Page 76 of Souvenir of Love

She rocked her head back against his chest and moaned. And when his hand came up and caressed her breast, she clutched it. The insistent rubbing between her thighs was not a hand. As she slid against his hardness she thought he would not penetrate her, not now, not this way, with both of them half asleep and too many things unsaid. She slipped her hand down between themand felt him thrust against her palm. This time it was he who moaned. Elizabeth felt a sense of power and held her hand flat against him, pushing as he thrust again and again, each time harder.

The balance of power shifted as his hips pumped insistently, his hardness slid faster and faster against her. Ragged breathing sounded in her ears, but Elizabeth didn’t know if it was his or hers, or theirs. She clamped her thighs together, not knowing whether she was trying to stop him from entering her or lock him against her forever.

He pulled away from her with a strangled cry.

They lay in silence then, on either side of the bed, nightclothes and nightshirts as tortured as their breathing. For several moments, Elizabeth’s heart pounded so loudly the sound drowned out the voice in her head, the one that wondered how it was possible to feel exhilarated and ashamed at the same time. The way he touched her, the way he made her feel… Was it because he wanted her? Or simply because she was in his bed? And if he wanted her, why didn’t he want her enough to marry her?

When at last she found the strength to speak, she turned to face him.

He turned to her, too, one hand reaching out to brush back a damp curl that fell across her forehead. The touch of his fingers, so gentle, made her want to reach for him. But when he spoke, she was glad she had not.

“My apologies, Elizabeth. This should not have happened. I…lost control. I’ve destroyed your reputation, but I will not destroy your life by getting you with child. We are not man and wife.It is madness to think we can ever be.”

“Good God, she’sback again.”Lieutenant Gourneau nodded in the direction of the old woman who had just come through the door and was headed straight for his desk. She brushed past a plump textile merchant in a red-white-and-blue-striped waistcoat, who’d been sitting in a chair by the wall, hat in hand, waiting patiently for the opportunity to speak with him.

“Who is she?” his captain asked, eyeing her determined progress.

“The damned egg lady.”

The captain chuckled. “What do you think she’s brought this time? Nests?”

The lieutenant didn’t have a chance to answer, because the woman had reached the edge of his desk. She stood, twisting the ends of her frayed apron in her leathery hands.

“Here now.” The textile merchant stood up. “I’ve been waiting nearly a quarter of an hour. You can’t just push ahead like that...”

“Citizeness,” he said, allowing only the slightest note of irritation in his voice, “you have more egg thefts to report?”

“No, sir. No, citizen.” She shook her head. “I’ve already shown you the evidence. I wouldn’t bring you more. No, you told me to come back if I noticed anything else peculiar, anyone suspicious hanging about.”

Gourneau reminded himself he was there to serve the people. The people were the eyes and ears of the Republic. It was his duty to listen, even if some of the people were lonely, crazy old women. “Yes?” he prompted.

“I’ve gotpique-niquers, citizen.”

The lieutenant schooled his features to appear interested. “Pique-niquers?”

“Three days in a row they’ve taken their lunch in the field near my farm. Three days,” she repeated for emphasis. “A man and a woman. I ask you, citizen, what sort of people do that?”

Lovers, the lieutenant thought disgustedly.

“He is tall and blond, with a scar on his face like this,” the woman persisted, drawing a line up her cheek toward her eyebrow. “She is young and has brown hair. And they are English,” she added triumphantly.

“And you know this how?”

“Because they bought hard-boiled eggs for theirpique-niqueat my farm.”

“Me, also, I know it, too,” the merchant said, elbowing the old woman aside so that he, too, was standing in front of Gourneau’s desk.

“Don’t tell me—they werepique-niquingat your shop?”

“They claimed that they were interested in importing French fabrics into England, but I knew there was something funny about the pair of them.” The merchant waved a finger knowingly. “I think they are spies.”

The lieutenant straightened in his chair. And this time, he had no need to feign interest.

They returnedto the field with their picnic basket and the red and white blanket later that afternoon. James had just finished an egg Elizabeth had refused when an unusual movement at the edge of the field caught his eye. “Elizabeth,” he hissed, “don’t make any abrupt movements, just glance to your left and tell me what you see.”

“There’s something moving in the bushes.”

James reached behind his back, feeling for the pistol he tucked into the waistband of his breeches.