voice grew stronger as the need to throw-up started to fade and anger began to rise to take its place. Anger was good, she could use it to bolster herself up while she figured out just what the hell had happened.

“You’re hurting me,” she hissed at him, but his seeming lack of concern for that fact struck a nerve. His grip was strong, but Addie was no shrinking violet, and she pried those fingers off of her with one hand as she shoved him away with the other. “Get off me!” Adelaide tried to catch her breath once there was space between them, panic held at bay only by her outrage at him. She grabbed it, latched onto the emotion, and held on tight to keep from hyperventilating.

“Who are you,” she snapped back at him. Giving him a once over, she was decided she had never met him before. “What are you doing here?”

Where is here? she wanted to shout at him. Instead, she put her hands on her hips and stared him down. First thing was first, she was not going to be intimidated, bullied, or manhandled. Okay, but, then what? Figure out where I am, how I got here, and then how I get home. Alright, she had a plan of action.

“Wait a second,” Adelaide spun in a slow circle, realizing just then that there was no door. “How do I get out of here?”

 

[ScarlettRose]

Lord Wessex looked at the ethereal creature queerly. However, he was not taken in by her dramatics. Though he had to give her a hand for it. She could damn well be an actress! She certainly looked like a harlot, for the missing jewels, the hair piece and most shocking of all - where the hell was her corset?! Luckily, he was a man far too used to the company of women of an exotic nature. However, this was neither the time or the place as she tore herself from his clamp like grasp.

"Hurting, my dear." Roarke said rather coolly as he advanced towards her like a cat manoeuvring it's prey into a corner with no escape. "Is an understatement of the pain you're going to be feeling if you toy with my patience."

The spy had watched her closely, playing the part of an ignoramus. Or maybe she thought he was one, to be taken in by her acting skills. Truly it would have been entertaining to indulge her at her own game for sometime however, as it pertained tonight, time was short as was his patience. He rounded upon the fair creature. Finding it hard to believe that such a pretty face could be so deceiving but then he mused it was indeed the prettiest faces that could make a man of sense lose his mind and splurge his wealth. Fortunately, he was far too sensible for such antics.

The light around her diminished as he stalked closer, the darkness almost encompassing in it's foreboding for her. It also struck him as odd how she switched to good old English but her accent . . . It was like none he had ever heard before. There was something indeed about this creature that was out of place. Everything pointed her to being a spy and he very much doubted they were on the same side. For one the Hades Club did not employee women in their work. Never had, never would. Secondly, if she was of a foreign body that was an ally he would have been debriefed as such. That naturally only left one option: She was a French spy.

"Oh, madam! Tu dois me paradonner." Stopping two feet away from her Roarke bowed grandly. "Where are my manners. Marquess of Wessex. Unfortunately Madam," He addressed her darkly in his crisp British accent, his hand shooting out to her shoulder, whipping her around in his grasp and smacked her head against the wood panelling. "You'll be the one being of service to me tonight."

He finished as she crumbled to the floor in a mass of silks. For a long moment, Roarke gazed down at her crumpled figure. She was so very petite. Barely a wisp of a girl. If she was a spy as he suspected, he had to take decisive action as he had done. It could have easily become a game of kill or be killed. There were men out there who enjoyed it, he knew very well but he was not the kind of man who liked to put his hands on any woman in a violent manner. Still, he needed answers and this was not the place for them.

From answers he could decipher and concoct a solution to his discovery and for that he needed her. And he needed those documents. It did not take long at all for the Marquess to come up with a stratagem. In fact he was known for his interesting mind. Going back to the desk, Wessex began to scroll and tie up the important pieces of parchment he was taking with him. There were four long scrolls that he carried over to the unconscious body. Adjusting the striking vixen he lifted her long skirts and shoved the scrolls under her legs and the skirts. Of course, he indulged in the luxury of her silky smooth skin against the tough skin of his hands, knowing she would have been outraged as any woman had been thinking he'd taken such liberties.

Howbeit her modesty was something he was willing to sacrifice for the greater good. Righting the silks of her skirt back into place, Wessex pressed his arms beneath her corpse and heaved her up into his strong arms. Moving closer to the candle light to get a better look at her face. She was pale but not unbecomingly so, with thick dark lashes shadowing her slightly rounded cheeks leading down to plump plush lips and a stubborn chin. All in all she was rather lovely.

As much as Roarke would have liked to marvel at her beauty in the candle light he had to get out of here. Pressing his back to the wooden panel at the far right of the room, the bookcase on the other side started to squeak and shift. Swiftly he moved through it into the actual study. It was pitch black but he knew every step to take until he was out of the door and on the landing. The music was louder out here and the sound of people laughing, talking and having a merry time filled the air.

The spy wasted no time manoeuvring through the grand household and down the even grander staircase. A plump round finely dressed gent with a flushed complexion holding an eye glass stopping in his wake as Roarke walked towards him with the woman in silk in his arms. Roarke grinned at the perplexed looking man who looked deeper into his monocle at the sight.

"Femmes!" Roarke blurted in a horse like manner, without stopping but shaking his head and looking towards the heavens dramatically as if the answers lay up there somewhere. "Ils vous promettent une chose et ensuite se saouler et s'endormir!"

The frowning gentleman's expression quickly changed to mirth at the Marquess' words. Thank God! Roarke thought, he didn't want to have to deal with him too. Though, he very well would have if he had confronted him about the crumpled body in his arms. Of course, he thought her just another wanton woman at the ball. There were plenty to go around. After all, they were French.

"Ah! Tu aurais dû avoir ton chemin avec elle quand même!" The man replied cheerily growing more flush as he laughed.

Roarke's own features became more strained but he managed to hold the grin in place. For a man of his times, he held certain ethics and morals that most men would not bat an eyelid at to override. Yes women were property but he was no rapist, nor a man who beat women or expected them to do as he said. And he hated men who thought it alright to do such things. However, he would not confront a man over their rights. Any woman that ended up in his bed, was there because she wanted to be. Not because he had forced her.

"Ah! Mais j'aime quand ils se débattent." Roarke said darkly not stopping as he passed the man and headed straight out the front doors. Hailing the footman to bring his carriage around and glad too that he had indeed bought his carriage tonight and not his fine steed.

It was late into the night or rather early depending on how one perceived time that Roarke was leaning against the huge stone mantel piece in his Parisian townhouse. The roaring fire playing dark shadows against his tenebrous countenance. The room itself was set in stone like the whole of the building. With high gothic ceilings and stained glass windows that were currently as dark as the night outside them. Cases with tomes probably older than time worked their ways both left and right of the small sitting area in front of the fire in the centre of the room.

Roarke poured over a parchment more deeply in front of the blaze. His whiskey resting on the mantle piece as he raised an jaundice gaze at the mass of crimson silks stirring on the deep purple velvet chaise longue. "Welcome back to the world of the living mon cher." His voice as dark and rich as her gown. "I'm sorry about earlier. A necessary evil on my part." He said to her as he lowered the parchment in his hands to regard her fully. "Tu comprends?" He moved to pour her a drink from the decanter and place the whiskey on the table in front of her. "But it's my turn to ask the questions now. So, let us begin with your name and where you're from and then we can move onto the fact of how exactly you stumbled - and I use that word very loosely - upon me in Murat's secret little room. Hmm?"

 

[LeatrixSage]

For each step he took closer, Adelaide took a step back, her hands held slightly up between them as if she meant to hold him back. He was maneuvering her. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to quash the need to run as far and fast as she could in the other direction, and eventually she was going to run out of room. His promise of pain for trying his patience didn’t help matters, other than to make her bright blue eyes flash with disbelief that he would dare to threaten her, and her already racing heartbeat trip over itself to go a little faster.

She asked her questions, but he simply watched her as if she were a spoiled child playing at being innocent of some naughty thing she had been caught at red-handed. His dark eyes followed her every movement, measuring and calculating. It made her think of the self-defense courses Miriam had pressured her into. Problem was, she couldn’t seem to recall what the hell she was supposed to do.

Addie felt the wall at her back before the heel of her foot hit it. There was nowhere left to go, and he didn’t stop until he was well within arm’s reach. He asked for her pardon as he bowed, and despite her will to look unaffected, that queasy feeling was coming back again. His sharp French had switched to the Queen’s own English, and the entire world seemed to tilt beneath her feet as he addressed himself as the Marquee of Wessex.

The last Marquee of Wessex had died in the French Revolution, his title reabsorbed by the crown, and then sold back to Italy almost a century later. Addie frowned at him, her mouth opening to call him a liar, and then the world spun and her head crack against something hard. Pain blossomed in the side of her head, bright lights flashed behind her eyes, and then the world went dark.

--

The next thing Addie knew, her head was throbbing, and her left hip and elbow ached. She hissed as she reached up to touch her temple, feeling the bump in her skin and the bruise that surely enhancing the tenderness. She must have hit her head pretty hard when she’d fallen. She didn’t feel any cuts or scrapes, so she guessed the mirror hadn’t broken. Mrs. Mills must have found her. She had probably gotten her neighbor to come help get Addie off the floor and into bed. They’d left her in the lovely dress that had tangled around her feet and tried to kill her, but she couldn’t complain.

What a messed-up dream, she thought as she stretched, feeling for any other tender places. Her eyes ached, and she didn’t want to open them. If she’d knocked herself out, though, she doubtless had a minor concussion. She was wondering if Mrs. Mills had called for an ambulance when a far too familiar voice seeped into her ignorant bliss and made her eyes snap open.

Addie was not tucked safely into bed at Mrs. Mill’s upstairs apartment over her shop, nor was she in a hospital, or even her own bed, having dreamt everything. As her bright blue eyes found the man from her dream standing against a stone mantle, watching her, she had to come to terms with the fact that she was not dreaming. But, if she wasn’t dreaming, then she simply had to be going insane. Because this wasn’t possible. It was not possible that he was who he said he was. It was not possible that she was here. She wasn’t even sure where here even was!

He apologized for earlier, and Addie’s hand jumped back up to the sore spot on the side of her head. It wasn’t from falling in the backroom of Miriam’s shop, it was from him knocking her head against the wall.

“I understand very well, vous le cul. Tu m'as assommé!” she accused him of knocking her out, which they both knew he had, and called him an ass for good measure, even as he was making it clear that he would be the one asking the questions.

“Je ne sais pas,” she threw at him again as she got to her feet. The world spun, and Addie hissed again as she pressed her hands to her forehead. She staggered, and then sat right back down again. “Merde,” she muttered as her elbows dropped onto her knees and her head hung in her hands. She let the world settle down, and then she sighed. Her eyes began to burn, and she furiously blinked back the tears that threatened to overtake her. She was not going to cry.

Weakness was simply unacceptable.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, and then raised her attention back to the man. He looked the part of a rake, the very picture of a perfect gentlemen that flirted with unruly behavior for kicks. Maybe he was Wessex. If she remembered her historical figures correctly, he was well known for sowing wild oats far and wide without ever producing a proper heir. His title had slipped right through his cousin’s fingers, and that was the end of his line. If only she could remember his actual name.

Only then did she notice the glass he’d set on the table, and the whiskey within it. She wrinkled her nose at it, pushing the glass away. The last thing she needed was alcohol to make her even more addled than she already was.

“Addie,” she sighed. She was either insane, or actually talking to the Marquee of Wessex. If she wasn’t mad, and he was who he said he was, then she was going to have to give him something. Giving him her name seemed harmless enough. “Adelaide Aedler, mon nom. Ah, préférez-vous le français ou l'anglais? Vous avez dit que vous êtes Wessex, alors ... Anglais? I am going to assume, English.”

Addie stood, more slowly this time, and padded barefoot around the longue to put it between them while her mind tried to unravel the situation she found herself in. She was gaining ground, putting obstacles between them to make herself feel safe. It helped to keep the panic that was fluttering around the edges of her thoughts at bay.

How did I get into the room?

“I don’t know how I got into the study,” she went on, sticking with the truth because her mind couldn’t conceive a believable lie to give him. “I fell, and then I was in that room. And, if it is a secret room, what were you doing there? I am assuming you should not have been, otherwise I don’t see why you cracked my skull against the wall.” She was pacing, and when she noticed it, she stopped to turn and face him, lifting her chin a notch to hide her unease. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here. I don’t even know… where I am. So, you could either just stand there and wait until I figure it out, or do me a favor and tell me where we are right now.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

"Oui Madam, naturellement je préfère l'anglais." It was complete perverse of Roarke Rochester to be thoroughly amused when Adelaide Aedler swore and when she had the audacity to call him an arse. To be fair he had been called worse. But then again, he always did like a woman who had a feisty temperament and Adelaide Aedler was not disappointing him on that front. His azure eyes flashed reflecting his amusement however not for a moment did it detract from the fact that he suspected her to be nothing more than a beautiful French spy. Wessex's suspicions were only cemented when she revealed her name. His expression did not flinch in the slightest. It was a mask of complete composure.

"I see my reputation proceeds me." There was a hint of pride in knowing his debaucheries had somewhat of a fame attached to them but that was neither here of there now. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass around before throwing the substance into the fire. The blames hissed and sizzled as he filled the same glass with something a bit more potent and unmolested by his servants who liked to water down the alcohol from time to time, sensing his moods, they knew him far to well. "However, we're not here to talk about me, though it is one of my favourite subjects." Roarke grinned, leaning against the mantle as he let the fire of the liquid run down his throat. The fire crackled and warmed the large cold corners of the room, enclosing them in the light in the dark, dreary night.

"Adelaide Adler you say? Let me guess, you're no relation of Etta Palm d'Aelder hmm?" He could already feel her denial coming on but he had already decided his course of action because she may play the part of an ignorant well but he knew better. She claimed she hadn't a clue how she stumbled upon him and then admitted to being related to a most notorious French family who were known French spies for none other than Napoleon himself.

A slow smile creeped up one side of Wessex's face as he watched her entertained as she went to slowly stand behind the lounge. As if that was going to save her. He nodded as she spoke as if he was believing every word that came out from between those pretty lips. She must think him a complete idiot. Fortunately for Adelaide Aedler he was in a particularly indulging mood.

"Indeed." He nodded again, amusing himself at her expense. "Of course, you simply fell from the ceiling out of thin air and onto the cold hard floor." Clearly, Roarke concluded she was going to stick to her ridiculous story. Of course, he had means at his dispose to make her tell the truth but he was not about to torture a woman, not even one that was a French spy. Pull there was the fact that there was something about her that left the Marquess utterly curious and wanting to know more.

Pulling off the mantel as he downed his drink, Roarke threw himself onto the lounge that she had occupied only a few moments earlier. One long lethe leg resting on the other as his arms stretched out over the back of the chaise lounge, his head leaning back to look up at her. "You, mon cher should not assume anything. In fact, you are in no position to assume anything or to ask any questions. My business is my business and I'm certain you know far more of it than you are letting on."

His face was now stern, cold in his warning. He was a man that possessed an abundance of patience however he was not to be trifled with, nor would it bode well for her if she tested his generosity. "As for your injury, I already apologized. Like I said Mademoiselle Aedler it was a necessary evil and your help was greatly appreciated." After all it would have been extremely difficult to remove those documents if it weren't for her skirts. "You have assisted me more than you can know and it is only for that reason you find yourself in my good graces"

Wessex could feel her pace. She was an utterly amusing creature. He had more questions than her but doubted he'd be getting any answers from her anytime soon. Or at least any legitimate answers. His gaze narrowed on her as she spoke again. He was stupefied at how adamant she was to play the fool but decided to play a long anyway. "Why Mademoiselle Aedler where else can we be but the city of love? . . . Gay Paris. Though if you want to get specific then you are within the walls of Chateau De Lacey. It was my maternal grandmother's dower house. Rather too splendid for an old crone to spend her last days don't you think?" He addressed her conversationally, switching quickly from threatening to social. "Or at least you will. The house is yours to roam until we head back home next week and may I just say any attempt at escape is not only futile but will simply result in your imprisonment in the dungeons below. To be honest, they haven't been used in a decade or two and the rats are getting rather lonely."

He grinned across at her with a wink for good measure. His sights fixed on her rosy gown and the woman beneath it. Taking in every detail from her exquisite features to her slight figure. She was far from his usual type but that didn't mean she was unattractive. From from it in fact. Of course, he could not over look the fact she was a filthy French spy. "Otherwise, the staff are at your disposal. There is some semblance of a wardrobe in your room left behind from some of my . . . guests." - and by guests he meant his old paramours - "They may not be of the latest la mode but they'll do. Any questions? Otherwise I'd like to go to bed, though . . . you're free to join me."

 

[LeatrixSage]

Etta Palm d'Aelder

Well yes, actually, she was. Aelder was just the modern American version of d’Aelder, but obviously none of her living ancestors would know anything about her existence. That meant telling him no was both a truth and a lie, but the real implication he was trying to push made her raise her eyebrows. She knew every well that Etta had been involved in a network of spies and conspirators that had supported Napoleon. The targeted question made her hackles raise, as it drove home the idea that if this was real, she was in a lot more danger than she had even begun to realize.

“No blood relation, but I am aware of who Etta Palm d’Aelder is,” she hedged carefully as she watched the man down his drink. The urge to run was hard to resist as he then pushed himself up from the mantle and came toward her to throw himself across the chaise lounge, effectively taking away the little piece of mind she’d built for herself. His assertion that his actions where none of her business struck her as decidedly old world. “As far as I can tell, you are effectively my kidnapper, connard. I don’t think it could be more my business without being actively involved in whatever it is you are hiding. Of course,” her eyes narrowed at him, the woman stubbornly refusing to give ground to hide the fact that her little heart was beating at an absolutely frantic rhythm, “if I have already assisted you, then your good graces are only the beginnings of paying what you owe. I am damn good at what I do, and my time isn’t cheap.”

The double connotation to her words, and the fact that she looked like a barefoot mistress in a dress that was much more expensive than she could have possibly had the money for without a title attached to her name, was completely lost on Addie. Her mind wasn’t even really on the conversation anymore. Instead, she was busy with trying to digest the apparent fact that she was in Paris, France in the 1800’s, in the Chateau De Lacey, a castle that shouldn’t even be standing anymore, and was talking to the last Marquee of Wessex.

Okay, don’t freak out. If you went back in time, then you can go forward in time, right?

Her eyes burned, and Addie turned away to hide it while Wessex waxed on about his grandmother’s final days. If she had indeed lived out her final days, alone, and in that cold, foreboding place, Adelaide pitied the woman. It struck her as unusual that the woman was allowed to keep such a place as her dowager home, particularly as it would be a hell of a bargaining chip for a wife with connections, money, and social power.

Bastards.

His voice was grating on her nerves, but not in the way she was accustomed to. Normally, when a man got under her skin, it was because he was trying to sell her one something she knew was crap. This, while similar, was very different. The Marquee was grinding her nerves into dust not because he was trying to feed her bullshit, but because he kept trying to intimidate her into swallowing it. Every time she thought she was going to be overwhelmed by panic and fall into hysterics, he said something or did something that made her want to reach out and slap him.

“It’s Addie, please,” she sniped at him, already sick of my sweet and miss, or just about any form of endearment on the man’s lips. She raked a hand through her hair in frustration, closing her eyes for a moment to mentally count to ten, and then let out a long, slow breath. Something that might have eased the ache in her shoulders had he not decided to offer she come to bed with him. Her jaw clenched as she bit back a scathing remark, and then took one more deep breath.

“Actually, no, I don’t have any questions,” she smiled, an expression that was toothy, and didn’t make it to her cold, blue eyes as they opened. “I have a few statements, though. You are a lying prat, and one that firmly believes he has the winning hand before he has even looked at his own cards.” Assuming the poise and purpose she reserved for marching into a bid against billionaires, Addie closed the space between them to look down at the comfortable, relaxed, male power spread out over the lounge. A modern man might have recognized hot water when he saw it, but in Wessex’s world, women simply weren’t a threat.

When Addie bent down to grab the edge of the chaise lounge, she didn’t give the man time to react before she pushed it over, tipping him bodily onto the floor

“Whatever you think you know about me, you’re wrong,” she assured him, her tone wrapped up in the cold, professional persona she wore, while her eyes danced with the merriment of vengeance. “I am not who, or what, you seem to think I am. And I will not stay here, I promise you that.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

Wessex contently listened to her barrage on. He nodded here and there as he looked like he was paying attention but his mind had shifted on the details of his departure of the continent. To be quite honest, he was rather looking forward to going home. Seeing old friends and colleagues alike. He also supposed he should check on his properties and finances though he had good men in place to deal with all that for him who he paid a good wage. There was also his older sister who he'd have to visit and get an earful from her regarding his responsibilities towards the title and the family name and blah, blah, blah. Oh and of course, he forget his little ward who lived on his massive estate with nothing but the servants and her governess for company.

Roarke was just about to ask for Addie's advice on the matter when he felt himself tipping backwards. "Whoa!" He rolled back reflexively and came to a standing position. A curious look on his face as he considered just what had happened. He straightened his lapels with an arched brow at Adelaide. "Indeed." He said with a slight nod of his head. Good thing he had the special ability to record in his mind all that was being said without really listening to what was being said. As he stared at her he processed her words into information that made sense.

Slowly he walked around the upturned lounge until he was stood a foot away from her. With his foot on one of the lounge legs, he tipped the furniture back into position. "See Addie," The Marquess addressed her informally as she seemed to want to be addressed. "Whatever I think about you, is of very little consequence. I assure you. Certainly, my sister would agree with you on you perception of me - a prat - as you say." He grinned at her, before he swept her in one movement onto the lounge.

He had the beautiful vixen on her back, with her hands captured above her head by one of his own. He couldn't help but take in the splendour of her features. She was rather ethereal but her temperament was as fiery as Hera in her vengeance which seemed to be swift. Rather than annoyed he found it amusing. It was hardly possible to catch him off guard. But this peppery little firepot had managed it. His own fault, Roarke supposed.

"Now, my dear." He told her off like he was telling of his young ward and he had a strong feeling it would only infuriate her more and for some sick perverse reason he was rather enjoying her outbursts. "If you can't keep your hands to yourself, I'll have to keep them in my safe keeping." He told her with an impish glee from over her. They were but a breath or two apart as he loomed over her strong, wicked and all encompassing.

"As for you being a lady of the night." Roarke informed her. "Let's not insult either of our intelligence. You think I wouldn't know whore when I saw one?" He bestowed and indulgent smile upon her. "So let's not even go there. Your time isn't cheap you say but let me counter with this, though it's not an option mon cher, where exactly would you go? Do you have finances?
non je ne pense pas. Do you have anywhere to stay? Just think about all that for a moment. Life is harsh for a man with nothing and my dear, I assure you I will make it impossible for there to be any doors open for you. Tu vois?"

Was he cruel enough to do that? Most certainly. She was a spy. "I know all I need to know about you for now. You are a criminal in my eyes and the eyes of British Law. Aiding a war where thousands upon thousands of innocents are slaughtered for the ego of one very small man. And his cronies." He spat rather coldly. It was clear he felt strongly about the cause he fought for. Lord Wessex might have been a man of loose personal morals but he was a man of just cause and justice. He risked his life everyday since the age of eighteen so others who could not defend themselves could be free, have liberty and the freedom to forge any life they wished.

"As for you promise Addie." He began calming down some, her name rolling of his tongue seductively. "You don't need to worry about that sweetheart. I already told you you're not staying here. You'll love England." He grinned before swooping down and capturing her plump lips - that had been tempting him since he set eyes upon them - in a passionate embrace. In the next moment, he had swept back and left the room like the whirlwind he was. Leaving Addie to ponder what had just happened.

It could not have been more than ten minutes when there was a knock on the library door where Adelaide was left. An old servant with grey silvery hair knotted in a bun above her head entered without waiting for permission for admission by Addie. She was a portly old thing with a kind smile

"Bonjour Mademoiselle." She said cheerily laying a tea tray down with titbits in front of Adelaide before continuing in French. "I am Annette Madam. My Lord was concerned that you have not eaten anything and asked me to bring up a tray for you Madam." She continued while she went about laying a fine napkin in Addie's lap and pouting out the tea. "You are not English yes?" Annette went on without waiting for a reply from Addie. "They have such strange customs. My Lord says tea when he means dinner and such! Of course, I am used to him by now but some of the younger servants they can find themselves clueless when he asks for something." She smiled sweetly at Addie, her crooked eye taking in the state of Addie's dress but her Lord had assured the servant that the unconscious woman he had bought home was not a lady of the night though her attire left much to be desired in state of etiquette.

"You are to be our guest until My Lord Wessex departs for Poland." Annette went on, not knowing the true location of their journey. It was safer for everybody that way. "Ah!" There was a knock at the door as a much younger maid with red hair knocked and came in at the beckoning of the older woman. "Entrer dans! Mon Dieu!" Annette exclaimed reaching out for the content in the young maids hands as she came to a stop before her. "These are some of the dresses - unworn of course." The maid assured Addie. "That My Lord asked me to get out for you. I thought you might want to see them now." She smiled like an proud mother. "They would look so fine on you. My Lord Wessex always has had good taste. He had bought this for one of his . . . close friends but then he disappears and these things get left before they can be enjoyed. Ouf! He is so erratic! That man cannot stay in one place for too long. It's like he gets ants in his pants and he'll storm in without warning. Without giving us time to prepare for his return."

Annette liked complaining about her master, though he was a kind, fair employer although he was English but that could be overlooked in her opinion for the exceptional wage he paid her and the fact that she and her mother and grandmother before her had served the French side of Lord Wessex's family for well over a century. As head maid to this household, Annette had some authority and had never been to kindly with her Master's paramours and the dubious ladies he bought home. Except this one . . . It was so very odd how she was not to share his bed. In fact, it was a first! And that was the reason Annette took more of an interest in Addie. She had a feeling that this scantly dressed woman may end up being more than a guest at Chateau De Lacey. In fact, Annette planned of asking all the important questions to Mademoiselle Adelaide once they were on more friendlier terms.

"Oh but don't get me wrong Madam. I simply mean to say he is like any man." Her accent thick and her french denoted she was a Parisian through and through. "My Lord is a good, kind master but he is a man and we must forgive him his gender." She laughed making jest. "Oh! Look at me prattling on!" Annette with the flick of her wrist shooed the young maid off, seeing no need for her anymore as she planned on taking the dress the Madam chose for tomorrow up by herself to ready for the morrow. "I forgot to ask, that is my Lord asked me to ask you that if he should fetch the seamstress tomorrow if you should be so kind to pick some silks and fripperies and such that you should think are à la mode that a seven year old girl would like? And of course something for yourself should you so chose . . . Shall I tell my Lord to send for the Seamstress tomorrow Madam?"

 

[LeatrixSage]

Addie blinked.

What the fuck just happened?

One second, she was staring him down with all the bravado she could muster, and the next she was stretched out beneath him on the lounge with her heart beating frantically in her throat. She expected him to be angry, to yell at her, threaten her… she never would have imagined he would be amused. It was as disarming as the way he had gathered her up and tossed her through the air like she weighted nothing at all, to then playfully scold her like some spoiled child. Not a single person in her life had ever dared to handle her like that, to devour her personal space as if it meant nothing at all, or to assault her person so candidly. She wanted to scream at him, to rage against, but she could barely hear her own thoughts over her heart beat. And, if Addie was honest with herself, she was absolutely undone by the man. She simply had no idea how to react.

Addie had to dig to find the emotional wherewithal to hold on to her composer enough to glare up at the man. He held her hands in an unyielding grip that was surprisingly tender. When she squirmed, his grip constricted, but he resisted causing her harm. While it was kind, it also emboldened her against him. If he was actively trying not to hurt her, then he couldn’t be that dangerous, could he?

His breath fanned against her face as he spoke, and a blush rose slowly in Adelaide’s cheeks as she gradually became aware of how compromising their position really was. The skirt of her gown was already bunched up around her knees, and if he moved his leg any higher between them, he could have easily dragged the fabric all the way up to her hips. His chest hung a hair’s breadth from her own, a slim show for the measure of self-restraint he employed, but just enough space that she still felt like she could breath.

He asked if she thought he wouldn’t know a whore when he saw one, and she opened her mouth to make some scathing remark about how she wasn’t surprised the only women that would sleep with him where those he paid for it… but, his question about where she would go stilled her tongue. Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click. She was a woman of power and influence in her own time, here she was nothing, no one. She had no name, no money, no home, she had absolutely nothing but the gown she wore. That realization threatened to blot out the world, her mind rebelling against everything that had happened.

Shit, I might actually pass out…

“Criminal?” she barely whispered the word, her eyes widening as she began to understand just what was happening here. The pieces were falling into place. That was why he had asked about Etta, he thought she was a French spy! He believed she was a Napoleon sympathizer looking to aid the future Emperor of France in his war efforts, and her name attached her to a slew of people that were exactly that.

Fuck me side-ways, how do I get out of this?

The way her name slid past his lips like a caress made her eyes refocus on his face. He grinned at her as he told her they weren’t staying here, and that she’d love England. Addie rolled her eyes, exasperated, and then his lips crushed her own and Adelaide couldn’t breathe. He didn’t so much force her to respond so much as he coaxed her to surrender and accept the passionate embrace. The emotional roller coaster the woman had been riding up to this point left her feeling utterly defenseless against the assault, and embarrassingly breathless when Wessex was suddenly gone in the next moment.

He left her lying there, shaking, furious and horrified in equal measure.

The door clicked closed behind him, and only after his footsteps had faded away did Addie pull herself up. One shaking hand touched her lips almost curiously. They were tingling, her heart was hammering away against her ribcage, and there was a disturbing warmth spreading through her that she didn’t care to recognize as anything more than her addled mind being overwhelmed.

“What am I going to do,” she muttered, talking to herself because she couldn’t seem to think straight. She had to get home, but she wasn’t sure it was even possible. They couldn’t prove she was a spy, but she couldn’t prove she wasn’t, and that was so much worse. If they suspected, then that’s what she was. Wessex might not be moved to actually cause her any definite harm, but that couldn’t be said about his betters. As her mind spun with all the possibilities, the weight of the world seemed to push down on her while the walls of the room pressed in around her. The feeling of being trapped was seeping into the panic she’d been holding at bay, and when the door to the room swung open she nearly jumped out of her skin as she leapt off the lounge.

The very vision of what Adelaide had always imagined a kindly Nanny would look like came in with a fully set tea tray in hand. Her kind smile was almost heartbreaking to see, an Addie’s hands shook so that she clasped them together to hold them still. The woman was warm and sweet, and reminded her painfully of her lovely Mrs. Mills, and she spoke almost as much. Really, she couldn’t get a word in edgewise until the lovely woman asked if she should send word for a seamstress.

“Why I..” Addie hesitated, her min working hard to keep up. “Oui,” she sighed, seeing no reason not to. Picking out something a young girl would like seemed like a strange request, but it seemed harmless enough. The man was eccentric at best. He thought she was his enemy, but he tried not to hurt her. He believed she was a spy, and he had kissed her. She was a dangerous criminal, and he wanted her to pick out fabric for a child’s dress? Addie was beginning to believe the last Marquee of Wessex must be mad or suffering from mercury poisoning.

Annette was watching her, and Addie blushed, thinking she hadn’t hear something she had said.

“Je suis désolé, It has been a long night, and I can barely think.” Addie smiled at the woman, almost immediately endeared to her. Her eyes dropped to the tea tray, and she smiled. It had still been early morning for her when she’d landed in the office, and she wasn’t tired exactly, but she was mentally exhausted, and ravenous. “I should have eaten breakfast.”

Annette gave her a quizzical look, and Addie blushed, turning her attention to the dresses. There was a lovely piece that looked something like the French equivalent of a summer dress, a soft white fabric covered in delicately stitched blue flowers. Floral patterns were far from the norm for Addie, but this particular dress was quite lovely.

“This one will do fine,” she changed the subject as she lifted it into her arms. “If you wouldn’t mind, I haven’t eaten. I’ll take absolutely anything you are willing to bring up. I know it’s late,” which was still freaking weird as all hell, “but even just some bread and cheese would be welcome. And, thank you so much for the tea, but… could I please take it to whatever room will be mine for the night?”

Addie held her breath, feeling like an absolute ass to ask the woman for so much. But, to her relief, Annette seemed to be happy to accommodate her every wish. In a flurry of rapid-fire French and smiles, the plump woman had Adelaide settled into an ornate bedroom, fed, and sipping on steaming tea with a little milk and honey. It was a decidedly British way to take her tea, and she rather hoped that information found its way back to Wessex. His staff was friendly and helpful, but unless she missed her mark, she was willing to bet they were loyal to a fault and likely to report back everything she said or did.

When it was all said and done, and she had finally gotten Annette to leave and go to bed herself, Addie was feeling strangely calm. The sense of panic had faded, leaving behind the nervous unease that was far more manageable. Through the course of chatting with Annette – or rather, listening to Annette chat – she had learned a few things. The Marquee of Wessex was Lord Roachester. The name tickled a memory she couldn’t quite place, but she knew it was important. He was good to his staff, and they favored him, even if Annette was less than fond than the usual female company he kept. He had a sister and a young ward, whether the child was his or not was unclear.

He was important in some way that she couldn’t put her finger on. She knew the man, but she’d never made as much attention to the ghosts of Englishmen that had been the enemies of her ancestors. She’d never really cared to, they were all ghosts, long dead and gone, footnotes in history. Addie was dearly regretting that attitude.

The woman tried to find sleep more than once. Annette had provided all the sensible trappings of a modest lady, but Addie had only taken a thin shift as a nightgown and begged off the rest. She saw no need to wear four layers and a veritable gown to bed, and despite her tutting, Annette had allowed it without too much fuss. As it was, when Addie yet again crawled out of bed, she was sweating from the pile of comforters and sheets and the stagnant air. As she pushed a window open to let in the cool morning air, the sky was already lightening with the predawn light. She’d been to Paris many times, and it was jarring to look out over a city the was dark and quiet. The Eiffel tower was nowhere to be seen, so it was definitely before 1887. If the Arc de Triomphe wasn’t complete, then it was before 1806, but she’d have to get the center of the city to find out that part.

Addie sighed as she hugged her arms around her waist and leaned her shoulder and hip into the window sill while she let her mind slowly put the world to rights. The weather was still crisp, almost chilly, and there were spring flowers in bloom in the gardens below her window. April, maybe May. She wondered absently if the senate tribune have decaled Napoleon the leader of France yet. That would be May 16th, 1804. Two days later he would proclaim himself the Emperor of France.

“How can I know so much and yet so little that’s of any real use,” Addie sighed as she raked a hand through her hair to massage her scalp with her fingertips. She wasn’t dreaming, and she wasn’t mad. This was real, and what little she could remember about French history was going to have to be her guide. That meant she was going to have to spend a lot of time gathering information as nondescriptly as possible.

 

[ScarlettRose]

The wrought iron gates with the De Lacey family crest slowly swung closed with a squeak as Roarke upon his gelding stormed towards the chateau. The building was a fine example of medieval french splendour. With it's battlement's up top concealed by modernisation from different era's through out time. In fact, it was one of the lucky estates that had survived the recent sackings. Wessex dismounted hardly taking in the history that he owned. Passing the stable hand that came forward his reigns, he straightened his jacket as he took to steps at a time up and didn't bother knocking as he took a side door through the servant's entrance. The maid's barely flinched as he swept through the kitchen, simply bestowing upon their master a curtsy, being far too used to the erratic Englishman.

Roarke's night had hardly been a restful one. No he had been far too busy deciphering the parchments purloined from Murat's estate. The estate also boasted constant visitor's through out the night of a dubious nature. The staff never asked questions, knowing better than to ask about the frightening looking men that came to see Lord Wessex. "Well?" Wessex questioned Annette in murdered King's own french as he strode into the breakfast room and began filling his own plate, liking to keep to English costumes that he was brought up with in his own home.

The room itself was splendorous. With high crytsal chandeliers and deep purple damask curtains lining the row up row of windows. It was easy to imagine royalty had dinned her on many occasions as well as other elegant and important guests. Roake himself had once hosted such an event. One time was too many. It was a woman's work to sort such things out and seeing as he was without a wife it was unlikely his room would see such a glorious event ever again. At least not in his lifetime. Which hardly promised to be long anyway.

"Oui my Lord." Annette curtsied. "Madam has agreed to helping you with aiding the Seamstress. I have called for the Seamstress to be here after breakfast."

"Indeed." Roarke replied indulgently as the old woman hovered. He had asked her to keep a close eye on Mademoiselle Aedler, though he would have much preferred to keep his own eyes upon her remarkable features. The unexpected passion between them still burnt upon his lips. He had indeed not meant to fratanise with the enemy however . . . Adelaide Aedler was just too irresistible, especially when he left her fight for words and ruffled her feathers. A grin slowly began to creep up one side of his lips at the recollection.

Annette watched her master closely as he sat down at the head of the enormous table; grinning to himself as he buttered his toast. He looked tired and ruffled with dark circles starting to form under his eyes from what she imagined was his lack of rest. However, she was well aware he was fully alert as she ventured. "I must say my Lord . . . Madam is very . . . unusual." Annette ventured.

"Oh? How so?" His deep voice rumbled with amusement. Though he had to agree with the old woman but he decided to indulge her knowing how she liked to talk.

"Well . . . It's not really anything she does, though she does have an odd manner about her but it's mostly the things she says . . . very strange for a woman of clearly a high station. That is not to say I do not like Madam. Indeed I very much like Madam Adelaide!"

"Well clearly I like her too very much. That is why I have bought her here no?" Roarke replied biting into his bacon as he lounged crookedly in his seat.

"Clearly not like you like your other woman." Annette replied pointedly to which Roarke bestowed upon the old woman one of his rakish grins. He was starting to think he gave his servant's too much liberty to speak to him freely. His sister was always warning him about that. How he was far to lenient with staff but Lord Wessex found he could always catch more flies with honey than vinegar. "Are you going to marry Madam my Lord?"

Annette could think of no other reason as to why a woman would be in this house and not have shared Lord Wessex's bed. The Marquess responded with an arched brow at the very surprising suggestion. He had thought he'd made it implicitly clear to all that he was never going to marry? Clearly, the servant's thought similar to his sister that eventually he'd be done sowing his wild oats.

"That would depend upon what you have to tell me." Wessex replied slowly. "You are my eyes and ears where I cannot be."

"There is nothing remarkable about madam's nature or behaviour. I've had the other maid's watch and keep an eye on her. She has not left her room since I put her to bed myself." Annette informed Roarke. He had indeed suspected some suspicious behaviour but . . . none. It was odd . . . "Oh but Madam has . . err what do you call it? A-a- design! Inked into her skin on her shoulder, the left one I think. I did not see it clearly but I saw some of it. That is very odd for a woman to bare no my Lord?"

"Oui." Roarke agreed, deep in thought for a long moment. A design . . . a tattoo . . . Maybe Mademoiselle Adelaide was tougher than her slight form made one believe. He'd seen grown men cry getting tattoo's. Hell! He'd drunk a good half a bottle of whiskey before he had the Hades insignia imprinted upon his skin. "Well?!" The Marquess suddenly roared out of his musings. "What are you waiting for? Escort Madamoiselle Aedler here to breakfast. She must be starving. Rapide!"

 

[LeatrixSage]

Adelaide flinched as the man roared. She and a small gaggle of maids had been eavesdropping from the hallway, not that they had been able to hear much of anything that was said. One of them giggled as they all startled, and Addie hushed the other woman with a smile. They were all hopeless romantics that fancied their eccentric lord was smitten with the unusual, exotic woman he’d brought into his home. It hadn’t taken long this morning for Addie to figure it out, and it had taken only a blush and a shy smile to make them all fall madly in love with their fantastical ideas about the pair. From that instant the young women had all become her best friends, and her partners in crime.

His name was Roarke Maximilian Roachester, he was indeed an English man with a French grand-mama that had died a few years back, and he was a well-known philanderer. He flirted shamelessly, even with Annette, and they all adored him because he treated every woman like she was some uniquely beautiful gem to admire. Their words, not hers. And, they had been happy to accompany Addie in her snooping.

As Annette crossed to the doors the girls huddled around, the lot of them drew back as one and then scattered. Adelaide had to laugh at the absurdity of it, something the young maids seemed to pick up as giggles faded in every direction. When Adelaide turned back around, the plump woman was looking at her with raised eyebrows and a knowing look that Addie had the good grace to blush under.

“Bonjour, Annette,” she waved by wiggling her fingers at the older woman. The ladies had found a corset that fit her, and while it was difficult to breath, she was adjusting quickly. Her waist was already so tiny that it didn’t need to be synched all that much to fit the delicate dress she’d picked the night before. And her breasts had never looked quite so high and bouncy, being little more than comfortable handfuls. Push-up bras had nothing on a good corset, that’s for sure. As the older woman stepped back to allow her forward, Addie’s eyes alighted on Wessex, and she smirked at him as she walked into the room.

“Matin, monsieur,” she murmured, her eyes dancing with a new confidence. She’d managed to catch a small nap just before dawn and was no armed with enough knowledge of the man that she felt like she had a bit of a leg on him. At least she knew who he was. He could take all of France apart one brick at a time, and he’d never learn anything she didn’t tell him herself. “The food smells wonderful.”

Addie clacked across the room in an adorable pair of heels with fanciful little bows on the front of each shoe. It was highly fashionable for the era, and cute, but far too childlike. The young maids had even insisted on doing her hair for her, which was now wrapped into a small tower of curls and ringlets, with a few stray hairs artfully tugged free. She’d never bothered to put her hair up before, but she loved how long and elegant it made her neck look.

Addie served herself a plate, not ignorant of the tension in the room, but deliberately ignoring it. “How did you sleep, Wessex? You look terrible.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

"I assure you Madam, I feel as terrible as I look." Roarke found himself indulging the elegant creature that floated into the room. Which was rather odd because his fuse was usually much shorter when he had a lack of sleep but here he was, letting her think she had him bested. Then again, he could never resist the charms of a woman and he wasn't just talking about the physicality. The Marquess had not moved from his slouched position in his seat but his sleep deprived dull blue gaze had followed Adelaide. If he thought she looked remarkable tonight, today she was simply stunning.

"Clearly you've had a far better rest than I. Odd that no? Maybe I was kept awake with the fear that you may attack me in the middle of the night." He joked with a wink and a smirk before gesturing for her to take a seat. Roarke made no secret of examining her as he slowly consumed his breakfast. Annette had been quite the little informative, but then she was always good at being his little spy. She'd have been an exceptional member of the Hades Club had women been allowed to join but then there was also the fact that she was very French and common.

For a long time they ate in silence. Yet it was far from awkward, at least for him. Even in the silence Wessex found himself enjoying her company. Another rarity. He uses flitted from woman to woman. Especially when they started to get clingy. Maybe, it was the knowing that they could never be lovers. She was a French spy who was to be a prisoner of war. That set the hard lines that one could not cross. However that did not mean that for now that she couldn't enjoy her intellect and her unusual personality that he found rather appealing.

"That dress suits you very well." He ventured after some time when he felt like talking. "I think it was originally meant for the Comtesse Savoy or . . . was it the Vicomtesse Frontenay? I forget. Either way, it looks far better on you. You look exquisite, though, personally, I much preferred you in your rather . . . scant attire." Roarke are grinned at her, the look in his eyes was almost caressing and completely indecent. "I think the maids are enjoying someone to play dress up with Addie."

Although he spoke the truth, he thought buttering her up a little couldn't hurt for he was sure what he was about to tell her next would not be taken at all well by his like French espion. The night had been long and what he discovered from what he had taken was far too valuable to be kept upon him, and yet no one could be trusted to get this to the right people thus, his plans had greatly altered. "But fashion is hardly why I wanted to talk to you Addie." The Marquess slid forward in his seat and leaned closer, the bacon on his fork still in his hands. "I was thinking that it would be less hassle for me not to tell you but then that would be rather cruel." He began hoping she would not make him regret telling her. "My schedule has moved forward quite some. Now the maid's will do everything for you. Our departure will be tonight. So say goodbye to Paris mon cher. We'll be in London the day after next."

Fortunately, he did not have to wait for the onslaughter or tirade that was headed his way from his lovely guest for Annette knocked and ventured into the room. You angel! Roarke thought, thinking he could kiss the damned old woman. Her interruptions usually annoyed him, especially when she started prattling on about something or another. He supposed he owed it to be more patient with her from here on out.

"My Lord, Madam, terribly sorry to interrupt your breakfast but the Seamstress is here. Where shall I put her?" Annette asked looking between the two but her gaze settled on Addie whom Annette had rather presumptuously suspected of being her future mistress and the mistress of this household. Ergo, she waited for Addie to give her an answer. Roarke simply gestured to Addie, a gesture that simply state: it is up to you mon cher.

"Mayhaps, the morning room mon chéri?" He suggested with a wicked smile, taking Addie's hand with a lovers touch and pressing his lips to the back of it; providing fodder upon which the staff could titillate and speculate. It was a service on his part, it provided their otherwise dull lives with some much needed entertainment.

 

[LeatrixSage]

“I barely slept at all, actually,” Addie smiled pleasantly at the wink he gave her, stubbornly ignoring his smirk as she took her seat. “Just a small nap before dawn, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about stabbing you in your sleep a time or two.”

She returned the wink he had given her, and then settled her arms on the table as she began to eat. Aright, yes, Adelaide knew that putting her arms on the table was uncouth, but that was rather the point. She even crossed her legs at the knees instead of at the ankles, allowing her dress to lift and show off her ankles and calves. These were basic breaks in propriety that even the common would raise their eyebrows at. It bordered on lewdness, and she was doing it on purpose.

She didn’t mind the silence that settled between them. Although, he didn’t seem to mind, either. The man must still believe himself to have the upper hand. All right, fine, she could allow him that. If anything, a man that was confident with his position as the one in charge wasn’t given to being careful about where he stepped. The more he underestimated her, the more power he put in her hands. She would let the peacock strut.

Addie raised her eyebrows at him when he complimented the dress, but the statement soured as he prattled on about the other woman, or women, he thought it might had been for. It made any generosity he showed for her no different than his usual practices of giving women gifts to get them to open their legs – or in her case, her secrets – for him to enjoy. She had to agree, however. She thought the dress looked lovely, even with the floral pattern. Or, maybe because that floral pattern was hand sewn into place. Each delicate flower was a little piece of artwork, and all together they created the illusion that Addie was a delicate creature.

“I agree,” she paused to reach over and steal the tea that Annette had set by Roarke’s plate, sipping the fine English tea with a little smile. “I’ve never seen a group of women so excited to do my hair.” Sitting back, Addie playfully tapped at the swell of her left breast, utterly amused by the fact that they seemed twice their usual size. “I don’t know, I think I rather enjoy the illusion. It looks like I actually have breasts. Without the corset, I barely have any boob at all.”

Addie sipped his tea one more time before she handed it back, giving him a little frown as she did. “Don’t you have any coffee? Tea is lovely, but coffee is much better for you after pulling an all-nighter.”

She didn’t wait for his answer before she turned her attention back to her plate. She was determined to be… problematic. But, not in the loud or defiant fashion. Oh no, Addie was going to be so sweet it was going to make his teeth hurt. So, she listened as he explained that they were leaving tonight. She supposed it didn’t really matter, accept for that she had to get back to the home of someone she didn’t know, but was somewhere here in Paris. But, Wessex would come back to Paris… he had to, because he died in Paris.

Adelaide was going to ask why his plans had changed, but then Annette came in to announce the arrival of the seamstress. When the woman looked to her to answer her question, Addie raised her eyebrows at the woman, and then turned her attention to Roarke. He suggested the morning room as he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. There was a wicked smile on his lips as they touched her skin, and she watched him narrowly as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Whether it was attraction or simply a heightened awareness, she wasn’t quite certain.

“The morning room should have the proper lighting,” Addie mused, too aware of how close Wessex was to dare looking away from him until she stood, and then delicately plucked his piece of bacon off his fork before she walked around him to gently press Annette back out of the room. “Tell her to get ready, Annette, Je serai là bientôt, merci.”

As she clicked the door shut behind the other woman, Addie paused to listen for the whispers of those listening just outside. There were so many ears, and she sighed as she turned to face the man. They heard what they heard, that was just going to have to be.

“You are going to have to make up your mind,” she told him, her amusement fading despite her smile. “One moment you flaunt the women you have fucked under my nose to try and insult me. The next, you dare to kiss my hand as if I mean something to you. Tu crois que je suis un espion français - Un théif, un menteur, un vrai disciple de Bonaparte. Vous allez devoir décider, monsieur, quelles seront vos intentions avec moi.”

Addie clasped her hands behind herself to hide their shaking as she smiled indulgently, the same way she would smile kindly at a stubborn child that refused to see reason. “If you plan to rape me, be on about it. I am aware that I am your prisoner, and as you said last night, I have nowhere to go, no one to help be, and no means to help myself. I will be pleasant, but I must ask you to decide what the nature of our association is, and then stick to it.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

Hearty manly laughter burst forth out of Roarke as she claimed to ponder the idea of stabbing him, not once but twice! Her sense of humour pleased him, though he was quite certain she was only half jesting. Nonetheless and even at his expense he could indeed enjoy such banter. Especially when it came from a creature that looked like she might wither and perish if he simply touched her. "I will have to sleep with one eye open while you are under my roof then." He continued to chortle and as she began to behave unladylike he simply raised a brow; watching with intelligent eyes to see where this was going.

She was testing her limits. Maybe he had been too accommodating with her. He supposed then it was his own fault she was acting up. The dungeon seeming more and more like a possibility. However, he yawned and realised he was simply tired and shouldn't let Adelaide Aedler put him out of sorts. After she replaced his cup of tea back next to his plate, he held her gaze as he sipped from the same cup. Mademoiselle Aedler had no idea she was competing with a pro at this game. Though, he had to give her a hand when she started touching and talking about her breast so lewdly as he almost choked on the now tepid tea. Wessex could not quite believe the lengths she would go to or had never met such a bawdy lady like her in his life. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not but quickly decided on not. He liked his ladies to be ladies in society. However when it came to the bedroom . . . That was an altogether different game.

His eyes shifted from the gorgeous pale hills of her breasts to Annette when the old woman had entered. Addie's hand in his his. Her gaze locked on his until she addressed Annette and then arose to shoo the old maid out of the room. Slouching in his seat at an angle, One partially bejewelled hand covering the lower portion of his dark face he listened to her without inflection and with a raised brow.

God she was absolutely bloody stunning when she was trying to manoeuvre him in his own home! Roarke had to admit as he watched her like a cat watching it's prey. However, that did not mean he wasn't vexed with her accusations, nor did he particularly appreciate the way she was speaking to him. He was the master of this household and if she didn't know her place, then she would learn it. Simply because he indulged her whims did not mean she could act out of turn towards him. She clearly a lady of some good standing and she would be acting as such. When she finished her tirade, he simply sat there for a long unnerving moment. His dark gaze fixed upon her delicious form. It was certainly a change to host such an attractive and somewhat formidable foe for once.

"I assure you Addie," He finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble; restrained but holding a sharp edge to his words. The Marquess rose from his seat. Slowly moving around the table and walked towards her as he continued. His riding boots echoing against the hard wooden floors. "My decisions and my intentions were indeed made, as you say, the very moment I laid eyes upon you."

It was not long before Roarke was upon her. Trapping her between the door and his large looming form, one hand resting above her head against the door frame. His lips moved to her ear. His words nothing but a harsh, hot whisper against her fair skin. "As for my carnal desires, be sure Mademoiselle, if and when you share my bed, it will be because you, my sweet Addie, want to be there." He turned his face slightly so he could look down and peer straight into her exotic eyes. "In fact, you'll be begging me for it." And with those final prophetical words, he swooped down, stealing another earth shattering embrace from her sweet lips. His hand behind her opening the door while the other clasped onto her upper arm, breaking off the passionate kiss as he swung the door open and manoeuvred her back and out. Servants squeaking at the unexpected opening of the door as they had tried to listen in on the happenings beyond in the breakfast room between their master and possible future mistress.

"Oh." His lean from pressed against the door as he spoke in English so the servant's could not understand and grin plastered against his roguish features. "You know, it's quite of amusing how you mentioned my thinking you a French spy in cahoots with Bonnie boy when I had mentioned no such thing. Intéressant . . . N'est-ce pas?" With that he slammed the door on her lovely face and went back to his breakfast. Of course he had alluded to it but never actually mentioned anything about espionage or Napoleon himself. It really was interesting indeed . . .


Annette had practically shrieked when her master had suddenly opened the door. She had chided the maids for listening but had quickly joined them. The mistress to be was certainly of a fiery sort, she thought to herself but she was certain the girl would do her master some good. He, in her opinion certainly needed some reigning in and only the hand of a good woman could do that. That however, did not mean it would be an easy job for Mademoiselle Aedler and indeed, she did not envy the woman. Annette frowned when Lord Wessex spoke in English. She couldn't understand the crass tongue! When he was gone she turned to Addie with a smile. "Madam. Come, follow me if you please."

The little old lady led Addie through the maze of a house until they reached the morning room and a woman with black hair peppered with a good dose of grey sat up right in a fine down. The woman could not be more than forty years old. She smiled brightly and stood up and curtsied when Addie entered behind the maid.

"Bonjour Madam Galae!" Annette greeted the seamstress cheerily; clearly boasting an acquaintance.

"Bonjour Annette!" Madam Galae returned, her eyes quickly shifting to Addie's. "Is this my Lord's latest conquest?" She asked Annette coquettishly, displaying the charms French women were known for. She was certainly intrigued by this new creature that the notorious Wessex had bought home. After all, it was not long ago that he was seeing that horrible demanding Spaniard that Madam Galae would rather forget. "I know all the ladies of gay Paris but . . . I do not know you Madam?"

 

[LeatrixSage]

Don’t fidget, Addie. No, don’t look away! Just wait.

Breath.

Adelaide maintained a cool, calm, and collected façade while she waited for Roarke to react. She kept her breathing slow and measured, her hands clasped behind her back, and watched him with a stern and unwavering regard. All to hide the fact that, while she was confident she had stepped on his toes, and certain he didn’t want to cause her harm, she was nervous about what he might do.

When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, and controlled. As he rose from his chair, the very real urge to bolt from the room and run just as fast as she could in the opposite direction weighed heavily on Addie, but she stood her ground as he approached. He acknowledged that he had already decided what he meant to do with, or about, her existence, but refrained from explaining just what those intentions were.

He used his larger form to attempt to press her back, but she stubbornly refused to lean back against the door as he rested one hand on the door frame behind her head. The warmth of his seemed to radiate through his clothes and seep into her, making it impossible to ignore just how close his body was to hers. And yet, he never even touched the fabric of her dress. Addie tilted her head back to look up at him, her face calm and blank despite the shrill alarms going off in the back of her mind, but she held her breath as he bent down to brush his lips against her ear as he whispered to her.

"As for my carnal desires, be sure Mademoiselle, if and when you share my bed, it will be because you, my sweet Addie, want to be there." Addie felt her cheeks warm as he spoke, both in response to his words and the way her neck seemed to tingle as his breath fanned against her skin. He pulled back just enough that he could stare down at her, and his final statement made her eyebrows raise haughtily.

"In fact, you'll be begging me for it."

“Pompous as-“the insult didn’t make it past her lips before they were crushed beneath Roarke’s. Addie gasped beneath his kiss, her hands coming up to press against his chest, and then he was pushing her out of the room and into the hallway. She was vaguely aware of servants scattering in all direction, but she could barely hear them over her own heart pounding away in her ears. He went on to point out that he had never said he believed she was a spy, but the fact that he pointed it out made her smirk at him just before he slammed the door in her face.

“Thank you for admitting it,” Addie sighed as she ran her hands down the front of her dress, soothing herself while she collected her thoughts. A quick glance behind her told her right away that at least some of the servants were still watching, and she playfully wiggled her fingers at them to make them giggle. And then, Annette was there, and smiling broadly. She beckoned Addie away from the breakfast room and led her into the morning room. As she had guessed, the room faced east, and a lengthy line of tall, but narrow windows filled the room with sunlight.

“Ah, no, Madam Galae, not at all,” Addie smiled indulgently at the pair of women, but stood awkwardly between them, “to both questions. Paris has only been my home for a brief time, and the Marquee is not a conqueror. He is just a man that slides beneath the skirt that lifts the easiest. Please, call me Addie.”

The pair of women shared a look, and then turned their attention back to Adelaide. It was like being stared down by her mother, and it made her want to squirm.

“So,” she hedged, moving over to the collection of fabric the seamstress had brought with her. “Wessex told me I am to pick out a fabric for a young girl, and then something for myself, yes? He also just informed me that his plans have been changed and we’ll be leaving tonight to catch a ship bound for marry-old England. Will the dresses be shipped to us when they are done?”

“Leaving tonight? To England?” Annette repeated, and Addie blushed. She had forgotten that Wessex kept his servants in the dark… but the maid only sighed and smiled as if it were exactly what she expected, and Adelaide felt herself relax.

“Yes, he just told me over breakfast,” she went on as she shifted bolts of cloth.

“Of course we can have them shipped,” the seamstress spoke as she stepped forward to help Addie browse. “What address will it be sent to?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered honestly as she picked up a delicate cloth that seemed pink in the sunlight, but then turned peach as Addie moved it, almost as if it were iridescent. “I think this one for the young girl.”

“That’s a fine choice, Addie,” Madam Galae took the bolt aside and pinned a piece of paper to it. “I will have to have an address that I can send the gowns to when they are done,” she went on pointedly, and while Annette gave the woman an exasperated look, Addie just waved it off.

“Don’t worry about it, Annette, that is Roarke’s problem to solve,” Addie was feeling a little more comfortable with herself and the women as she dug out a dark blue bolt of fabric and held a piece up to examine. “Ah, this will be lovely. No lace, no riffles, just this with a compliment of…” Addie leaned across the piles to snag a soft, cream yellow fabric to lay it across the blue. “This will be a fine accent. Very French, don’t you think?”

“Very,” Madam Galae seemed to beam as she collected the bolts, made some notes, and then pinned them to the fabric. “See if you can get me that address, Annette knows where my shop is, she will be sure to get it to me.”

“Oh, of course,” Annette agreed, giving Addie a warm smile.

Something was off. Adelaide couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt like she had made a mistake. Neither of the other women were about to correct her, so she tried to ignore the feeling.

“I will see what I can do,” she promised as the older woman collected her things and Annette brought in a few of the girls from before to help carry all the bolts of fabric out to Madam Galae’s carriage.

As they all walked out into the hall and to the front door, the Madam pulled Addie in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. As she pulled away, the left shoulder of Addie’s dress was caught on the woman’s glove and pulled down. Her eyes caught sight of the small, French royal symbol on Addie’s left shoulder, and for a moment, the color drained from Madam Galae’s face. And then, her gaze met Addie’s, and a broad smile slowly twisted up the corners of her lips.

“Keep that covered,” the woman murmured as she pulled Adelaide’s dress back into place. The woman glanced around to be sure no one else was paying attention, and then leaned in close to whisper, “at least until you’re free of the English man.”

Frowning, Addie watched the woman scurry out of the house as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. She reached over her shoulder to touch where her tattoo was barely concealed by the back of the dress and wondered why exactly it had gotten such a response.

“Must be strange to see a woman with a tattoo in the 1800’s,” Addie murmured to herself, and then chuckled. Leaning against the frame of the front double doors, she ignored the strangeness of it while she waited for Annette to come tell her what to do next.

 

[ScarlettRose]

Breakfast. The most important meal of the day had been ruined as he slumped back down onto his seat. He was tired and she was utterly infuriating and this game they were playing had him very uncomfortable in his breeches for him to enjoy breakfast. Wessex sipped his now ice cold tea before slamming the china down making it clatter and it was only a miracle the fine ceramic survived as he roared to the footman to fetch him a fresh brew.

As he waited, Roarke contemplated how utterly long this journey to back to England was going to be with this fiery vixen along for the ride. He'd have been better to just cage her up and bring her back like that. At least then she would be less of a pain in his arse. But then, he had to admit rather annoyingly he'd miss her virago like temperament. It was indeed rare that he enjoyed a woman's company. Of course, he could cope with a woman's chatter when he was bedding them but outside of that he found most women as vapid and uninteresting as was society's rule for them he supposed.

A freckled young maid with bright orange hair that was adorned into a loose plait came in with the fresh pot of tea. She was a silly creature with unspent laughter in her almond shaped eyes. She replaced the pot and poured him a fresh cup of tea. Roarke watched her before he addressed her. "Mademoiselle Aedler is entertaining you I see, oui?" He questioned her in French.

"Oui My Lord she is very funny." She answered standing up straight, her pale hands clasped before her. He was well aware of the females in his employee were romantic ninny's who fancied every woman who passed through his doors as his next potential spouse.

"Do you think funny is a good quality in a wife?" He questioned her further conversationally which only made the girl's thin eyebrows shoot up into her hairline as she gasped. He was clearly bringing her fantasies to life. After all, if he married right here in this house that would mean they'd get to enjoy the wedding too.

"My Lord, I think humour is very important in a future wife." She pressed, her excitement barely contained and gave her master the impression that if it was up to her he'd be getting wed this very moment! "Though Mademoiselle is very pretty my Lord, looks fade and then it is good to have a wife who's company you can enjoy when her beauty has faded."

Roarke was rather surprised and impressed by the logical and rational response from this young girl. He looked upon her with a growing grin, his hand coming to rub his day old stubbled chin. When he said nothing she became nervous and added, " . . . M-Madame Annette says that Mademoiselle Addie is most suited to you out of all the wome- err that is to say my Lord all of your lady friends she has met."

"Indeed." Wessex continues to grin at the flustered maid. It was certainly interesting to know the fodder and gossip his staff believed about him. Or maybe he was simply procrastinating from the trials ahead of him. "And what would wear to such an occasion as my nuptials?"

"Oh my Lord a lovely bonnet and my finest dress!" She exclaimed happily.

"Absolument!" Wessex replied, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a note, opening her small fisted hand and curving her fingers around it before picking up his cup and drinking his tea. "There, buy yourself a new dress and bonnet." He told the young girl who could not be more than thirteen years; rewarding her for entertaining him but most of all for her excellent and clever answer. "Now go." He shooed her away and she did not need to be told twice and she buoyantly skipped off with her bounty. "Merci beaucoup my Lord!"

--

The young maid glided up next to Annette and Addie's side as they waved the Seamstress off. She was practically bursting with glee. She simply could not wait to tell Annette what had happened.

"Annette! Annette!" She whispered breathlessly. "Look!"

"What is it child?!" Annette chided before gasping as her eyes settled on the note. "Mon Dieu! Where did you get that from Christine?!"

"My Lord gave it to me!" Christine replied, her excitement showing no signs of dying down. "To buy a new dress and bonnet . . . for his wedding!" She tried to squeak quietly but failed. "A wedding Annette! How exciting! I'm sure my Lord will give us a bonus and we shall feast like Kings!"

Annette looked shocked, her gaze slowly moving to Addie and simply staring at her for a long moment before she managed a nervous smile. "Indeed. I do not doubt it." Before her composure was back in place and she directed them. "Come Mademoiselle. We must prepare you for your journey non?" Bestowing her motherly smile and intentions upon Addie once more. "Come along now my dear."

--

In the magical silence the Marquess nursed his much needed tea and wondered why every woman in his life was so hellbent with sending him to his doom down the aisle. He couldn't understand this absurd obsession with matrimony. Personally he hated the whole institution, it simply an invention by women to get a hold of a man's fortune and to tie him down by a string until death doth thou part. There was no woman alive that was capable of inducing him to such madness and with that final thought Roarke rose to his feet and went about his day making the final preparations for his departure with Mademoiselle Aedler.

There was in fact even time for a nap. God only knew how the journey would have fared if he did not have a little sleep. However fortunately for Adelaide and his coachman he was in far better a mood after some rest. "Where is she?" Roarke barked in his usual manner. "Annette fetch Mademoiselle Aedler. Tell her I do not have all day."

"My Lord, a woman needs time to get ready." Annette assured her master as they stood in the glowing foyer before the grand staircase. The chandeliers had been lit and the double doors were open and it was clear night was setting in. "Can you not wait to journey in the morning my Lord?" Annette beseeched the Marquess. "Night is setting in so dark with the promise of rain."

"Annette when you become a navigator I will ask for your advice on my travel plans. Now do as I say and fetch that wretched wench!" Roarke roared.

He had already been waiting a good twenty minutes when he was told she'd be only five. Women! They were all the bloody same. The Marquess huffed and resigned himself to more waiting, standing tall in his fine riding attire. His whipping cracking against his leather riding boots. The carriage, the horses, everything was ready to go. "And if she is not down in five minutes or less!" His voice thundered up after Annette taking the stairs as quickly as she could to do his bidding. "Tell her I will come and fetch her myself! And damn well carry her if I have to!"

 

[LeatrixSage]

She had filled her day with following Annette around and putting her hand in helping the household meet the demands of their Lord. They had resisted her at first, one young lady had looked faint when Addie had folded a dress. But, after she explained that she didn’t know anyone, she couldn’t go anywhere, and there was absolutely nothing else for her to do, Annette relented. At least, on the grounds that Addie didn’t fold anything else. She did try to tell them, multiple times, that she wasn’t nobility, but they were having none of it. Apparently, her attempt at helping had proven she had no idea how to take care of the richly appointed dresses and gowns, and they didn’t believe that she had ever worked a day in her life.

Now that lunch and dinner had passed, she was beginning to regret her efforts. She felt the lack of sleep wearing on her like jetlag. Addie had hoped to do a little snooping while Wessex had napped, but Annette was damnably loyal and had kept Adelaide in check. The woman liked her, but she wasn’t about to allow Addie free reign of the house.

So, it was that she stood upstairs in her rooms, all dressed and ready for travel, with a couple of girls wringing their hands worriedly while their master bellowed from downstairs. Adelaide smirked as his voice boomed, his obvious irritation making up for the lack of the hot shower she was longing for.

“My lady, please,” one of the women began, but stopped when Addie turned to look at her. Their tension made her feel guilty. She was being petty, and stubborn, and childish, and she was comfortable with that. But, she didn’t like the stress she was causing them. She wanted to tell them to leave, but she’d already tried that. They just stayed and fidgeted. No wonder they were given to flights of fancy. Of course, Wessex wasn’t helping to curtail their wild ideas. Giving that young girl money for a dress for his wedding had made the whole house go mad. There were eyes everywhere, and they had all been on her, all day long.

Clever bastard.

And that was why she was going to sit right where she was for just as long as she could get away with it. If he was going to make her miserable, well, she could return the favor. At some point he’d have to confront her himself. When she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, Adelaide stood to face the door, but it was Annette that came in, and she sat back down as the woman frowned at her.

“You’re ready, then?” she huffed, her voice clipped in a way Addie hadn’t heard from her before.

“I am,” Addie admitted with a thin smile. The older woman’s eyes narrowed, and the two women that wouldn’t leave a moment before scurried out of the room just as quickly as they could. Adelaide folded her hands in her lap and flited her chin a notch to give the woman a haughty look, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“This is unreasonable,” she began in a stern, motherly tone, “you’re acting like a child. And, I promise you, it won’t end well for you. Imagine, if you will, the indignity of being carried out of this house, flung over the Lord’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Addie said uncertainly as she imagined bouncing painfully on the man’s shoulder as he carried her down the stairs. “He’s a rake, certainly, but he wouldn’t-“

“Oh, Oui, he would,” Annette cut her off, her voice cold, but pleading. “He has done it before, Mademoiselle. He will do it again, I promise you that.”

“Fuck me sideways,” Addie huffed as her shoulder drooped.

Annette blushed at her language, and then began to grin. “He very may well if you keep acting the way you do.”

They both began to laugh, and then they heard a shout, and what had to be Wessex thundering up the stairs. In a flurry of motion, Addie snatched the chestnut brown hat she had been given to go along with the rich, traveling coat they had given her to wear over her dress. She was wearing so many layers of clothing, she was surprised she wasn’t suffocating under it all. Or that she could cross the room so quickly. Annette pulled the door open and Addie stepped out just in time to catch Wessex taking the final few steps in a single stride, and then stopping in his tracks as she came down the hall to meet him.

“ Pardonnez-moi, mon Seigneur,” she spoke pleasantly as she placed the hat over her carefully coifed hair, holding it in place with one hand while Annette followed her, trying to pin it into place. “The night is still young, nothing is fucked, and we are on our way.”

Addie gave him a wink as she passed him, trotting down the stairs as a sharp pace to leave him behind. It was satisfying to be the first out the front door. But, as soon as she stopped, Annette was upon her with hairpins that must had materialized out of thin air. She pinned Addie’s hat in place, and then gave her a quick, but warm hug.

“Don’t test him so much,” the older woman whispered as she held Addie at arm’s length. “He is a good man. Let him be, and he will surprise you.” She quickly kissed each of Addie’s cheeks, and then hurried back inside just as Wessex reached the door, leaving Addie standing on the front steps, staring after her in wonder.

 

[ScarlettRose]

She was becoming an utter nuisance! Roarke huffed to himself. He was hardly used to waiting on the fairer sex, rather he was used to them dancing to his tune. However, Adelaide Aedler was not like any woman he had ever met in his damned life! It already felt like she'd been with him a lifetime and it had only been but one day! Like a noose around his neck. A rather pretty noose at that but a damned demanding one and he was certain she was irritating him on purpose.

The Marquess had had enough of waiting on his errant guest and began taking the stairs, three steps at a time when a flurry of feminine ruffles could be heard at the top of the stairs and Adelaide glided down with Annette hot on her tail. He stopped and glowered down at her and her filthy mouth that he was finding uncommonly attractive. His narrowed gaze spoke in volumes of how very fortunate she was that he had not reached the top.

He let her carry on past him as he gave the servants a few instructions in regarding somethings that must be seen to while he was away and where to forward any correspondence. When Annette was back at his side and somewhat tearful, he shared with woman a motherly hug. "Don't ball so Annette, you will be glad I am out of your hair and out from under your feet." He teased the old woman as he smiled upon his staff. "I have instructed Monsieur Laurent to provide you all with double pay for the coming month for putting up with me and my brutish ways."

"Oh! My Lord! It was no trouble at all." Annette sniffled. "You are far too kind as always."

"I am aren't I?" He grinned, jestingly making all the servants laugh. "It is a great down fall of mine. Now come! I must be away and I will be back sooner than any of you would like." He winked with a smile as he gently pinched Christine the young maid's cheek to whom he'd earlier eluded to about his supposed nuptials. "Mademoiselle Christine you will have all preparations ready for my return and big day non?"

"Oui! Oui! Mon Seigneur!" The child replied excited.

"Good! Now I bid you all au revoir." And with that he stepped out the doors of Chateau De Lacey.

"Au revoir my Lord and safe journey." A chorus followed behind him. "May the good Lord bless you and my Lady."

Indeed he was sad go. He was not in France under the best circumstances but he knew with him not here there was no certainty of safety for the good people under his employee and that was a weight heavy upon his heart. Nonetheless, he had a job to do which was much bigger when all was considered. Wessex's bright blue eyes did not leave Addie's face as he stalked towards her in the dark. There was little light but that from the lanterns of the carriage itself. When he was upon her, he opened the carriage door for her offering her his hand. When she took it to alight onto the vehicle, his lips once more were pressed to her ear. "Nothing maybe fucked quite yet." Addressing her earlier comment. "But you might be."

His grinned could be felt against her skin but he let her carry onto the carriage. She could not continually vex him to the point of being unbearably hard and not expect him to bite back. Closing the carriage door behind her, his gaze held hers for a long moment before he moved to the front of the carriage where he gave instructions to finely liveried driver and the footman.

The journey to Calais saw no reason to be anything but smooth and they would be there by the early hours of the morning. It would be another sleepless night for him but the guise of darkness would aid their retreat across the channel. Roarke moved forward petting his stallion before mounting the gallant steed whom looked appeared a nightmare horse with his coat as dark as the night coming upon them. The Marquess signalled the carriage to move and soon found himself riding besides it.

"Make yourself comfortable mon cheri." Roarke said through the window. "It is a short journey but will take most of the night." Before letting the ornate carriage with the Wessex arms speed on ahead as he road behind it at a little distance. Was he paranoid? Always. Though, as far as the Marquess was concerned there was absolutely no reason that there should be any impediment in their journey but years of training still had him looking for any signs of troubles.

Of course, there was always the fact, that he wasn't entirely certain he'd be able to contain himself in a small confined space with that exceedingly attractive sharp tongue harpy. He smirked to himself at the thought of utterly compromising Adelaide in the back of his carriage. She responded far too ardently to his kisses . . . That was the problem. He would not be able to stop himself if he went down that path and that was exactly why he was on the back of Pooka here instead of inside the warmth of that carriage on this crisp night. Even if Mademoiselle Aedler was up for a little tryst with him it was not a sound idea at all seeing as she was the enemy though she denied it ardently.

The night had worn on and The Marquess of Wessex was still in deep thought about his petulant little prison. They were half way to Calais when Roarke's chain of thought was disturbed. From the right, not too far in the distance could be heard the angry gallop of a horse. Wessex's grip tightened on his reigns as he urged Pooka forward faster. There was an uneasiness creeping up his spine and his feelings on these matters had never been wrong in the past. He thought of Adelaide in that carriage and urgent Pooka, pushing the stallion to his limits.

The palatable feeling of something being very wrong manifested to life when Roarke was just open the carriage and a great brown horse appeared out of the dead of the night to the right. The rider's face was covered by a bandanna but it was clear the man was no thief, far too finely dressed. Roarke knew instantly who the fiend who accosted them was. The enemy rider had not realised Roarke's presence as he pulled a elegant gun out and pointed through the window of the carriage.

The Marquess's heart pounded harder in his chest at the sight. However, training took over and he thought of nought but the actions he had to take in that very moment. He wasted no time twisting the reigns around his grip and swinging to the side of Pooka as he thundered forward keeping up with the carriage. As he swung Roarke kicked the gun from the clasp of the unsuspecting gunman.

"You bastard!" The man spat from beneath his bandanna in the finest french as Roarke swung back into his saddle. "You're dead! Compliments of Monsieur Murat!"

"I'm hurt." Roarke replied in a fictitious manner or injury from the pronouncement. "I believe Monsieur Murat and I were dear friends."

"You're a thief, traitor and a dirty English bastard." The adversary on horse back yelled as the both men rode dangerously, hither and fro, both trying to unmount the other but both equally matched in skill.

"I accept all the accusations except bastard." Roarke shouted back congenially, trying to vex the man into losing his attention long enough for Roarke to fell him from his horse. "My mother assured me my father is the man she was married to."

The man roared unamused pulling out another gun. He shot in Roarke's direction. The Marquee grunted and hissed, his hand going to his side where a warm wetness met his fingertips. Yet his eyes had not left his prey. The backfire from the shot had unsettle the rider and with one arm strong arm, Roarke reached to the side of him pulling the reigns of the horse beside him forcing the horse to move closer to his own; Roarke dismounted the rider with one heavy boot to the chest and the sickening sound of the man being trampled beneath the hoofs of two stallions at full gallop was the last sound to be heard in the night as the horses and carriage rolled quickly to a stop.

 

[LeatrixSage]

Adelaide was left to pick at the gloves Annette had insisted she wear while she waited for Roarke. It didn’t take long for him to appear, but long enough that she was beginning to be really annoyed with being covered in clothing from her neck to her fingertips and toes. Hat, gloves, heels, stockings, chemise, petticoats, corset, the soft, mint-green dress, and then the russet brown traveler’s coat. God help her, but just breathing was something of a chore. Hell would freeze over before she wore it all on a boat, but just what else she was going to wear in its place was a damn good question. All in all, it was very English. French fashion wouldn’t reemerge as the leading style until after Bonaparte declared himself emperor. At least the chemisette would soon be the very height of fashion.

What I wouldn’t do for a simple pair of jeans, though.

She looked up when she heard the servants wishing their Lord farewell and was surprised to find Wessex’s attention intently locked on to her. The lantern light made it appear like blue flames were dancing in his eyes, and in his long, dark coat, one could mistake him for a blue-eyed demon stalking through the shadows of the night. He reached past her to open the carriage door, and then offered his hand to help her up. Without thinking, she took it while she tried to gather her skirts with the other hand and get her foot on the little step meant to help her hop into the coach. Just as she was about to attempt it, Wessex bent down so that his breath fanned against her neck.

Adelaide froze as a warm chill ran down her spine. He was only doing it because he knew it got under her skin, but that didn’t stop her heart from tripping over itself, or the blush that rushed up her neck and into her cheeks as his lips brushed against her ear. She smiled as he whispered to her. She hadn’t though her loose language might seem shocking to the man, but it was amusing to have him throw the word back at her. She felt his grin against the side of her neck, and her fingers twitched in his hand as he lifted her into the carriage. He pressed the door closed behind her, and Addie turned to watch him in surprise before slowly sinking down onto one of the bench seats.

“You aren’t riding with me, then?” she asked indirectly, more afraid about what could happen to her in this day and age without some male benefactor or protector than what could happen to her at his hands. In truth, she was too amused by the man to be afraid of him. For all his bluster, all his threats, he had no idea how to respond to a woman that didn’t act like the ladies he was accustomed to. His grin seemed to be the only answer he would give her as he left to speak to the driver and the footman. She watched the men speak, and then Roarke stepped away to accept the reins of the horse she’d spotted him riding early that morning. She had to admire the striking figure he cut on horseback. The man really was quite handsome, and Addie absently wondered what might be hidden under the layers of finery he wore.

Leaning over to peer through the window, he told her to make herself comfortable, to which she laughed. “In this get up, comfort is wishful thinking,” Giving him a little wink, Addie pulled the curtains closed, and then promptly fell over as the carriage lurched into motion. Adelaide had to fight with how the corset kept her back rigidly straight as she tried to sit up again. She had to learn how to keep her balance, and they were well on their way by the time she figured out how to lean into the corner to rest her head against the softly padded interior.

As the carriage creaked along, gently rocking her back and forth all the while, her exhaustion began to creep up on her. Waking up to Wessex hauling her bodily out of the coach wasn’t something she wanted to risk, but her eyes kept drooping closed against her will. At some point she was certain she dozed off, because when she closed her eyes, all there was to hear was the creaking of the carriage, the soft plodding of the horse’s marching at a quick canter, and crickets. When she opened her eyes, she could hear hooves eating up the earth at a quick pace.

Uneasiness made her sit still as she listened, and then that unease threatened to become panic as she heard the driver shout, the crack of a whip, and the horses launched into a full gallop. The carriage bounced and jerked, tossing Adelaide onto the floor. She slid from the seat to land on her ass and was just pulling herself onto her knees when cold metal clanked against solid wood and she looked up… right into the barrel of gun.

“Qui es-tu?” a cold, muffled voice snapped in the most flawless French she had ever heard, and Addie’s eyes were drawn beyond the gun to the a pair pf piercing green eyes in a face that was hidden by a dark bandana. “Où est Wessex? Réponds-moi, femme!”

“Je ne sais pas,” telling people ‘I don’t know,’ was quickly becoming Addie’s catch phrase, and she was sick of it. Her eyes dropped to the gun, and then back to the man, as she braced herself for the tearing, searing pain of a led ball ripping through her flesh. “Et je ne te dirais pas si je l'ai fait.”

The man’s eyes narrowed in anger, and then a booted foot connected with his wrist, smacking it into the end of the window, and the dueling pistol clattered onto the floor in front of Addie. The woman had never handled a firearm a single time in her life, but she understood the principle: point the gun at what you want to go away and pull the trigger. Addie tore the curtains back from the window and looked out in time to see Wessex struggling with the horseman. She could hear them yelling, but not what they said, over the thunder of the horse’s hooves. As they struggled together, the idea of trying to shoot the man died for fear of shooting Wessex instead.

There was a spark, a pop, and then a bang like a thunderclap as smoke erupted between the two men. Ears ringing, Addie dropped the dueling pistol as she watched the other man fall and be trampled beneath the horses. A second later the carriage rocked hard as they came to a quick stop, but Adelaide had the door open and she was falling out of the carriage before it came to a stop. She hit the ground with a huff, dirt from the road puffing up around her while the footman hopped down to try to help her. She let him lift her to her feet, and then pushed him off of her as she went to the Marquee.

“Roarke,” she shouted at him, her ears still ringing. He’d never actually told her his name, but she didn’t care to be careful. Her heart was thundering away in her throat, and all she could think about was the need to make sure he was still in one piece. The man swayed a touch on the back of his horse, and Addie reached up to steady him. He winced when her hand hit his side, and while she was sure he was trying to tell her that she was fine, warm liquid had already begun to seep into her thing gloves.

“Get him down,” she snapped at the footman. Both men meant to stop her, and then Addie turned to star down the footman, a wild light in her eyes. “J'ai dit de le descendre du putain de cheval! He can’t ride with lead in his side.”

Whatever protests Roarke offered, Adelaide outright ignored him. Dawn couldn’t have been far off, not with the night sky so dark and the moon long gone. Calais had to be close. At least, she hoped it would be. With the powerful man helped into the carriage, Addie handed the reins of the other two horses to the footman for him to manage while she climbed back into the carriage with him. She kicked the dueling pistol as she stepped in, and then picked it up to set it next the Wessex. The roomy space suddenly felt cramped and tight, and it was difficult for Addie to move with all the damn skirts that was in her way.

“God damn this dress,” Addie hissed as she yanked her gloves off, and then her hat. She tugged several pins from her hair, leaving the carefully tended curls in an absolute mess as she threw it all out the window and the carriage lurched into motion.

“Okay,” Addie yanked the traveling jacket off, tearing one of the selves in her struggle to get it off. She ripped the rest of the stitching once she had it off, and then leaned over Roarke.

“Hold still,” she fussed at him as she pulled his long coat open. The sight of the blood that was leaking through his shirt made her stomach do a flip, and she felt her face drain of color as she reached out with shaking hands to flit his shirt and vest from his skin and then press the torn sleeve down hard over the wound.

“I am sure you would prefer I say this under different circumstance, mon Seigneur,” she teased, more to distract her own mind from what she was doing than his from the pain. “But, I am going to need to take off some of clothing off to see how bad this is.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

The Marquess of Wessex wished he could say that one simply became accustomed to being shot. However, that was far from the case. At least the jeering pain in his side was not too shocking as he knew what to expect. It was hardly the first time he'd been shot but of course there was always the very real possibility that it maybe the last. Moment's of strife like these always seemed to hurl time forward pretty fast. One moment he was engaged in a fight for survival with a fiend and the next he was atop his steed in the cold silent dead of night. Of course, it wasn't silent for too long.

Roarke had the faint realisation of Adelaide hurtling out of the carriage as it rolled to a stop. The ringing from the shot was still vibrating in his ears as he tried to tell the blasted woman to stop being so damned hysterical and that he was perfectly fine. He should have known better as his complaints fell of deaf ears and the next thing he knew his men were man handling him off Pooka and into the damned carriage. Wessex gritted his teeth against the sharp pain as he was shifted.

Slumped in a corner, bleeding all over the fine upholstery he watched out the window as his fiery captive took command of the situation. She was becoming an utter enigma to him. He had caught the conversation between her and their attacker and it left him bewildered. It anything, Roarke suspected she would have taken the first shot at escape with her people however, the absolute opposite was the case . . . It was puzzling to say the least and made the Marquess rethink upon her story. Yet, there was still something . . . not quite right with Mademoiselle Aedler.

Despite the Marquess' trepidation in regards to his errant detainee as soon as she stepped back into the carriage and despite his injury he found his mood turning playful. Especially to put her at ease when he witnessed her face drain and her hands shake slightly at the sight of his wound. Clearly, she was a woman not used to such a devastating sight which again made him wonder about whether she truly was who he thought she was . . .

"I know how very disappointed you were when I was not riding with you." Roarke teased through the pain, observing her every move as she undid her dark splendours locks, letting them cascade down the arch of her back to tearing off her coat, lifting his clothing and pressed it against his wound nursing him. "I thought I'd indulge you in the joys now." His deep blue gaze never left her face in the lamp light as he stretched his long legs across the space in front.

What the devil was he to do with such an enticing creature . . . However he was to proceed, Roarke was certain it was to be away from the audience of his servants. Plus, there was the fact that they were running on a tight schedule that they were already falling behind on thanks to the intrusion of their visitor. Peering out the window once more, Roarke bid his men to come over. "You two, ride on ahead." The Marquess instructed the two young strapping footmen. "On the steeds. Tell my friends to have the boat ready for our arrival. I want no delays."

"Oui mon Seigneur." They bowed and went off to do their master's bidding while Roarke told the carriage driver to press forward. Thus the carriage lurched forward in the lifting dark of the night. The Open windows admitting a much needed cool breeze to his damp skin.

When Adelaide spoke again Roarke found himself laughing merrily and instantly regretting it, once more gritting against the pain in his side. Though the grin did not leave his lips. He looked drained and almost boy like in the features of his face as he swiped her hand away with the cloth that was pressed against his oozing wound to examine the aftermath. "I fear my sweet, I must disappoint you. As much as you need any excuse to see me disrobed I cannot oblige you." Roarke grinned wider as he relaxed back in the cushioned carriage seats. "I am in no danger, see." Taking her hand by the wrist, ever so slowly, even seductively in manner one might say, finger by finger he pulled off her blood soaked glove and then brushed her silky soft fingertips across the small round wound to his side and then slowly back around, trailing against his skin to the round wound on the parallel side of his back. "Out."

The bullet had gone straight throw. Any immediate danger had been averted for the time being, though the bleeding was still prevalent it had slowed considerably but Wessex could hardly think of that when her skin against his was scorching fire wherever she touched. His breath had quickened and his gaze had narrowed on the object of his desire. Wounded or not, the Marquee was very capable at this very moment of sating his appetite. Had he ever laid eyes on such a perfect creature in his entire life? He was certain he had not.

Wessex's long fingers abruptly coiled in Addie's long dark locks, pulling her forward so her pretty face was but a breath from his. Glowering into the pools of her eyes. The sudden memory of the pistol pointed through the window of the carriage prompting the Marquess to tight his grip in the mass of her midnight hair. "In the future, if someone asks you where I am you tell them you stupid woman." In the next moment his lips were tasting hers. Urgent. Deep. Demanding. Consuming her very soul. Pulling his captive onto his lap. The pain at his side far to dim to over power this moment of pent up need for this fairy. This creature of myth.

His hand still tangled in her mane while the other hand travelled the course of her curves. Roarke groaned against her lips. The thought of some harm coming to her was something he could not tolerate for some unknown reason that the Marquess could not fathom. Harm due to him or her own stupidity, trying to protect him, though he still could not figure out why she of all people would do that. It hardly mattered at this very moment when he had her slight frame in his arms. She was safe now with him and that was all that mattered. His tongue demanded entrance pushing until he got what he wanted. Tasting her, running along that sharp silver tongue that could cut him in half if he riled her up enough.

Roarke could not get enough her. Yet, without warning, he pushed her off his lap, breaking their untamed embrace. "There. I'm sure that's more comfortable for you." He said, having loosened her corset while they had kissed. He was infamous in fact for having the talent of unlacing lady's corsets without removing their dresses. Before pointing to the seats across, he instructed her to lift them where she would find bandages to wrap him up and other assortments of important items. Amongst them being those parchment's taken from Monsieur Murat's home and a box tied with pink silk ribbons with a note attached that read: For Pippa, the prettiest girl in all of England.

He wanted to ravage her. Wanted to take her right now. Right this moment. Still . . . something held him back. And this was a first for Roarke. Never had be taken a step back with any woman he pursued but then again . . . Adelaide Aedler was hardly any woman and technically he wasn't pursuing her per-se . . . But oh how he wanted her . . . This was going to be the damned longest journey of his life!

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon as sleepy Calais came into view and with in the Channel that would take him home at long last. He could almost see in his mind's eye the white cliffs of Dover. The welcoming sign of his homeland . . .

"You'll earn your keep Mademoiselle Aedler."

 

[LeatrixSage]

Despite herself, Addie had laughed.

It was a small, hesitant sound, but at such a counterpoint to the aftermath that adrenaline was reeking on her that it sounded loud and out of place to her own ears. The fact that the man had very much not wanted to be unseated and packed into the carriage made his little joke that much more amusing. She had shifted out of his way as he settled his legs onto the bench seat that was her perch and sat precariously while she tried to stem his bleeding.

He laughed at her teasing, but they both regretted it. Roarke for the pain that made him wince, and Addie for the blood that oozed past her fingers. He looked weak, even if his skin was hot and his face was still flushed with color. Adrenaline was keeping the man going just as surely as it was sustaining her nerves. The pain wasn’t all consuming, at least, judging on his sense of humor still existing. That was comforting to know, even if he was bleeding everywhere and clearly need the kind of medical care that simply didn’t exist yet. Sure, she knew some basic first aid, but she didn’t have a bag of quick-clot to dump into the wound to seal it up before a doctor could stitch him closed.

She resisted slightly when he lifted one of her hands, mostly because she didn’t want to let up on the pressure that was keeping his bleeding under control. With a delicate slowness, he pulled at her glove with one hand while the other held her wrist captive. His movements were delicate, almost thoughtful, and they distracted her mind from the adrenaline laced panic that had been building now that the immediate danger had passed them by. Despite the fact that she tried to pull her hand back, he gently pressed her fingertips to the wound at his side, and then glided them around his back to where a similar whole had been made.

Her stomach heaved, and Addie took a slow, deep breath as she insistently tugged her hand free from his grasp. Her skin was burning where he had touched her, and she rubbed her wrist as she tried to kill the sensation that was creeping up her arm. His skin was angry and torn, but he was right, the shot had gone straight through, and his chances of being poisoned by the lead was greatly reduced. Although, his chances for infection and blood poisoning were almost equally increased.

“Okay, well, at least I don’t have to go digging around in your side, then,” she smiled weakly as the idea of pushing her fingers into his wound to find the lead ball threatened to finally undo what was left of her resolve to not faint or be ill. And just as she thought she may need to lean out the window and let her stomach empty itself, Roarke slid a hand into her hair and coiled the long strands around his hand, and then he tugged her forward. Addie yelped as she tipped forward, falling from her precarious perch. To keep herself from landing against him, her hands came up. One landed against the back of the bench seat, the other against the back of the carriage above his head. His grip tightened as emotions she didn’t understand tightened the corners of his eyes and made his lips press tightly together. And then her jaw dropped in surprise at the order he gave her.

“No, I won-“her protests where smothered into nothing when Roarke used his grip on her hair to crush her mouth against his own. His kiss wasn’t cloying or cajoling the way others had been, but instead and urgent demand that tugged at her heart even as his other arm swept her up to drag her onto his lap. Her skirts bunched up between him as she straddled his legs, but she kept her body carefully lifted away from his own. She was too aware of his injury to relax against him, but she offered him no resistance as his free hand traveled down her side, over her hip, and then up her back. Maybe if her mind had been a little less in tatters, she might have recognized how he was assuring himself that she was whole and unharmed. Instead, she was caught up by the touch of his lips, the sound of his moan, and the slid of his tongue stroking across her own. For the first time, she answered him with a hunger to match his own. Addie wasn’t passively allowing her lips to move with his, she was devouring his passion with the same ravenous hunger that he consumed her with.

And then he set her firmly from his lap and onto the bench seat next to him.

Adelaide blinked at him while her mind worked to make sense of the world again. Just a few minutes ago she thought she was going to take a bullet for the man. Why had she done that? Why did a vice squeeze around her heart when he said her name? What made her skin burn when he touched her, and why was she wet aching for him after little more than a kiss?

The fuck is wrong with me?

Addie took it all and chocked it up to shock and instability. After all, she was a modern woman in the 1800’s, she’d almost died not ten minutes ago, and her only safety net in this world was bleeding out in front of her. She didn’t even notice that he’d loosened the stays of her corset through her dress until she bent over to lift the opposite seat and the fabric gave so that she could actually bend. She would have to try to figure out how he’d pulled that off some other time. She was surprised when she found some strips of cloth that would work for bandages, and an assortment of things she assumed where to come with them.

She had to get him to hold his shirt up while she wrapped the strips around his waist to try to hold a couple folded pieces of fabric tight against his wounds. She was clumsy, but diligent, and she eventually got the bandages tied tightly into place. It was only after she was done, and he had slumped weakly into the corner, that Addie was able to breathe properly again. He was sweating and pale, a combination that she knew wasn’t good, but that she didn’t know what to do to help him. It could have just been the pain, but she worried it was blood loss that was making him look so fragile.

When Calais came into view, her heart leapt. Hope would be close at hand, surely. His people were loyal, they would have gotten someone that could aid their laird, they simply had to. Addie sat back to tell him they were almost there, and then her mode sobered.

What did that mean?

You'll earn your keep Mademoiselle Aedler.

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but a few unsavory and insulting ideas came to mind before she could shut them out. Whether that was what meant, she didn’t bother asking. God, she was a fool. She’d let a little adrenaline and a good kiss get the better of her head, that was all there was to it. Whatever she thought she felt, she was stupid to believe he cared about her. He didn’t.

Remember, Addie, he thinks you are just some spy with information that he wants. You are a pawn to him, nothing more.

The heart ache she felt at the prospect was even more stupid. She’d known the man all of two days, and while he was unlike any other man she had ever known, that didn’t mean he was special, or that she was special to him. Adelaide was relieved when the coach stopped, and someone opened the door and lifted a hand to help her out. Blessedly, it was one of those footmen he had sent ahead. The carriage couldn’t run out onto the docks, but they were close enough that she could feel the sea spray on the air and hear the creaking of wood and the flapping of sails.

“Tide is nearly out, we need to go now,” some man shouted, but she ignored the small group of people that seemed to be waiting for them. The driver and a man she didn’t know helped Roarke from the carriage and then immediately onward toward the ship. Wessex barked a few orders, and people scurried about to fulfill them. Their luggage was hurriedly moved from the coach to the ship, and Addie found herself feeling utterly lost.

She could walk away now, and no one would ever know where she had gone. Wessex might come looking for her, but he’d never find her. She could find a way back to Paris, she might even find that hidden office again now that she knew the owner of the home’s name was Murat. Maybe then she could get home. Addie turned and began to walk away, to leave Roarke and his people behind. She made it no more than five steps before the pain in her chest made her stop.

You are a fool, she hissed at herself. Run! Now!

Her feet simply wouldn’t move, and her eyes burned with unshed tears as she turned around and marched stoically in the wake of the last Marquee of Wessex.

 

[ScarlettRose]

Superstition and old wives tales or the feeling running down his spine. They thought he was mad. Thought he was the very Devil Himself. Never had William Draker the fifth Duke of Dynevor allowed the opinions of others to influence his mind or motives. It was with this steel mindset that he had set out for Calais on board the fishing boat of his vassals. With the war at an uneasy peace, the fisher men of the Welsh coasts found it difficult to make a living doing what they do. Fortunately for them, their Lord and Master the Devil Duke William Draker turned a blind eye to their . . . illegal activities. Though the man did not so much as make a peep about their smuggling operation onto the coasts of the continent as long as he received his fealty and at times like this the assistance he required in William's own misadventures, he was more than happy to let the men continue and keep the preventative boat service off their backs.

Night had been a dark cloud of cover that was finally lifting. Unlike his colleague and friend Wessex, Draker was not a great fan of the continent or the French in general. He liked to keep to his lands. No doubt it was in his blood being the descendant of Welsh Marcher Lord's that could be tracked beyond William the Conqueror. However, in his line of work . . . anything could be expected. Thus he stood on the bow of the medium sized boat awaiting the arrival of Wessex. Dynevor was not meant to be there but on the day his men were to depart for Calais and unease had crept through his bones and had taken a hold of his wits. And his feels were always right. Ergo he had joined the ragtag sailors in their run for whiskey and the extra cargo and passengers they were picking up on this run.

The Duke straightened, his ginormous hand instinctively going to gun on the inside of his coat in a secret pocket near his breast. Peering across the docks as two large horses came to a noise stop just before the wooden planks. His apprehension dwindled slightly as he recognised their livery belonging to the Wessex household. "Where is your Master?" The giant beast of a man demanded in his usual gruff accent. The weathered planks of wood screeching painfully under his weight as he stomped forward.

The Marquess of Wessex was a tall man at six foot one, yet, compared to him The Duke of Dynevor was an absolute monster! Standing at just over six foot six, it was quite clearly why the muscular nobleman struck fear in the hearts of almost every man and woman he came across. Nor did the permanent frown upon his shaggy and unkempt features help or the scar that cut diagonally down from between his right eyebrow all the way down his cheek, though most of the long healed wound was covered by his unfashionable beard. And as unfashionable as his beard was his sense of fashion was even worse. It was unambiguous how little the Duke cared for fashion or society, wearing a style that had been out of fashion for over a decade. It was all these attributes that made the Dynevor look far older than his thirty and five years.

The Footman quickly explained what had passed on their passage to Calais causing the Duke to swear in the filthiest manor the French language allowed. If the situation was not so serious, there was no doubt the Footman would be holding back their laughter as it reminded them much of their Master's companion. "Mon Seigneur Wessex's party will be arriving shortly." The Footmen continued to explain. "My Lord has instructed that his departure should be imminent as soon as they arrive Your Grace."

"Very well." Dynevor grumbled his ever present frown deepening. He did not like this. Did not like it at all. And yet, the fact that Wessex was not already dead was an unexpected turn of events. For death was a certainty for men in their line of work, especially in such dangerous circumstances as Wessex was working under. Draker drafted the Footmen to feed and water the steeds before they were boarded onto the boat. The men bowed and continued to their task while William shouted in a coarse language that happened to be Welsh to the crew man to be ready to unload the carriage that was to arrive and have the vessel ready for departure.

Calais was heavily under guard these days, naturally it was expected and it was with that they were anchored to a small abandoned dock on the far side. Away from all the hustle and bustle of the thriving port as it awoke to life as day broke over the dawn. It was not long before the clattering wheels of a carriage could be heard in the not too far distance. The horses boarded the footmen and fishermen went straight about the business they were instructed by the Devil Duke.

The urgency was palpable with the dashing and scuttling of men and the quick shouts of men in two foreign languages, one native and one not. William stomped up to the carriage just as one of the footmen opened the carriage doors and for a moment, Dynevor had to do a double take when he saw a woman of all people alight first from the fine vehicle. There was no time for questions at this very moment. Coming to her side, his colossal form loomed over her, taking her in with a quick frown before lowering his head to peer inside the carriage where he saw his friend looking deathly wallow. The driver came around and both men as gently as possible removed Wessex's weak form from inside. The man hissed and blanched, no doubt from the wound that was seeping through his make shift bandages.

"They fucked you real good mate." Dynevor said as Roarke wobbled on his feet. William took the man's weight on his side, slowly moving him to the ship.

Wessex laughed at his friend's comment. It was clear from his dilated pupils, pale complexion and the sweat that the Marquess was drenched in that he was losing his grip on reality. He had seen Wessex in this state once before and it had been a miracle then that the man had survived and recovered to full health. However, this was much worse. "Not the way I like to be fucked I assure you." Wessex managed to stammer out with a grin that didn't quite make it to his eyes as they began to droop close.

"I'm well aware." The Duke replied drily to his friend, shaking Wessex's form to keep him conscious as he managed to get him onto the boat and down belong onto a make shift bed that was there. "Come on now, stay awake." The Duke slapped him, startling the bewildered man to wakefulness.

"Ahem!" Roarke cleared his throat at the sharp contact, clinging onto to reality as hard as he could. "Get-get the cargo and beneath the seats. The papers and . . . and the box-where is she?"

William bestowed upon him a stern look, recalling the woman that had been with Wessex, whom he had forgotten altogether. Thinking her unimportant. A thick brow arched as he nodded at this friend, commanding him to stay awake on pain of death and that he would be back shortly. It was unlike his friend to keep a woman. The whole of the ton were well aware for Roarke Rochester's harem of women across the globe however, never had bought a woman home before. The Duke shouted orders to his men to begin to pull the anchor in mystical sounded Welsh he was accustomed to, jumping from the ship to the dock. His large strides heading towards the carriage when he saw the mystery woman walking away and then stopping and turning to head back.

"You." Dynevor demanded boorishly of her. "With me." The Devil Duke never had to man handle anyone. His beastly form and brutish demeanour usually scared people into doing as they were told by him. He was not certain if she was planning on leaving with the way she was headed but then turned back. It mattered not. "He's asking for." Draker continued, trampling up into the carriage, his weight making the well sprung vehicle jostle. Slamming the lid open, he shoved the ribbon laced box into her arms, taking the parchments for himself, not trusting them to anyone and ruffled through the rest of the content before deciding there was nothing of import that was needed. Just as he was about to alight, the silvery twinkle of a gun on the opposite bench caught his eye and he grabbed it, examining the weapon.

"Bastard Ffrengig." The Duke muttered pocketing the firearm; gesturing her to follow him to the boat. His long strides eating up ground, waiting for a moment for her to catch up as he reached the boat and lifted her like a small puppy into the boat. He had to give no instructions as the boat began to move and he took the fetching creature down to his where his friend lay.

"Oi. Deffro! Mae eich merch ffansi yma. Gweler." Draker shook Wessex's face between his large palm as the Marquess appeared to be close to losing consciousness once more. It was not an option for the time being. Once Wessex's hazed eyes were once more open, Draker went about putting the box and parchment into safe keeping before coming to his friend and mystery woman's side.

"Which one of my fancy women?" Wessex slurred, his murky eyes trying to concentrate of Addie's face. He didn't speak welsh but knew a few words here and there to piece together what Draker was referring to. A stupid smile spreading across his pallid face when Roarke recognised her. "Mademoiselle Addie." He laughed and groaned at the same time. "Not my fan-fancy woman."

Draker paid little heed to his delirious colleague's words, going about cutting the bandages and examining the wound. It was far from good. The fever was rampant. The man's skin was burning up something fierce and the wound was ugly. Draker was not an emotional man. Emotions was something one could not have with the lives they lived and what they did. Comrades fell in battle all the time. It was the price they paid for the greater good. William shouted up for some boiled water and it wasn't long before a bucket was bought down to him.

"My sharp tongued harpy. My wife to be." Wessex grinned, the little strength he had the Marquess grabbed for her hand. The grin turning into a cry of pain when the Duke cleaned the wounded with the boiled water and a clean compress. His dark brow arching again at Wessex's words, looking across at the dark haired woman for a long moment.

Draker said nothing for a while. His steady gaze taking her in. He had no idea who she was. She looked refined enough but hardly looked like a woman of rank. There was an arrogance he found about her air and manor but also a clear concern for the Marquess. It was more than possible she was one of his mistresses but . . . she didn't exactly act like a mistress either . . . "Il va mourir." William hold her in a low tone. He had no doubt about it, though it would not stop him from trying to save the man. " . . . Keep cleaning the wound like this." He continued in french assuming that was what she was.

Rising he shuffled about the small, dank cabin that was lit by a few lamps and the two small windows on the left side. Wessex happened to be one of Dynevor's closest friends. The sadness would not be lost on him at Wessex's passing. The world would only know him as a philandering wastrel and not for the life he gave so that others may continue to live freely. Of course, in the end that was the truth for all of the members of the Hades Club.

"Take care of her . . ." Wessex shivered, his head lolling to the side like a rag doll, almost life less when Drake came to remove his coat and shirt that were stuck to the man. "T-take care of my girls." The same depiction that covered Draker's left inner forearm could be seen tattooed on Wessex's left upper arm. It was at odd's with at least Wessex's noble features but maybe not so much as with the man titled the Devil Duke by many. It was an indication of belonging to a secret order set up by their ancestors from time unknown.

Draker simply nodded at his friend, leaning the agent's body in his lap for a moment as he fed the man a spoonful of a dark bitter concoction that glowered yellow around the edge of the liquid. The elixir ran down the Marquess's parched throat. He was quite literally in God's hands now. The deadly nightshade William had just administered to Wessex was often used as a means of poison. One spoonful, like the one he had just given to Roarke, could either kill a grown man of his size or neutralise the infection spreading through his blood. Only time would tell now which one it was to be. Of course, he felt no need to explain that to Adelaide.

Draker gestured for the woman to come take his place, handing Wessex's form ever so gently into her lap and instructing her to keep replacing a cool flannel to his skin. Disappearing for a moment he was back at their sides with two pieces of excessively mouldy bread that the Duke methodically placed on both entry and exit points of the bullet and bandaged up again snugly. It was a medieval method of drawing out an infection. It was good for minor infections of the skin. Nothing this big, however, the Duke had nothing else at his disposal.

"Is it true?" He questioned the woman, not looking up, continuing to fix the bandages in place. "What he says? You are the marry Wessex?" He felt rather stupid asking the question. Knowing his friend it was damned unlikely. He was clearly putting far too much into the words of a delirious man on his deathbed.

 

[LeatrixSage]

“You,” a dark voice cut through the fog that was closing in on Addie to make her stop and look up from her feet. She’d wrapped her arms around herself to hug her waist, and she forced her arms down as she found herself face to face with a bearded giant. She vaguely recalled that he had helped carry Wessex onto the ship, and when he indicated she should go with him, she went along quietly enough.

Addie simply didn’t know what else to do.

As the man marched up to the carriage, he told her that Wessex was asking for her. Adelaide snorted, of course he was. His prisoner couldn’t be allowed to get away after all. God, what would have happened had she kept walking? Wessex hadn’t hurt her, not really, but this man… she had a feeling he could break her in half with those massive hands of his. He tore into the seats and dragged out the package with the pink ribbon and little note. She hadn’t noticed what it said before, but after he dumped it into her arms, it caught her attention. It must be for the little girl that she had picked fabric out for. She wondered for the first time if the girl was one of Wessex’s bastards, or maybe a niece he hadn’t mentioned? No one had said anything about it one way or the other, and she was left to wonder futilely.

When the giant picked up dueling pistol, Addie frowned. She really should have kept that, but now he’d pocketed it and it was far beyond her reach. Seemingly satisfied with what he had found, he motioned for her to follow, and she quietly fell in line. Around them, men we shouting in French and a language she didn’t recognize. It made her uneasy, a sensation that deepened profoundly when the damnedable man lifted her like a doll onto the boat. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, but she firmly believed that was because she was in shock and she couldn’t feel anything.

She followed him into the belly of the ship; to the dark, cramped spaces that made her feel claustrophobic. She couldn’t imagine how the brawny man could move with such ease when she felt as if there was barely any space to breath. There was a sickly-sweet smell on the air as they walked into the cabin where Roarke was laid. She hadn’t noticed it in the coach, but in the confined space, it absolutely reeked. He did have an infection, one that had grown over the hours they had road to finally reach Calais.

Addie’s eyes went from the dark stranger to Wessex as he slurred, glassy eyes examining her face before he smiled like a besotted fool. Addie sat carefully near him so that he could see her better, and she breathed a little more easily when he said her name. She reached out to touch his forehead, finding his skin hot and clammy, and her hand shook as she brushed his hair back from his face. He was sliding in and out between French and English as he spoke, but Addie couldn’t drag forward anything to say back to him. She shouldn’t care if he died or not. He was already a dead man to her anyway.

"My sharp tongued harpy. My wife to be.”

Her heart constricted, her eyes burned, and Addie looked away as Wessex grinned at her. A moment later and he cried out in pain as the demon of a man poured boiling water right through the Marquee’s side. She blanched as she looked away, her stomach threatening a mutiny if she didn’t get away from the smells and sounds of a man dying. Sitting under the stranger’s appraisal just made it all that much worse.

“He will die,” the brute spoke low and sure, and for reasons Addie had no explanation for, she looked up at the beast of man with a sense of rage.

How dare he say that out loud?

“Va te faire foutre,” she hissed at the man, a phrase as close to a ‘fuck you’ that she could think of as she snatched a clean cloth from the boiling water to clean Roarke’s wounds. She hissed as the hot water turned her hand bright red, but she made no further complaint. The pain, and her flash of anger, helped to clear her head. And she was like a dog with a bone, chewing at everything that had pissed her off in the last two days to keep her mind busy and distracted from the smell and the yellow fluid that mixed with Roarke’s blood as she cleaned the wound. Even the way Wessex told his friend to take care of her made her angry. At him, at herself, at whatever twisted fate had landed her in his lap in this place. She raged against it all, but outwardly she was quiet and calm. The only outward display of her emotions was the way her eyes reddened as they burned.

When the stranger came back he brushed her aside, taking her place while he maneuvered Wessex as if he weighed little more than a child. He stripped his clothes away, and Addie found herself looking away, only to glance back when Roarke groaned from his discomfort. She barely noticed the tattoo on his arm, other than to note that it was there, she couldn’t take her eyes away from his face. That roguish, lively man that she had taken so much pleasure in pestering and prodding looked so frail and weak, that he barely looked himself anymore.

“What are you giving him?” Addie snapped in a clipped, hard tone, her French perhaps the cleanest it had ever been as she hovered over the big stranger. He ignored her as he worked, and then gestured for Addie to take his place. She glowered at him, but she followed as he bid her, allowing him to rest Wessex’s head in her lap and telling her to use a cold compress to keep him cool. The idiot, he didn’t need a cold compress, he needed a metal tub filled with water, salt, and ice to bring his temperature down before his brain cooked… but they didn’t have any of that, and Addie blamed the beast of a man because she needed someone to blame.

“Dieu merci, Penicillin,” she sighed when he carried in the molded bread. It wasn’t as effective as she would like, but it would make a difference. The man did a far better job bandaging Roarke than Adelaide had, and her resentment toward him slipped only a little. He was the help they had needed, she shouldn’t be angry at him, but she was.

When he asked if it was true, if she was the future wife of Roarke, Adelaide sighed and shook her head. The man kept speaking French when he talked to her, and after recent events, she assumed it would be wise to keep it quiet that she spoke anything other than that.

“Non,” she spoke carefully as the compress that was supposed to be cold warmed in her hand far too quickly. She passed it to the man to have him dunk it in cold water again, and then used it to squeeze the water into Roarke’s hair. They needed to keep his head cold, more than anything else, to lessen the chance of lasting damage to his brain from the high fever. “At least, the ass has not asked me to marry him.” His eyes had stayed closed for some time now, but his breathes still came easily, and his pulse was strong beneath her fingers. He was asleep. Perhaps that was for the best.

“I’m sorry, who are you to Roarke?” she asked, mostly because talking was calming, and much more healthy than fostering malice against the man that had likely just done a lot more to help Wessex than she had. “His men followed you, so I assume they know you, but he didn’t tell me… well, much of anything. I know we are off to Mary-old-England, but that’s the long and short of it. I don’t even know who attacked us. I think Roarke did, though. Someone shouted something about Murat, does that mean anything to you?”

Adelaide paused as a tension seemed to shiver in the air, her eyes coming up to study the dark man that was watching her.

“Ah, so it does,” she sighed, and then turned her attention back to Roarke. “In that case, you know more than I do, Monsieur."

 

[ScarlettRose]

No woman had dared speak so vulgarly in his presence ever before. William was taken aback when she spat at him to kiss her arse in French. The shock must have been palpable on his menacing features. Truly the giant did not know how to take it. The lady certainly did not mince her words. If it had been any other situation, she would have indeed lived to regret those words. However, as burly and demon like as the Duke was, he was far from an ill understanding man. It was clear by the ferocity in her response that the female held a certain regard for the Marquess.

Draker said nought to her in response and continued with his diligent work to mend his broken friend as best as he could. It was hard and unreasonable to believe anyone could survive such a wound. It was utterly illogical and the stacks were undeniably high against Wessex making a recovery. Then Draker spied on the mysterious woman who Roarke had mentioned as Addie from the corner of his eye. She may not have said it but everything in her demeanour suggest that she expected exactly that of Wessex. A miraculous recovery. His light gaze took in all of her slight form. The woman was hardly Rochester's usual type and yet . . . here she was. Her vigour was enough to give any man hope and Draker supposed Wessex had pulled such a feat once before.

His thick brows furrowed when she mentioned penicillin. "Who's penicillin?" He queried in a low grumble. The Duke had never heard of such a peculiar name before. Maybe it was some sort of French expression he had never heard of. Considering strange French expressions and such . . . The Duke had noticed her French wasn't exactly perfect and her accent was not the on point one to be heard from a French woman or even those schooled in it from a young age from a foreign home. It was all these little things his striking mind was picking up and listing.
The boat rocked mercilessly drifting into open sea. The sun bobbed in and out through the small glass panes. There was a forlorn silence beginning to take a hold of the small, damp quarters they three occupied. The Duke had ignored the woman's outburst in regards to the concoction he had given to Wessex. The giant sat in a corner close by. Quite content in the tiny space, which seemed even tinier thanks to his overbearing form. Being seafaring folk, he had been on and off boats large and small all his life and the sea gave him little trouble in any regard. Much unlike the stranger sat across from him.

The smell of death barely registered to the man having been around it for as long as he could remember. The Devil Duke was not a man given to emotion, or ease of conversation. Neither was he awkward. Simply, he was not a man of many words. The less spoken from his lips the better. Draker cognized every bit of information. Always more of a thinker than a talker. A sound that could be suspected of being a short laugh did however, make it past his lips when Adelaide said the word arse for the second time. This time in reference to Wessex. It was right then that the Duke decided he liked this woman. Whoever she was; she was not afraid to speak her mind. Personally, he had no use for such a woman but looking in from an objective point of view, he preferred her company in this very moment than a simpering little miss who would be fainting every which way at the sight before her.

Still, Will passed no further comment on the matter. As he had guessed, it was nothing more than the ravings of a delusional man on his deathbed. He assumed she was Wessex's mistress. There could not be anymore to the matter. He suspected she maybe a genteel woman of some sort and France was no doubt a dangerous place for her and bestowed maybe charity upon her by offering her passage to someplace safer.

Draker's piercing gaze quickly shot back to Addie when she questioned him once more. "A friend." Again the man grumbled simply. He felt there was no need for conversation. His musings were far more arresting than any conversation the mysterious woman could provide. And yet, his light grey eyes narrowed on her next comments. Sharp and unflinching, he glowered at her unabashedly. The cogs in his brain ticking. Could Wessex have told her . . . It was not a possibility, William quickly decided. There was no way in hell, Wessex would ever reveal himself or the agency or his motives . . . Endless questions sprung to his mind. And all at once his guard was up intensely. The Duke of Dynevor was not a man who liked to be taken by surprise. He needed to think about this all.

Rising to his large feet, as much as the cabin allowed, he stomped to the small door. He needed to think, away from the pungent stench of ambivalence that filled his wretched room. "I do not know what you are speaking of Madem." Draker denied her accusation. Opening the door, he was about to step out when he turned and came to stand at her back, wanting to leave her with more instructions as to how to tend to Wessex, when something caught his sights. Dynevor stopped in his tracks and peered at the small mark on the top of one shoulder, gaping past her loose attire . . . And suddenly it all started to make sense . . .

"Call up should he awake-" Then thought twice about leaving Wessex with only her; pulling the door open he shouted up in thick welsh, "Alwyn! Get down here!" It wasn't long before a portly man came barrelling down the constricted steps. "Stay here and do not take your eyes off her." Draker commanded in Welsh. There was clearly no need for anything more to be said as the man understood him and nodded his head in agreement. "Aye Your Grace."

And with that Dynevor swept back up onto the bow to think on his discovery and what it exactly meant. Of course, he could not fully know and the only man who did was on deaths door. William wrested with the idea of tying her up but maybe that was giving away his cards too early. He stood looking out across the endless ocean for hours. The smell of salt water and the spray relaxed his over wrought mind. The sun was high but could not break through the thick clouds, signalling that home was close. Every so often sending another of his trusted men down to check on Alwyn and Adelaide. All reports came back that everything was as fine as it could be.

--

Alwyn was as good as his word and watched Adelaide like a hawk. He thought her pretty in a noble woman sort of way. However he preferred his women with the frame of hard working Welsh lasses. Not some fragile Miss who might break her wrist if she had to pick up a napkin. Snorting to himself at his thoughts, he sat in a corner and did not take his eyes off her. His ragged clothing and the smell of not washing for at least a week was overpowering the other odours in the tight space.

Roarke on the other hand was far, far away from all this. At least his mind was while his body fought the ultimate battle of life and death. He could not feel his body shaking and convulsing as the deadly nightshade battled with his blood or see his deathly complexion. Instead, the proud Lord was lost in the river of the past that was far too lucid to him to be anything but real. The now and the present.

It was strange how on the cusp of death one's mind fled to all sorts of random memories. Memories, a person may want to hold onto and other's they'd no doubt like to forget had ever happened. Much was the case with the Marquess of Wessex. First there was his childhood; not an exactly happy one but there were times of joy. Running around in the wilds of Hertfordshire. The warm summer days and the lush greenness of the outdoors. The screams and playful laughter of unburdened children before time fluttered forward where a handsome twelve year old with mischief in his eyes stole his first kiss from the lips of a pretty fourteen year old maid while the strings of a quadrille weaved above them and elegant figures spun around him gayly at some ball or other.

Now he was nineteen, a young buck in his prime, spotting the only woman he had ever loved since him he could remember across the crowded dance floor; a good friend of his sister's whom he had grown up with until at the age of fifteen, when he was sent to Scotland to meet his destiny and train to become the man he was today, meeting his comrades and closest friends. Many here and well in his mind dancing around him merrily with one pretty woman or another though in reality they had been long dead much in the way that he may soon be too.

His young heart raced when the redhead smiled across at him shyly and the next stream contained all their chaste but secretive tryst and stolen kisses until darkness began to cloud over the light feeling of joy. Roarke scowled both in reality and unreality. Speaking out physically with everything in his body working backwards and forwards to take and give life. "If you love me then why are you leaving me Prudence?!" He beseeched with closed eyes almost identical to the manner of how it originally happened. ". . . Love isn't enough?" The newly titled twenty one year old Marquess echoed her words. His father had just passed, it was already a dark time promising only to become much more darker.

Again time oscillated forward and yet to his sick mind, it felt like nothing out of the ordinary for Roarke, the passing of time, the speed with which it passed was just life and living it. The battles and the travels that he journeyed through, passing on either side of him. Men that had bled at his hands and suffered, the lives he'd saved until he was standing in the marble white foyer of his London home.

The cold of winter could be felt in the enormous space as the fire in the hearth burned but did little to defeat the chill. "I tried my hardest but my hands are tied." He spoke once more after another hour had passed. Yet this time there was some strength behind his words. Not a lot more but some certainly. "You cannot keep her that much is obvious. Unless you wish to be turned out. Give her to me. I promise you she will be well looked after." The memory continued to roll through his mind's eye as if it were happening right this very moment rather than the original seven years past when it had in reality. Taking the newborn in his arms, looking down at the wriggling figure he was clueless as to what in the hell to do with her. "She will want for nothing. She will have my name and no one will dare call her bastard to her face."

The passion of his words died slowly on his lips as delusion devoured him further but the rage of war inside his body was beginning to calm. The deadly fever had broken and slowly but surely his temperature was coming down. The sea blue eyes under thick lashes opened slightly but they were as murky as the ocean outside. Looking up into clear blue eyes but the Marquess was far from present in mind. His rambling once more incoherent.

"He's awake." The deep rumble of Draker's voice broke through the quiet of the room. "Good. We're almost home."

 

[LeatrixSage]

"Who's penicillin?"

Oh, but Addie was going to be laughing about that one for days. The friend said little else, particularly after she had mentioned Murat. God, put these big strong men in a board room and she could have murdered them, taken them for everything they were worth, and they would never see it coming. They broadcasted every emotion and thought as surely as if they had announced it all the world out loud. A tightening about the eyes as they narrowed made it clear the friend of Roarke did not trust her, not even as far as he could throw her. Which, Addie was betting would be surprisingly far. He had questions, likely as many as Roarke had for her, but he did not ask them. It was only when he got up to leave that she realized she’d taken the man by surprise.

“Of course you don’t, Monsieur,” Addie sighed as she struggled to keep Roarke’s head balanced on her lap while she dunked the flannel into the bucket of cold water again. “That is why you are going to leave now, because you don’t know anything, and I didn’t just make you very uncomfortable for asking.”

It was only after she had opened her mouth that Adelaide considered the fact that she really needed to learn when to keep her mouth shut. But then, at this rate, she wasn’t long for this world anyway, she might as well speak her mind. Particularly when the big brute decided to leave a guard to watch her. And, not just any guard, oh no, the man had to be the most foul-smelling creature she had ever met in her life. He kept a respectful distance, but his eyes never left her while she tended to Roarke.

The quiet was uncomfortable, and she wished she had someone to talk to, and then she smiled down at Roarke.

“You’re such an ass,” she laughed as she whispered to him in French. “What kind of a man scares a woman so needlessly? You are so stupid to have let yourself get shot. Aren’t you some big, bad spy or something? You should be better than that.” She was talking nonsense, but it made her feel better. The ache in her chest eased, but as the pain faded, the tears she had been holding back began to escape.

“I’m a fool,” she murmured as she wiped the sweat from his skin. “I think I might love you. How stupid is that? I don’t even know you.”
Addie smiled at her own stupidity, and then settled into her task. Her calm lasted for a few hours before the outbursts started. Nothing tested her nerves worse than watching Roarke thrash weakly while he yelled at ghosts. "If you love me then why are you leaving me Prudence?!” he shouted with such heartache that it chilled her to the bone. “Love isn’t enough?” The question was so terrible and rending, Addie couldn’t fathom the woman that had heard them and still walked away from him. It must have been long before his days as a rake that slipped under every willing skirt that flicked his direction. First loves were always hell, but, the pain in his voice sounded like he was still suffering.

He quieted for a time, but her nerves were already shot. When the poor man that was sent to check on her came in, she flung so many curses and slanders against the man that he left the room blushing. Her guard had a good long laugh about it, and so did she. But, Roarke was fitful. For a long time, his breathing was labored and heavy, and sometimes she could barely feel his pulse, and then he would roar to life again.

At one point, he muttered that someone would want for nothing, that she would have his name, and no one would call her a bastard to her face. Addie’s mind went right back to the little package with the pink bow, and the note made out to the prettiest girl in all of England. He had a daughter to go home to, someone to love, someone history had forgotten after he died, because she was a girl, and a child born outside of wedlock. But, despite those things, Roarke’s voice was fearsome. He was still weak from the fever, but she had never heard a man so passionate about protecting anything in his life.

Come to think of it, the last Marquess of Wessex was the most passionate person Adelaide had ever known. He felt deeply, and he carried a need to protect what was his, no matter what the cost seemed to be. She frowned as she thought about it, remembering his order that if someone wanted to know where he was, she was to tell them. At the time, she hadn’t had the presence of mind to think about it. Had he been afraid for her? She was his prisoner, and as far as he knew, his enemy. It didn’t make any sense, and she had no choice but to put it all out of her mind when the friend came back.

For another night and day, Addie hadn’t slept, and yet – when Roarke opened his eyes – her heart absolutely sang. She was exhausted beyond measure, but she refused to leave his side, fever broken or not. There was always the chance something could go wrong, and no one, not even the bearded bear, could make her leave his side.

“You’re almost home,” she whispered to him, her lips brushing against his ear much as he so enjoyed doing to her. “Just a little more now. You girl is waiting for you. You have to hold on for her, she needs you.”

I need you! her heart cried out to him, but she couldn’t say the words out loud.