As always, these are not my characters.

If you have left me a review recently and not had a reply, it's probably because reviews don't seem to be posting here reliably at the moment. However, I've now changed my settings so I will get any reviews in future via email, so do please let me know what you think of this story.

And a a message for seven dragons: I had hoped the robe might look better on Jean, but I'm not convinced!

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Lucien woke with the dry mouth of a hangover, a numb left arm, and a vague feeling of despair. All of these were his own fault, and a direct result of throwing caution to the wind the previous evening.

Since Jean had kissed him properly for the first time on the driveway, just two weeks ago, he had been aware they were playing with fire, living together while trying to negotiate what that meant now they were engaged; but after all they had been through he hadn't much cared about the consequences. But now he was probably going to pay the price, and he didn't yet know how high that price that might be.

In the meantime, he attempted to enjoy the moment, to make the most of the fact that Jean was lying with her head on his shoulder, in his bed, wearing nothing at all. And last night she had let him in, not just to her body, but to her mind. Under better circumstances this would have made him very happy indeed.

On the day that Mei Lin left, Jean had agreed to marry him, at whatever point in the future that became possible. He had only just started to look into getting a divorce, so who knew whether it would take months, or even years? And the one thing he thought he had known for certain was that Jean would not be his mistress, and there would be no going to bed together until they were married.

Yet here they were, and there was no way to change it now.

The previous evening had been much like every other evening since their (still unofficial) engagement. They had eaten dinner together, then sat on the couch together, just talking, reading, and listening to the gramophone. There had been some kissing and cuddling, but all fairly restrained until Jean joined him in drinking his whisky.

Although she had drunk far less of it than he had, he probably should have remembered that he was far more used to it than she was. She was bound to think he took advantage of her, or that's what he thought, anyway. He groaned inwardly.

In fact, he remembered what had happened quite clearly, and it was Jean who had taken him by the hand and led him to bed. He had been very willing, of course. He suspected she might think he should have said no. After all, he knew perfectly well that she had wanted to wait until they were married, and he had been considerably more sober than she was. What a mess.

He couldn't in all honestly say he regretted it though. He loved Jean, and if anything he loved her more now than he had yesterday, if that were possible. And he had no belief in the God who said what they had done was wrong. But Jean did.

He wiggled his fingers a little, trying to get some blood circulating in his arm again. He pulled Jean a little closer to him, pressing a kiss to her temple and praying to the God he didn't believe in that she would forgive him. He watched her sleeping, feeling such tenderness towards her that he could sense a tear forming at the edge of his vision.

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Jean awoke to a rather different feeling of tenderness, along with an incipient headache and a sinking feeling in her stomach. She turned her head to see if Lucien was awake, and caught a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

For a moment she could not think what he might be afraid of, then she realised it was probably fear of her reaction. She did her best to smile at him, rather ruefully perhaps, but she tried. And then she felt a wave of love for him, for this man whom she had loved for so long, even when she had tried not to. So she kissed his cheek and gave him a more reassuring smile.

She remembered enough about the previous evening to know she had taken the lead, and however she might feel about it now, she couldn't blame him. And she didn't want to blame him anyway. She hadn't drunk so much that she didn't know where this had been heading.

And although she now rather wished they had waited, it had been a really lovely experience, the first time in fifteen years or more that she had slept with anyone, and it had turned out to be pretty special.

"I'm sorry," he said. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Alright, not very sorry. But perhaps I should have tried harder to stop."

She shook her head. "No...it was my choice."

"So what do we do now?" He hoped she wasn't going to suggest moving out, or something equally horrible.

"I think I should give up whisky, for a start," she replied with a small smile, "and you should get on with that divorce, so we don't have to wait years to repeat last night."

With that, she borrowed his dressing gown from the hook on the door, put it on, and collected her clothes from the floor, then headed to the bathroom.

Lucien closed his eyes in relief, and allowed himself a moment to dwell on the many pleasures of loving Jean. He may even have given thanks to a God he still didn't believe in, but who seemed to be on his side anyway.

And then he got up and went to breakfast, as if this was any other day.