Percy Blakeney woke up slowly, coming out of sleep as a diver comes out of deep water, rising from the depths, and breathing in fresh air. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he stared up at the canopy above him. Where in the world…this wasn't his bed! Suddenly there was a soft sigh next to him and he turned his head swiftly to stare at his sleeping wife.
Finally, truly his wife, he thought. She slept facing him, lying on her side, her brilliant red hair spilling over her shoulders. He gently touched one soft curl. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? One hundred? Five hundred? Every night, every day, since the first time he laid eyes upon her, his desire for her had only increased.
It had been an impulsive decision, to go to the Comedie Francais that spring night. An old acquaintance had offered him the use of his box, or he might never have gone to the theater. All of Paris, it seemed, was enamored by Marguerite St. Just. The "cleverest woman in Europe" had an immense following, composed not only of Parisians, but men of many other nationalities.
Percy had heard of her, of course, as had anyone who went to Paris for enjoyment. After seeing her for the first time, he returned the next several nights, then bought access to a closer box at an exorbitant price. Feeling like a prize fool, he spent a week engineering a meeting with her that would appear to be by chance. He was deeply grateful that none of his friends had come with him on this trip to see him making a fool of himself, while he expended more time and effort to meet one woman than he had ever spent on anything in his life.
Not wanting to be another face in the crowd of admirers, he resisted going to her dressing room after her performances. For the same reason, he turned down the opportunities to attend any of the soirees the theatrical crowd frequented.
Finally, he discovered where her brother took his morning tutorial, and arranged to meet him "accidentally". It had been raining, and the boy had willingly accepted the offer of a ride from the helpful stranger, then insisted on inviting the well-dressed foreigner inside to have a simple luncheon and meet his sister.
Being used to late nights performing, Marguerite had just risen from her bed and dressed for the day. She was lovely in a simple blue gown, with her hair pinned up loosely. She welcomed the stranger graciously, and set another place at the table.
He endeavored to be unassuming, knowing that she must be used to gallantries from men trying too hard to impress her. She had never shown even a hint of favoring any one of her would be suitors over another. He knew this both from the theater gossip he had cultivated, and from Armand St. Just. The boy's pleasant, open nature guaranteed that whomever he took a liking to would hear his opinion of his favorite subject, which was, of course, his adored older sister. She was beautiful, intellectual, talented, loving loyal, and altogether perfect in the eyes of her devoted brother. Percy had taken his words with a grain of salt, pleased that no one she knew was around to witness this encounter. He had watched several friends through their infatuations with women from the stage. Surely, up close, this goddess would lose her enchantment. Part of him was almost angry that she had not. Instead, he found her to have a quick wit, an intelligent mind, and a striking beauty that shone even more off-stage than on.
She spoke of events in the world with insight, instead of simply quoting popular opinion. She was also completely undaunted to state her convictions to this aristocratic stranger. A courteous hostess she might be, but no one intimidated Marguerite St. Just in her own home, especially not a foreign blue-blood.
It was an oddly gratifying sensation for Percy to meet a person with no need to impress or flatter him. Rich, handsome, and titled, he was not as vain or arrogant as some men of his society were, but few people outside his circle of friends would dare to argue with him. If he was only a baronet, he was an extremely rich one, and his friendship with the Prince of Wales gave him a position in society that many aspired to. And women of his class were trained to be agreeable and docile with an eligible man of his standing. Marguerite had been a revelation to him. She completely ignored his title, speaking to him as an equal.
He had been taught to believe-and the popular fiction of the day seemed to bear him out-that most women wanted a rich titled man who would sweep them off their feet. In fact, he and his friends had often compared their eligibility status. It had become a game. Elton had the highest rank, Tony had the biggest house, Legget had the best horses, and Percy had the most money. Ozzy was a widower with two sons to inherit his money, and so was not as suitable.
Percy smiled ruefully. Had he ever really been that vain? Had he really thought his world the pinnacle of achievement? If Marguerite had wanted a title, or money, she would not have needed to wait as long as she had to wed a mere baronet. She could have married, or found a wealthy protector any time over the past few years. Instead, she worked her way up the ladder of success, while supporting her younger brother. Everything that was hers, she had gained on her own.
While I simply accepted my station in life, my fortune and everything it gave me, Percy thought gloomily. If I had been forced to support myself, would I have done as well as she did? In a country torn apart, with another person depending upon me? Knowing that the wrong move could mean poverty and homelessness, or arrest and execution? She could have died. I might never have met her.
Pushing the horrible thought aside, he lightly ran his fingers up her bare arm. A realization suddenly came to him. He had never lain completely naked with a woman. In a curious way, it was a more intimate act than making love. But then, clothing was an armor, and he had no more need of it with his wife.
Really? His inconvenient conscience taunted him. And what do you think is going to happen when she remembers? She's going to be furious. You took advantage of her last night. Yes, she made the overtures, but that was simply because she had no idea that this wasn't a normal marriage.
Staring at his wife, lying so trustingly next to him, he knew that he had no more excuses. You have to tell her everything. Today. Armand is right, she is not a frail little girl, and you owe it to her to start this union out with the truth.
As he leaned over to wake her, he heard a knock from his room. Jolted, he cursed under his breath, then swiftly strode into his apartments, yanking his nightshirt on. He pulled the connecting door closed, then opened the door to the hall a crack. "Yes?" He stopped when he saw the wary expression on the face of his valet. The servants were too well trained to wake Sir Percy or Lady Blakeney unless they had been ordered to. He sighed. "What is it, Frank?"
The older man handed him an envelope with a familiar seal. "This just came for you, sir. I thought it best to bring it to you at once."
Percy tore the letter open and read it. Expressionless, he looked at his valet. "I'll be leaving for London in about an hour. Please have the cook fix a cold breakfast I can carry, and have my horse saddled. And I don't want Lady Blakeney disturbed this morning." He closed the door gently and returned to his wife's bedroom.
Marguerite was stirring. He smiled. She had told him once, that she was not easy to rouse in the morning due to her years of working on the stage at night. He leaned over and kissed her soft mouth.
She blinked several times, then sat up, startled, snatching the covers up around her shoulders. "What! I-Percy?" She looked at him, then at the rumpled bedclothes. Her face turned pink as the events of the night before came back to her. Percy smiled; he couldn't help it. "You look quite the ravished maiden, my love. How do you feel?" He sat down next to her and took her hand, stroking it.
Her face flushed even darker. "I feel quite the ravished maiden, Percy. I-" She trailed off as he kissed her again. "Percy! I was about to say, we have to talk."
He pulled her closer and continued to kiss her. "I know, darling, but I have to go to London. His Royal Highness has commanded me to see him at Carleton House. I'm leaving in an hour."
Marguerite suddenly pushed him away. "Leaving? In one hour? You can't just leave! I need to speak with you!"
Percy handed her the letter. Opening it, she stared at the words. It was definitely a Royal Summons. Worded in the politest terms, but a Summons nonetheless. She felt panic rising inside her. "Are you in trouble? Is this an arrest? I'll go with you! You'll need help!" She quieted as Percy chuckled and drew her into his arms. "Darling, this isn't France. I'm not in trouble with the law. I may have a few things to explain to the Prince, but there is nothing to worry about. I'm just sorry that it came this morning. You're right, my love. I do have a few things to explain to you."
He ran his hands through his hair. "Do you remember the cottage in the East woods, by the deer trail? I believe that we should spend a few days there. We'll not find any privacy in this house, and I want us to be alone."
Percy turned and took her by the shoulders. "I will be back by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, Marguerite. Pack a few things, and we'll go to the cottage when I return from my audience with the Prince. I will tell you everything then, I promise."
The clock chimed then, and he looked at it with annoyance. "Only forty-five minutes left. Damn."
Marguerite looked at him with a wicked smile. "You need forty-five minutes to dress for the Prince? What a pity. I could think of more pleasant ways to spend the time, but-" She broke off as her husband pulled her back into his arms.
"Believe it or not, my dear, I can dress in under five minutes. If you would like a demonstration, I will show you…about forty minutes from now." Their words trailed off into laughter.
Actually, he didn't start out until almost an hour later.