Chapter 5: The Trial
She inclined forward in her chair, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"A TRIAL period?" she repeated.
"Precisely. It will give you an idea of what it would be like to be married to me and you can decide for yourself if this is something you will like or if you prefer the life of a soldier after all."
His tone was steady, confirming to her that he was in fact NOT joking.
"Sir, this isn't a new type of musket or a new exercise that you could simply try out before committing to it," she pursued.
She stood up and began pacing up and down the room. What a preposterous idea! This evening was turning stranger and stranger by the minute. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't in a dream - or a nightmare, rather.
"I don't understand why you are doing all of this. You could have anyone spy for you at court or elsewhere."
He didn't reply promptly.
"I want to make you happy," he simply admitted, gently swirling his glass while he gazed at the golden liquid.
She was ready to retaliate but was completely taken off guard by his response. To make her happy? She held her breath. Was he only doing the honorable thing by her? Or was there more to it than that? He was giving her the freedom to choose something new, to try something new. On her own terms, no less. He wasn't binding her into anything, he hadn't hinted or alluded to anything indecent. And yet… there was something in the way he had looked at her before. Did he desire her?
For once, she had to remind herself that Capitaine de Treville was a man first and foremost. Had she been so naïve so as to think that he hadn't regarded her as an object of desire once or twice? That he hadn't imagined what her body looked like underneath these clothes? That he hadn't calculated the proportions of her figure in his mind? That at certain times when they were alone, he had to actively suppress his instincts so as not to touch her, not to slide his hands onto her hips, not to pull her towards him, not to press his lips to hers, not to explore her with his tongue, not to place his body onto to hers, not to incline her onto his desk where he would part her legs, make her his, while her moans would echo throughout this half-empty chamber? **
Good Heavenly Gracious God, Aramis! She pinched herself again. These thoughts, which were supposed to alert her to any potential disgusting behaviour on his part, suddenly took on an erotic nature. She could feel her crotch becoming warm and… moist? Oh goodness! She hurriedly resumed her seat and crossed her legs firmly one on top of the other.
"And how do you propose to conduct this… trial?" she challenged him.
He smiled into his drink and silently congratulated himself on his victory.
…
He set his glass on the table. It was now his turn to circle the room in a slow deliberate movement.
"As you so expertly pointed out six years ago, I am a private man. No one knows anything about me. My private life practically has no existence in the eyes of others. As such, it would not be difficult to one day present a Madame de Treville at court," he paused and gestured to her. She blushed at the allusion.
"And pray, no one will ask you when Madame de Treville came to be Madame de Treville?" she squinted at him.
"Oh, certainly they will. But Madame de Treville is a young, shy and pious woman who prefers to spend her time in solitude, away from the rambunctious life of court. She is also…" he was cut off by a loud and hearty laugh from his young musketeer. He looked at her with annoyance for interrupting his perfect fantasy of his perfect wife.
"Tell me, why would the…what was it again? Ah yes... the young, shy and pious Madame de Treville forsake her beloved solitude in the country in exchange for the rambunctious life at court?" she demanded, theatrically, barely suppressing her laughter.
He pursed his lips.
Then more seriously, she added, "If you were to make me a spy at court, you had better come up with a much better story than that."
"Very well, then," he conceded and plopped back down on his chair. "What do you propose?"
"First and foremost, do you not think that people would notice the remarkable difference between your wife and the musketeer Aramis?"
"Perhaps. But I can assure you: most will be far busier admiring the… other areas of your… physique than trying to scrutinize where they had seen your face before," he retorted, his eyes resting a few inches below her neck. His gaze troubled her but the feeling of allure and the power that she clearly exuded over him was beginning to be too much to resist.
Something took over her. Something new… something irresistible.
She didn't recognize the person who rose from her own chair, placed each of her arms on either side of the chair where the Captain sat, each of her legs on either side of his, their knees touching. She then knelt forward so that their foreheads almost touched.
Then, she slowly and tantalizingly unbuttoned her doublet, revealing a laced-up chemise which she promptly undid. He held his breath and swallowed with difficulty. He could now see the white bandage that held her breasts prisoner. Save for a subtle cleavage at the top that showcased her round breasts, there would be no telling that she was, in fact, a woman.
"By most, do you mean you, Captain?" she whispered to him. Good God, he badly wanted to put his hand behind her neck and kiss her right and then there. But that meant giving up to her, that meant proving to her that he was an animal who cared for nothing more than her body. He hands gripped his armrests tighter in attempt to exercise control over his body. Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of discipline and he will not give in as though he were a mindless pubescent boy.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, severing the prolonged and heavy eye contact that they had sustained ever since she spontaneously adopted this position just a minute ago. But he knew that if he continued to look in her eyes a second longer, he would undoubtedly lose himself.
"Only if that is what you want, Madame," he challenged her, holding her gaze once more. A faint smirk dessinated on his face.
She lingered in her place. Will he do it? Will he attempt something finally? A part of her wanted him to, but it never came. Eventually, she sniggered and pulled away, returning to her seat. She left her doublet open and her chemise unlaced.
….
"I cannot possibly play both Aramis and Madame de Treville at the same time," she declared, "So, what will you do with Aramis while your pretend wife is at court, without raising suspicion?"
"Oh, that could be anything. A vacation, an injury, an illness. I could even send him on a long and arduous spy mission to Spain," he offered.
She chuckled, "Yes, your musketeer with the golden hair and the piercing blue eyes will blend quite well at the Spanish court. Meanwhile, the obvious choice, namely Athos – who, not only could pass as a Spaniard but could also speak and understand the language – would remain here in France."
"Good God! Fine, then, I'll send him to England!" he lashed at her, almost spilling his drink, "Satisfied?"
She merely smiled and took a sip of her brandy. She loved exasperating him.
She infuriated him and yet, his body couldn't help but react at the image of her: she sat up straight, her chest puffed out, her lips half parted and moistened with the drink. How he longed to run his tongue along that delicate skin! Her golden hair framed her perfect face, accentuating her eyes, which were half closed. She was relaxed, he could tell. Oh, he longed to do so much more than just kiss her, he thought to himself, as his eyes discretely traveled from her bosom and rested on the area between her legs. He subconsciously licked his lips as he imagined what she would taste like.
…..
"Will I live at my demure during this trial period?"
"You will live with me in my manor…" Before he could finish, she cut him off.
"What?! Here? Among the musketeers?"
"Certainly not. I have another demure which I never use. It's not too far from the Louv…" she cut him off again.
"And where will you live? Here?" her voice betrayed a hint of apprehension.
He exhaled with frustration. Suddenly he felt as though the clock was reset and it was six years ago: he was conversing with an obstinate adolescent all over again.
"Naturally, since I would be married, I will live with my wife at my manor. You will have your own private chambers. I will only ask you to dine with me," then he added, "To keep up appearances, for we will have servants."
"Of course," her reply was subdued. Servants… Manor… dining… What a distant life that was! Was that what she really wanted? Yet in another life, it would have been her life had she married Francois. Her only occupation would have been to manage a house, to manage servants, host soirees, produce offspring and support her husband in whichever he chose to do. All of which, she would have done gladly and contentedly for him. For Francois. Can she now do the same for anyone else?
A thought suddenly occurred to her and it came out of her mouth before she could stop it:
"Do you want children?"
She took him by surprise. He raised his eyebrows, then took a large sip of his drink and poured himself some more.
"I don't know, frankly. Do you?"
"I don't know," she replied quietly.
"There's time to discuss that later," he said, ending that discussion as abruptly as it began.
….
The bottle had finished by this time. Treville was almost certain of his victory but he could tell she was still apprehensive. Was it the idea of being with him that was so terrible? He felt a bit disappointed.
"What worries you?" he prompted her.
"What if someone does make the connection between me and Aramis?" she looked genuinely concerned. She was seeking more reassurance from him, a feeling that warmed him much more than the brandy ever could. He was also relieved that it wasn't in fact the idea of being with him that was clouding her mind.
"Listen, if someone asks, we could simply say that you are the sister of Aramis. I sent him on a dangerous mission and he charged me with taking care of the only family he had left, so in order to do the honorable thing, I married her. Who would ever know?"
How kind of Aramis to marry his sister off for her protection! she chuckled into her drink.
However, it did sound plausible. Very plausible, in fact! Plus, there was a way out, too. Whatever she decided to do, Renee can either go back to a convent somewhere or Aramis could be killed on his mission.
"It's still dangerous. It's folly and mad, this idea!" she burst out, the panic overcoming her at the thought of being found out.
He took her hands in his and kissed them. A gesture that was so unexpected and tender.
"It's funny," he said, grinning.
"What is?"
"'Folly and madness'. Things I remember saying to you six years ago. Right here, no less."
She smiled at him and their eyes met. They had history, her and him. They had been complicit together once before. They had come so far together. She had grown with him, under his direction, under his nurturing. He had given her her life once before. A life that had uplifted her, made her strong, allowed her to accomplish her vengeance thereby bringing her soul some peace; a life that gave her friendship and camaraderie. He had given her all of this once. Why should this time be any different?
** the prompt to the challenge came from Milady taunting Aramis in Joelle-sama's story, "Le Triangle", Chapter 14:
"Do you prefer your Captain Treville? He might be older, but women can love men with experience. Oh yes, he's just like you. Behind his austere manners is hidden a big pervert who thinks of nothing but shoving it into your slit when the other soldiers are out! He jealously loves his dirty little travestite...Think about it: would he prefer to do you, while you lay on his desk? or in the stable's hay? your cute little a** up in the air, he pulls on your hair to force you to arch your back!...Oh, i bet you know how to discharge his musket!..."
I encourage you to read her awesome and exciting story here:
s/11031353/1/Le-Triangle-La-trahison-d-Athos
