I'm afraid the collapse scene in this chapter is a shameless borrowing of Marianne Dashwood and her reaction to loosing Willoughby. From Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. I first read this book as a young teenager (that was a while ago!) and the scene is so haunting and so beautiful, I had to use it!

CHAPTER SEVEN.

HERS.

The New Year brought snow, and biting cold winds, to Paris. Cardinal Richelieu was travelling, to meet the Dutch Ambassador and discuss Spain's influence over the Low Countries, which were a constant threat to France. He journeyed through Flanders to The Netherlands, and was away for almost a month. Minette thought of him often, he was like pleasure and pain, he was sometimes cruel, but when he was kind, she needed him, wanted him. Now she yearned to see him.

On his return, she expected the carriage to arrive, to summon her. But it did not come.
A week passed, she heard no word. She was frantic with worry. Was he sick? She heard no rumour of this, she heard nothing at all. She knew it was a long and arduous journey to undertake in Winter, when the roads were treacherous and the threat of ambush in the dark was ever present. No news reached her.
At the end of the week, she finally heard the crunch of gravel as the coach arrived.

The door of his chamber opened, to reveal him at his desk, writing, as he often was. Minette made to go to him, to welcome him home, praise God that he was safe, when she was aware of another presence.
Seated on the chaise longue, was a young woman. Dark, attractive, but not pretty, a teenager from her look. Her legs were crossed seductively, her face in a pout.
Richelieu watched her face, and the range of emotions he read there, carefully.
"This is Therese. She is from Bruges. She will be joining you at The Residence."
Minette stared at her Master. She swallowed thickly.
So this was how it was to be. She was to be supplanted. Her position surrendered to this younger girl, whose attributes were clear to see.
"You will see to it, that she knows the routine, and what is expected of her."
No words would come, her legs felt as if no blood flowed through them. A feeling of nausea rose, from the pit of her stomach.
"Minette? Have you lost your voice?"
"No, Master." But she almost had, her reply was barely audible.
She had always feared this moment, but somehow, she'd thought it wouldn't happen.
Of course, he could do as he pleased, have as many mistresses as he chose, sleep with as many women as he wanted, none would refuse him, such was the power he wielded. Had he grown tired of her? Was she not enough for him, she had saved his life, but not for herself. Were they to share him? It was unthinkable. To think that she should now compete for his affection. She couldn't do it.
All these thoughts tumbled through her head, as she stood there. Only dimly aware that he was speaking again.
"I'm sure you will make her feel at home."
A single tear coursed down her cheek, the feeling that she would be sick, seemed to rise in her throat, she needed to leave the room, if she were not to vomit on his floor.
The decision was made, she bolted for the door, wrenched it open, and was copiously sick in the corridor outside.
To her surprise, seconds afterwards, Richelieu followed her. She leaned heavily against the wall, one hand on her stomach, head down, she shook all over. In the haze that seemed to overtake her, the feeling as though she were drowning, not being able to catch her breath, head swimming. She was aware of muffled voices; a call for assistance. Soft hands supporting her, as she sank down, deathly white, faint. She felt herself lifted in strong arms, the smell of his leather tunic. A soft bed, a hand holding hers.

Her body went into complete shut down. A whole month on edge, cooped up at The Residence, waiting for him to return to her, worrying for his safety, hearing no word, had shattered her nerves, this was the final straw.
The utter terror of being cast out, to who knew what fate; no money, no possessions, nowhere to go, no friends, family. Being separated from him. Her whole life suddenly crashing in front of her eyes.
She cried out to Heaven, calling for help, clutching at the sheets, and the hand that was within reach.
She sank rapidly, all hope extinguished, or so it seemed to her befuddled brain.

Night came and she burned with a fever that would not abate. And yet she shivered, so cold that nothing would make her feel warm. Shadows and faces moved and shimmered before her misty eyes, but she could not make them out. Her head tossed from side to side in her delirium, she spoke rapid words, garbled, unintelligible.
Only one word seemed to make sense. "Master."
A voice reached her, a calm voice, deep, melodic, speaking a prayer. It was the only thing that seemed to ease her.
It was another day, before the fever broke, and she slept fitfully.
A hand rested on her brow...
"She feels cool now, Your Eminence. I think the worst is over."
"Thank God!"
Slowly, Minette opened her eyes. The drawn, tired face of The Cardinal, stared down at her dolefully.
"Minette, cherie, are you back with us?"
She did not reply, but felt for his fingers as they rested close to hers.
"Don't frighten me like that again, little one." He said, touching her cheek and returning the squeeze of her hand.
"Therese?" She whispered.
"I sent her away. She has gone...I never touched h..."
Before he could finish, Minette pulled him down to her by the chain around his neck, her lips on his.
"My Master." She murmured.

Recovered, and whole again, she opened her eyes from a long dreamless sleep. The grey head on the pillow next to her snored peacefully. Propping herself on one elbow, she watched him. The line of his jaw relaxed, slack. His hair tousled. By the string ties of his embroidered nightshirt, the hollow of his throat and Adam's apple, one of her favourite parts of him, moved slightly as he breathed in and out. She loved to kiss him there, touch along the length of his collarbones with her lips.
Hers.
Just as she mused on these thoughts, he stirred and woke. He turned towards her questioningly, she smiled and tugged on the little goatee on his chin, gently.
They kissed, and he rolled onto her, hand sliding under her nightdress. Oh god...when he touched her like this, she wanted him so much. It was like a force of nature, he ignited her, stoked the fire and she was helpless to resist. His need to dominate her was still there, but he was no longer cruel in that intent. He enjoyed her pleasure now as much as his own, and did not seek to deny her.
Loving her physically was more about giving now than purely taking. Yes, she was assuredly his. But he was also undeniably hers.