The busy Parisian market place was the dubitable scene for Rochefort to wait for his next message. Slouching against a pillar nearby one of his favourite stalls, he stole a covetous glance at the nearest bowl to him, full to the brim with shiny black olives. He was tempted to stroll over and sample a few but he was tired of Milady reprimanding him over him walking off when he was meant to be waiting for her. She treated him like such a child sometimes. He scowled over this, making the nearest gaggle of children run off in fright. He scowled over this again, realising it wasn't doing him any favours. He disliked waiting for the snooty Milady de Winter as much as he disliked looking in his cupboard and finding no bottle of wine. Which was a big dislike. Rochefort liked his burgundy. He always had to wait ages for her and then she would sweep in whenever, in a cloud of scent and swirls of silk having the cheek to tell him that he was always early. He chewed on a cinnamon stick menacingly and scanned the distance to spot her. She was already ten minutes late. He scowled at that.

'Rochefort.'

The lady in question had turned up, jolting him out of his reverie.

'Finally.' He straightened up and assumed the pose of a gentleman listening intently to his companion, all the time scanning for possible intruders. They didn't wish to be overheard.

'Where are your manners Rochefort?' She teased him acidly.

'You Milady, are late.'

'Nonsense. You are just early. As always.'

He bit back the retort and took a deep breath instead. He was at the end of his tether with this woman. She annoyed him on purpose. In fact she was late much of the time because she was a thorough enough spy, scoping out the dangers and dealing with them in her own way. But she also did it sometimes to annoy him.

'Any news?'

'None. Perhaps our esteemed guests will do us the honour of not showing up tonight.' Her perfume was befuddling him; he leaned in closer to lower his voice whilst secretly breathing it in, a subtle spicy scent that wound him right round her little finger. He would never admit to it though, he enjoyed their arguments sometimes.

'I wouldn't be so optimistic Rochefort, they need to be there in some way so we can eliminate them' she replied sarcastically.

He narrowed his eye at this and took on a more aggressive tone.

'I suppose you took care of the other problem?'

'Of course I did' she replied demurely. 'Do you think I'd let him run around blabbing to everyone? I sorted him out nicely.'

'Nothing dubious I hope' he asked suspiciously.

'Not at all.' Innocent eyes. 'I left him in a safe place.' She mimed tying up that fop Buckingham's hands and shoving him into a cupboard. Rochefort grinned broadly, resisting the urge to laugh. They sniggered at the image for a moment and turned their attention to more serious matters than Buckingham's entrapment.

'You have more information?' She tapped her elegant fingers on her top pocket. Rochefort was about to ask her why she kept it in such an obvious place when a commotion behind them stopped them. A shabby chestnut horse had broken loose and was cantering around with the reins free, the idiot of his rider, a mere boy running after him in desperation. Rochefort chuckled dismissively, making over to stride over and rein in the horse and show the boy how to control the animal.

'Concentration span faltering, Rochefort?' Her snide comment didn't bypass him.

'Hilarious' he replied sarcastically. Her raised eyebrow didn't improve his temper. It seemed mocking of his weakness, one eye hidden behind the black leather eye patch.

'I have a message for you, you wish to see it, yes?' His eye flicked to her top pocket and she obliged by slipping it from a hidden space from within her furs and hiding it in her sleeve. She wasn't stupid, Milady. She had more hiding places than up her sleeves than he could count.

Glancing over her shoulder he saw the boy and his horse making their chaotic way in their direction, wrecking part of the market in their haphazard wake.

'Help! My horse!' He shouted to them.

'Restrain yourself' she reminded him, knowing his desire to make himself look impressive in front of this fool. Rochefort was a good handler of horses. But they had other things to do. He was still watching the horse, estimating how much better he could look next to this peasant boy so she distracted him in a way she'd never done before. She took hold of his collar, pulled him towards her and rested her lips on his, applying pressure to get his attention. The ploy worked and he responded back with an enthusiasm she could have hardly credited him. He put an arm round her waist while she discretely slipped the note in the closest pocket in his jacket. He tasted of cinnamon.

Rochefort could barely believe his luck, entwined with the lady herself in a clinch that any man would envy. She was soft to the touch, the grip on his collar a steel reminder that she wasn't as gentle as she seemed, the other grazing his cheek. It had been a long time since he'd received a kiss and it did the trick, distracting him from the horse and its boy, all of which faded into the distance. The owner of the stall selling olives watched with appreciation, a tall elderly man with a splendid white moustache and twinkling eyes. He liked watching a passionate embrace. He estimated the lady and her lover were getting out of the way of her jealous husband although a busy market place wasn't quite the ideal place.

The world around them faded to black, nothing else mattered. After a while she had to end it, gently disentangling herself from his arms and relinquishing her grip on his collar, leaving them slightly breathless. She wouldn't admit that she'd unintentionally enjoyed that kiss.

'The item is on your person' she quietly informed him.

He looked down, guessing which pocket she'd put it in. She nodded slightly when he found it. Their eyes locked for a moment and pulled away. There was a frission between them that hadn't been there before. She decided to end it there.

'See you tonight.' She winked playfully and turned around to walk into the havoc being wreaked around the scene. He, oblivious to it all just stared with his one good eye at her retreating figure. He could think of nothing else, the horse had flown from his mind. He took the note from his pocket and read it silently. Knowing his next instructions, he put it away and prepared to move on. Catching the olive seller's mischievous grin, he realised how it must look and felt a bit stupid. Saving face, he sauntered past to the stall and made away with a few olives of his choice. Popping them into his mouth and savouring, he grinned to himself. All of a sudden he was looking forward to this evening.