I am tempted to write my own little story of Percy and Marguerite , beginning with their first meeting and ending with the night we are first introduced to them at the Fisherman's Rest. Let me know if you would be interested. I the mean time, I wrote this little piece of fluff because I am madly in love with Sir Percy and wanted to put my image of their reunion to paper.

This is primarily book cannon, though, Anthony Andrews as Percy... I just melt...

But... as I said, book cannon.

Let me know!

Scarlet Love

The cabin in the Day Dream was far from uncomfortable. Her beloved husband was not a man to forgo comforts unnecessarily. Part of her believed she enjoyed playing the role he did, that he relished the comforts he was able to keep in his attempts to keep his identity hidden. As a result, the bed bolted into the floor just a few feet from her was one that would fit them both comfortably, if snugly. The desk was a comfortable enough space away, so she might not feel claustrophobic whilst lying against the no doubt deliciously comfortable sheets. Even though she could hardly wait to return to their home in Richmond or, even more preferable, a trip up to one of his estates in the North where they might be alone, she looked toward the bed longingly, her tired, aching muscles yearning for the gloriousness of the oblivion of a long deep sleep.

She took her eyes away from the bed and removed Andrew's cape from her shoulders. She draped it onto the chair of Percy's desk and then turned, a smile coming to her girlish lips. She crossed the floor to the foot of the bed, picking up his discarded shirt. Her Percy, she smiled, a need of fresh linen before he set off to save the world. She brought it to her lips, breathing in the scent of him, the scent she had missed for so long.

How glorious she had found their wedding night. How glorious she had found those short days when he brought her to his bed. Waking up beside him, feeling him next to her, knowing she could reach out and feel him there. Then there were those dark, long, cold nights all alone, exiled to an empty bed by a fool of husband who could think of her with nothing but disdain.

"Not a fool," she breathed, hugging the coat to herself. "A god."

"Sink me!"

She turned, a gasp leaving her as her husband shut the door behind him, as quietly as he had opened it.

"Such words my dear, will condemn me to hell. Utterly blasphemous."

He smiled, tossing away his ragged coat off with a flourish. It was amusing, seeing his act in such clothing, but she was overcome with her love for him, and could only watch him cross the room to his desk. He picked up a rag, pausing, finger tips pressing to his desk, chin raised upward slightly, eyebrow quirked elegantly.

"Would you wound me in such a way, madam, when I will only ever pledge my love to you forever more."

"Oh, my love," was all she could think to say, tears wetting her eyes, she felt her love for him so acutely.

He removed another layer of rags, revealing his slightly dirtied shirt. He flipped the cuffs, examining them closely, and then look back up to her, eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

"My most beloved," he murmured, his tall, strong form coming toward her. His hand touched her cheek and she leaned into him, seizing his hand with hers, showering his palm with kisses. "Are you well?"

"I have never been better in my entire life," she vowed and his eyes softened, a playful smile on his lips, but undeniable concern shining in the depths of his usually blue eyes.

"Truly, Marguerite ," he said tenderly. His other hand went to brush back a messy curl.

"Tired," she answered, "and yet I feel Euphoric."

"Odd's fish, m'dear," he said, half heartedly clinging to the charade. He ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek. "Euphoric…"

"Percy," she said, taking of his hands and bringing it to her lips. "In all our time apart… our time estranged… I never once strayed. Not a kiss at a party… not longing look."

"Oh, my love," he breathed. "I never doubted your fidelity. And I, I assure you, have always been true."

"There was one man I often… fantasized about," she admitted. He quirked an eyebrow, blue eye hardening ever so slightly.

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she answered. "Strong and powerful and brave… how could I not dream every night of falling into the arms of the elusive Scarlett Pimpernel?"

His lips curved upward and he placed a hand to her lower back, pulling her closer to him.

"Gad, madam, how might I ever compete with such a man?" he asked dramatically. He leaned down, placing a soft, chaste, but glorious kiss to her mouth. He said softly against her mouth, "I shall need to erase such thoughts of other men from your mind."

He kissed her again, longer this time, more deeply, his lips lingering against hers. She leaned into him, grabbing onto the front of his shirt, balling the white linen up in her hands tightly.

"Percy," she breathed when he pulled away.

"Your dress, madam, is dirty," he informed her. "Not at all befitting the most fashionable woman in England."

She nodded, lost in his eyes. His fingers, long and skillful, plucked at the buttons of her bodice. She offered no resistance as he turned her gently, pulling the bodice from her. He placed it to the side and she sucked in a breath, excitement and nervousness pulsing through her as he gently began to pull at the strings of her corset.

"Devilish monstrous things," she heard him say. Her entire body trembled as she felt him pull at the cord. She felt it loosen around her and fall away.

"Hmmm," he murmured. His hands touched her sides, gripping the shift lightly. His lips ghosted along her cheek, her skin vibrating. It was so like their wedding night. The excitement, the fright, the desire to please him. He tsked her gently clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "No, no, no, m'dear, this simply will not do."

She could only nod and when he lifted her shift upward she raised her arms, allowing him to strip her bear. She felt a cool breeze come in through the covered, closed window of the cabin, goosebumps springing up across her entire body.

"Percy," she breathed. His hands, large and warm, white and strong, ghosted along her sides, smoothing over her flat, pale belly. His lips found her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck.

"You are not too tired?" he murmured. "Too traumatized?"

She shook her head, leaning back into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He leaned down, putting his lips to her mouth. One of his hands moved up, the other lower. His right hand stopped just below her left breast, his left hand touching her right hip. She was surrounded by him, cocooned by him, and she had never felt more at peace. His lips parted, tongue probing gently, and her own mouth opened, willing to deny him absolutely nothing.

"Marguerite ," he breathed against her lips. He slowly turned her, pulling her to the coarse costume he had worn to so brilliantly outsmart Chauvelin. Was he just now beginning to discover he had been duped, that the Scarlet Pimpernel had escaped him once more?

Her hands lowered, pulling at the fasteners of his pantaloons.

"You, sir, too, are terribly ill-dressed," she said, but she could not keep the teasing tone he could, and her voice trembled. "Sir Percy Blakeney, wearing such clothes, the country might riot if only they knew."

"Gad, m'dear, then remove them as fast as possible," he replied. Once his pantaloons were unfastened, he stopped her, scooping her up in his arms as if she were a child, and carrying her to the bed. "So very long," he mused as he rid himself of his filthy clothes. She lay back, head on the pillow, curls a mess around her, and looked up at the ceiling. She felt the bed weigh down and he came to pause beside her, looking down at her with tender eyes. She looked up at him, taking a breath, and then he moved to rest on top of her. His mouth was pressed to hers gently, his hands on her body. She had longed for this for so long and now that it was actually happening, she thought she might die of happiness. When his hand touched her inner thigh, he need do no more than ghost his finger tips across her skin, to have her open them for him readily.

He settled between her awaiting legs, his mouth still on hers.

"My love," he breathed, shifting. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him closer.

"Please, Percy," she pleaded softly, hips arching up into him. "Please."

"Marguerite ," he responded earnestly, the sound of worship returning to his voice and made her beg no longer. She cried out and he chuckled, placing a hand to her mouth and a finger to his lips. "Odd's fish my dear… do you wish the entire ship to hear?"

"The world," she answered when he lowered his hand. He kissed her once more and she wrapped her arms around him more tightly, her hands clutching to his broad, strong back. He worked against her, that passion she had seen in his eyes the night he left for Calais smoldering within him, building up and threatening to explode with each passing second. She felt it burning beneath the skin on his back, heard it in each little grunt that escaped him, hot breath skirting along her cheek and ear.

That passion, that love she had seen, exploded within her own breast. Radiating out of his limbs into hers, from his body to hers. It was hot and blinding, and as it built up into an unbelievable, unfathomable level, she had no doubt that it was a passion that would remain to the day they both died, the threat of fading as pathetic as Chauvelin's belief he could possibly outwit, outthink, or defeat the wondrous man within her. And when he collapsed on top of her, sweating and panting, her hand burying deep within his hair, her other tracing sweaty circles along his broad back, she had a smile on her lips, a feeling of unending love in her heart, and a feeling of absolute bliss consuming her spirit.

If I do get this story I want to write underway, which I am more than likely to write, I will probably change this slightly to better fit that story.

Please let me know what you think!