The Marquis laughed quietly to himself as, after the Abbé had left him in peace following his revelations of Anne's past, he pulled his latest manuscript out of a desk drawer. The idealistic and yet perceptive young man had been right to suspect that his friend's newest work dealt with Mademoiselle Lenoir's predicament, but he was wrong on another count: that her character would be another nubile little whore, subjected to every sexual perversion imaginable at the hands of some brutally domineering fellow.
Anne's fictional world, and her life with her imaginary lover, would be different. There would be the usual lashings of unmentionable acts, graphically described and celebrated in his highly original style, yet with a sensitive twist. Much as he adored Madeleine, she was good only for a strumpet or a victim; Anne was worth so much more as a heroine, and as a woman. When she wielded her power, it would be with some emotion and affection.
He surprised himself at times like these, but his reasons were good ones. It wasn't only to save his own reputation that he would stop short of publishing this particular work.
* * *
The Abbé crept along the corridor with a smile on his face, but also with nervousness building within him. If he were ever seen visiting Anne within her quarters, his reputation and hers would be completely destroyed. His intentions were entirely innocent, though that was understandably not quite how the rest of Charenton would view them.
As he reached her door, in a discreet little corner of the building, he did not have long to wait before her sweet voice whispered out, recognising his signal.
"François? Come in, quickly…I want to tell you something."
He unlocked the door, treading inside and smiling at her, seated upon her small bed with what looked like a letter in her lap. Placing it underneath her pillow, she peered up at him, returning his expression of greeting, before inviting him to sit beside her.
The beating of his heart would not be stilled as he stared into her face, feeling no tension at all even as they sat so close together. He had not felt this comfortable with a woman in such a long time. His priesthood unfailingly held him back, but did not stop him from being a red-blooded young man all the same, with exactly the same natural impulses as any another.
"What did you want to tell me?" he asked her, smiling wider as she gently took hold of his hand.
She looked down at his fingers entwining with her own as she spoke, her voice crackling with emotion. "It partly concerns the Marquis…"
Coulmier was instantly angered by the name coming from her, coupled with her troubled tone of voice. "What has he said to you? If he has trifled with you in any way, I will have him punished for it…"
Anne shook her head quickly. "No, he has not upset me, I merely learned from him that he has spoken to you about me. He brings me books, you see, and talks to me, though he is not such a close friend of mine as you are." She leaned over to kiss her companion's cheek, making him sigh inaudibly.
"I see…then what bothers you, my dear?"
"I want you to hear of what happened to me and my family from me. The Marquis is not so bad a man as people say, I suspect, but I would understand if he has distorted the truth."
"Then go on."
"…My mother and I were not in our home when the mob came, murdered my brother and took my father away. We do not even know when, or if, he was guillotined at all. We had been stranded within the château for months beforehand, fearing for our lives after we heard of the executions of the king and queen. Our riches had been squandered through bribing others to protect us and whatnot. My mother and I were returned home from selling our jewels when we saw Jean dead on the floor and my father tied up. Then the mob captured us…"
Her voice trailed off, and for one awful moment, the Abbé feared that the horror of her memories had caused her to lose her speech once more.
"My dear, you do not have to tell me any more…"
"But I must!" She straightened her back and took a deep breath, strengthening herself to continue. "They used our house as a kind of headquarters for a while…I lost track of how long. They took my mother away after a week or so, to the guillotine, I expect. The Marquis claimed to have witnessed both my parents' executions."
Her friend felt his blood boiling again. "He had no right to tell you that."
"But you do not understand. I am glad that he did! I need some suggestion as to what truly happened to them, if I am ever to sleep soundly again, the same as I need to tell you of my past now. The mob kept me for weeks after that as their prisoner, telling their peers that I was dead along with the rest of my kin." She saw the expression of devastation on the Abbé's face, and smiled and stroked his face. "You need not worry, for none of them laid a finger upon me. They took greater pleasure from torturing me mentally, telling me they would use me, beat me and subject me to every brutality possible. But they never did."
"Thank God!" Coulmier exclaimed quietly, tears in his eyes as he looked at her, longing to take her in his arms. But their relationship had not progressed as far as embraces yet, and neither of them knew if it ever would. The Abbé, for one, did not like to think of what holding Anne may lead to, judging by how inflamed the mere touch of her hands and her lips left him. So much more was at stake on his side of their connection – so many things he did not like to think of.
He did not want to leave her quarters, but knew that he had to before his absence from his other places of duty was noted. A priest's schedule used up so much time on business, leaving little time for pleasure. But then perhaps that was because a priest was not expected, nor advised, to ever dabble in pleasurable things.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his spacious bedchamber, unable no matter how hard he tried to cast the thought of Anne from his mind. He marvelled at how much composure and confidence she had gained since being at Charenton, as the usual effect of incarceration upon those of weaker character was to drive them even further into the realms of fear and confusion. She was so resilient and passionate beneath the lovely surface, that she had been spared this fate, he was certain.
He smiled into the darkness, remembering the feel of her mouth against his cheek and the sound of her voice, and wondering that he had been the only one to have experienced them in such a long time.
Reading his religious books no longer had any effect upon him; trying to concentrate upon concepts not of this earth was hopeless now. He felt fully rooted to this world and the people around him, especially one in particular. The more he tortured himself, the more the sheets around him stuck to his bare skin with perspiration, and the more he needed to see her once again. It did not occur to him that it was the middle of the night, and that in all likelihood, she would be sleeping.
The halls of the asylum usually echoed, so he moved slowly out of his own rooms and towards her own. Peering through the opening in her door, he saw her leaning against the wall beside her bed, smiling at him, enraptured.
"I had a feeling you would come back!"
"And why was that?" he replied jovially, gently closing her door behind him and moving to stand opposite her.
"Because I swear I can feel it when you are restless. I know when you are idle during the day and will come to see me. I know when you are simply bored out of your mind with everyone else and will come to see me…"
He laughed. "No one understands me like you do, Anne." Turning away to face her bookshelf, he thought of how true that statement really was.
In such a short time, she had built up an impressive collection. He scanned the spines of the many editions, old and knew, searching for any of the Marquis's work thrown in. Much as he reluctantly accepted that the old aristocrat's intentions in supplying Anne with reading material were probably honourable, he still did not trust him completely. Thankfully, de Sade's name was nowhere in sight.
Having breathed a sigh of relief, Coumier froze suddenly, feeling Anne's fingertips trailing across the back of his neck. This time, her touch was not at all friendly, but unmistakeably amorous. In spite of what would have been his better judgement, had it been Madeleine or another woman doing it, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling, closing his eyes before turning gradually to face her.
Her touches turned to firmer strokes as he moved, and soon their faces were inches apart, her hands locked around his neck. She licked her lips, her eyes fixed upon his, as her eyebrows drew together with confusion.
"François, you must tell me…is it wrong of me to feel these things for you?"
Giving in to the first of many long-held urges, he wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her hips against his and letting her arms tighten around his shoulders. "No, not at all…as long as the man and woman love one another and want to stay together forever, there is no sin in feeling this way."
She smiled broadly, bringing her lips close to his, so that they brushed together. "So…you love me as much as I love you?"
"Oh, yes!" Without another word, he pressed his mouth to hers ardently, letting his hands wander around her body the way he had wanted to for so long. This was it, this was passion, all the acts he had vowed never to perform and yet was about to. Anne pulled him down onto her bed so that his weight lay on top of her, gasping as she helped him remove her nightdress, and moaning as he kissed her breasts and stomach, pulling his own clothes away at the same time.
As they lay naked together, their eyes feasted upon each other's secret places, before Coulmier gazed into his lover's face and kissed her again, making her sigh loudly by rubbing her tongue with his, his hands stroking every inch of her skin he could reach. Against her thigh, his organ grew and throbbed with desire. He smiled down at Anne as, wiping the tears of pleasure from beneath her eyes, he shifted himself in between her legs so that his flesh grazed the centre of her womanhood.
He placed a finger to her lips, which she kissed and bit lightly, her passionate gaze seeming to beg him to make love to her at last.
"We must be quiet, my darling," he panted, "Though it will be difficult, for me especially. This old place echoes."
"I do not
care who knows how much you please me!" She pulled his face down to her own,
muffling any protests with another fierce kiss, as with one movement he entered
her and began thrusting gently. The rest of Charenton, and indeed the world, no
longer existed to them. They were together, consummating their love, and
silently making promises to one another that nothing would ever bring them to
break.