Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [34]
He stood by the bureau and watched without comment. As usual, she was immaculately dressed, every item carefully chosen to flatter her best features or disguise her worst. If only she could wear something to disguise her character, he thought. Her childish act did nothing to rouse his anger. He realized now she was incapable of that, not by her deeds. Only fear of the pistol had been able to accomplish that. He had loaded it himself, double shotted, the way he had always loaded it. He had seen what damage double shot could do.
He was aware of her perfume now. It filled the whole room, invading his nostrils with memories of warm beds and even warmer arms, those secret places of a woman and rose-petal flesh, soft working lips and sharp teeth, whispered words of love and eager encouragement, the urgency to assuage his body’s hunger and the pleasure of gratifying hers…But as he looked at her, the heat of those recollections cooled until they meant little. She failed to stir him.
“But I did not come to fight, Cheri,” she whispered, her voice stolen by contrition, eyes falling to her hands resting in her lap. “I traveled many hours to be with you and make you happy.” She lifted her gaze to beam a sunshine smile that she knew presented her at her prettiest. She maintained it, frozen through his silence, then began to peel her white gloves carefully from jeweled fingers. She made the stripping of them appear as though she was baring the most intimate parts of her body.
“Therese,” he began, “I have many things to do. Just because I am not on board my ship does not mean my squadron can get along without me. But first, my breakfast will be arriving at any moment and I am hungry.”
“I am hungry, too,” she purred, “but not for food.” Her eyes shone with a familiar spark of devilry.
“Lorient is a small town,” he continued, ignoring her invitation, “and your husband is here.”
She shrugged. “I know. I came here to be with him, did I not, like a dutiful little wife. As for idle gossip, the concierge thinks you and I are having a business meeting. I put enough livres into his pockets to convince him of that.”
“And the maid? The groom always passes a message when I arrive back from my morning ride.”
Her hands fluttered again. “Always you are frightened of the maids? I remember in Paris…”
He waved her conversation aside. “Nevertheless, she will be here at any moment…”
It was Therese’s turn to interrupt. “I think not. The concierge was impressed about the importance of our business meeting, so he arranged your breakfast to arrive five minutes after I leave.”
“Do you have an answer for everything?”
She rose from her seat and walked seductively across the room to stand in front of him. She looked up, mouth working, well aware he had an excellent view of the valley between her breasts. “Well, I traveled a long way. How much longer do I have to wait for my Captain, sorry Commodore, to kiss me and hold me in his arms?”
He sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders then moved her gently to one side before he walked away to sit down at the other side of the room. “I’m sorry, Therese, but I have not been well, and I tire easily. These last few weeks…”
She followed him and picked up her gloves from the desk. “You are being gallant, John Paul, but do not patronize me. I can see through you. There is another woman to take care of your needs, yes? What is she that I am not? Is she prettier? Is she better in bed?”
He shook his head. “There is no other woman.”
There was only disbelief written on her face underlain by anger. “Is she…is she…” she baulked at the word, “…Is she younger than me?”
He would have laughed, but did not wish to be cruel. Instead, he indulged her with a half smile of regret. “The only mistress I serve, Therese, is older than you. Your husband pays for her and she lies at anchor out in the bay.” He gestured to the window, although Bonhomme Richard was obscured by the cluster of fishermen’s cottages between the hotel and the harbor. “She is the only mistress I have.”
She was not ready to believe