Read Online TW03 The Pimpernel Plot NEW by Simon Hawke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simon Hawke
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When it came to matters of the flesh, discipline had never been Delaney’s strong suit. As he sat alone at a corner table in the inn, nursing his wine, he contemplated the possibility of bedding her that night.
After all, he was her husband. She might welcome a sudden thaw in their relationship and the situation was quite conducive to it. They had just been through a harrowing experience together, the sort of thing that raises the adrenaline and leads people to seek pleasant release in sexual activity. One night, when matters of the preceding day led them to rediscover the joys they knew when first they wed, one night, what harm could it do? The next day, he could resume the status quo, acting embarrassed, awkward, perhaps a little angered at having given in to the pressures of the moment. Things like that happened all the time.
But, no. It would not be wise. She already bore resentment toward her husband, whose ardor had so considerably cooled and whose devotion had become little more than a matter of form. To start something now, only to end it just as abruptly, as necessity dictated, would only make matters that much worse.
He needed Marguerite to be bored with Blakeney, not furious with him. He would have to put his lust aside, something that never had been easy and would be that much more difficult, due to the fact that he would have to share a bed with her.
“Damn,” Finn mumbled softly, to himself, “I should have thought to take separate rooms for us.”
“Sir?” said a soft voice at his side. He turned to see a young serving girl who stood hesitantly by the table, smiling awkwardly.
“Yes, what is it?”
“The lady bid me tell you that she is quite exhausted from the journey and will not sup tonight. She begs you to excuse her and to take your meal at your leisure, if you will. She is content to simply rest for tomorrow’s journey.” Well, that settles that, thought Finn. She’ll be fast asleep when I come up. Now if I can only keep my hands off her in the middle of the night….
He thanked the girl and had her bring him a supper of cold meat, bread, and fruit. He drank more wine and began to feel relaxed for the first time that day. He purchased a clay pipe for a few pennies from the innkeeper, who overcharged him, seeing that he was wealthy, and he settled back in his chair with the long churchwarden filled with Turkish Latakia. He smoked slowly, enjoying the strong black tobacco and sipping the inn’s somewhat plebeian Bordeaux, which was nevertheless quite satisfying after the bumpy, dusty journey. He bought a few more clays and some tobacco to take along with him the following day, so that he could relax and smoke while they crossed the Channel, then he made his way upstairs.
Marguerite was in bed, with the covers drawn up over her. She had left a candle burning for him and the single light bathed the room in a soft and cozy glow. He saw that Marguerite had laid his sleeping gown out for him, along with his nightcap, both of which he appraised with slight annoyance. He did not like to be encumbered while he slept. Still, the character seemed to call for it and he resigned himself to nightclothes.
He only hoped that there would be no bedbugs to keep him company.
Moving very quietly, so as not to waken Marguerite, Finn slowly undressed. When he had taken off his last item of clothing, he heard a rustling in the bed behind him and, thinking that he might have made some sound that had disturbed his “wife,” he froze for a moment.
“Are you then well fed and rested, Percy?” Marguerite said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Finn turned and saw that she had pulled aside the covers and was lying naked in the bed, in a deliberately and blatantly seductive pose. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow and it glinted like red gold in the candlelight. Her soft skin was without a blemish and her perfectly shaped breasts rose and fell slightly as she breathed through parted lips.
Moving
After all, he was her husband. She might welcome a sudden thaw in their relationship and the situation was quite conducive to it. They had just been through a harrowing experience together, the sort of thing that raises the adrenaline and leads people to seek pleasant release in sexual activity. One night, when matters of the preceding day led them to rediscover the joys they knew when first they wed, one night, what harm could it do? The next day, he could resume the status quo, acting embarrassed, awkward, perhaps a little angered at having given in to the pressures of the moment. Things like that happened all the time.
But, no. It would not be wise. She already bore resentment toward her husband, whose ardor had so considerably cooled and whose devotion had become little more than a matter of form. To start something now, only to end it just as abruptly, as necessity dictated, would only make matters that much worse.
He needed Marguerite to be bored with Blakeney, not furious with him. He would have to put his lust aside, something that never had been easy and would be that much more difficult, due to the fact that he would have to share a bed with her.
“Damn,” Finn mumbled softly, to himself, “I should have thought to take separate rooms for us.”
“Sir?” said a soft voice at his side. He turned to see a young serving girl who stood hesitantly by the table, smiling awkwardly.
“Yes, what is it?”
“The lady bid me tell you that she is quite exhausted from the journey and will not sup tonight. She begs you to excuse her and to take your meal at your leisure, if you will. She is content to simply rest for tomorrow’s journey.” Well, that settles that, thought Finn. She’ll be fast asleep when I come up. Now if I can only keep my hands off her in the middle of the night….
He thanked the girl and had her bring him a supper of cold meat, bread, and fruit. He drank more wine and began to feel relaxed for the first time that day. He purchased a clay pipe for a few pennies from the innkeeper, who overcharged him, seeing that he was wealthy, and he settled back in his chair with the long churchwarden filled with Turkish Latakia. He smoked slowly, enjoying the strong black tobacco and sipping the inn’s somewhat plebeian Bordeaux, which was nevertheless quite satisfying after the bumpy, dusty journey. He bought a few more clays and some tobacco to take along with him the following day, so that he could relax and smoke while they crossed the Channel, then he made his way upstairs.
Marguerite was in bed, with the covers drawn up over her. She had left a candle burning for him and the single light bathed the room in a soft and cozy glow. He saw that Marguerite had laid his sleeping gown out for him, along with his nightcap, both of which he appraised with slight annoyance. He did not like to be encumbered while he slept. Still, the character seemed to call for it and he resigned himself to nightclothes.
He only hoped that there would be no bedbugs to keep him company.
Moving very quietly, so as not to waken Marguerite, Finn slowly undressed. When he had taken off his last item of clothing, he heard a rustling in the bed behind him and, thinking that he might have made some sound that had disturbed his “wife,” he froze for a moment.
“Are you then well fed and rested, Percy?” Marguerite said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Finn turned and saw that she had pulled aside the covers and was lying naked in the bed, in a deliberately and blatantly seductive pose. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow and it glinted like red gold in the candlelight. Her soft skin was without a blemish and her perfectly shaped breasts rose and fell slightly as she breathed through parted lips.
Moving
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