Broken Promises

She'd never been so angry with him before. Not even when he'd drunkenly made a fool of himself in front of the whole town and gotten himself arrested or even when he'd written a public letter proclaiming his alcoholism to petition for his divorce from Mei Lin. This, though. This was beyond the pale.

In fact, at this point, she couldn't even bear to look at him. "I can't do this, Lucien." She was seething with rage.

"Jean, I..."

"No," she interrupted, cutting off whatever excuse he'd come up with. "No, I can't."

And with that, she was gone. Didn't take her purse or her keys or even her coat. She turned and walked right out the front door.

Lucien stood in the hallway, stunned. She'd walked out on him once, years before, but that was different. She wasn't his wife then. And he hadn't hurt her so personally then.

He was at a horrible loss of what to do now. If she'd run out on him, she clearly wanted to be alone and likely wouldn't appreciate him following her. But he needed to apologize and explain and find a way to right this wrong.

For over an hour, Lucien paced in the parlor, rehearsing what he wanted to say to Jean when she got home. Nine o'clock came and went. Ten o'clock came and went. No sight or sound of Jean.

And Lucien began to panic. Without a second thought, he walked out into the night. Somewhere out there, his wife was hurt and upset, and he couldn't bear to be away from her any longer.

It took him a little while to find her. She wasn't at the Club or at the cinema or at the church—though he really hadn't expected to find her there. In a fit of desperation, Lucien went to the place he tended to go when he needed to get out of the house and be alone with his thoughts: Lake Wendouree.

And there she was. Standing beside an enormous oak tree, hugging herself tight, looking out over the bright reflection of the moon on the water. Lucien approached her slowly and carefully, not wanting to overwhelm her, hoping they could have a calm discussion and not make her run from him again.

She heard him approach. The weight of his footsteps was very familiar to her ear. But the hours she'd spent alone and slightly chilled had calmed her. The lake had always been a comfort to Jean. Lucien came here when he was upset, as she'd found him in various states of emotional turmoil in this very spot. She'd never told him that she'd done the same thing many times over. When Christopher died, she'd brought the boys to Sacred Heart for Sunday School and left Mass to come here and unburden her problems to the water. Today, she'd very nearly had to do the same thing, grieve another husband on the shores of Lake Wendouree.

"Jean?" he called softly.

"Yes, Lucien," she replied, just as softly. She didn't turn her head to face him.

He came to stand beside her. Not touching. Not too close. But close enough. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Well, you've found me," she replied. There was no vitriol in her tone. She wasn't sure she had any fight left in her now.

"I wanted to explain. And apologize."

Tears blurred her vision, and Jean tried in vain to blink them away. "I don't know what there is to explain, Lucien. You deliberately lied to me and broke a promise. A few of them, actually."

"A few?"

"You promised you wouldn't go after him. You promised you'd be careful. You promised you wouldn't be foolish and put yourself in danger again. And you promised till death do us part would be a very long way off." Her voice was shaking. Jean pressed her hand to her stomach, willing the overflow of fear and anger to stay inside.

Lucien sighed, "You're right. I know I made a right mess of things."

"But you didn't really, did you?" She turned to look at him now. "You got by unscathed. You caught the killer, you solved the mystery. You did what you always do. And everything turned out just fine. But I'm absolutely terrified, Lucien, that you won't always be so lucky. And when you take these risks, when you rush off without telling me, when you decide to sacrifice yourself without thinking, you're devaluing your safety and your life, and I just can't bear it!"

He watched as she turned away from him and buried her face in her arms against the tree. His heart absolutely ached to see her so upset. But of course, she was exactly right. She always was. He was reckless out of habit. For too many years, his life was only worth the work he could do. Ballarat had other doctors. His daughter in China had a family of her own. His friends weren't so close as to have their lives made any different by the loss of his. But Jean was different. Jean loved him. Beyond all reason, she'd chosen to bind her life to his, to share his bed and take his name, to weather all the storms he'd brought upon them both, to stand by his side as his wife. She needed him, and when the adrenaline was pumping and he was hot on a killer's heels, he still couldn't seem to remember that.

Ever so gently, he took two steps toward her, placing a hand at the small of her back. She jumped slightly at his touch, a sensation that nearly broke his heart. It had been a long time since his touch was unwelcome to her.

"Jean, I'm so sorry. I love you more than anything in this world, my darling. You must know that. Even with all the stupid things I do, you must know how deeply I love you, how much I need you, now and always."

His breath was hot on her cheek as he murmured his words of love in her ear. A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold of the evening as they stood in that lonely abandoned spot by the lake.

He loved her. She knew that. He needed her. She knew that, too. But his words weren't enough. "Prove it," she murmured.

Her voice was slightly muffled by her arms, and Lucien wasn't quite sure he'd understood. "Prove it?"

Jean turned her head toward him. "If you love me, if you need me, you should prove it."

At first, he wasn't quite sure what she meant. But then she did something that got her point across to him. It was subtle, something that wouldn't have been noticed by anyone other than him. Jean stepped her legs out to either side, widening her stance where she stood. And Lucien knew exactly what she wanted.

He was transported back to their honeymoon, those four months of bliss, travelling the world and exploring foreign lands and each other's bodies with equal vigor. And in one of their hotel suites, Jean had tempted him by coming out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, facing the wall, and dropping it to the floor. He'd been on her in an instant, hands tracing every delicate curve of her body. She braced herself against the wall, arching against him, and eventually he'd had to ask her to spread her legs a bit so he could properly reach her. The memory stood out not only for its sensuality, but because she had gotten so wrapped up in what he was doing to her that she nearly stumbled and fell. They both ended up laughing until their laughs turned into breathy moans as Lucien made love to his wife standing up against the wall like that, having more fun and more passion than ever before.

Could it possibly be that history was to repeat itself? "Jean?" he breathed, still uncertain.

"Please," she whispered in return, widening her stance a bit more.

And Lucien snapped. He stood behind her, running his hands down her trim waist and the flare of her hips, over her stomach and up to massage her breasts through her blouse. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, dragging his lips along the back of her neck, sucking hard at that spot below her ear that would have made her cry out if they weren't outdoors in the middle of the night. As it was, she bit her bottom lip to keep herself quiet and she whimpered. Lucien traced his tongue down those lines of her neck as far as he could before reaching the barrier created by the collar of her shirt.

Jean arched against him just as she'd done in Copenhagen at that marvelous hotel. Her bum rubbed against Lucien's hips, feeling the beginnings of his arousal. Far more than mere beginnings, actually. Despite their fight and the emotional upheaval of his apology, Jean's recreation of their erotic encounter seemed to be doing the trick.

She could feel his huge hands all over her, his clever fingers finding a way through the fabric that separated them, making her pant with want. He began hiking up her skirt, now searching for her bare flesh above her stocking tops and moving between her legs to her damp knickers. Lucien wasn't the only one aroused by this elicit moment.

A gasp fell from her lips as he began to stroke her folds, tracing the shape of her, seeking her wet heat. She ground against his hand to add to the friction she so desperately needed from him. "Please, Lucien, I don't want to wait," she begged.

He pulled away from her for just a moment. She keenly felt his absence and wanted to turn around to make him return to her, but he didn't make her wait long. He unzipped his trousers to free his erection and gave himself a few strokes. He pressed up against her, still with her knickers to separate them. A shiver ran through her to feel him so hard and throbbing for her.

His hands were back on her now. Lucien's mind was clouded by lust, and he had a bit of trouble deciding what to do. And in the end, he pulled the fabric abruptly and tore Jean's knickers right off her. He shoved the tattered silk and lace into his pocket before returning to his more immediate task. Lucien lined himself up at her entrance, spreading her wetness with the head of his cock, and pushed inside her sharply.

Jean tasted blood in her mouth as she bit down hard on her lips, trying desperately to remain quiet. Her whimpering moans were completely out of control. Her palms were getting scratched by the bark of the tree as she tried to hold steady while Lucien pounded into her. He filled her and stretched her so beautifully, stroking inside her body in the most exquisite manner. His hands gripped her hips with a bruising strength as he moved her to meet his every thrust. Her whole body was beginning to quiver as the tension in her belly built and built.

"Wait, Lucien," she gasped.

He immediately stilled. "What's wrong?"

Jean pulled away from him, sighing as he slipped out of her. "I need to turn around," she explained, "I need to see you." She needed to hold him in her arms and feel his whole body with hers when he made her come.

When he let her go, Jean turned to face him finally. She pulled him in to kiss him deeply. His wet cock was trapped between their bodies, but he'd have to wait. Her tongue surged into his mouth as she held tight to the back of his neck and anchored his face to hers. Jean peppered kisses all along the line of his beard, murmuring words of love, echoed by his own. She undid the top few buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie so she could trace the thick cords of his neck with her tongue. Her hands journeyed downward, catching his hardness in her grasp and stroking him quite deliberately. To hear him whimper in her ear brought her a teasing smile.

Jean couldn't wait any longer. She hitched her leg over his hip and held him to her entrance. "Now, my love," she instructed.

Lucien grabbed hold of her bum, squeezing her bare flesh tightly and thrusting deep inside her, holding her exactly where he wanted her. Her hair was getting tangled in the tree now, but neither of them noticed. Their bodies, still mostly clothed, where melded together as close as could be. They held each other tight, rocking and gyrating against each other. "Jean, my darling, my Jean," he moaned over and over in between messy, wet kisses.

She was gasping for air now, so close to her release. Nonsense words spilled from her lips unbeknownst to her conscious mind. "Yes, Lucien, I need you, I love you, yes, please!"

And just when she couldn't be brought any higher, her body found its release. She bit down hard at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his thick muscle muffling her cries of pleasure. Lucien felt the tight grip of her muscles around him, flooding him with wetness and pushing him over the edge. With two more sharp thrusts, he came inside her, groaning into her hair.

They slowed and stilled, holding each other tight as they panted heavily. Neither was even close to capable of coherent speech yet. Jean and Lucien merely clung on, her leg muscles seizing slightly, him going soft inside her.

The crackling of tires over pavement and shadows created by headlights passed on the road behind them, a reminder that they were still out in the open, despite the false security created by the lonely moonlight and the stillness of the lake. Lucien tensed up, horrified of being caught in such a compromising position. Jean could hear the car drive past and fade away, and she inexplicably began to giggle into Lucien's chest.

"Are you laughing!?" he asked in disbelief.

"I cannot believe we just did that!" she whispered, getting ahold of herself.

He let out an amused puff of air. "Yes, well, perhaps we should head home." Lucien let go of her gently so she could stand on her own two feet. He put himself back in his trousers and redid the buttons of his shirt, trying to look marginally presentable. He offered Jean his handkerchief.

As swiftly as she could, Jean cleaned herself up and put her skirt back in place. It felt very odd to be without her knickers, and she noticed that Lucien took his soiled handkerchief and put it into his pocket with the undergarment he'd ripped off her. "You know, I think I'll be properly ashamed of myself in the morning, but right now, I can't find it in me to regret this."

Lucien regarded her in slight awe. Her hands were all scraped from the tree, her makeup was smeared all over her face, her hair was a mess, and every bit of her looked rather ravaged. Thankfully, he'd driven the car over so she wouldn't have to walk home. "You never cease to amaze me, Jean," he replied.

"Is that so? Well, I'm rather glad for that. Wouldn't want you to get bored yet," she teased.

He took her hand and led her back to where he'd parked so they could go home. "I couldn't never get bored with you, my darling."

"No, I rather hope you do," Jean disagreed.

"And why is that?" he asked, opening the car door for her.

"I hope we live together for so long and we spend so much time together and we know each other so well that there is absolutely nothing about me that ever surprises you," she said, getting into the car and settling beside him as he started the engine.

Lucien smiled. "You know, that will take a very long time."

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement. "Might be years."

"Years and years."

She placed her hand on his knee as he drove. "I'm not going to ask you to promise me we'll have those years."

"No?"

"No. I don't need a promise that we'll have those years, Lucien. I just need the years themselves. The promise lives in that. In you coming home to me at the end of every day. Alright?"

Lucien placed his hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "Alright."