Nothing But Love

A/N: I offer my apologies for the length of time between updates. Life intruded on me in a big way, which unfortunately slowed down my writing. At the end of Chapter 9, Sara Jane convinces Stephen to write to his parents.

Chapter Ten

Sara Jane rummaged through the tack room next to the small room where Stephen slept and found a sheet of paper and a stubby pencil. "All right now," she said with satisfaction, "you just sit yourself down here and start writin'."

Obediently Stephen sat on a small crate he'd turned up on one end. He blew out a deep breath and began to write slowly. " 'Dear Maman, Anna, Marie, Nicky and Erik: Please do not worry about me—I am well. I ask for your forgiveness, if you are able to give it, for leaving in the way that I did. I am very sorry. I do not know when I will be ready to return home. I can only promise that I will return as soon as I can.' "

Reading aloud over his shoulder, Sara Jane commented, "Very nice. Now, put the date on it, and I'll seal it for you."

As an afterthought Stephen scribbled a postscript before he handed it to her. "If you should see Thèrése, please tell her that I am well." Folding the paper he quickly wrote the name and address on the outside and gave it to Sara Jane.

She stuck the note in her apron pocket and sat down on the cot, arms folded across her chest. "Now," she continued, "let's hear about this girl, Thèrése."

"There is— not much to tell," mumbled the boy, ducking his head and staring at the rough planks of the floor. He dared to peek at Sara Jane from the corner of his eye and sighed, seeing the determined look on her face. "Her name is Thèrése Valmont and she lives at Our Lady of the Angels orphanage."

"Orphanage?"

"Yes, Maman and Erik are the patrons, and we spend considerable time there, especially during the holidays."

Lord, have mercy! Your folks are even richer than I thought, if they sponsor an orphanage. "And what does Thèrése look like?" she said aloud. "I bet she's a tiny li'l thing, blonde with big blue eyes."

Stephen shook his head with a faint smile. "No, she is tall and slender, almost as tall as I am, with auburn hair and eyes like melted chocolate. She—she likes animals, too, especially cats." He fell silent for a moment then added, "She has freckles across her nose and her cheekbones."

"And just how do you know that?" asked Sara Jane teasingly. "Eyes like chocolate, huh?" Seeing him blush, she chuckled heartily. Unable to resist, she added, "Kissed her yet?"

"No!" His face turned bright red and his eyes widened in horror. "I would not—no, I—"

"Oh, hon, I'm sorry," she told him between bouts of soft laughter. "You're such a sweet boy, it's so tempting to tease you a little." She shook her head, murmuring, "Oh, sweet innocence." After a moment she said thoughtfully, "But I imagine she gave you hell for runnin' away, didn't she?"

Solemnly he nodded and Sara Jane thought, Good for you, girl, wherever you are! Pushing to her feet, she said, "I'll post this for you tomorrow when I go into town for supplies—all right?"

"Merci, Sara Jane. For posting it—and for insisting that I write it."

"You're quite welcome, hon," she replied, patting his shoulder. She then left for the house. Once she had reached her room, she carefully unfolded the paper and in small letters wrote "Sainte Anne du Jardin" in the bottom left-hand corner. She melted a little wax and sealed it, noting the name and address Stephen had written on it.

I promise I will do my best to send him back to you real soon, she thought and tucked the letter back in her apron pocket.

Unable to fall asleep, Stephen finally threw back the blanket and went out into the barn, to Lady's stall. She nickered softly as he approached and stuck her head over the door to greet him. "Oh, ma belle, I am glad that I found you here," he whispered as he scratched her behind her ears.

"You are as easy to talk to as . . . as Autumn was," he continued. "And Mam'selle Sara Jane—she is something, n' est-ce pas?"

Lady bobbed her head as if in agreement and Stephen chuckled. Then he sobered and reached out to stroke the mare's neck gently. "Oh, ma chere," he whispered raggedly. "I felt so helpless, watching Star . . ." He swallowed hard. "But now—I feel as though I have been given a second chance. Merci, belle fille, for trusting me."

Erik and Christine offered Jack the use of a small room in the house as an office, and he gladly accepted. Sitting at the desk, he transcribed his notes from a meeting with Mère and Thèrése at the orphanage, chuckling as he remembered his first impression of the nun. One tough cookie, he thought. I sure wouldn't want to meet up with her when she's got her dander up!

A soft knock sounded on the open door and he glanced up. Christine stood on the threshold of the room, one hand on Nicky's shoulder. "May we come in, Jack?" she asked as he got to his feet.

"Yes, certainly."

Giving Nicky a slight push with her hand, she moved aside to allow Anna and Marie to enter the room also. "You asked if you could speak with the children. Would you prefer to speak to them separately or together?"

"Together is just fine. Do you want to stay? Something they say might trigger a memory for you, too." Jack looked at her expectantly and Christine shook her head.

"No, but thank you for asking. Marie, remember that Papa will be waiting for you in the music room when you are finished here."

The girl nodded. "Yes, Maman. I will remember." The three children sat side by side on the sofa.

Jack studied them for a moment before he came around in front of the desk and hitched one hip up on the corner. Anna and Marie resembled each other greatly in appearance, but were quite different in temperament. Marie met his gaze steadily, while Anna glanced up at him shyly before dropping her eyes. Nicky sat between them, squirming until both girls nudged him and whispered, "Sit still!"

Hiding a grin, Jack cleared his throat. "I want to talk to you all about Stephen. You know that your parents have hired me to try to find him and bring him home. Anything you can tell me—even the tiniest little thing—may be extremely important and may help me find him that much quicker."

"I want to go with you and find Stephen and help fight the bad men," said Nicky emphatically, making one corner of Jack's mouth tilt up in a smile.

"Well, son, I'd be mighty glad to have you lend a hand. But I expect that your mama and daddy will have a little to say about whether or not you can go with me," replied Jack, fighting to keep from grinning as Nicky slumped backward pouting.

Marie rolled her eyes at her little brother. "What kind of information are you looking for, M. Jack?"

She's a cool customer, thought Jack, crossing his arms over his chest. All business, this one. "When was the last time you saw him before he . . . left home? Let's start there."

Frowning, Marie thought back. "It was at dinner," she said slowly. "Stephen did not eat much, although the meal was one of his favorites, roasted beef with potatoes."

"Did he seem . . . preoccupied? Upset? Angry?"

"No," answered Anna pensively. "Preoccupied, perhaps, but more sad than anything. He had been very . . . He had kept mostly to himself after Star . . . Sometimes, when things bothered him, when he could not seem to understand why things had happened, he would come to my bedroom and we would talk, sometimes far into the night."

"But he didn't come and talk to you that night, before he left?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No, but the note he left, telling us he was leaving, it was on my pillow when I woke the next morning."

"Stephen will be where there are horses," offered Nicky, and Marie groaned, punching him on the shoulder.

"Practically every house in the country has horses! We have horses," she muttered, ducking away as Nicky tried to pinch her arm.

They stopped their bickering suddenly, mouths gaping open, when Jack whistled shrilly through his teeth. "Enough!" he said, scowling. "All right, that's all for now, but if you think of something that happened that last day, come and tell me."

Silently the children rose and filed out of the room, leaving him rubbing the top of his head. "Well, that went real well," he muttered in disgust. Remembering that Erik had mentioned a cousin living near Orléans, Jack went back to his notes.

Christine came out of the bathing room to find Erik snoring softly, his bare chest rising and falling gently with each breath, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. Frowning, she noticed the scratch on his upper arm that he'd mentioned Jack had given him while they were fencing the day before.

Lifting the coverlet, she climbed carefully onto the bed. She looked down at him with a grin, and thought, Imagine! The Phantom snores! Gently she picked up the book that lay open on his lap and set it on the bedside table.

She turned on her side and scooted toward the middle of the bed, sighing as he woke and turned, sliding one arm around her waist. Propping his head on one elbow, he held her tightly against him, spoon-fashion. They lay still for a moment then Erik's hand slid up to cup her breast through her nightgown.

"Don't . . . please?" she murmured, her hand covering his and stopping its movement.

He froze for a second then moved their joined hands down to her waist. "I'm sorry, love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Comfortable and content simply to be in each other's presence, they were quiet for several minutes. Idly Erik traced the curve of her cheek and trailed the backs of his fingers down her bare arm. "Are you certain that I could not . . . persuade you . . . to change your mind?" he asked softly.

Chuckling, Christine twisted onto her back and stared up at him. "I am certain. As I recall, that is how we ended up with Nicky."

Erik laughed softly. "There is no safe response to that, so I will say nothing." Lowering his head he kissed her gently on the lips then resumed his place beside her, his arm snug around her waist.

Several moments passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. I see Nicky and I see the childhood you should have had, my love. She turned to face him, tears glistening in her eyes. She rose up on her elbow and cupped Erik's cheek. "Have I told you recently how very much I love you?" she whispered, touching her lips ever so lightly to his.

Smiling gently, he pretended to consider her question. In reality she had told him just that morning. "Perhaps it has been . . . a while," he said, lifting his hand and rubbing his thumb across her cheek and then her mouth.

"Will you . . ." she spoke past his thumb.

"Will I what, love?"

"Please, my angel, will you sing for me?"

Her question took him by surprise, and immediately he shook his head 'no'. "Christine, I—"

She hushed him with a finger pressed to his mouth. "I heard you working with Nicky yesterday. Even though you have not sung much in years, your voice sounds just as wonderful to me as it ever did."

"I daresay you are not the most objective of listeners, however." At her determined look, he sighed. "All right, if you insist." He sat up, stomach muscles rippling, the bed sheet pooling at his waist as he moved to face her.

With a cat-in-the-cream smile she piled the pillows against the headboard and leaned back, eyes gleaming in anticipation.

" 'Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation; Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination; Silently the senses abandon their defenses' . . ."

He barely got the last word out before Christine launched herself at him with a growl, knocking him flat on his back. Straddling his lean hips she bent down and kissed him feverishly, leaving his mouth to trail hot kisses down his neck and across his chest.

After a second's hesitation, Erik fisted his hands in her hair and pulled her mouth back to his, responding hungrily, felt her press her body hard against his. When they came up for air he wrapped his arms around her and reversed their positions. Looking at her quizzically, he waited for her explanation.

She merely shrugged, flashing an impish grin. "I changed my mind."