The Future is Not Ours to See Part One

by Trevlik65

The young Comte de la Fére is reluctant to return home to another engineered meal, with his intended and her father. When he attempts to delay the inevitable by visiting the local tavern, he finds far more than he expected. Anne de Breuil, simply wants to lay low, but the sight of a handsome stranger, awakens thoughts she thought she no longer possessed.

The Future is Not Ours to - See Part One

Athos had slept badly. Not unusual, for he was not a man who needed a great deal of sleep. As a small child he would lie in bed and listen for his mother and father to pass his door, hoping they would take the time to wish him goodnight. They never did. As he grew older, he simply found he rather liked the night – the comforting way the dark enveloped him, keeping life at bay, no inkling or awareness that one day it would become his worst enemy.

Dawn was only just breaking when he dressed and left the manor house by the side door. No need for the staff to worry for his needs, he rarely took breakfast.

The air was cool but not cold; he wore only riding boots, breeches and a leather jerkin over his shirt, with a cloak over his saddle just in case. He intended to spend the day on the estate. Though he had a great flair for planning and strategizing, he hated the tedium of working on the many ledgers and proposals on a fine day, and he loved to ride across his lands and talk to his workers. It was not something that came easily to him, but he learnt a great deal about people from this simple interaction – and they appeared to appreciate his efforts. Today, though, would be particularly satisfying, as he was visiting old Tom, the recently-retired gamekeeper for the estate.

The two of them had spent many long nights together stalking poachers and watching over the game in his father's woods. He was fond of the old man, and despite the old gamekeeper's gruff ways, he knew the feeling was mutual.

As Athos strode toward the stable, he saw another figure loping toward him. He should have scowled with disapproval, but he could only smile as his brother Thomas came into sight.

'Well met, Olivier,' he grinned, somewhat sheepishly. Athos patted him on the shoulder and pretended to shake his head in disapproval.

'Out all night, or up exceedingly early?' The question was irrelevant, for Thomas was no early riser.

'Pulled a bit of an all-nighter at old Blair's place. Lost track of the time.' They both laughed, for Thomas did not have a care in the world and Athos was glad of it.

As a child, with six years between them, Thomas had hounded Athos like a shadow. Athos in turn had given his little brother all the love and attention he knew the boy would not get from his parents. They did, however, show their appreciation to him far more often, offering praise when he learnt to ride, and when he could list his Latin verbs – something they had never done for their firstborn.

It was not Thomas' fault, he was simply more lovable – or that was what a young Athos had decided. His brother was light to his dark, happy to his melancholy, eloquent to his watchfulness. Thomas was the son his father wished had been the future Comte, and his inability to make that happen was taken out on the source of his disappointment.

Now the old Comte was gone; they were both gone. He had shed a tear when his mother had passed, though it had been more for the mother he had wished for than the woman she had been. When his father passed, he and Thomas had got roaring drunk and thrown their empty glasses at his portrait. After that, they never mentioned him again.

Though Thomas was almost seventeen, he ran with an older crowd. Athos probably should have taken the boy in hand, but their often-cruel life had turned him into a man at a young age, and Athos could not begrudge him his freedom. Though older, his brother's friends were good men, and he did not concern himself too much with his Thomas' follies.

'You realise I will not be at home when a disgruntled father shows up at our door with a musket and crying daughter,' came the droll statement, and he gave his brother a haughty stare before parting from him. Athos walked on smiling, as he heard Thomas guffawing all the way back to the house.

As always, the stables were already alive with activity, yawning grooms walking around with pails of water and pitchforks, ready to prepare the stalls for the day. Athos shook his head as one such boy dropped his pail and hurried toward him.

'Do not concern yourself, Jacques, I will see to him myself.' With a grateful nod and a quick smile the boy resumed his chores. Athos entered the stable block and inhaled the smell of hay and warm horse. The large black stallion peered over the gate of his stall, sensing his master's approach.

'Good morning, sir!' Athos hailed the nodding horse, stroking the noble face. 'Would you like an apple?' He continued to fondle the horse's ears, holding out a small juicy treat in the palm of his other hand. Roger nuzzled the long fingers before taking the apple and crunching it between his strong teeth. 'There, good boy, now let's get you ready.' Athos took his time brushing the horse's coat and mane until they shone, talking to Roger as they worked, telling him the trials and tribulations of estate business. In turn, his horse listened patiently, shaking his head or swishing his tail as required.

A gruff voice hailed Athos from the doorway. 'I swear that 'orse understands every word you say. Which is a good thing, 'cause 'e 'ates everyone else.'

Athos gave an amused snort. 'Good morning, Milo. How are you, how is the family?'

The old man's voice softened a little. 'Oh, I am fine, and the family is well thank you for asking, young master.' Athos smirked at the old familiar title. Milo had been there when his father had presented Athos with his first 'Roger', and now preparing the offspring of that fine beast, he gave an involuntary shudder at the memory.

It had not been his finest hour. When he had come across a young groom beating the horse, he had snatched the whip and allowed his temper to get the better of him, giving the man a sound and brutal thrashing. At sixteen, it was the only time his father had ever been proud of him, but it had enabled him to keep Roger – the only good thing to come out of the sorry episode.

He gave the old man a nod and mounted his horse, both animal and man eager to be gone.

Once out of the stable and away from the formal gardens, Athos let Roger have his head. How he loved to gallop as fast as the horse would go – he suspected it was the closest a man could come to flying. The closest he could get to feeling free.

But it was though every moment of joy came with a thundering memory of misery. As he slowed his mount down to a canter, he remembered Catherine de Garouville! The old Comte had arranged for him to marry her when they were mere children. Her parents were frequent visitors at the de la Fère château, and even then he had disliked her. She was a bossy, spiteful shrew of a child, rude to the staff and brutal to Thomas. Now they were adults she had not changed, already behaving as though she were Comtesse, ordering about the staff and planning meals – he had even once discovered her attempting to organise the redecoration of the dining room. Over time, dislike had turned to distaste, until now it was simple revulsion.

Tonight she and her father were dining with Thomas and himself, Catherine notifying him only last evening that she had invited the vicar and his wife. Athos wished himself a million leagues from his home, but he could not outrun fate, or so he thought.

Dismissing the evening from his mind, he urged Roger on, relaxing as he anticipated an honest day's work on his estate.

ooOoo

The day had been a good one, long and warm, despite only being the beginning of April. Athos had spent many hours on the far reaches of his estate, overseeing repairs to the roof of one of his tenant's cottages. Now, as he and Roger cantered slowly along the dusty paths, the cooling sun was sliding in a lazy arc toward the horizon; by the time he entered the outskirts of Pinon he had slowed his pace to a comfortable trot.

He really should have been home some time ago, but he had rather enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere at the cottage. Whilst he had chatted with the retired gamekeeper who now resided there, the thatchers worked hard, but obviously took pleasure in their trade.

He made no attempt to hurry his horse – after all, what was there to hurry for? Catherine and her father were joining them for dinner tonight, along with the vicar and his wife. Athos knew what they were waiting for, but the thought of turning what was as yet an unspoken expectation into a reality, caused him to shudder. The idea of making Catherine his wife froze the blood in his veins, and the thought of how much longer he would be able to delay matters cast a growing pall on each and every day.

As he settled into a sedate walk through the village, Athos smiled and nodded to one or two familiar faces, the various workers trudging home after a hard day in their fields, for he had yet to become comfortable thinking of them as his.

His father had been dead for almost two years. At first, Athos had been stunned – the Comte's death had been sudden, leaving his sons completely unprepared. However, the way in which the household immediately looked to Athos for instruction had taken his breath. As expected, the funeral had been a subdued affair, though Athos was surprised by how well-attended the event had been. For though his father had not been a particularly likeable man, the de la Fère name and title was an old and respected one. With each bow, each apology and every slap on the back, the new Comte had felt the burden of responsibility grow heavier and heavier upon his young shoulders. Why he felt that way he could not explain, for he had never loved his father – perhaps when he was a small boy, but the man had driven that love away long, long ago.

All his life, the running of the estate, and what was expected of him, had been drummed into every waking hour, day after day, after day. He suspected he could have run the estate in his sleep, though he now discovered he had no desire, nor motivation to do so – to be the next Comte de la Fère. Yet the yearning that tugged at his soul at each setting of the sun, gazing toward the mysteries beyond the horizon, became a tangible thread, pulling him toward that nameless place, the sensation inevitably leaving him restless, angry, and full of discontent.

What exactly did he want? What was it he expected to find in that far away unknown? The nagging question was one he could not answer, yet it called to him like a siren, and each day his resistance seemed to waver and weaken. But he could not deny that responsibility, his responsibility – expectation and honour would not leave him be.

Athos watched with envy as two young men pushed open the door to the tavern, laughing and nudging each other with good humour. The Blacksmith's Forge was certainly not somewhere he frequented, but neither did he abstain completely. Thomas, his brother, spent more time there than he, but then he was not the overlord; he had no responsibilities and enjoyed his new freedom to the hilt.

On the rare occasion Athos chose to patronise the establishment, he enjoyed sitting at the rear of the respectable inn, where he could observe the comings and goings of Pinon. He did not exude an air of bonhomie, but nobody minded his presence, they were happy to keep a respectful distance, much preferring to leave their melancholic overlord to his brooding.

As the door closed upon the jolly pair, Athos sighed. Some days he felt the burden of his position all too well, like today, when his time was once again not his own. He hardly realised he had stopped moving until he felt Roger shake his head, as if to wake his master from his morose reverie.

He stroked the horse's head and murmured into his soft ears.

'Thank you, I am perfectly aware that we are late.' As if in response, the black horse gave a snort of disapproval; but whether it was at his master's lateness, or at the reception awaiting him at the château, who could say. Athos considered his appearance. Dusty from the long ride, wearing nothing but the working clothes he had left home in, he knew he would be received at the manor with disapproval. His blood began to boil and irritation cursed through his veins at the insult of being judged wanting in his own home.

He hesitated for a moment longer before urging the horse forward, though only as far as the ostler's yard, just beyond the inn. Slipping from the saddle, he tossed Gervais a coin and left Roger to be spoiled by the amiable groom.

With only the briefest pause, the young Comte ducked his head beneath the low lintel and pushed open the door. His heart hammered in his chest as it always did when acting outside the comfort of his station. The tavern was full; it had been a beautiful spring day and the workers – like Athos – were thirsty. There was a brief lull in conversation at the sight of their overlord's entry, but the men's chatter soon resumed, for though rare, his visits were no longer the concern they once were. He made no attempt to bother them, rein in their behaviour, or show any sign of judgment. If he wanted a quiet ale, who were they to deny him?

The simple fact was, the villagers and tenants of the de la Fère estate liked the new Comte. He listened to their concerns with a fair ear, made sure their properties were sound and comfortable, and despite a certain aloofness, he was pleasant and kept himself to himself. If he had been a more regular customer of late, the locals kept that to themselves, and Athos simply refused to acknowledge it.

The Comte stood just inside the doorway and gazed around the busy inn, then slowly made his way toward the rear of the room, where it was dark and cooler, an open window and the thick walls helping to keep out the heat of the day. Seeing him approach, two men bowed and stood, leaving their table. Athos raised a hand to still them, but they shook their heads and happily joined another bunch of revellers, leaving their place by the window empty. Athos gave a small smile at the gesture of goodwill. His people were good people and he considered himself lucky. Pinon was a thriving and in generally happy village, but that his consideration and fair judgement promoted this never even entered his mind.

As Athos' eyes got used to the dark, he became aware of a figure seated at the next table, but his perusal was interrupted by the arrival of his favourite landlady bearing his drink. He thanked Bessie for his wine and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance when the woman winked at him. He had known her since he was a lad, when the gamekeeper used to take him around the estate looking for poachers. Old Tom had been courting the serving girl back then, and now she was Mrs Tom. If the old Comte had known his son had been taken into the tavern, he would have raised the place to the ground – but no one ever told.

Bessie was old enough to be his mother – and probably cared for him far more than the woman that birthed him ever did. The landlord's wife took no notice of his rank; if he drank in her inn, then he would be treated like any other, and was not beyond scolding him if she thought he looked too pale or too thin. However, she was keeping her concern over his ever-increasing visits to herself – for now.

The wine was good, and Athos drank deep to relieve the great thirst that his ride from the gamekeeper's cottage had generated. Gradually, he became aware of a fragrance. Heady and sensual, its powerful aroma assaulted his senses, being nothing like the usual tang of a busy tavern full of farm workers. He scanned his immediate vicinity in an attempt to locate its origin, and once more laid eyes on the female seated next to him.

She faced slightly away from him, but the light from the setting sun cast a golden glow on her ebony curls. As he studied the woman more closely, he noted her clothing was not that of a local woman. Her travelling dress and jacket were of the best quality and the way she held herself spoke of breeding. Despite his better judgment, Athos could not help being intrigued.

ooOoo

Anne de Breuil looked down at her limping horse with consternation. She was in the middle of God knows where, and her mount had lost a shoe. She should never have ridden. She should have taken the coach, along with her luggage, but the weather had been fine, and she hated to be confined in an uncomfortable moving box on such a day. Well, it appeared she was paying for her fickle desires now. Dismounting her limping horse, she studied the far-reaching fields for some indication of human habitation. Though the sun was rapidly sinking in the sky, the air was still warm, and she was tired and thirsty.

Paris had become uncomfortable during the past few days. Her most recent scheme, designed to keep her in the manner she felt entitled to, had not turned out quite as she had expected. She had orchestrated a perfect little extortion, moving in with a wealthy, naive couple as a lady's companion. Then after a couple of months, having deprived the household of some rather valuable, but insignificant nick-nacks, she would break the news to the lady of the house that she was pregnant. Of course she would cry quite beautifully, openly suggest it was the husband's child and then take the substantial payment that was offered for her to leave discreetly and never darken their door again.

Only how was she supposed to know the husband in this case was quite unable to father a child? The lady of the house had not been in any way understanding, called her some interesting names – most of which were perfectly true – then tossed her out and threatened to call the guard. Unfortunately, that was unacceptable, and she had decided some time away from the city was her best option. However, stuck in this godforsaken nowhere was not what she had had in mind, and if she did not rendezvous with her coach she would probably never see her worldly goods again. Luckily, she had secreted most of the stolen loot in her saddle bag, so at least she was not destitute.

Standing on the side of the road, soothing the agitated steed, Anne observed a small farm cart exiting a field and turning onto the dusty road. As it grew closer, she felt for the small dagger she had secreted in her skirts. However, as the vehicle drew closer, she could clearly make out the inhabitant was an elderly man, obviously making his way home at the end of a day's work.

She waited for him to draw level, before attempting to attract his attention. She need not have bothered, it was rare for any man to simply pass her by, no matter what his social standing, and it appeared this one was no different. The old man doffed his hat, and sensing she wished to speak with, him brought his cart to a halt.

'Forgive me, but my horse has lost a shoe and I have no idea where I am. Could you direct me to the nearest town or village, where I might find a room and stabling for my horse?' The elderly man's face broke out into a toothless smile.

'Indeed I can, Madam. In fact I'm just on my way 'ome, if you would care to ride with me, we can tie the 'orse to the back of the cart.'

'Might I ask where home is?' she enquired, as he secured her mount to the rear of the waggon.

He helped her up and chuckled. 'Why Pinon, my lady. It is a small but kindly place. We've the best blacksmith for miles around, 'e'll soon see to your 'orse. As to a room …' He stroked his chin and gave it some thought. 'It's not often the tavern is asked to put people up. We don't get many travellers pass through – especially people of quality – though the blacksmith's is mighty popular.' He appeared to be lost in thought again. 'I would've thought a lady such as yourself might be better off goin' up to the manor and seekin' shelter there. I doubt the young Comte would turn you away.' Anne's ears pricked at the mention of a young Comte. It was a much better prospect than a town whose only feature was the skill of its blacksmith.

'Oh I would not wish to impose, and I am sure the Comtesse, would not approve.' She glanced shyly from under her dark lashes and gave her saviour a doubtful smile.

'Oh you won't 'ave to worry about that, she's been dead and buried these last eight years.' He chuckled, much to her surprise – it didn't sound as though the woman had been popular.

'Only the two boys left now the old master's gone.' He failed to expand upon the statement, the fact he spit over his shoulder being eloquent enough.

'He was not well liked?' she asked, her interest for some reason piqued.

'No, 'e was a right bastard, beggin' your pardon. But the young Comte is made of different stuff. Quiet boy, but 'e does what's expected of him and with a fair and generous 'and.' After expounding on the highs and lows of the local nobility, the carter remained silent for the remainder of the ride.

Anne let her eyes wander over the surrounding countryside. It was lush and undulating, with only the occasional shepherds hut or farmstead winking from the shadow of shallow valleys, whilst the sheep upon the hillsides chewed at the grass, oblivious to both heat and passers-by. She had not been born a city girl, but the countryside reminded her of nothing but sickness and poverty, as well as her vow never to revisit either.

Slowly, the village of Pinon revealed itself, cast in the romantic hues of the setting sun. It was not large, but the buildings were sturdy and in good repair. It seemed her presence was cause for much speculation as they trotted along the roadway, though she supposed she did make rather an unusual sight, dressed as she was and perched upon the bench of the farm cart.

'Where's it to be then, Milady?' the old man asked with a smile.

'The tavern I think, but first I must see to my horse.'

With directions to the local ostler's, she led the limping horse within its walls and arranged for him to be re-shod on the morrow.

Removing her travelling bag and reticule, Anne made her way toward the village tavern. There was much to think about. Perhaps fate had led her to Pinon; a young Comte sounded most intriguing, and despite her hard life, she was not yet beyond the romantic effect of a beautiful sunset.

The tavern was filling up as she made her way inside. Chatter ceased and all eyes turned in her direction as she made her way into the shadowy interior. A red-faced man hurried toward her, wearing an apron and rubbing his hands upon a cloth, clearly identifying him as the inn keeper.

'Good evening, my lady, how may I help you? We don't have a separate parlour, for we are not generally accustomed to dealing with travelling gentry.' He eyed her a little doubtfully, but she gave him one of her best smiles, offering him a precis of her predicament.

'Oh I am sure we can make you comfortable for one night. Please take a seat, I am afraid it will take a little while to make the room ready. However, you might like a glass of wine and something to eat whilst you wait.'

The delicious smells emanating from neighbouring tables made her realise just how hungry she was. 'That would be lovely, thank you.' The rotund man scurried off through the growing crowd to see to her wishes.

As she sat observing the room from her secluded position, the door opened. She would not have noted the fact had not the noise in the room subsided once more, if only briefly. Gradually the occupants returned to their conversations and ale, obviously having found no reason to be concerned about the new arrival.

She was used to the reaction from locals when a stranger entered their familiar territory, but it was the oddity of two such persons descending on such an out-of-the-way tavern on the same evening that she found strange.

Anne studied the man as he made his way with a swaggering gait through the throng of men in his path. It was not a display of arrogance or condescension, he simply exuded an air of supreme confidence. It was impossible to ignore how they, in turn, made way for the man, who it seemed gave only the slightest acknowledgement for their consideration. The way he held himself and the quiet assumption that his path would not be hampered, told her this was a man of substance, though in the gloom she could not yet make out his features.

As Athos stepped into the ray of light from the window it both illuminated him, whilst obscuring her, giving Anne the perfect opportunity to study him.

She was certainly not disappointed. The figure approaching her position was taller than most of the men present, possibly aided by his upright poise. His hair was plentiful, dark and curling to the collar of his linen shirt. She had considered this might be the young Comte, but his dress was dusty and somewhat dishevelled; perhaps he was his steward or some relative or other. Whoever he was, he was of good breeding, and the villagers obviously owed him respect – and he was exceedingly attractive.

Aware that the light from the window was blinding his vision, she continued her blatant scrutiny. The casual nature of his dress made it difficult to judge his physique, though the way his breeches clung to his thighs suggested he was no stranger to exercise. She watched with amusement as the two men adjacent to her scrambled to their feet to give him their table. The stranger attempted to stay their departure, but the men showed no sign of resentment, simply smiling and joining another group of friends, leaving the man to sit alone.

Perhaps he was the young Comte after all, and only when the woman who brought his wine winked at him did she dismiss the idea yet again. Anne found her interest was now piqued, and she was curious to know who the man was. A man that generated such respect yet gave no outward show of such expectation.

She was conscious of his shift in position before he had finished turning, aware that he was scrutinising whoever it was seated at the adjacent table. For some reason, her growing fascination with this mystery man appeared to heighten her perception of his every movement. Without knowing why, she turned away, her breathing suddenly erratic. She sipped slowly from her cup, his casual appraisal burning into the back of her head like hot coals. Whatever was the matter with her? It normally took more than a haughty swagger and a handsome face to catch her attention, but for some reason this man had – and it annoyed her.

It was because of her unexpected preoccupation that she had failed to notice the drunk approach her table, and it was not until he almost fell into her lap that she gasped in surprise.

'Sorry, m'beauty,' he leered, attempting to nudge her up in order to sit next to her. Not one for putting up with such behaviour, she was about to send him on his way – with a subtle flash of her dagger if a contemptuous retort failed – when her mystery man came to her rescue.

A rich, drawling voice spoke quietly to the drunk from over her shoulder, and she found herself involuntarily shivering at the velvety tone.

'Luke, perhaps it is time for you to go home. Have you eaten?' The staggering man, whom she could now see was well beyond his prime, appeared confused. Without any obvious request, the woman from earlier came hurrying over. 'Bessie, take Luke somewhere quiet and make sure he has a good meal, would you? Then send him home, and get young Pierre to ensure he arrives safely.' He passed some coins into her hand, and with a roll of her eyes she nodded her compliance.

Bessie was no small creature and easily took the scrawny drunk in hand, pouring out her displeasure at his behaviour until they were well out of earshot.

It was only then that Anne turned to study the man who had intervened on her behalf. She almost gasped in astonishment, for from her seated position the young man – for it was now perfectly clear that he was no more than two and twenty – loomed over her with an air of menace.

Athos took a step backward and held up his hands. 'My apologies, mademoiselle, I did not mean to startle you. Luke is harmless, though I am afraid he hides from the world behind a bottle, which in turn can often cause distress to others.' She could not help but smile, for the beautiful green eyes that looked into hers held both sadness and power, a most charismatic combination. But it was his voice that melted her usual sang fois. It was both polite and arrogant, yet it held the suggestion of something exciting.

Anne's posture relaxed a little and the stranger smiled. When she considered her situation, as she often did in the months and years to come, she would question if it was not that rare and wonderful smile that had stolen her heart and sealed her fate. For she would soon discover they were indeed infrequently bestowed, but for now she allowed herself to bask in the warmth and promise of that sensuous face.

That voice interrupted her embarrassing scrutiny, as she felt it reverberate throughout her body, causing it to tingle quite exquisitely. 'Allow me to introduce myself, Olivier d'Athos at your service.' He gave a low and courtly bow, to which she merely inclined her head. She offered her hand, and he took it, kissing only the air above her knuckles, much to her disappointment. So, a thorough gentleman too, what a shame. Still there was time.

As if the noble quality of his voice had not been enough, the soft, long, shapely fingers dispelled any remaining ideas she might have harboured as to this man's status, for they showed no signs of manual activity yet promised a strength and skill that fascinated her.

There was a sudden bustle at the doorway, and a young man dressed in livery barged his way across the room, gently moving the drinkers out of his way. He reached her table and gave a sigh of gratitude, garnering both Olivier and Anne's attention.

'My Lord, thank goodness I have found you. I have been sent from the château to … remind you of the time.' The young man was obviously highly uncomfortable with his mission, and she wondered if he were afraid of his quarry.

'They will have to wait,' came the haughty reply, though he never broke eye contact with Anne as he gave the instruction. The footman shifted from foot to foot, his eyes pleading for mercy.

'My Lord, Lady de Garouville insisted I should inform you of her impatience … I mean presence,' the young man stammered, though the words appeared to stick in his throat. Anne barely managed to hide her amusement at the footman's indiscretion.

This time Athos turned to the miserable servant. 'Then I suggest you either go for a very long ride, or return and tell her Ladyship you could not find me. Either way, you are not answerable to her, but to me.' He paused, with a slight twitch of those well moulded lips. 'Personally, I would suggest the long ride. There are some rather pleasant establishments in Anet. You will encounter no retaliation for your absence – I give you my word.' With that the young man visibly relaxed as though the weight of his mission had fallen from his shoulders, his embarrassed smile transforming into a broad grin. His master passed him what Anne guessed were coins. 'Please give my regards to Franco at The Bell and Anchor.' Clearly indicating the conversation was over he turned his attention back to Anne.

ooOoo

Athos was just considering the fine profile of the woman sitting on the adjacent table. He was admiring the pale slender neck that could be glimpsed beneath her hair, and appreciating the creamy curve of her bare shoulders, when suddenly Luke Bretton, an old estate employee, stumbled into her table. Without hesitation Athos stood to offer his assistance, realising the drama gave him a perfectly respectable entrée to the alluring woman.

He had to admit this was a whole new experience for him. Though he was not one for stately balls or parties, neither did he live his life as a recluse. When obliged to attend such social functions, young women were constantly and quite shamefully thrown into his path by their desperate and grasping mamas, so to be actively seeking a woman out was quite original.

Athos made his way toward the table and sighed, it was so sad to see an old friend reduced to such circumstances. Luke had once been a hard-working gardener at the manor, until he had sought solace in a bottle following the loss of his young wife and child to illness. For that reason, Athos took the sotted man gently but firmly by the arm before addressing him in a calm, authoritative voice, though Luke was so far in his cups he barely registered the words through his drunken haze.

When the landlord's wife eventually led him away, Athos turned his attention to the woman, intent on offering his apologies on Luke's behalf. The Luke of old would have been disgusted by such vulgar behaviour, and Athos thanked God the man's condition meant he would never remember these events when he awoke. Unfortunately, such ignorance would only lead to repetition of such occurrences, and so the circle of guilt, torment and pain rolled on.

When his eyes locked with hers, he felt a sudden jolt of recognition, it was fleeting but powerful. To his astonishment he realised she was much younger than he had first presumed, more akin to his own age, or even younger, and extremely beautiful. Yet when she gasped under his intense gaze, he was forced to back away and gesture his supplication, delivering his apologies and regrets over the behaviour of the foxed man.

When her expression eventually relaxed, he found himself smiling – a moment he would remember for many years to come, for apart from when sharing his brother's company, he could not remember being so inclined for a very long time.

Athos became aware of slanting green eyes, set in a pale, perfect complexion, and her dark, artful brows were arched, emphasising her wavering displeasure. He could hear the blood pounding in his head, and when the woman gave a nervous lick of her perfect lips his heart was not the only part of his body to react.

Athos ignored the sudden fuss behind him, his eyes riveted on the far more arousing prospect seated before him. When a familiar voice penetrated his lascivious thoughts, he reacted with annoyance, though he could not break away from her gaze.

When the young footman's words registered, Athos' annoyance gave way to anger. Though he was a man who maintained a cold, calm façade for the world, those close to him knew he harboured a hot and passionate temper. Luckily, the only people who fell victim to his wrath were those who honestly deserved it. Even when such occasions erupted, only his brother would recognise the signs, for Athos' fury manifested as ice cold disdain – a trick he had learned in the name of self-preservation as a boy.

When the footman had left, a smile on his face, coin in his pocket and permission to spend the night as he saw fit, Athos turned his attention back to the object of his growing desire – for there was no other word for it. Something in her eyes spoke to his. She had understood, recognised his anger and by God, it had excited her.

Athos managed to keep his raging emotions in check long enough to make his delayed bow and introduction. Though he held back his title, passing off the omission by telling himself he had no need to introduce himself on his own estate. In honesty, the truth was very different. It had become vital that she was interested in Athos the man, not Athos the Comte de la Fère; not the wealthy, landowning member of the nobility, but just plain Olivier d'Athos.

It was so rare to meet a woman of breeding who did not know who he was – and he was growing ever certain she did not.

Anne's pulse began to race. She was so used to men gawping at her, salivating and even pawing – given the opportunity – that she had developed an entire raft of put downs and dismissals. Remarks that would send the most determined flirt away with his tail between his legs. This was different, and she found she could not employ any of them with this man. When he spoke, she was aware of a fluttering inside her stomach and an aching so deep it gripped her very soul. She was glad to be seated, for the sudden powerful yearning sapped the very strength from her limbs.

His voice – polite, yet haughty, velvety smooth and delicious, his words delivered in an almost arrogant drawl – was beginning to melt her reserve. The way his anger had flared, fiery yet so carefully controlled, made her desperate to know what would happen if that control was lost. Anne chastised her weakness and attempted to take herself in hand before she swooned like a green and untried maiden.

'Once again it appears I must beg your apologies for yet another intrusion. Pinon is usually a quiet and uneventful town. I believe you were about to relieve my curiosity and give me your name.' Those green eyes were growing increasingly dark and hooded. Anne knew what that meant, but this time it sent the blood shooting around her own body at a frightening speed.

When she finally spoke Athos almost groaned at the husky tone. Though her reply was curt, there was a hidden sensuality that forced him to fist his hands at his sides, if he had any chance of controlling the lust now raging through his body. He, like the woman before him, was no stranger to sexual encounters. His education had begun at an early age, following the chance encounter with a gypsy woman, much older than he, and subsequent female liaisons had had cause to silently thank her.

Yet despite his experience, never had he felt such a strong and overwhelming need for a woman so quickly. There was something familiar about those eyes, that voice. Perhaps it had been in a dream, for the present certainly felt like a fantasy.

'Was I, my Lord?' There was no deference to his position evident in her voice, only a hint of teasing. She was still not sure who he was, though the carter had mentioned a younger brother, and she strongly suspected that may well be to whom she was speaking. Though at that point she no longer cared.

Athos offered only the slightest quirk of his brow, whilst Anne gazed, slightly mesmerised by the twitch of his rather sensual lips. 'I do hope so,' he murmured.

It was her turn to smirk; Athos had matched her feigned disinterest with an indifference of his own. Touché, the game had begun. With introductions finally out of the way, Anne could do nothing but ask Athos to join her. He in turn nodded once to Bessie, and their wine was instantly refreshed, only this time the quality was far better.

He noted her appreciation as she sipped and shrugged his shoulders. 'Bessie spoils me.' Had the woman had been ten years younger, Anne would not have blamed her for far more. 'So, may I ask what brings you to Pinion? It is somewhat out of the way.'

Anne had already considered this question, deciding a version of the truth would suffice. 'I was on my way to Le Havre. Paris is my home, but I was restless. Unfortunately, I decided to ride. The weather was warm, and the carriage too stuffy.' Those green eyes bored into her soul. When she spoke again, her voice caught slightly. 'I like to feel the wind in my hair.' The vision almost made Athos groan, but Anne continued, though her breathing was slightly heightened, fully aware of his heated reaction. 'My horse lost a shoe not far from here. I was fortunate, a carter drove past me on his way home and brought my horse and I here.'

Athos straightened. 'But you cannot stay at the inn. Bessie and her husband are good honest people, but I must insist you come stay at the manor, you will be far more comfortable.'

The echo of her heart hammered so fiercely inside her head that Anne could hardly think. She should refuse; all her sense of self-preservation she had honed over the years was screaming at her to decline and send him on his way. Why? She did not know. A wealthy and handsome man, this was a gift from God, but the attraction was too sudden, too powerful, too intense, and it terrified her.

Athos heard himself say the words, though he could not quite believe it. What was he thinking? What would they say when he walked in, late for dinner, dressed like a peasant, with a very beautiful stranger on his arm? It was that image, of Catherine – cold, judgemental and furious with him – that sealed his fate, and those of everyone he loved.

Anne, it appeared, no longer had any control over her body or her decisions. Without further consideration she held out her hand, and with Athos' assistance, rose to her feet. 'I would be more than grateful, though I would not like to displease the lady of the house.' She gazed at him from beneath her sooty lashes and presented Athos with an expression of well-rehearsed trepidation, though deep within those cat-like eyes he recognised the fevered lust that flickered in his own. With great difficulty he let go of her hand, indicating she should precede him. As he passed Bessie, he handed over more coins and whispered something in her ear. The woman smiled and dropped a curtsey.

Anne stepped out of the warm tavern and shivered. The heat of the early spring day had grown chilly, the sun now pausing for a moment on the lip of the horizon, as she made her final bow before darkness overpowered her.

Anne was so bewildered, she did not realise Athos had her cloak until he laid it around her shoulders. With a silent grace, he moved in front of her and began to fasten the clasp at her throat. The innocent gesture throbbed with intimacy. For a second, his fingers brushed her neck, unable to prevent a small gasp from escaping, and Anne shuddered at the exquisite thrill of his touch. Athos looked down into her eyes, for despite her height he still had to bend his head to do so.

For the first time in her life, the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness did not frighten Anne, only serving to inflame the already desperate need that was now driving her every decision. Never had she become so excited by a man's touch as she had by his. Only once perhaps, long, long ago, before she was sold off to the highest bidder; a memory so dim, she no longer believed it had been reality.

'I have no horse,' she whispered, wanting to both dispel and prolong the intoxicating moment.

Again that sensuous twitch. 'I have!' His enigmatic smirk felt like a promise, the smallest indication of something great. She was lost, It was no longer a matter of if, only when. They were dancing around each other with polite inanities, but their eyes and their bodies were holding a completely different and far more blatant conversation. She was not sure how she kept her hands demurely by her sides when they screamed out to tangle themselves in those tantalising curls.

Suddenly Athos took hold of her hand, no gentlemanly stroll, no polite conversation. He tugged her along the road toward the stables, and she giggled like an excited child.

The throaty laugh was almost Athos' undoing, and had the stable been empty, he might have ravaged Anne de Breuil there and then, for there was no longer any doubt in his mind that she would comply with equal passion.

Unfortunately, Gervais greeted him with a smile, though the appearance of the woman holding his Lordship's hand tested the man's stoicism. Once again Athos passed out extra coin to the gawping ostler, whose struggle with composure almost made Anne giggle yet again.

Athos leapt upon the back of a great black beast of a horse and held out his hand for her to join him. With little effort he lifted her in front of him and gritted his teeth at the ensuing reaction.

'Are you comfortable?' There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he pulled her snug against his chest, leaving no way to disguise the level of his arousal. Anne deliberately wiggled a little, to teach him a lesson, managing only a distracted murmur of acquiescence to his question – anything else was now quite beyond her.

Breathing in the cool night air she managed to speak freely once more. 'The night appears to have cost you dear,' she stated, her voice husky with unashamed desire.

Athos deliberately leaned closer, his breath caressing her ear.

'I suspect it will have cost me much more by morning,' he promised as they galloped toward their dubious welcome at the château.