I Prefer Rainy Days

by LovestoRead2013

Victorian-era AU, story-within-a-story with all our favorite characters. If you like Downton Abbey, you might want to check this out! It's really long so I'll give you a few chapters at a time. As someone we know once said, "Be patient."

7. I Prefer Rainy Days - Parts 45 - 60

PART 45

Walter and Michel drank coffee and talked amiably for a few minutes. Afterwards, Walter led the way to the Tower, where the taciturn Sparks was bringing up the last of Michel's trunks.

"Thank you," said Michel.

Sparks did not reply, but stared at Michel with his bulging eyes. Quite unexpectedly, he doffed his stovepipe hat, then scrambled down the stairs like a chimpanzee.

"He's a strange one, for sure," sighed Walter. "Pretty good worker though, once you get him motivated." Walter pulled out his battered pocket watch and checked the time. "Miss G should be in her office by now. When you get settled, come on over to the main building. I'm sure she's anxious to meet with you and introduce you to everyone."

Walter was about to leave when he added with a conspiratorial wink, "The girls have been wondering who would replace old Desbiens!"

Michel gave a small smile. "Of course. I'll come over shortly."

After Walter left, Michel regarded his new surroundings. The room was large and adequately furnished. He raised one of the windows to let in some fresh morning air. Almost immediately, he heard Walter berating Sparks about something as the other man propped a ladder against the side of the main building.

Beyond that he saw the students' dormitory. Several girls were filing out the front door with books tucked under their arms. Unfortunately, he did not see Nikita among them. Their bright laughter reached his ears. He sighed as he thought about how giggly and inattentive teenage girls could be. Especially if they're anything like my sister and her friends.

He turned from the window and saw the newspaper he had purchased this morning. He had been waiting for the coach when a young boy came down the street hawking the local paper. As he paid for the newspaper, the boy pushed a note into his hand.

Michel retrieved the note from his coat pocket and read it again:

Parish church cemetery – Row 8, Plot 30

PART 46

"Mr. Samuelle, how delightful to see you again!" gushed Miss Glanzman. "I trust you

had a pleasant trip from Paris?"

"The Channel crossing was somewhat rough. However, the train ride was relaxing."

"Excellent! I have only a few things to discuss with you, then I'll leave you to talk shop with Dr. Desbiens."

At half past twelve, Miss Glanzman stuck her head in ' office. "Come along, gentlemen. Cook has outdone herself today and everyone is anxious to meet our new teacher!"

Miss Glanzman led the way to the faculty dining room and took enormous pride in introducing Michel. The female teachers quietly murmured their approval of his qualifications, academic and otherwise. The only other man present was David Fanning, the archery master. He regarded Michel with what could only be described as a sneer and grudgingly shook his hand.

"Word of advice, old boy. Some of these girls are prone to hysterics and exaggeration."

When Michel made no reply, Fanning continued. "But I'm sure a man like you can keep them under control."

Fortunately, Fanning moved away when Miss Roddy and Doctor Sandra approached and started asking Michel about life on the continent.

Well, well, what do we have here? thought Leona as she picked up the slim black velvet box. It was a few days after Stéphanie Rousseau's assignation with the Prince of Wales and Leona was tidying up the soprano's dressing table.

Leona's eyes nearly popped out of her head. Inside the box was a stunning bracelet of rubies and diamonds. A small card engraved with the Prince's coat of arms fell out.

The front door of the flat was opening. Leona quickly replaced the card and closed the box. The boss will find this mighty interesting.

"Leona! Leona!" called out Stéphanie.

Leona quickly snatched up her dust cloth and went into the drawing room. "Yes, Miss Rousseau?"

"I will be going to the ballet tonight. Is my green satin gown ready?"

After luncheon, Miss Glanzman and Walter took Michel on a tour of the grounds. Walter had been at Sanibelle so long that he knew every rock, tree, and shrub on the place. "Now down there beyond that big oak tree is the old Moriarty place and beyond that a little ways is our parish church, St. Anne's. Father Elliot usually gives us a good sermon on Sunday and we still get home before the roast gets cold."

Michel looked toward the heavily wooded area that Walter indicated. "How far away is the church?"

Walter scratched his head. "About a mile, I'd say. Sometimes after Father Elliot finishes his visits to the sick, he stops by for a game of chess. Not to brag, but the last two times I've beaten him!"

"Is that right?" said Michel with amusement. He found himself liking this no-nonsense old guy more and more.

"How about you? Do you play?" asked Walter suddenly.

"As a matter of fact, I do," answered Michel.

Walter rubbed his hands together and chuckled. "Well, by all means, come down to my place any evening and we'll see how good you are! That is, if you aren't too tired after dealing with the young ladies!"

Michel smiled. "I will most definitely take you up on that offer."

Miss Glanzman cleared her throat. "Walter, I imagine we should let Mr. Samuelle get back to his room now. No doubt he wants to unpack and get settled."

Walter nodded. "Sure thing, Miss G."

Now back in the Tower, Michel opened the smaller of his two trunks. He ran his hand under the clothes and books until it rested on cold metal. He withdrew the gun, loaded it, and stuck it in the back waistband of his trousers. He was not sure what to expect tonight, so it was best to be prepared for anything.

He looked across to the dormitories and wondered which room was Nikita's. Four-twelve. I'm in room four-twelve. He had not seen her since their early morning encounter. He smiled as he remembered the look of total bewilderment on her face when she saw him.

Her face! That smooth, perfect skin. The long blonde hair that he longed to run his hands through.

He had to close his eyes and will his pulse to slow down. He realized, all too painfully, that being so close to her was both a blessing and a curse. He would be able to see her every day, but it could go no further than that. He was in a position of authority and responsibility; she was his pupil.

What have I gotten myself into?

Opening his eyes, he saw that it was almost dusk. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Time to go.

Nikita was sitting at her desk puzzling over some math problems. She was about to light the lamp near the window when she noticed a black-clad figure striding over the front lawn.

Michel! Where could he be going this late in the day?

He was headed in the direction of the Moriarty farm. Not five minutes earlier, Nikita had seen Miss Ellen Moriarty, the history teacher, going that way, presumably to visit her elderly, widowed mother.

Miss Moriarty was not well-liked. In fact, she let it be known that she was only teaching at Sanibelle until she could find a rich husband. Why, she had even made a play for Headmaster Wolfe, who had rebuffed her.

Nikita experienced a moment of panic. Miss Moriarty was an attractive woman with brown eyes and glossy brown hair piled high on her head. She had an air of sophistication about her that belied her modest background. And she was scheming. Could she have cast a spell on Michel in only one day?

Nikita rubbed her eyes wearily and sighed. She felt a headache coming on.

PART 47

Michel kept well behind Miss Moriarty as she hurried toward her family's farmhouse. Once she was inside, he continued through the pasture adjoining the house, taking care to conceal himself behind trees and shrubs.

He came out onto a rough track after leaving the Moriarty property. He followed it for another quarter mile and then St. Anne's loomed ahead on the left. The cemetery was situated on the far side of the church. He stopped suddenly when he saw a figure kneeling in front of one of the headstones, pulling weeds. Instinctively, he reached back to grasp his weapon.

The kneeling figure stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. Michel was surprised to see the young boy who had given him the note at the train station. The boy nodded briefly, then turned and ran in the opposite direction. Michel scanned the perimeter. Only when he was certain that he was alone did he relax his grip on the gun.

It would be dark soon; there was no time to waste. He counted off the rows and plots until he located the correct one. Row 8, Plot 30. This particular grave belonged to the late "Martin Henderson" with the inscription, "All the World's a Stage." It was not the usual sort of thing one saw on a headstone, but Michel did not dwell on it. He noticed a leather pouch on the backside of the crumbling headstone. He quickly grabbed it and stuffed it inside his coat. He would wait until he returned to the Tower to open it.

Nikita finished her homework, but lingered by the window in hopes of catching a glimpse of Michel when he returned. The full moon had come out and the entire front lawn was bathed in a silvery light. She was filled with questions – where had he gone? Did Miss Moriarty have anything to do with it?

Puffy clouds drifted in front of the moon, temporarily obscuring it. A sudden movement caused Nikita to peer closely at the edge of the lawn. She held her breath expectantly. A few moments later a light appeared in the Tower window.

I have a good mind to go confront him about why he was skulking around like that.

A little voice in her head reminded her, It's really none of your business. He is an adult, after all. In the end, however, feminine curiosity won out. She figured Carla would be another half-hour with the Brazilian Babes as they worked on a science project. I can go confront him and be back before anyone misses me.

She pulled on her shoes and ran the comb through her hair. For good measure, she pinched her cheeks before creeping out of the room. When she reached the front door, she pushed it open carefully. It protested with a squeak that seemed ten times louder than it really was. I thought Walter fixed this thing yesterday.

She looked around cautiously. She knew that Mr. Fanning sometimes came out to smoke a pipe before going to bed, but tonight there was no sign of him. She lifted her skirt and ran across the lawn before she had time to talk herself outof it.

The stairs in the Tower were worn and slick after many years of use. She tiptoed slowly up to the landing and found the door to Michel's room gaping open. Tentatively, she stepped inside. His trunks and cello case sat there waiting to be unpacked. This is most disappointing.

Suddenly, she knew she was not alone. She turned and found Michel leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed, and a lazy smile on his lips. Nikita immediately blushed. For the second time today, she had been caught unawares by Michel.

"I promise I don't have any of your drawing pencils," he said in that low, silky voice that made her skin tingle.

Nikita swallowed with difficulty as she tried to think of something to say. Clearly, he was waiting to hear her explanation for sneaking into his room. Oh boy, now I'm the one who's been caught skulking.

"I, uh, I forgot to thank you this morning for the book of poetryyou sent me in London. I've enjoyed it tremendously."

"It was my pleasure," he answered. His eyes held hers for a long moment. They both knew that that was not the real reason she was there. For one wild instant, Michel wanted to forget that theirs was now a teacher-student relationship and pull her tightly into his arms and crush his mouth to hers.

Suddenly, Nikita got her nerve up and asked, "Where did you go tonight?"

A strange look flickered across Michel's face for a fraction of a second. He straightened and stepped toward her. The situation was threatening to get out of hand. He would have to tread very carefully.

"I like to hike in the woods. You see, it's been a long day and I wanted to clear my head. I find that vigorous exercise is good for the mind and body, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course," replied Nikita. "I'm sorry, it's late. I'll just be going now." She went to move past him, but he caught her arm. She shot him a surprised look. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and fingered her long blonde hair. Mon Dieu, how long have I been wanting to do this?

Nikita was so caught up in the moment that she almost forgot to breathe. "Ni-ki-ta, you are very special to me. Always remember that."

Then he released her arm and she slipped out the door.

PART 48

Nikita was gone, but her delicate rose scent lingered in the air, teasing his nostrils. Michel realized his heart was pounding. It was pure torture to be so close to her and yet have to restrain himself.

Two things became very clear – first, Nikita returned his feelings! Otherwise, she would not have risked coming to his room by night. That could get a student expelled with no questions asked. Secondly, she was aware of his comings and goings. It could have been merely an innocent observation on her part, but Michel's gut instinct told him otherwise and he had learned early on to trust that feeling.

Nikita was smart and perceptive. She overcame her initial hesitation tonight to question him. It wouldn't be long before other questions were raised, questions for which he might not have a satisfactory answer. Could he confide in her or was it better to keep her at arm's length?

Michel stood at the window a long time after Nikita had returned to the dormitory. He turned the issues over and over in his mind, realizing that his head and his heart would constantly be in a battle.

Finally, he turned from the window and removed the leather pouch from his jacket. Better find out what I'm up against, he thought.

"Now there are several girls who are adept in French, but by far my best student is Nikita Jones-Wirth," said Dr. Desbiens as he cleaned out his office. "I must introduce you to her at the reception this afternoon. You may wish to utilize her as a tutor to the slower learners."

A dangerous and totally unprofessional thought flitted through Michel's head. I could make love to her in my native tongue. His mind drifted for a few seconds until he realized Desbiens was asking him something.

"I say, could you hand me those last two volumes up there?" he said, pointing to a high shelf. "I believe that will finish up everything."

When the final crate was packed, Dr. Desbiens straightened and said, "That's it! Forty years of teaching at Sanibelle. I hope you will enjoy your time here as much as I have, Michel. Well, why don't we go along to the refectory? Miss Glanzman said the festivities would start at two o'clock."

Upon entering the hall, Dr. Desbiens was warmly greeted by applause from the students and faculty. His wife, children, and grandchildren were there to honour him, too.

After a few minutes, the room was fairly humming with talk and laughter. Walter came in to pay his respects and then saw Miss Roddy motioning him to one of the buffet tables.

"Walter, here are some of your favorite cakes. I made sure Cook did not put all of them in front of this ravenous mob!"

Walter laughed. "I appreciate that, Miss Roddy. You always look out for me." He settled down to enjoy his cakes and people-watch. Walter considered himself an astute observer of human nature.

Now what's this? Dr. Desbiens was bringing Nikita over and introducing her to Samuelle. Nikita was mortified to be singled out in front of her giggling classmates, but Samuelle paid them no attention. He looked at Nikita as if she was the only person in the room.

There's more going on here than meets the eye. For some reason, that thought gave Walter a chill. I need to keep tabs on this situation. His thoughts were interrupted when one of the grandchildren dashed by, almost upsetting the table with the punch bowl.

Walter jumped up. "Whoa there, Master Davey! What's your hurry? If you're going to be tearing around like that, you'd best take it outside!"

After ushering Master Davey and the other youngsters out onto the lawn, Walter returned to find Nikita deep in conversation with Samuelle. Even he had to admit that they made a striking couple. Nikita was quite animated now and her eyes sparkled.

Walter sighed. Be careful, Sugar. He might break your heart.

PART 49

It was the third week since Michel's arrival at Sanibelle. Heeding Dr. Desbiens' advice, he had indeed put Nikita to work as a tutor. It was late morning and they were in the library.

Michel sat at one end of a long table, correcting homework papers, while Nikita worked on pronunciation with a student named Margaret at the opposite end. Michel struggled to suppress a smile as he listened to them.

"No, Margaret, the accent is on the final syllable," said Nikita patiently. Poor thing. Margaret was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she made a valiant effort. Nikita slowly looked toward Michel's end of the table while Margaret tackled the sentence again. She found his emerald eyes focused on her.

Ever since he had taken up his teaching duties, Michel had become very serious. Fortunately, however, the incident in the Tower was not brought up again. He often gave her what she now termed "the blank stare." It was quite unnerving, to say the least, and Nikita fervently wished she knew what was going on in his mind.

Men! she thought with exasperation. Why, just last night she had discussed this new side of Michel with Carla, but neither of them could explain it.

Nikita held his look as long as she could, then turned her attention back to the text Margaret was struggling through. "That was much better, Margaret. You are making progress!"

A bell sounded in the corridor and Margaret slammed the book shut. "Oh, it's time for Miss Roddy's class! I cannot be late or she will give me extra homework." She gathered her books and made for the door.

"Thank you, Nikita!" she called over her shoulder.

Now Nikita and Michel were alone, save for the ancient librarian, Mrs. Philpott, who was engrossed in checking the card catalog. Nikita sighed and opened her notebook to work on her own assignment. They worked in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, Nikita's stomach betrayed her and growled loudly.

Embarrassed, she cut her eyes toward Michel to see if he had heard. He smiled slightly and laid down his pen and whispered, "I believe a diversion is called for."

Nikita nodded.

"Meet me out front in five minutes," he whispered. The librarian turned and glared at them. "Mrs. Philpott does not approve of me," added Michel. "She finds me, ah, too French." Nikita had to choke back her laughter.

"I think you are the right amount of French," she said flippantly. She waited until Mrs. Philpott turned the corner to reshelve some books. "Do you know what the senior girls call her?"

"Tell me," said Michel, wondering what she was about to bring out.

"Mrs. Prunepott. The woman never smiles," said Nikita with a little giggle.

"You are quite right," agreed Michel. "You never fail to amuse me, Ni-ki-ta."

Nikita studied him for a moment. "I hope that is a good thing."

"Certainement," he said with a smile.

Standing, Michel gathered up the homework papers and left. Nikita sat there toying with her pencil and staring out the window. I wonder what he is planning?

Five minutes later, Nikita found Michel standing out front with a small picnic basket in his hand. "I think you will find some useful items in here."

"Believe it or not, I did have breakfast, but tutoring Margaret really takes it out of me."

"She is a challenge," agreed Michel. "But you handle her quite admirably. You are a big help to me."

Nikita flushed at his praise. "Merci, monsieur," she said shyly.

"Come," beckoned Michel. "I know the perfect place to enjoy our feast."

PART 50 (a little risqué)

Nikita gave a moment's thought to a practical matter. "Won't Miss Glanzman wonder where I am?"

"Walter drove her into the village a short time ago. They should be gone a couple of hours," replied Michel. A lot of things could happen in that length of time.

How very convenient, thought Nikita. "Well then, let's go. I'm starving!"

"Yes, I had noticed that," Michel answered with a smirk.

Winding their way through the trees, they soon arrived at the small stream that ran along the edge of the Sanibelle property. Nikita was amazed that in three weeks' time Michel had learned the surrounding woods like the back of his hand.

It was a warm afternoon and Michel stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Nikita opened the wicker basket and found a blanket, which she unfurled under some trees. She plopped down and her mouth began to water as Michel brought out slices of cold meat, cheese, thick bread, strawberries, a bottle of red wine, and two glasses.

"My goodness! Maybe the librarian doesn't care for you, but Cook certainly does," she laughed.

Michel was busy opening and pouring the wine. He handed Nikita a glass with the admonition, "Drink it slowly. It's still a school day, you know."

But Nikita was thirsty and feeling a bit reckless, so she took a big gulp. Michel regarded her with an amused expression, wondering what she might do next.

"As your teacher, I may have to reprimand you for that," he said with mock seriousness.

Nikita looked at him coyly. "Would you do such a thing?"

The look he gave her suggested he might be capable of all sorts of things. Nikita felt a strange fluttering in her abdomen that she knew was not related to hunger.

This is very naughty of me to be alone with him, but I don't care!

Their proper roles of teacher and pupil were forgotten as they began to eat the cold picnic lunch. They talked about many things, including their families.

"You would get on very well with my sister, Sylvie," said Michel. "She's quite lively and when I left, she was busy trying to catch the eye of a neighbor boy. My parents have their hands full with her."

Nikita was lying on her back with her hands clasped behind her head. She didn't know if it was the warm afternoon or the wine or a combination of both, but she was feeling very relaxed. The fact that she was loitering on a school afternoon seemed of little consequence now.

Michel was half reclining on his side, chewing on a blade of grass as he studied her. My beautiful Ni-ki-ta. Since coming to Sanibelle, he had been very careful to keep his distance and interact with her only in a professional manner. And it was killing him. He longed to touch her soft skin and talk openly with her. Today when he saw Miss Glanzman and Walter leaving, he knew fate had presented him with a wonderful opportunity. He planned to take full advantage of it.

Nikita closed her eyes briefly. "You know, my roommate, Carla, is in love with my cousin, Seymour. At first, I thought it was a mismatch, but when I see how happy they are, I know it's the right thing."

She opened her eyes and sat up suddenly. "Even Miss Glanzman has a suitor!" she cried excitedly. She went on to tell of the theft at Lord Huntington's and how she and Carla saw the handsome Scotland Yard man go into Miss Glanzman's room. "They are from the same village. I wonder if they will marry one day?"

As she was recounting the adventure, Michel's face assumed the "blank stare." His brain was comparing what Nikita said with certain other information he possessed. Fortunately, Nikita was so wrapped up in the story that she did not notice.

To tease her, Michel quietly asked, "What about you? Are you in love with some local boy?"

Nikita looked at him with a stunned look. As always when nervous, she began chewing her bottom lip and twisting a strand of hair. "Local boy? No, there's no one like that."

Michel let his eyes roam slowly over her face. Clearly, he enjoyed putting her on the spot like this. "Really?" he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps someone further afield then."

Even though her cheeks were burning, she could not pull her eyes from him. He must think me a silly schoolgirl.

Some birds calling in the trees broke the uncomfortable silence. Nikita looked away and spied some pretty wildflowers growing on the opposite bank. "Oh, I must have some of those!"

She scrambled down the bank and began crossing the stream on some large rocks that anchored the middle of it. The stream was not very deep, but some of the rocks appeared quite rough and sharp.

"Ni-ki-ta, be careful!" called Michel. He quickly got to his feet. He cursed under his breath for letting her have that second glass of wine, especially when she wasn't used to drinking much.

Reaching the other side safely, Nikita gleefully picked a fistful of flowers and held them up. "Aren't these lovely? I shall put them on my nightstand!" She started back across the stream and suddenly felt dizzy.

She paused a minute to get her footing, then continued on. Just before she reached the bank, she stumbled.

"Ni-ki-ta!" Michael was there and caught her as she fell forward into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Michel! I . . .I think I drank too much."

"Yes, and it's my fault," he mumbled. He scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a feather and carried her to the blanket. Carefully, he lowered her and rolled up his jacket to put under her head.

"I usually drink tea," she said quietly.

Michel was bending over her, his face close to hers. He pushed the hair away from her face and gently ran his thumb over her eyebrow. "I'll remember that in the future," he smiled.

She was still clutching the flowers. "I wanted these to remember this afternoon by," she said in a small voice. Now she was feeling foolish. She could have fallen and gotten a nasty gash. How would she have explained that?

"You will remember this afternoon," Michel whispered, his voice full of promise.

Before she knew what was happening, his mouth had covered hers in a passionate kiss. Her first kiss! Her brain had trouble registering all the sensations it aroused! Slowly, his tongue forced her lips apart and pushed into her mouth. Nikita dropped the flowers as her hands clawed frantically at his back.

He broke the kiss and moved down one side of her supple neck, leaving a trail of kisses. Nikita's eyes closed as she sighed, "Ah . . . Michel!" He kissed his way up the other side, then paused and looked deep into her sapphire eyes.

He stroked her eyebrows again. "Ni-ki-ta, you are so beautiful. I have thought of you constantly since the first time I saw you."

Nikita was overwhelmed, both by his tender words and the incredible physical sensations his kisses evoked. She reached up and touched his face. She could not put into words exactly what she was experiencing. "Michel. . ."

He leaned down and kissed her again, more gently this time. She could taste the strawberries he had eaten earlier. His eyes moved down and lingered on her breasts, which were rising and falling with each excited breath. Unfortunately, they were concealed from his view by a high-necked blouse with many small buttons.

Slowly, he slid a hand down and cupped one breast through the thin material. He could feel the nipple harden. Nikita gasped at the exquisite feeling and squirmed as he softly kneaded the breast.

He then reached up and began undoing the buttons. "I want to touch you, Ni-ki-ta."

He had only undone a few buttons when a rustling noise was heard behind them in the trees. Nikita gasped, not in pleasure this time, but in shock that someone might have discovered them.

Michel quickly glanced over his shoulder. What was I thinking to let things go this far?

"It may be Sammy," whispered Nikita.

Michel looked at her sharply. "Who's Sammy?"

"Walter's nephew. He often hunts and fishes around here."

Michel stood up and helped Nikita to her feet. "We need to go back now." Nikita recognized the tone of voice. It was the same one he used in class which meant "end of discussion."

PART 51

The remainder of the day passed in a blur for Nikita. She vaguely remembered going to literature class. There Miss Roddy had to repeat a question before Nikita was able to come up with the answer. She was usually quick to respond and she could feel the eyes of the other students upon her.

Then somehow she found herself in the dining hall in the evening, pushing the food around her plate. Michel came in and sat with the other teachers at their designated table near the front. He did not once look in her direction, even though he knew full well where she usually sat with her circle of friends.

"Nikita, are you feeling all right?" asked Isabelita. "You seem a bit out of sorts."

"No, I'm not quite myself tonight," she said, running the back of her hand across her forehead.

"You may have a fever. Your face is flushed," added Gadenia.

Nikita focused on her dinner and suddenly decided that she detested green peas. Why are they always serving these nasty little things here?

"It's too warm in here and I'm not really hungry," she answered, glad to have an excuse for her peevish mood. "I'm going to turn in early tonight."

"Should we call Dr. Sandra to have a look at you?" asked Bel.

"No, no, I'm sure I will feel better after a good night's sleep. See you in the morning."

She got up and left the hall, but not before sneaking a peek at the teachers' table. The faculty members were engrossed in conversation and took no notice of her. Or so she thought.

From his place near the end of the table, Michel observed Nikita as she left the dining hall. The evening meal was only half over and he couldn't help wondering what she was thinking. Was she feeling conflicted after their aborted lovemaking, as he was?

I should have known better, he thought. She's young and inexperienced. I need to leave her alone.

The table erupted in laughter as Miss Roddy related an amusing anecdote. "Why, I do believe that is the strangest thing I've ever heard!" chortled old Mrs. Armstrong. "Would you not agree, Mr. Samuelle?"

Michel had no idea what had been said, but he agreed anyway. "Of course. If you would excuse me, I have some lesson plans to go over."

"Such a nice young man," cooed Mrs. Armstrong as Michel left the table. "If only my son-in-law could be half that nice!"

I need to leave her alone, Michel repeated to himself as he walked toward the Tower. Maybe if he said it enough he would start to believe it.

Nikita was alone tonight because Carla had gone up to Birmingham to visit her sick grandmother. She changed into her nightgown and sat down at the vanity to brush her hair. She studied her reflection and Michel's words came back to her:

Ni-ki-ta, you are so beautiful. I have thought of you constantly since the first time I saw you.

Her face burned as she remembered the passionate, almost ruthless, manner in which he had kissed her. Really, that had been quite bold and inexcusable of him! Not to mention, the fondling of her breast! However, Nikita had to admit that she had enjoyed it. After the initial shock, mind you.

She suddenly recalled something Maggie, one of the maids at Uncle George's, had said:

Oh Miss, if the right man touches you. . .well, it isn't so bad. It can be. . .quite pleasant!

She touched her lips gingerly. I wonder if he will ever kiss me like that again?

More importantly, she wondered how far things would have gone if they had not been disturbed. It was something both scary and exciting to consider.

She laid down her brush. With all her conflicting thoughts, one thing was absolutely certain: paying attention to him in class had taken on a whole new meaning.

PART 52

In class the next day Nikita found her mind, not to mention her eyes, wandering. Michel was going over the homework, but she was remembering how his lips felt against hers and how his tongue had plunged into her mouth. She shivered involuntarily at the delicious thought.

Even now, she was getting that same warm, tingly feeling in her abdomen. She was mesmerized watching his hand as he wrote out verb conjugations on the board. A flush stole into her cheeks as she recalled his hand on her breast, and in broad daylight, too!

For a moment, she worried if Sammy, Walter's nephew, might have seen them. Would he tell his uncle if he had? Oh well, what's done is done. No point in worrying about it now, she thought.

Suddenly, Michel said, "Does it seem a bit stuffy in here?"

Everyone agreed that it was. With his left hand, Michel unbuttoned his black jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. He strode over to the windows and opened a couple of them.

"That's much better. Now you will not fall asleep, even though I realize grammar is not the most exciting subject."

A ripple of laughter went through the class. Isabelita leaned over and whispered to Nikita, "How could anyone fall asleep with that fine specimen of manhood on display?!"

Nikita found her eyes drifting to that forbidden area below the waist. There was what she termed a "significant bulge" in Michel's snug-fitting trousers. Oh, my!

"He's like one of those Greek statues we saw in London," continued Isabelita. "Except with clothes."

"Isa, do be quiet!" hissed Nikita.

It was too late. Michel looked in their direction and asked, "Did you have a question, Ni-ki-ta?"

Flustered, she replied, "Uh, non, Monsieur Samuelle."

"Do not be afraid to speak up. Questions are always welcome," said Michel, pinning her with his stare.

Will this class ever be over? she wondered. She was so embarrassed that she wanted to run and hide in some dark corner.

A few minutes later, the bell rang and the girls began filing out. Michel was about to detain Nikita for a little chat, but Headmaster Wolfe appeared in the door. He engaged Michel in a conversation about the "new class" they were starting, thus allowing Nikita to slip away quietly.

The Following Weekend

"Dear, I'm so glad you were able to take a break from your school duties," said Mrs. Ethel Glanzman as she poured three cups of tea. "You remember Agnes Vartan?"

Christina nodded and sat down. "Yes, of course. How have you been, Mrs. Vartan?"

"Very well, thank you." She leaned forward as if to share a secret. "You know, Christina, I had a telegram only yesterday from Mark. He's so looking forward to seeing everyone at the Homecoming!" She darted a quick glance at Mrs. Glanzman, who nodded her agreement.

"Is that right?" mumbled Christina. She had a strong feeling that her mother and Inspector Vartan's mother were up to something.

Mrs. Vartan took a sip of tea. "Yes, I think it will be a memorable event!"

After a quiet dinner with her mother, Miss Glanzman retired to her girlhood bedroom upstairs. This was the one she had shared with her sister for so many years. Tomorrow, her sister and her family would arrive from Cornwall for the annual Homecoming at the parish church in Maple Wells.

And Mark Vartan is coming, too! Miss Glanzman was quite excited by this thought. She had had no further communication with him since their encounter in London. She knew that their mothers were trying to bring them together again and she definitely was not opposed to that idea.

PART 53

Nikita returned to her room and found that Carla was back from Birmingham. "So, how is your grandmother?" she asked.

Carla was unpacking and hanging up her clothes. She sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes. "She's fine. About once a year her rheumatism flares up and she swears she's dying! It's really just a ploy to make the family feel guilty and come running to her side. But I tell you, the woman's healthy as a horse otherwise. Why, she'll probably live to be one hundred!"

Nikita laughed. "Well, I'm glad she's all right." She welcomed any distraction from the dangerous and unsettling thoughts that Michel inspired in her.

Carla continued, "It's actually rather funny to see my aunts and uncles fawning over her. And my dear father is the absolute worst!" With a final shove, she managed to get her valise under the bed. She straightened and pushed an unruly curl out of her face.

"Now if I remember correctly, someone has a birthday coming up this weekend!" she said gaily.

Nikita feigned ignorance. "I wonder who that could be?"

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Why it's you, silly!" said Carla. She retrieved a small box from her bureau and presented it to Nikita. "Happy Birthday, Nikita! I hope you like it!"

Nikita opened the box and brought out a small filigree brooch. "Oh, thank you, Carla. It's lovely!"

"Do you really like it? I wanted to give it to you before you left for the weekend."

Nikita had a sort of dreamy look on her face. "Just imagine – I shall be 16 on Sunday!"

"Did you tell Michel about your birthday?" asked Carla.

Nikita placed the brooch back into the box. "Oh no! He's had a lot of things on his mind since he came here. You know, getting settled in and preparing for classes and so forth."

Carla, ever the hopeless romantic, declared, "Well, I still think he could spare you a few minutes' thought."

"So, you see, Samuelle, it is imperative that we train our students to protect themselves."

Headmaster Wolfe had just given Michel a rundown of the events leading to his decision to begin self-defense classes at Sanibelle. "I'm afraid we must adapt and teach more than calligraphy and flower-arranging these days."

Even as Wolfe was talking, Michel felt an all-consuming rage building up within his gut. If he could have laid his hands on Alec Chandler at that moment, he would have choked the very life out of him. It was abhorrent to think of any woman being assaulted like that, but especially Nikita. My Ni-ki-ta! He vowed that no man, save himself, would touch her.

After Wolfe departed, Michel sat in the classroom for several long minutes while his anger abated. Chandler was safely locked up, Wolfe had assured him, and would be for quite some time. Michel knew he should channel his anger in a positive direction. He also knew that he had to find Nikita . . .now!

"Just a minute," called out Carla. She couldn't imagine who would be knocking on their door at this time of the evening.

She yanked the door open and was taken aback momentarily. "Mr. Samuelle! Bonsoir."

Wasting no time on formalities, Michel said brusquely, "I need to talk to Ni-ki-ta!"

Carla's eyes widened. "She's not here. Walter drove her to the train station half an hour ago."

Michel stared at her blankly. "Why?"

"She went home for the weekend. Her birthday is Sunday and her family is having a big party, uh, I mean fête."

Michel seemed to be processing this information as he continued staring at Carla. Finally, she said, "Her father has returned from South America and the family is celebrating. However, she will be back at school on Monday."

"Merci," said Michel quietly. "I am sorry for disturbing you." With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Now there's a man in love! thought Carla happily. She couldn't wait to tell Nikita about her impatient visitor.

PART 54

The entire Jones-Wirth family was gathered at George and Adrian's to celebrate Nikita's sixteenth birthday. Unfortunately for Nikita, that also included Mick, who hoped to marry into the family by this time next year.

Nikita saw him arrive from her upstairs bedroom. He was dressed to the nines and apparently had forgotten his previous faux pas at Adrian's birthday party. Nikita, however, had not and planned to say as little as possible to him.

There was a knock at the door and Nikita was pleasantly surprised to see her father. "Papa!" She flung herself into his arms. "I've missed you terribly!"

"My dear girl! I cannot tell you how good it is to be home! Let me have a good look at you."

"How do you like my new dress, Papa?" Nikita twirled around to show off the lavender evening gown that had come from an exclusive London shop.

Reginald Jones-Wirth beamed with fatherly pride. "You are the very picture of perfection, Nikita! There's only one thing lacking."

Nikita looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I've been waiting for the appropriate time to give you this," he said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and bringing out a velvet box.

Nikita gasped as he opened the box, revealing an exquisite strand of cultured pearls. "Were these. . ." she began.

"Yes, these belonged to your late mother, God rest her soul." Reginald's eyes grew misty at the thought of his beloved wife. "Your grandfather presented these to your mother on our wedding day. I know that she would want you to have them now that you're a grown-up young lady."

"Thank you, Papa. Will you put them on for me?"

"I would like nothing better," smiled Reginald. With a flourish, he lifted the pearls from their box and clasped them around his daughter's neck as she pulled her hair aside. "There! Now I believe we have a birthday to celebrate! We must eat cake and drink champagne and dance until the wee hours! It's not every day that a young lady turns 16."

Nikita giggled. "Oh Papa! You spoil me!" She slipped her arm through her father's and together they went downstairs to greet the guests.

Throughout most of the weekend Michel managed to stay busy grading papers and preparing for classes. But by Sunday evening he was feeling restless. He knew he would see Nikita the next day, but that did not stop him from thinking about her a great deal. He felt he wanted to talk to someone, then he had a sudden inspiration – Walter. The older man was always eager to chat about anything from the weather and crops to the latest gadget he was working on. And they could have that game of chess.

As he approached the greenhouse, he saw Walter and a teenage boy moving some containers of flowers. The boy took a large pot and disappeared around the back of the building. Michel was surprised to find that it was the same boy from the train station and the cemetery. What is going on here?

About that time, Walter noticed him and threw up his hand in greeting. "Well, Michel, what brings you to my humble abode?"

"Are you up for that game of chess this evening?"

"Always, my friend," chuckled Walter.

The boy came around the corner and his eyes locked with Michel's. "Sammy, come here," said Walter, motioning him over. "Say hello to Mr. Samuelle, our new teacher."

Hurriedly, the boy pulled off his cloth cap and wiped his hands down the side of his trousers. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," he said as he pumped Michel's hand.

"Sammy is my sister's youngest boy," explained Walter. "They live about half a mile on the other side of the stream."

"It's a pleasure, Sammy," answered Michel. An uncomfortable question pushed its way into Michel's mind – had the boy seen he and Nikita in the woods?

"I help Uncle Walter with odd jobs," said Sammy proudly. "And I help Father Elliot maintain the churchyard, too." The significance of the last statement was not lost on Michel.

"I see," nodded Michel. He wondered if Walter was aware of his nephew's extracurricular activities as a courier.

Walter handed Sammy a sack. "Here you go. Take these apples to your Mum. Tell her I'll be looking for some of her famous apple pie!"

Sammy grinned and slung the sack over his shoulder. "Sure thing, Uncle Walter." He started to leave, then paused. "Do you ever go fishing, Mr. Samuelle?"

Michel hesitated before answering. "On occasion."

"Maybe I'll run into you down by the stream sometime."

Michel was now certain that the boy knew about his relationship with Nikita. Whether or not he had betrayed that fact to his uncle was what Michel needed to determine. Walter was very protective of Nikita and it would not be a good idea to run afoul of him.

After Sammy left, Walter and Michel settled down to a friendly game of chess. Walter kept up a steady stream of talk on a variety of subjects and Michel began to relax. The more time he spent with Walter, the more he liked and respected him.

Finally, the conversation came around to family. "If you ask me," began Walter. ". . .a young man such as yourself needs to find a good woman and settle down."

Michel looked up from the board with a slightly amused expression, but said nothing.

"Ah, I see I've hit a nerve!" said Walter. "Maybe you left a special girl back in Paris?"

Studying the board once more, Michel answered quietly, "Perhaps." Then before Walter realized it, Michel made his move. "Checkmate."

Walter looked down suddenly. "Well, I'll be!" he declared with a laugh. "You really got me on that move! But I always had you pegged as a smart fellow."

Michel laughed, too. "Would you like a re-match?"

"Most definitely. But how about some good strong coffee first?"

Miss Glanzman couldn't remember when she had enjoyed a visit to her village so much. She had played with her young nieces; visited with family and neighbors; and reminisced with old classmates. And by her side all weekend was Mark Vartan! Everyone whispered what a nice-looking pair they were.

They had many opportunities to talk about the past and more importantly, the future. They had come to an "understanding." Each one valued their job and took pride in it, but they also had deep feelings for each other. It was a relief to finally say those words out loud.

Waiting now for her train, Miss Glanzman smiled to herself as she remembered Mark saying, "I love you, Christina" and pulling her into his arms and kissing her! Thank goodness her mother had already retired for the night when this happened in the front parlour. Christina had been quite unable to get to sleep that night.

Before Mark returned to London he had said, "I have no ring to give you right now, Christina, but I want you to consider us engaged."

Needless to say, their mothers were beside themselves with joy when they heard the news. "Well, Agnes, you were right when you said the Homecoming would be a memorable event!" remarked Mrs. Glanzman to Inspector Vartan's mother.

Nikita returned to Sanibelle earlier than expected since Seymour had volunteered to accompany her. Of course, his ulterior motive was to have a quick visit with Carla and steal a kiss!

"Okay, I want to say hello to Walter. I'll be up in a few minutes," said Nikita. That will give them a few minutes of privacy.

Walter was bustling around in his small kitchen. "Coffee should be ready in a few minutes, Michel," he called out. Then he stepped out the back door for a moment to place a saucer of milk for Blackie, the cat Walter insisted he really didn't like.

"Walter! Walter, I want to show you my birthday present!" cried Nikita excitedly as she burst into the front room. She stopped short when she saw who was sitting there.

"Michel!"

Walter had come back into the kitchen and thought it strange that Nikita would address her teacher so informally. However, when he stepped to the doorway he saw the intense, hungry way the two of them gazed at each other. Walter remembered what it was like to be young and in love. He had looked at Belinda the same way all those years ago.

Well, I'll be damned! So that's how it is. I should have known something was up the way Nikita was acting at that reception.

Walter cleared his throat. "Hey, Sugar! When did you get back?"

PART 55

Nikita's head jerked toward the doorway. Walter noticed, however, that Michel kept staring at her with undisguised longing. She swallowed self-consciously before answering, "A few minutes ago. Seymour came with me."

"Now what's this about a birthday present?" asked Walter.

She touched the pearls around her neck. "Oh, my father gave me these. They were my mother's."

"Very nice," nodded Walter.

Michel spoke for the first time since Nikita had entered. "Let me wish you a bon anniversaire, Ni-ki-ta. I hope you enjoyed being with your family."

"Oh yes, it was very nice." She gestured toward the chess set. "I should let you get back to your game."

Sensing that the two of them really wanted to talk, Walter said, "If it's all the same to you, Michel, I would like some time to prepare for our re-match. I want to study some of your moves."

Michel nodded briefly. "Of course."

The clock over the fireplace struck the hour. "Would you look at the time! Say, would you mind walking Nikita back to her room? It's gotten awfully dark out there," said Walter.

"Not at all," Michel answered as he put his hand on the small of her back.

"Goodnight, Walter."

"See ya, Sugar."

They walked the short distance to Nikita's building in silence. As Nikita was about to open the front door, Michel reached out and stopped her. "Why didn't you tell me about Chandler's attack?"

Nikita saw the concern in Michel's face and her heart was overwhelmed. "It was so repulsive that I wanted to forget all about it. Besides, it happened before you came."

"You should have told me. I cannot protect you if I don't know these things."

Frowning, Nikita said, "Why would I need protection? He's going to be in jail for a long time."

Michel looked into the distance. "Wolfe was right to insist on self-defense training." Then another idea occurred to him. "Do you know anything about firearms?"

"I've been hunting with my cousins a few times."

"At least you have basic knowledge. I can help you perfect your technique."

"Michel, you're scaring me. What is all this about?" Nikita was shivering and it wasn't only from the cool night air.

Taking her by the shoulders he said, "Listen to me – you have to be prepared for anything."

His eyes dropped to her lush mouth. He had already learned that when Nikita was nervous, she chewed her bottom lip. He released her suddenly. "I'm telling you this for your own good, not to alarm you."

He saw the confusion in her eyes, but knew he had no answers for her questions.

"You know I trust you, Michel. But why are you being so mysterious?" she persisted.

In response, he gently touched her face and ran his thumb over her eyebrow. Directly overhead, a window opened with a squeak and girlish laughter floated out. Then they heard Isabelita and Bel chattering in their native Portuguese. Michel drew her further into the shadows and touched his lips briefly to hers.

"Go. We start tomorrow morning at 5 a.m."*

Season 1 – "Nikita"

PART 56

Michel had almost reached the Tower when an unusual birdcall stopped him in his tracks. It came a second time and he detoured toward the front gate of the property. From the shadows stepped Walter's nephew, Sammy.

"Father Eliot would like to invite you to services next Sunday."

When Michel said nothing Sammy added, "He works for The Big Man."

Michel considered this information. "I see. What time?"

"Eleven o'clock."

Michel nodded. "I'll be there."

Sammy stood there, shuffling his feet. Michel sensed that he wanted to ask a question. "Is there something else, Sammy?"

Finally, Sammy looked him in the eye. "Is Nikita your, uh, your lover?" He seemed almost embarrassed to utter the word.

Michel felt a sense of alarm, but he gave Sammy the blank stare. That look had been known to scorch more than one person!

Sammy realized he wasn't going to get an answer and stammered, "It's just that, well, I saw you in the woods the other day.

Michel had a question of his own and tightly latched onto Sammy's right arm. "Does your uncle know about any of this?"

Sammy shook his head nervously and mumbled, "No." He shifted from one foot to the other.

"I suggest we keep it that way. You're a good kid, Sammy. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." He released his arm suddenly.

"Beg pardon, sir. I meant no disrespect."replied Sammy as he tried to get the circulation back in his arm. He looked at Michel for a moment, then turned and ran into the night.

Four forty-five came entirely too early for Carla the next morning. She yawned widely and rubbed her eyes as she swung her feet off the bed. Nikita, on the other hand, was glad that the appointed time was finally here. For hours, she had tossed and turned as Michel's words ran endlessly through her mind: I cannot protect you if I don't know these things . . . firearms . . . you have to be prepared for anything . . . I'm telling you this for your own good.

Good grief! He's starting to sound like Papa with all those warnings, she thought with a flash of irritation. Try as she might, she could not understand his extreme anxiety over her safety. What could happen out here in the countryside? It's not like they were in the middle of London, which teemed with activity and intrigue and people from every corner of the empire. Other than the Chandler incident, the most exciting occurrence since she came to Sanibelle was when a couple of the Moriarty cows escaped and wandered onto the front lawn. But Walter and Sparks had quickly rounded them up and returned them to their pasture.

By all appearances, Michel seemed to be a serious and sober man and not one given to irrational behaviour. Who are you, Michel Samuelle? she wondered. There was definitely more to him than met the eye. One way or another, I'm going to find out everything about you.

"You're already dressed?" asked Carla in an incredulous tone.

"I didn't sleep well so I went ahead and got up," explained Nikita.

Carla yawned again. "Well, I could have slept for two or three more hours."

Ten minutes later the girls left their room and joined the Brazilian Babes and one or two others downstairs. Everyone was attired in old shirts and trousers which they had appropriated from male relatives. For the purposes of this class, Miss Glanzman declared that it was acceptable to dress in this unladylike manner.

Silently, they made their way to the refectory. Here the tables and chairs had been pushed back and old quilts were laid on the floor. While the others were grumbling about the early hour and pinning their hair up, Nikita was intensely studying Michel. He was in a huddle with Miss Glanzman and Headmaster Wolfe on the far side of the room.

He was wearing tight black trousers and a sleeveless white undershirt, which nicely displayed his broad shoulders and well-developed biceps. "Hmm. . .maybe this class will be more interesting than we imagined," remaked Gadenia. The others murmured their agreement as they continued to ogle Michel. Nikita looked at them sharply and experienced a pang of jealousy and possessiveness.

Carla noticed the determined set of her jaw and touched her arm. "Don't worry, he only has eyes for you," she whispered.

About that time, Michel turned around, his eyes scanning the assembled group until they came to rest on Nikita. She was wearing Seymour's old clothes and had knotted the shirttail at her waist. Her hair was divided into two long plaits secured by black cord and hanging over her breasts. Overall, the apparel accentuated her slim build. He nodded slightly and advanced toward them.

"Good morning, ladies. I hope everyone is ready to get started." He went on to make some preliminary remarks and demonstrate basic defensive postures.

"This is certainly better than looking at old first thing in the morning!" said Isabelita as she nudged Carla. Mrs. Turner was the stern-faced cook who never smiled as she slopped the food on their plates, day after day.

"No argument there," agreed Carla.

After about fifteen minutes Michel paused and said, "Now I need a volunteer. Who will go first?"

There was a moment's silence, then Nikita spoke up, "I will."

Michel nodded and beckoned her forward with two fingers. He continued walking around the circle and talking. When his back was to her, Nikita lunged. She thought she was moving quickly, but what happened next took her completely by surprise.

In a split-second, Michel turned and raised his arms to block her attack. Nikita brought her arms up in an attempt to deflect him, but it was no use. He grabbed her around the waist and flipped her. She landed flat on her back with a thud. Michel pinned her arms on either side of her head and stared deeply into her sapphire eyes. His face was close to hers and she temporarily forgot that there were other people in the room.

"When you attack someone from behind, go for the kidneys. It disables and they can't fight back. Consider that your first lesson."*

Nikita's chest was heaving from this totally unforeseen turn of events. She hadn't really known what to expect from this class. Nevertheless, she was embarrassed by her poor showing.

Michel stood up and tucked his unruly hair behind his ears. He did not offer to help Nikita up. She took a deep breath and scrambled to her feet. Michel was addressing the group.

"I want you to find a partner and try some of these moves for yourself. Spread out around the room."

Nikita glanced around, but everyone was already paired off. She rubbed the small of her back; she knew there would be a huge bruise there.

"Ni-ki-ta, I will be your partner," said Michel. "Remember, 'no pain, no gain.'"

She rolled her eyes. "Then by all means, let's get started."

Season 1 – "Nikita"

PART 57 – The Following Sunday

Michel walked briskly through the woods until he reached St. Anne's Church. Parishioners were streaming in steadily as the bell started to toll the eleven o'clock hour. He recognized several Sanibelle teachers and people he had come to know from the village. He smiled and nodded at each one in turn.

He took a seat in one of the pews near the back and looked around at the congregation, studying each parishioner. On the other side, closer to the front, he saw Walter and Sammy sitting with what he presumed to be Sammy's mother and three older sisters. Walter was wearing his spectacles and already taking a hymnal from the rack, no doubt preparing to "make a joyful noise."

Nikita, Carla, and the Brazilian Babes were in the pew behind Walter's family. Miss Moriarty, the history teacher, sat with them and as she checked out what the other women were wearing she suddenly gasped, "My goodness! There's Mr. Samuelle. I do believe this is the first time he's graced us with his presence since coming to Sanibelle!"

Nikita's eyes narrowed and she wanted to strangle the woman with her bare hands. She hadn't cared much for Ellen Moriarty before and now she really disliked her because of her frank interest in Michel. Instead, she said sweetly, "Miss Moriarty, I think the service is about to start."

But Miss Moriarty kept looking toward the back until Michel acknowledged her. She waved her hand and gave a silly little laugh. Nikita and Carla exchanged a look and shook their heads.

The choir was now filing in and Michel saw that Miss Glanzman, Miss Roddy, and Headmaster Wolfe were among its members. Somehow, he had not pictured Wolfe being musically inclined, but stranger things had happened.

There were greetings to the congregation and an announcement about the parish social to be held later in the month, then some singing, and finally, Father Elliot stepped to the pulpit. He was a tall, thin man with brown hair and a thin moustache. He opened his Bible and looked out over his flock, collecting his thoughts. He spotted some folks he did not know, but they appeared to be related to some members of the congregation.

Then his eyes fell on a man near the back. Dressed in a black suit, he had a look of quiet intensity about him. He did not appear to be with a wife or attached to any family. That has to be him, thought Father Elliot. He nodded briefly to the man and began his sermon.

When the service was over, Father Elliot stood at the back door, shaking hands and greeting the people. Michel purposely hung back until he thought he was the last person, but somehow Sammy had materialized at his side.

"Father Elliot, this is Mr. Samuelle. He's new up at the school," said Sammy excitedly. "He likes to play chess with Uncle Walter."

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Samuelle. I trust you have everything you need?"

"Of course," said Michel. "But I'm curious about your role here."

Father Elliot chuckled slightly. "Ah, you see, I am first and foremost a man of the cloth. But as that old hymn puts it so eloquently, 'God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.'" *

"And you report to The Big Man?" asked Michel.

Father Elliot nodded thoughtfully and a melancholy look came over his face. "I used to think that it was enough to stand in my pulpit every Sunday and make people aware of good and evil. However, I've found that the Good Lord can use me in a more, shall we say, active, way."

Michel suspected that there was another component to all this. "Something happened that was personal to you," he said quietly.

Father held his look for a moment. "Yes, but. . ." He was cut off by a bustling matron in a brown silk ensemble. "Father, don't forget that you're having luncheon with us today!"

He smiled benevolently at the woman. "I haven't forgotten, Mrs. Richards. I'll be along in a minute."

The woman moved away. Sammy had reappeared and Father Elliot tousled his hair. "We can always communicate through Sammy here. He's my right-hand man, in matters spiritual and otherwise. Right, son?"

Sammy nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir!"

Mrs. Richards returned to claim Father Elliot and Michel headed back to Sanibelle. He had a good feeling about Father Elliot, but he decided he wasn't just the typical English country parson. With his ear for languages, Michel had detected a slight German accent.

The moans and groans of the Sanibelle students began to subside after the first few weeks of self-defense training. It was replaced by a new-found confidence in their ability to protect themselves better.

While it was true that some girls were simply too chubby or too uncoordinated to master the moves, there were some, like Nikita and Carla and a few others, who excelled. Michel began using them as his assistants. However, whenever he needed to demonstrate a new move, he invariably called on Nikita. From a purely selfish standpoint, it gave him the opportunity to touch her openly.

She always tensed when she felt his hand on her shoulder or arm. He suspected that it was because they were standing in front of her classmates; in private, he was sure things would be different. Will that day ever come? he wondered idly.

This morning he was standing close behind her with both hands on her hips. He took his right hand to position her right arm, but his other hand remained firmly on her hip. Nikita couldn't understand the point of this. She turned her head slightly and hissed under her breath, "Must you do that?"

"Do what?" asked Michel innocently.

"Touch my hip!"

"I am merely demonstrating the stance, Ni-ki-ta."

"Well, could you use someone else today? I have a headache."

"As you wish." He released her and summoned Polly, a stringbean of a girl who had no hips at all.

Nikita went to stand with her classmates. It was almost that time of the month and she felt very prickly. Everything and everyone, especially Michel, seemed to get on her nerves. She spent the rest of class glaring at Michel and the way his hands skimmed over Polly's arms, shoulders, and hips.

When class was dismissed, she stalked off to her room without even a backward glance at Michel. He could only sigh and let her go.

Leona blew her nose loudly, then shuffled to the front door of her flat. She drew the bolt back and opened it a fraction. "Oh. . .it's you," she said irritably.

"Yes, it's me," replied Lionel unperturbed. "When Weiss mentioned that you had the flu, I figured some chicken soup would fix you right up!"

Leona stared in disbelief at the saucepan Lionel was holding with both hands. "You made chicken soup?"

"Indeed, I did! It may surprise you, but I know my way around a kitchen," replied Lionel with an air of self-importance.

Dabbing at her reddened nose, Leona said, "Is that a fact?"

"Why don't you let me in and you can judge the results for yourself?"

Leona's face contorted, then out came a loud "AATCHOOO." She dug in the pocket of her pink wool robe for a clean handkerchief, but found nothing. "Oh, where did I put that thing?" she mumbled.

"God bless you!" said Lionel, who took the opportunity to scoot past her into the flat. He set the soup down on the kitchen table and grabbed a bowl from the shelf. He filled the bowl and tore a chunk from the loaf of bread that was already there. "Come try this," he motioned to Leona.

Leona tried to protest. "I'm not really hungry."

"Don't argue with me, Leona. You need to keep up your strength." For once, Lionel was not going to let her get the upper hand. He pulled out the chair and made her sit down.

Later that evening Leona was feeling better and decided to read the newspaper that Lionel had brought. First, she scanned the crime statistics, then moved to the society pages. Sure enough, there was a piece about Gray Wellman and some charity bash he was having in a couple of weeks.

Leona suddenly realized that she was hungry again. She went into the kitchen and saw the remains of Lionel's soup. Just when I thought I had the old coot figured out, he goes and does something like this.

What was even more amazing was that it was actually edible. Leona smiled to herself and tore off some bread to go with it.

William Cowper, 1774

PART 58

In the middle of history class that afternoon, Michel strode into Miss Moriarty's classroom and extracted Nikita for a "special project." When Miss Moriarty opened her mouth to object, Michel stated that he had the Headmaster's approval for this. This may have been stretching it a bit, but Wolfe did say to "Do whatever you think is best, Samuelle. I leave it to your discretion."

Nikita was still in a bad mood and she stood in the hall with her hands on her hips. "What do you want now?" she demanded.

A few unprofessional thoughts sprang to mind, but Michel suppressed those and answered, "I'm putting you on an accelerated clock."

Nikita was taken aback at this. "What does that mean?" She didn't think he was referring to her biological clock.

"It means that I'm speeding up your training." He firmly grasped her elbow as he propelled her out the front door and toward the woods. "We're going to the shooting range."

She tried to shake off his hand. "Well, we're going the wrong way."

"Not the archery range," he murmured.

Nikita stopped in her tracks, like a mule, and refused to budge. "I want some answers, Michael, or I'll. . ."

"Or you'll what?" He patiently waited for her ultimatum.

She was on the verge of saying ". . .or I'll stop talking to you." But in her heart she knew that would never happen.

She tried to match the intensity of his stare. "I mean it, Michel. I want some answers right now!" she repeated. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need money? Because if you need money my Uncle George could. . ."

Michel took her by the shoulders. "Ni-ki-ta, please!" He needed her to focus on the training and she couldn't do that if she was hysterical. Nonetheless, he was moved by her genuine concern for him.

Nikita persisted. "Does it have anything to do with Miss Moriarty? I saw you follow her the other night."

Michel was taken aback and laughed. "Miss Moriarty? What a preposterous idea. My only interactions with Miss Moriarty are about academic matters."

He paused and drew in a deep breath to center himself. "I assure you I am not in trouble and I don't need money." Of course, she had no way of knowing that his family was one of the oldest and wealthiest in Marseilles. He realized that anything he revealed could put her in danger, maybe even make her a target. He could not risk losing her so he simply said, "You know a lot about me, Ni-ki-ta, but not everything. There are things that have to remain hidden and it has nothing to do with how I feel about you." * (Season 2 – Psychic Pilgrim)

When she didn't respond, he gently shook her shoulders. "Do you understand? I cannot tell you anything more at this time. You will have to trust me."

Finally, she nodded and he dropped his hands. Looking to the horizon he saw some dark clouds moving in. "Let's go. We've wasted too much time here already."

Nikita squeezed the trigger and the bottle perched on the stump shattered into a dozen shards. Adjusting her position, she aimed at the second bottle, but the bullet whizzed by it. Unfazed, she went for the third and fourth bottles, successfully hitting the targets. She lowered the gun and looked over her shoulder at Michel. "Très bien," he nodded.

The wind was picking up and the storm clouds were almost upon them. "This was a good start. We'll practice again very soon," he said as he retrieved the gun from her. They hurried back through the woods and reached the side door of the library just as fat raindrops began falling.

"Tell no one about this," cautioned Michel. "Should anyone inquire, you were helping me with preparations for the Founder's Day celebration."

"Fine." Nikita lifted and rolled her shoulders to relieve the ache that was developing there. She was thinking more about getting some liniment from Dr. Sandra than about how to explain her absence from class.

Michel would have liked nothing better than to massage her tired muscles for her, but he had to refrain from too much intimacy. It could be dangerous for both of them. He turned to go, but Nikita called him back.

"Wait! I wanted to apologize for my behaviour this morning. I'm sorry I was so, uh, uncooperative. You were only doing your job."

Michel regarded her with a smile. "It's fine. You forget that I have a sister. I know how these things are." For a moment he thought she was going to come out with some saucy reply, but she merely rolled her eyes and went into the library.

Lying in bed that night, Nikita decided that Michel was a much more complicated man that she had ever imagined. He was intelligent, charming, sensual. But there was another side to him – hidden, maybe even violent. His ease with the gun made her wonder if he had ever killed someone. His martial arts skills left no doubt in her mind that he could snap a man's neck with his bare hands. She shuddered and clutched the covers more tightly.

Then she recalled that the annual Founder's Day celebration was coming up. It was a big two-day event when parents, patrons, and alumnae descended on Sanibelle to remember the school's glorious past and to encourage forward thinking in the future. The highlight would be the Founder's Day Ball on Saturday night. In order to have enough young men for dancing, the boys from the nearby St. Alban's School were always invited.

For weeks now the Sanibelle girls had talked of little else. The Brazilian Babes were chomping at the bit to get up to London to shop for ball gowns. One of them remarked to Nikita, "Maybe one of those St. Alban's boys will catch your eye!"

Everyone laughed and Nikita went along with the joke. "Yes, perhaps you're right." Only Carla knew that the love of her life stood in front of her every day in French class.

Nikita sighed and rolled onto her side. Her thoughts again focused on Michel. If he wasn't going to tell her anything, then she would have to monitor his comings and goings as best she could. She would study his mannerisms and speech more closely and see if she could detect any covert meanings.

Two Weeks Later

"Sophia! Sophia, have you seen my spectacles?" called out Lord Huntington from the top of the stairs one morning.

Lady Huntington looked up from where she was conferring with Jeeves, the head butler. They exchanged a look and Jeeves asked, "Will that be all, my Lady?"

"Yes, thank you, Jeeves."

He nodded slightly and vanished below stairs to his domain.

"My dear Winston, if you would slow down a bit you would realize that your spectacles are sitting on top of your head!" laughed Sophia.

Lord Huntington reached up gingerly and found what he had been searching for the past several minutes. With a sigh of relief he said, "Poopsie, what would I do without you?"

"It would not be a pretty sight, I'm sure!"

Lord Huntington gathered up his attaché case and umbrella and descended the stairs. "I have an important meeting with the Prime Minister this morning and this afternoon I will be in committee meetings. Not sure what time I'll be home for dinner," he said as his wife helped him into his topcoat.

"Oh Winston, did you forget that Isabelita and her friends are coming up this afternoon?" sighed Lady Huntington as she brushed some lint from his shoulder.

"No, I did not forget, but these committee meetings can't be avoided." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and added mysteriously, "Things are about to get interesting."

Lady Huntington was skeptical. What could possibly be interesting about the innumerable committees that Winston sat on? Most of them were populated with old windbags who liked nothing better than to flap their lips for hours on end. The whole process sounded dreadfully boring to her.

"If you say so. Now off with you! The sooner you get there, the sooner you can come home," she said, ushering him out the front door.

They were all there – The Big Man, Inspector Vartan, Weiss, Lionel, Leona, and one or two minor operatives. Each arrived separately and by different means at the seedy hotel in the East End.

Leona looked around with disgust at the cobwebs in the corners. She felt someone should take a scrub brush and a pail of hot, soapy water to the whole place. Lionel nudged her and whispered, "There's a not bad little pub in the next street. We can get a bite to eat when we're finished here."

Leona grunted in a way that might mean 'yes' or it might mean 'no.' "When is that Wellman charity thing again?" she asked.

"It's on the fifteenth." Gotta love Leona, She's always focused on the mission, thought Lionel.

Leona nodded slowly. "Right. Now what does the pub have to do with that?"

Lionel chuckled. "Nothing. We'll talk about it later."

Inspector Vartan began passing out their profiles and went over each one briefly. When he finished he glanced at The Big Man. "Sir, do you have anything to add?"

His true identity was known only to Vartan and Weiss. The others did not question this, but they sensed that he was a powerful man.

"No, you seem to have a handle on the situation. Keep me abreast of any anomalies." With that, The Big Man went out the door.

PART 59

It was one of Madeline's rare afternoons off from her job as governess to the daughters of a wealthy London tea merchant. She had passed this particular afternoon quite pleasantly.

In bed. With David Fanning.

While she sat at the dressing table pinning up her thick chestnut-brown hair, her companion stirred. He rolled onto his back, flung an arm across his eyes, and began snoring.

Poor David, I must have worn him out! thought Madeline with amusement. In bed, as in their 'business' venture, Madeline liked to remind him who was really in charge. While Fanning was useful and entertaining, it was really another man's touch that Madeline craved. However, there was no time to think about Paul right now. She had only enough time to stop at her favorite tearoom for a quick bite before returning to her employer in Belgrave Square.

Michel and Nikita stood on the platform waiting for the last train to London. He was going to a teacher's conference while Nikita was joining her Aunt Adrian and her cousin Penelope for some early Christmas shopping. Finding a gown for the Founder's Day Ball was on the list as well.

"Those invitations could have waited until Monday," said Nikita accusingly. Michel had kept her in the library addressing and stuffing envelopes for the Founder's Day Ball for an excessive amount of time. So long, in fact, that they missed the earlier train which Carla and the Brazilian Babes were on.

"Miss Glanzman wanted them to go out by the afternoon post," said Michel quietly.

Nikita looked at him sharply. "Do you always follow orders, Mr. Samuelle?"

Michel was scanning the track for any sign of the train. He turned slowly and met her eyes.

"No."

Nikita considered this briefly. "I see. Are you saying that you actually 'bend the rules' sometimes?"

A whistle blowing announced the train's arrival. It braked to a stop and several passengers alighted. Michel picked up her small valise and handed it to the porter, along with his own case. Realization gradually dawned on Nikita. You evil man. You deliberately made us miss the train.

As they went along the corridor looking for an empty compartment, Nikita was beginning to warm to the idea of spending a couple of hours alone with Michel. There would be no inquiring glances from teachers or muffled giggles from classmates to worry them. Perhaps she could wheedle some more information out of him about his 'hidden' life, as he called it.

They settled into their seats and stared at each other. Nikita seemed more aware of Michel in these close quarters – his cologne, his broad shoulders, his piercing emerald eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he could read her thoughts. To distract herself, she carefully took off her hat, placing it on the seat beside her. She reached up and smoothed her hair even though not a strand was out of place. She could feel his eyes following her every movement.

Michel was remembering their first encounter in the British Museum and how nervous he had been. A lot had happened since then. He was beginning to appreciate what a truly intelligent and fascinating young woman Nikita was, but he longed to know more. Much more. He allowed a faint smile to creep onto his face.

Nikita was suspicious. "Why are you smiling? Is there something humorous about our situation?"

"Perhaps."

Before Nikita could pursue the matter further, they were joined by two middle-aged women. Each one carried several parcels. Ever the gentleman, Michel stood up and helped them to secure their packages on the rack overhead.

"Oh, thank you so much!" gushed the first woman. "It's good to see that chivalry hasn't gone out of fashion."

The other one looked to Nikita and said, "Isn't that the truth! You're lucky to have such a considerate husband!"

"I'm Agatha Brown," said the first one. "And this is my sister, Maude Ferguson. We're going up to Maidstone to visit our younger sister who recently married a clergyman."

"Yes, and we're taking these parcels to Alice. She and her new husband are as poor as church mice, but very much in love!" laughed Maude.

Sighing inwardly, Nikita thought, What a pair of magpies. Can't get a word in edgewise!

Michel gave them one of his charming smiles. "Michel Samuelle and this is Nikita."

The women immediately brought out their knitting and launched into a rambling conversation about husbands, children, and the making of apple jelly. Nikita would occasionally nod and make a comment. At least we won't be stuck with them the entire journey, she thought with some satisfaction.

Almost before they knew it, the train was pulling into Maidstone station. Agatha reached into her bag and presented a jar of her jelly to Nikita. "Try it when you get home. I'm sure you'll like it."

After the women exited, Nikita studied the jelly, then looked at Michel. They both started laughing. "I would say those two talk even more than you and Carla," said Michel.

Nikita dropped her eyes, trying to sort out her feelings. She looked back up at Michel. "Why did you let them think we were married?"

"They had already made up their minds that we were. Besides, we're convincing as two people in love." * (Season 1 – Love)

The conductor stuck his head in and announced, "The dining car is now open, if you're hungry."

Michel stood up and gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

Michel spoke to the waiter in a low voice and soon plates of food appeared before them. Neither one said much; they were concentrating on their meal. Nikita could not help thinking about the joining of their names – Nikita Samuelle. She couldn't deny that she liked the sound of it, but it was hardly something she could say out loud.

By the time dinner was over, the train had reached the last local stop. From here it would continue non-stop to London. Nikita and Michel were going back to their compartment when the conductor came along with some bad news.

"Folks, there's been a derailment up ahead of us. Apparently, a section of line that was repaired earlier gave way with this heavy rain. We cannot go any further tonight."

Nikita gasped, "I hope Carla and the others made it safely!"

"Not to worry, Miss," said the conductor. "It happened after the 2:15 train had passed through. I do apologize for the inconvenience. However, I'm told that there is a small inn here where you can find lodging."

"Where is the inn?" asked Michel.

"A couple of blocks down the High Street," said the conductor. "We'll make sure that your bags get to you."

A hard rain was coming down by this time and they had no umbrella. Michel looked at Nikita. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and said, "Let's go." Of course, they would be soaked by the time they got there, but at least they would be together.

Michel took her hand firmly in his and they set off running. They reached the inn just ahead of a bedraggled couple with three small children. The innkeeper and his wife were somewhat flustered by these late arrivals, but tried to remain cheerful in spite of it.

"I've only two rooms left," said the innkeeper, trying not to yawn. Michel knew there was no way around it – he and Nikita would have to share a small room at the rear of the inn and let the family have the larger one up front. He glanced over at Nikita. She was talking to the woman and trying to calm one of the fretful children.

"That will be fine," said Michel. He took the fountain pen and signed the register – Mr. & Mrs. Samuelle.

"Wait here and let me find that key," the innkeeper said as he ducked into a room behind the desk.

The family went upstairs and Nikita came over and stood by Michel. Her eyes widened when she saw how he had signed them in. "Do I have to 'love, honour, and obey'?"

"Just . . .obey," replied Michel. * (Season 1 – Love)

Part 60 (NC – 17)

Love, honour, and obey? What was I thinking? Nikita felt like slapping her forehead as she followed the innkeeper and Michel up the stairs. When will I learn to think before I open my mouth? She rubbed her arms to try to keep from shivering. I'm cold, I'm wet, and now I'm going to spend the night in the same room as him. Whatever would my aunt and Miss Glanzman say?

"Here we go." The innkeeper inserted the key into the rusty lock and pushed open the door. He went over to the fireplace and began stacking some logs. "In a few minutes it will be toasty warm in here!"

Michel pulled Nikita aside. "Where is your aunt staying? I'll see if the telegraph office is still open and send a wire."

"The Regency Hotel."

The innkeeper stood up and replaced the poker in its stand. He noted Nikita's shivering and said, "I'll have the wife bring up some hot cocoa. Looks like you need something to warm you up, Mrs. Samuelle."

Nikita had been looking around at the room's furnishings – dark green counterpane on a double bed, matching curtains, washstand in the corner, and a small rickety table and chair under the window. An abandoned wingchair was pushed into a corner. It wasn't fancy by any means, but appeared to be clean enough.

"Uh, thank you."

Michel followed him out into the hall. A moment later he returned and said, "The telegraph office is across the street. I'll be back shortly."

Nikita nodded. After a minute, there was a knock at the door and the innkeeper's wife brought in a tray, which she set on the table. The woman eyed Nikita speculatively. "This may be bold of me, but you're newlyweds, aren't you?"

A flush crept up Nikita's neck. "Well, uh. . .yes, we are." She was in so deep now, what did it matter? If everyone kept trying to make them a couple, she would have to keep up the charade.

"How did you know?" she asked the woman.

Laughing, the woman said, "Oh honey, it's the way he looks at you! I can always spot a man in love."

Nikita decided the less she said, the better. Patting her arm the woman said, "I imagine you'll want to freshen up a bit before that nice husband of yours returns."

Nikita reached up to her disheveled hair. "Of course, I must look dreadful."

After the woman departed, Nikita plopped down on the edge of the bed. Abruptly, she stood up. Something about the bed made her uneasy. She went to the corner and pulled the old wing chair closer to the fireplace.

Suddenly, she thought of the jar of apple jelly in her pocket. She brought it out, opened it, and plunged her finger in for a taste. As she was licking her finger, Michel returned to the room. He paused in the doorway and gave her a strange look.

"I didn't have a spoon," she said flatly.

"Of course not." He continued staring at her. " I sent a telegram to your aunt explaining the circumstances."

No doubt there will be a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, she thought dismally.

Michel locked the door and gave her another appraisal. "Take off your clothes and get into bed."

Nikita leapt to her feet with a startled look on her face. "I beg your pardon!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Michel realized how it must have sounded to Nikita. With a smirk he added, "All I'm saying is that you cannot stand around all night in those wet clothes and risk getting pneumonia. You'll warm up faster under the covers." There was a long pause. "What did you think I meant?"

Nikita purposely ignored his question. "What about you? You're not exactly dry yourself."

"I'll sleep in the chair. The bed is all yours." Not that his back would appreciate it, but it was the right thing to do.

With a sigh of relief she said, "Fine." However, neither one made any effort to move. Finally, Nikita made a circular gesture with her hand.

"Fine. I'll turn around. . .and I won't look," promised Michel. He went over to the fireplace and busied himself with laying another log and prodding the ones already in place.

As quickly as possible, Nikita removed her wet, mud-splattered clothes and draped them over the back of the straight chair. She kept watching Michel's back, but he was true to his word and did not even try to peek. She was relieved and yet a wee bit disappointed. What would it matter? He's a man of the world. I'm sure he's seen a naked woman before.

Heat was beginning to permeate the room, but her teeth were chattering as she pulled back the covers and climbed in. Her purse was nearby, with her comb, but this was no time to worry about untangling her hair. Only when he heard the bed creak did Michel turn his head slightly. "Are you settled?"

A muffled "yes" came from beneath the heavy green counterpane. Michel removed his jacket and hung it rather haphazardly over the back of the wing chair. Then he took off his boots, extinguished the lamp, and sat down in the chair with his long legs stretched toward the fire.

"Then goodnight, Ni-ki-ta."

"Goodnight, Michel."

He was right, of course. After a couple of minutes, Nikita was feeling warm and cozy between the soft sheets. Before long, the oblivion of sleep claimed her.

When he heard no movement for a while, Michel looked over his shoulder. Only the top of Nikita's head was visible. He smiled to himself. The look on her face a few minutes ago was priceless! While it was true that he had delayed the start of their journey for selfish reasons, the derailment and their present situation were certainly not of his making. They were isolated and in their own little world within these four walls. As long as I keep my distance, things will not get out of control.

Even as he thought that, Michel wasn't sure he believed it.

Nikita fell into a strange dream. Mick and Alec Chandler were both vying for her attention at the Founder's Day Ball, but she kept rebuffing them. Spinning around, she saw Michel at the edge of the room, but the closer she got to him, the more he seemed to retreat.

She awoke suddenly and didn't know where she was. When her breathing slowed down, she remembered the events of the previous evening. Shocked, she realized that she was not wearing any clothes and that Michel was only a few feet away. Apparently, she had not called out in her sleep because he did not stir from the chair.

She felt anxious, vulnerable. Carefully, she got out of bed and pulled on her thin chemise. As long as she was up, she reasoned she might as well put another log on the fire. She tiptoed around Michel's chair and placed a small log in the grate.

"What are you doing?"

She gasped at the sound of Michel's soft inquiry. She turned and saw that he was naked to the waist. Even in the dim light, his well-toned chest was an impressive sight. He did not seem concerned about the fire as he lounged in the chair. There was an unreadable look in his eyes that kept Nikita rooted to the spot. "The fire was dying," she answered.

He studied her leisurely. "No. . .you're wrong," he whispered. "It's only beginning." With a start, Nikita realized that with the firelight behind her and the thin material of her chemise, it was almost like she was standing naked before him. Perhaps even more shocking was the truth she now acknowledged: given half a chance she might become positively uninhibited! After all, this was Michel and whatever happened between them would simply. . .happen. The sensible Nikita had vanished; the emotional Nikita had effortlessly taken her place.

Michel stood and stepped very close to her. He began unpinning her long blonde tresses and slowly running his hands through them. "I have a longing for you, Ni-ki-ta, like an all-consuming fire. It torments me day and night." He traced the curve of one ear and fingered the small, delicate earring in its lobe. "It's much worse at night. I lie awake knowing you are so close, wondering what it would be like to hold you in my arms, to make love to you over and over."

A loud clap of thunder caused Nikita to jump. "Are you afraid of the storm. . . or of me, Ni-ki-ta?"

Emerald eyes looked into the depths of sapphire eyes and found desire and truth and something else – trust.

"I am not afraid of you, Michel." Her heart was hammering against her ribs. She knew the mechanics of the physical act between a man and a woman, but certainly had no experience. She would trust Michel to introduce her to the nuances.

He slid one arm around her narrow waist and pulled her against his body. Nikita gasped and her eyes widened as his bulging manhood pressed into her lower abdomen. "Yes, chérie, feel how much I desire you." With his other hand he lightly touched her face. Her complexion was flawless and as he ran a thumb over her eyebrow, Nikita sighed and closed her eyes.

"Ah, Michel!"

He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, "I want to show you how love can be" Nikita shivered as the stubble on his face rubbed the side of her cheek. He focused on her face again, especially her perfect mouth. He knew how she chewed her lower lip when nervous and how grim and determined the set of her mouth could be when she was angry. But he also remembered how sweet she tasted. Sadly, that day in the woods seemed an eternity ago.

Tonight, they were alone. No one would interrupt them or keep them from discovering everything about each other. Nikita reached up hesitantly and placed her hands on his chest. The muscles were smooth and firm. He is an incredible man, perfectly formed, she thought. At least what I've seen so far.

Then she ran her hands over the tops of his shoulders, finally linking her arms around his neck. Michel bent his head and bestowed a feather-light kiss on her lips. He pulled back to study her reaction. Nikita moaned softly at the loss of contact. Again and again he kissed her until her lips parted slightly and his tongue slipped into her warm mouth. It was more glorious than he remembered! Their tongues had mated as their bodies longed to do.

Nikita was feeling a little light-headed from the many sensations she was experiencing. She was aware of her nipples tightening as her breasts rubbed against Michel's bare chest. The thin fabric separating them annoyed her. She wanted to know what her skin felt like against his. Meanwhile, his mouth continued to inflame and excite her with its insistence. He moved down her neck with a trail of hot kisses. She threw her head back with abandon.

"Michel. . .Michel!"

If Michel had not been holding her, Nikita felt certain she would have collapsed on the floor. As if reading her mind, Michel lifted her into his arms and carried her the few steps to the bed, placing her gently on her back. Lovingly, he caressed her face and hair, as if she were fine porcelain.

His own need was increasing, but he wanted to give Nikita the utmost pleasure. He knew she had no mother to prepare her for this rite of passage, but surely her aunt would have done her duty in that area. He would not rush her or do anything to upset her, especially after her near-rape at the filthy hands of Alec Chandler. While she seemed to trust him, there was always the possibility of a flashback to that night of the county fair.

Changing tactics, he moved down to her feet and began massaging them. "Oooh, that tickles, Michel!" she laughed and tried to pull her feet away.

"So, you're ticklish? Well, I've already learned something new about you." Releasing her feet, he slid his hands up her legs and stimulated her calves. She liked that. He pushed up her chemise and slowly inched his hands along the sides of her thighs.

"Michel!"

Immediately, he stopped. "What is it,?"

"Kiss me again!" she implored, stretching her arms for him.

Obediently, he moved up her lithe body and held her wrists by her head. He was surprised when she tried to arch up to meet him. Theirs mouths crashed together and this time Nikita's tongue shot into Michel's mouth. They kissed passionately, urgently for some time until Michel broke away.

Almost out of breath, Nikita sighed, "I feel so hot all over, Michel, and my skin is. . .oh, I don't know how to describe it!"

"You're wearing too many clothes!" said Michel as he began pushing the chemise off her shoulders.

Nikita laughed at the absurdity of his statement, then gasped as he revealed her breasts. He cupped one and then the other. He marveled at the feel of her warm, firm flesh. Nikita was squirming beneath him and cried out when he ran his rough thumb over each nipple. "Do you like that, my love?" he cooed softly.

"Yes! Oh, yes!" Her eyes were closed and her face was flushed.

Suddenly, he took one erect peak into his warm mouth and swirled the tip of his tongue around it. Nikita freed her hands from his and latched onto his back, scratching wildly. He moved to the other breast and repeated his delicious torture. Nikita thought she would come off the bed. "Oh my, oh Michel, oh. . .!"

Michel was growing restless, not to mention that his trousers felt about two sizes too small. He kneaded her breasts one final time, then tugged the chemise down to her pelvis. "Lift your hips," he urged. Nikita complied and he slid the garment off her body and flung it over the end of the bed.

Her eyes flew open. She watched as Michel eyed her greedily, like a wild animal looming over its prey. "Ki-ta, you are more beautiful, more amazing than I ever imagined," he whispered. "I must have you, I must make you mine!" He stripped off the rest of his clothes and now Nikita could more fully appreciate what every girl in school had wondered about.

He covered her body with his own and began working his way downward with kisses and little teasing bites. From her mouth, down her neck, to her breasts, over her flat belly, pausing momentarily at the mass of dark blonde hair between her thighs. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. Nikita did not move; she was a little nervous now. Gently, Michel nudged her thighs apart and touched her. She was warm and moist, ready to receive him.

"Michel?" she said in a small trembling voice.

"Yes, my love?" He held himself very still.

Nikita was so overcome by Michel's gentle and considerate lovemaking that she was unable to speak. But he understood, the way only true soulmates could. "Do you want this? Do you want me?" he asked quietly.

She nodded and whispered, "I trust you."

She spread her legs wider and he positioned himself at her entrance. "This will hurt a little," he warned. He was aching, screaming almost, to plunge immediately and fully into her secret depths, but he willed himself to go slowly. Nikita tensed as the tip of his engorged member began to pierce her delicate membrane. "Oh Michel!"

Michel wanted to close his eyes at the exquisite feeling of her tight walls stretching around him, but he was more interested in watching his beloved's reaction. Her eyes were closed and she was clenching and unclenching her fists, not quite knowing what to expect. He paused to let her virginal body adjust to him.

"Ni-ki-ta," he whispered. "Relax. . .open your eyes." He reached down and wrapped her long legs around his waist.

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. As she did so, Michel plunged the rest of his rigid length in, hitting her most sensitive core. Her head rolled to the side and her mouth opened. In only a couple of minutes, Nikita had felt pain and pleasure. The feeling of Michel so enormous and so deep within her could not be described. It was difficult to know where her body ended and his began.

"Ah, oh Michel . . .you are. . .oh my gosh!"

"Are you ready, Ki-ta?" Before she could gather her wits enough to respond, Michel withdrew partially, hesitated, then thrust in even deeper. Her body jerked; she didn't think it possible for him to go further. It was like a spasm shooting all the way down to her toes.

Sweat had popped out on Michel's forehead. He set up a slow, deliberate rhythm as he thrust in and out of her. Nikita's head rolled from side to side as the sensual assault began to escalate. "Mi. . . chel! Oh my gosh. . .I. . . uh. . ."

The storm continued to rage outside the inn. But Michel heard only the sighs and moans of his beautiful Nikita as he focused his whole mind and body on bringing her to fulfillment.

"Michel! Michel!" she panted as she dug her heels into his back. Somewhere in her fogged brain she was aware of his increased speed and force as he slammed into her. It did not matter. It felt like she was on a wild, unbroken horse and was about to jump off a high cliff. Her vision became blurred. She tried to focus on Michel, but could not. With one final thrust, his deepest yet, she fell over into the abyss.

"MI. . .CHEL! OH MY GOD. . .MICHEL. . .OH. . .I. . .UH. . .MICHEL, MICHEL!"

Her fingers clawed at the sheets, grabbing handfuls as the intense waves of pleasure echoed throughout every cell, every pore of her body. Her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts and her heart was beating wildly. Still looming over her, Michel observed his sweet angel, her face flushed and perspiration dotting her firm breasts, and was thankful that he was the first man to initiate her into these raptures.

His own need now had to be addressed. He pulled almost completely out and slammed into her again. He collapsed on top of her, burying his head in her hair, as his release came. He murmured in French and in English, but the only part Nikita could grasp was, "Ki-ta, my beautiful Ki-ta!"

As their breathing began to return to normal, Michel lifted his head and softly kissed Nikita's mouth. They lay with arms and legs entwined for a long time, gently caressing one another. Finally, as they were becoming chilled, Michel reached down and pulled the covers over them. He rolled off Nikita onto his side and turned her so that their sated bodies were spooned snugly together. As he wrapped his arms around her from behind she whispered, "I'm glad it was with you."

His heart was so full that he could barely speak. "As am I," he panted.