“You might get hurt!” she gasped.
“I promise you I wouldn’t. But I suppose a duel would draw too much attention.”
She suspected he was half joking about challenging Morlaix to a duel. But only half. Changing the subject, she asked, “How did you reach me so quickly?”
“I noticed you go upstairs earlier. You hadn’t come down and then I heard that howl from Morlaix and had a feeling that something bad had happened.” He brushed a light kiss on her hair. “You handled it well, but I’m sorry that it was necessary.”
“I’m not sorry,” she said, surprised by the realization. “I feel surprisingly good. I survived my return to émigré society, found an old friend, and for the first time, I fought back when a man tried to abuse me. I fought andwon! That makes me feel strong.”
“You are strong,ma chérieAnd getting stronger.”
She patted his arm. “I was impressed how quickly you went from suave gentleman to ruthless fighter.”
“The advantage of military experience.” He smoothed her hair back tenderly. “Are you all right? Will you have nightmares?”
She considered before replying. “I don’t think so, and if I do, you will be there.”
“I’m glad you’re still willing to share a bed with me despite new proof of male bestiality,” he said wryly.
“Generalizing is easy, but wrong. Not all men are beasts, and not all women are virtuous. It’s best to judge people one at a time.” She shook her head. “Enough about thatcochon. Did you learn anything interesting tonight?”
“Not really. Napoleon looms large in everyone’s mind, and most of the men I talked to thought it likely that sooner or later the emperor will break out. They are divided on when and where, and how much trouble he’ll cause if he does escape. What about the women?”
“To the extent that they have political opinions, they probably think as their husbands do, but they were much more interested in hearing about life in a harem. There are so many absurd rumors about what it’s like!” Her mouth twisted. “I didn’t tell them that the worst part was the boredom. Some days it felt that the walls were crushing in on me. Knowing that I would likely never, ever leave . . .” She shuddered.
“No wonder when escape was offered, you grabbed it with both hands and didn’t look back,” he said quietly.
They had reached the house. Covering her yawn with one hand, she said, “Enough of harems and brutish males! I’m ready to go to bed.”
“So am I.” Simon lifted her from his lap and set her on the seat beside him. “I’m looking forward to our bed, and may tomorrow be a less dramatic day!”
* * *
Despite her fatigue, when Suzanne climbed into her sandwich bed, her mind was too active for sleep. When Simon joined her, she rolled over and lay half across his chest, but her thoughts kept returning to the events of the evening. Morlaix had drunkenly said that he’d heard harem women knew how to please a man. That was true. She was an expert at giving men pleasure and her skill had preserved her life.
Those skills were part of an existence she’d abhorred. But she was free now, safe and supported and protected by Simon. He’d given her everything and asked nothing in return except companionship, and giving that was a joy.
It was time to give back to him. She gathered her resolve, then slid her hand between the covers on his layer of the bed. He slept in a loose linen shirt and soft drawers, and his body was warm and muscular under the fabric. She liked petting his broad chest. He felt so strong, so alive.
She stroked her hand lower, feeling the subtle contours of his torso. Touch. They both loved touching so much, and he was wonderfully touchable.
She had just found the hard jut of his pelvis bone when his hand clamped hard over hers. “Suzanne, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice taut to the breaking point.
“That horrid Morlaix made me recognize that I can give you satisfaction without full intimacy,” she said honestly. “I want to please you. And it would be my first step toward breaking the chains that have bound me.”
There was a long silence, and she felt the pulse in his hand over hers. “This is . . . appealing, but I don’t want you doing something you find distasteful.”
“I believe it will make me feel strong,” she said slowly. “Strong and free. If you will permit?”
“Of course I’ll permit,” he said, his voice thick.
He released her hand, and she continued her exploration of his lower body. He really was a splendid male specimen. His breath was quickening and she found that he was almost fully aroused when she grasped him. He gave a suffocated cry and his whole body became rigid. She was pleased to discover that she felt no fear or revulsion because this intimacy was her choice and this was Simon, the best man she’d ever known.
As she kneaded his yielding, heated flesh, her fingers remembered the old skills. She quickly found the rhythm of intensifying his arousal, then slowing down to prolong his pleasure. When he began shaking all over in response, she decided it was time to bring him to culmination. She did so with quick, deft fingers.
“Suzanne!” he gasped. “Dear God,Suzanne . . .!” He crushed her against him as his body bucked uncontrollably.
She’d brought a handkerchief to bed in the hope she’d have the courage to pleasure him. As he reached the explosion point, she pulled the handkerchief from under her pillow and captured that hot stream of potential life. He groaned her name again and again at his shattering release, holding her as if she was his lifeline.
