Hey everybody! First I'd like to thank the people who have reviewed this little tid bit of mine. The reviews really help me keep writing this. So, here's the next chapter. So sorry to keep you hanging like that in the last chapter. That was kind of mean. This chapter I'm using as a sort of regrouping time for our hero/baddie teams, so I'm saying sorry in advance for the lack of action in this chapter, but these guys need a break before I throw them into hell. So, please review. And I am open to ideas from you guys if you really want to see something happen. Nothing is set in stone at this point. So If you have any ideas, you can leave them in a review, or you can contact me by e-mail. My address is on my profile page. And that's that. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: (To be sung ot the tune of I Dreamed a Dream from Les Miserables) I dreamed a dream in times gone by, when the rights to Pimpernel were mine. But they're not, and I am sad, so one day I may go insane.
Falcon in the Dive
Chapter Six: With Just a Touch, You Overcome Me
The world could have ended right then and there, and Lady Marguerite Blakeney would not have known or cared. The girl was walking on air as if the pavement simply did not exist. Her husband was well and she would see her beloved the very next day. She had never felt such joy. In the midst of her despair, Heaven had sent her an angel to make right all that had been wrong. Percy, the Scarlet Pimpernel, was in France at this very moment thinking of a way to save Armand and get her and her brother safely back to England.
She sighed happily as she went gliding down the street; soon Percy would come and sweep her off her feet and bring her home to him. She resolved that from the moment they were reunited, she would never leave his side again.
Marguerite suddenly came crashing back to the ground as she looked across the street at the large crowd that stood outside Chauvelin's offices. Driven by curiosity at the cause of such a commotion, she crossed the street and pushed her way through the throngs of people. Standing at the front of the mob was a small division of soldiers trying in vain to divert the attentions of the group and get them to leave the scene.
"Mademoiselle St. Just!" Marguerite's head shot up and looked around to try and find the man that had called for her and instantly recognized the face of one of the soldiers. "Mercier! What's going on?"
He grabbed her hand and led her past the line of soldiers and into the building. "Something has happened to Chauvelin that I think you should know about."
Marguerite's eyes widened in terror as she glanced around the room; there was blood everywhere: pools on the floor, large smears of it on the walls and generally everywhere else. She swallowed in an attempt to clear her dry throat and, shaking horribly, asked, "What happened? Is he alright?"
Mercier opened the door to Chauvelin's office and herded Marguerite inside. "Chauvelin is fine, mademoiselle," he reassured, "but his Belgian spy is less then well."
They stepped into the room and Marguerite saw Coupeau kneeling before a man she did not recognize seated at Chauvelin's desk. "Have you heard anything of Chauvelin's insanity, mademoiselle?"
"Briefly, yes." She replied nearly too stunned to speak.
"It's worse then I previously mentioned to you, Madame." Coupeau said as he rose to meet the actress.
"You are Chauvelin's lover?" the seated man asked as he looked at the woman with tired, bored eyes.
Marguerite slowly nodded, for she found herself at a loss for words. Chauvelin insane? She hadn't noticed any change in him.
The man rose from the chair and approached the stunned woman. "I am Degas, Chauvelin's personal aide and secretary. I hardly wish to frighten you, Madame, but as his lover, I believe you should know about his current mental state."
"You know what is happening?" Marguerite asked quietly.
Degas nodded curtly. "More then anyone else. Perhaps you should sit down, milady." She nodded absently and sat down in a vacant chair. "If I may ask a personal question before I begin, mademoiselle…"
"Yes. Of course." Marguerite automatically replied.
"How has he been with you, Madame? He hasn't been rough, or…"
She flushed slightly and cut the man off by quickly shaking her head. "No. No, nothing like that. He's been nothing but gentle and terribly sweet."
Degas looked at her curiously as if he had been expecting a different response. "Interesting…" he slowly whispered. "But never mind that. Your lover has gone mad, Madame. I cannot tell you how or why, but somehow he was robbed of his sanity."
"But how can you be sure?" Marguerite cried.
"Because, Madame," Degas whispered as he brought himself to her eye level, "no sane man can slaughter twenty innocents and not think twice about it."
Marguerite involuntarily shivered; what the man said was simply impossible. She opened her mouth to speak, but Degas interrupted her.
"You don't believe me, do you? It is of course difficult for you to find truth in the situation, but if you will allow me to tell you what I can without interruption, perhaps I can open your eyes to Chauvelin's current predicament."
Marguerite slowly nodded and granted Degas her full attention. "The first change we noticed in Agent Chauvelin was that he had become unpredictably and excessively violent."
Degas shrugged indifferently. "I must confess, this normally would not surprise me. Chauvelin is impulsive and fierce by nature. What really shook me was his frame of mind. Coupeau informed me that when Chauvelin turned on him, he handled himself with absolute calm."
Degas looked toward the ceiling and took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "I also recall that when he beat me, he was nearly serene, and when he spoke, I swear upon my life that he was apologetic, like he was truly sorry for what he had done. I learned early this morning from a maid that worked in a small countryside inn that he massacred all the inhabitants on the bottom floor. She said that all the bodies save for one were too badly mutilated to be recognized by anyone."
Marguerite paled significantly and gasped in horror at the image. She was shaking horribly and had to turn away form the man in order to keep her composure.
"This also would have no profound effect on me had the woman not mentioned that upon leaving, Chauvelin had treated her with the utmost gallantry and charm. No man in his right mind can commit such a horrible murder and not ten minutes later act as if nothing had happened. Aside from his violent impulses, the man has been speaking to inanimate objects and people that do not exist. Last night, he was speaking and singing to the Guillotine and, as rumor has it, he slit his hand and covered the blade with his own blood. I can personally attest to the fact that he is speaking to and taking orders from an apparition that his mind has created. And this very evening, he shot his spy for no reason that is apparent to any of us."
Degas took Marguerite's hands in his own and brought her out of the chair. "I have nothing else I can tell you, milady," he gently said, "but the belief in my words rests with you. However, whether you trust me or not, I caution you to tread carefully around your lover. From what you said about how he treats you, I doubt he will harm you, but please Madame, do be careful."
"Yes. Thank you for your concern, Citizen. I shall be careful." Marguerite looked into Degas' face with eyes brimming with tears. "Chauvelin really is insane, isn't he?"
Degas nodded. "Yes, I believe so, milady. His actions cannot be otherwise explained."
Marguerite turned her gaze to the floor. "Thank you for everything, Degas. It is important for me to know this."
"Think nothing of it, mademoiselle. But I'm sure you must be going. It's getting late and no doubt Chauvelin awaits your company." he said gently as he led her by the arm to the front door.
"Yes, I'm sure he is." she whispered sadly.
Degas opened the door and quietly said "Be careful, Marguerite."
She nodded as she exited the building and walked quickly down the street. Her head was spinning. She had to end her affair with Chauvelin, not because he was crazy, but because she loved Percy too much not to. However, breaking up with the man frightened her. The end of their first relationship had been particularly nasty, and now that the man was certifiably insane, and violently so, she was afraid of how he would react.
She was also at a loss at how to go about telling him that it was over between them. She simply couldn't tell him that she was returning to her husband to be a good wife. Chauvelin knew that Percy was the Pimpernel; he could not know about Percy's presence in France or he was certain to kill her beloved husband.
Marguerite grabbed her head in frustration; she needed a plan. Tonight, she would push Chauvelin out of her life, and she silently swore to herself that he would not lure her back in; that was the least she could do for Percy.
His coat, vest, and shirt were hastily and carelessly thrown upon the floor, and the Agent Chauvelin frantically paced about his flat in total darkness. His yellow eyes quickly darted about the room and his breathing was heavy and trembling; someone was watching him. He knew someone was there.
He quickly spun around to face what he could have sworn was the footfall of the unseen trespasser. No one was there. A sudden panic gripped him and he could not breathe. Why couldn't he find the fiend that watched him?
He fixed a vice-like grip on the edge of a nearby table and made a futile attempt to calm down; with each passing second, his paranoia grew. A soft, barley audible voice whispered through the dark and Chauvelin quickly turned to face the source of the noise.
His blood instantly ran cold and the air froze as he found himself looking into a pair of glowing yellow eyes that gazed at him from the dark of the room. "Chauvelin, you're panicking. What has you so worried?" the gentle voice said as the eyes moved into the moonlight that came through the window and reflected off the alabaster skin of the young Chauvelin.
"Someone is in here. I don't know where, but I know someone's here!" Chauvelin cried in near hysteria.
"Chauvelin." The boy whispered as he walked toward the agent.
"Why are they following me?" the panicking man shouted.
"Calm down! Get a hold of yourself!" the child snapped as he laid his hand on the older man's shoulder.
Chauvelin felt his strength instantly leave him the instant the child touched him. A sudden anemia washed over him and he sank to his knees before the dominant boy.
The young Chauvelin wrapped his arms around the agent's shoulders and drew him against his body. "There is no one here but you and I, Chauvelin." He gently said. "Do you understand me? Just the two of us."
The agent's eyes grew heavy and he leaned against the child as the boy's words became his thoughts and everything else in his mind was banished.
"Come, Chauvelin." The child smoothly whispered. "We have business to discuss." He released the agent and brought him to his feet, for the man had lost the ability to function without the lead of the child. "Did you know, Chauvelin, that the people of France believe you to be insane?" the boy said as he seated himself on the couch.
The agent suddenly became dizzy and nauseous and dropped to his knees once again. Young Chauvelin drew the man's head into his lap and gently ran his hands through the agent's hair, and Chauvelin's breath quickened and he was shivering uncontrollably. The boy lowered his head to the agent's ear and softly whispered, "What do you believe to be true?"
"I don't know." He quietly said as he desperately tried to fight the chill that was creeping up his body as one of the boy's hands ran down his bare back.
"Why not?"
"I can't remember anything." Chauvelin whispered as his voice trembled and fought the urge to weep.
The boy drew Chauvelin closer and softly said, "Let me lead you. Trust in me, Chauvelin, and I shall show you the truth." Chauvelin felt himself grow weak as the younger man dominated his every thought. "Do you believe the people of France, Chauvelin?"
"I trust in only you." Chauvelin hypnotically replied.
"The world has gone mad, Chauvelin. You are not insane, you're above them all." The boy shrugged slightly before passionlessly saying "They don't understand you, so they call you crazy." Chauvelin immediately relaxed and the nausea lifted as the child reordered his thoughts.
"On a different subject, Chauvelin, your dealings with the Belgian were haphazard at best." the child coldly said. "He didn't die in your office as you intended and he managed to walk out of there. Half of Paris knows about it and now it's a huge mess. You're going to have to correct that blunder of yours first thing in the morning."
Chauvelin's head shot up at the boy's words. "The Belgian is alive?" he asked in absolute shock.
The boy dismissively waved his hand in the air. "No no. The man is dead. But mind you, he died three blocks away and two hours later then he was meant to." Young Chauvelin's eyes narrowed and an evil smile marked his face. "You need to fix the people of Paris. They're spreading rumors, lies about you. This cannot be allowed to continue. The insolent masses must be silenced.
The agent looked into the child's eyes with absolute obedience and admiration. "How? What do you want me to do?"
The boy shrugged slightly. "Scare them. You're awfully good at instilling fear and implementing scare tactics. Do what you must." he said almost flippantly.
"Yes. Of course." Chauvelin said as he started to rise, but the child reached out and brought the agent back down to the ground.
"I'm not done with you yet, Citizen." The child said coldly. "You said you don't remember anything. Elaborate on that."
"I don't know. I don't remember much."
"What do you recall?" the child asked curiously.
"I remember today." he said impassively.
"And yesterday?"
Chauvelin slowly shook his head. "Very little."
"What is it you do remember?"
The agent closed his eyes and searched his memory, but all he saw was black. He simply could not remember anything before this child came into his life. The meeting with Robespierre, that was the first thing he remembered. The Pimpernel, they had discussed him, Percy Blakeney.
Chauvelin's eyes shot open as the name tried desperately to connect with a memory he no longer possessed. Blakeney. Blakeney. He had a wife. That was it. Marguerite. He remembered her, nothing more. But he needed nothing else. Marguerite, her silver voice, her delicate, long limbs, the clear blue eyes, the woman of absolute perfection. He remembered the previous night, when she had confessed she loved him, and the heated passion that they shared. "Marguerite." He gently whispered. "I remember Marguerite."
The young Chauvelin sneered at the man at his feet. "Ah, yes. Of course. The girl. She is unimportant, Chauvelin. Forget her."
The agent looked up at the child with shock and betrayal. "Forget her?" he said in disbelief. "How can I forget her? She is all I remember! Without her, I have nothing!"
"Chauvelin, listen to me." the child said sternly.
"Please." Chauvelin begged as he clung to the leg of the boy's pants. "Please. Don't ask me to forget her. She is my life, my everything. I love her." Chauvelin leaned his head against the child's knee as he trembled uncontrollably and fought tears. "I love her. I lost her once and nearly died. Please, don't make me lose her again, or I swear I won't live another day."
The boy cupped Chauvelin's chin and forced the agent to look into his eyes. "You need this woman that badly?"
"I need her as I need the air I breathe."
"Very well." He released the man as he stood and walked to the window. "God forbid I ever become a slave to a woman as you have become."
"Armand." Chauvelin whispered from the floor. "Don't make me kill again."
The boy spun around and glared at the trembling man. "And why not?"
"I'm afraid to lose her. I cannot go to her with blood on my hands. That's what drove her away the first time."
The young Chauvelin quickly strode toward the agent and wrapped his fingers around his hair. "You're allowing this woman to make you weak."
"I need her."
"Would it be any comfort to you if I told you that she will not leave you?"
Chauvelin's breath caught in his throat. If what the boy said was true, then his life would be complete and he would finally be whole again. "How-"
The child's hands tightened around his hair and he fell silent. "No matter what you do, Chauvelin, Marguerite St. Just will not leave you. She cannot. You have already assured that. She is bound to you, and though she may threaten to leave you, she will not. Do you understand?"
The agent nodded as much as the child's grip allowed and let the words sink in; Marguerite was his, and that would not change.
"Just remember, Chauvelin." The boy coldly said before pulling the man's head back, reveling in a gasp of pain from the agent. "You belong to me. You do whatever I say without question. Your life is mine to do whatever I wish with it. Is that clear, boy?" The young Chauvelin pulled the agent's head back further, earning a scream of pain that the child took as an affirmative answer.
He pushed the older man to the ground and took up his place by the window once again and smiled slightly to himself. He now possessed a very violent and completely obedient entity to do his bidding in this world he could not touch. Let Paris rest peacefully tonight, for tomorrow, he would unleash a demon.
As a testament to the man's strength, Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, somehow managed to pull himself from the brink of death. Though he wavered in and out of consciousness, he was certainly living and it seemed as though he would stay that way for the time being. As he opened his eyes after he didn't know how long, he found himself in a room he did not recognize. He stirred slightly and gasped as a shot of pain ran through his body.
"You might want to lay still, Percy. It will be far less painful." Percy looked over and saw his good friend Tony sitting beside him.
He grimaced slightly before weakly saying "He shot me! That bastard shot me!" Despite his current circumstance, Percy still somehow managed to sound flippant which managed to get a few chuckles from his incredibly tense and worried friend.
"Who shot you?" Tony asked as calmly as he could.
"Chauvelin. It's apparent that no one taught Mon-sewer Shovelin that it's in terribly bad practice to shoot one's guests." Despite his friend's urging, he propped himself up on his elbows and leaned against the headboard of the bed so he sat up slightly. "Is it too much to ask where I am, Tony?"
"Not at all." Tony gently replied. "We're occupying one of the rooms of the inn next to our designated meeting place. There's a doctor outside who has been treating you half the evening."
"He says it's a miracle you survived, Percy." Andrew said as he walked into the room to join his leader. "But I said to him 'No sir! Nincompoops like him are demned impossible to kill'."
"Well said, man!" Percy said as loud as his injury would allow as he applauded. "Now, if one of you would fetch the brandy, that would be splendid. This pain is demned intolerable. Come now, we'll make a party of it, what?"
"I'll have the innkeeper bring some up." Tony said as he rose and left the room.
Andrew knelt beside his leader and quietly asked "How are you, Percy?"
"As well as one can be expected after being shot in the gut." He lifted his hand to his bandaged stomach and gently felt around the small hole. "It's not infected, is it?" he softly asked as he gingerly examined the wound.
"No, the doctor says that it will be fine, but it is still bleeding quite a bit."
"And how about the one on my back?"
Andrew smiled broadly. "That shot missed anything vital. The bullet lodged itself in muscle and went no further."
"Well, that's good to know." Slight concern crossed the Pimpernel's face. "How have you been, Andrew?"
"Worried sick about you, Percy." Andrew said fighting tears. "I thought you were dead."
Percy laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's alright. I hadn't planned on dying today, and it would be damned bad practice to do something out of schedule."
Tony walked back in with the promised brandy and took his seat by the Pimpernel. Percy took a long drink from the decanter before saying "If you don't mind, boys, I'd like to discuss our business. Have either of you heard anything of Armand?"
"More then that, Percy." Tony proudly declared. "I have spoken to him."
"What?" the Pimpernel asked in surprise. "Is he well? Where is he?"
Don't worry about Armand. He's alive and well, bet he's anxious to get out."
"Then we shall have to comply with the good man's request!" Percy triumphantly declared. "What is the security around his cell like?"
"He's not well guarded, Percy. Getting him out should be no trouble at all."
"Ah! Most excellent!" Calming down a bit, Percy quietly asked "And Marguerite? Have you heard any word of her?"
Tony couldn't help feeling horribly guilty at the mention of the Pimpernel's wife and he looked nervously at the floor. Sudden panic gripped Percy at the sight of his friend's expression, and just as he was about to inquire into what he was sure was bad news about his angel, Andrew interjected. "I have seen her, Percy."
The daring Pimpernel immediately forgot his worries. "How did she look? Is she well? Did you speak to her?" he rapidly and excitedly questioned.
"I only spoke to her briefly, but she seemed well enough." Andrew replied with a touch of melancholy in his voice.
Percy, though, was far too elated to catch the sorrowful demeanor of his friend. Whether it was the alcohol of the undiluted joy, Percy forgot his pain and bounced slightly on the bed. "What did my angel say?" he cried in exaltation.
"Very little, but she misses you and I promised to bring her to see you tomorrow." Andrew said slowly, regretting each word he was obligated to tell his leader.
Percy's soul took flight. "Tomorrow! I'll see my love tomorrow! Marguerite." He sighed as his head hit the headboard with a thud. "My angel, my life! It will be such a toil to wait to see you. How can I live another moment without you, Marguerite? You are the very air I breathe, the bright star, my goddess!"
Tony and Andrew looked at each other with pained expressions; after seeing Percy happier than they had ever seen him before, neither man had the heart to tell their esteemed leader what they knew to be the truth about his wife.
"Percy," Tony said solemnly, "we have something more important then Marguerite to discuss."
"What could possibly be more important then my beloved, the flame of my soul!" Percy cried, oblivious to his friend's dire manner.
"Percy, Chauvelin knows you're the Pimpernel!" Tony shouted.
Percy's elation immediately vanished and disbelief and desperation took its place. Finally finding the ability to speak, he slowly, quietly asked, "What did you say?"
Tony inhaled deeply before slowly saying, "He knows you're the Pimpernel."
Percy sat there in absolute shock. His entire body was numb and cold; even the dull, throbbing pain in his back and stomach dissipated. "How did he find out?"
"We don't know." Andrew said hesitantly. "Chauvelin's a smart man. You know that. He must have figured it out."
Percy sat in silence for a long while. This was bad. Very, very bad. He took a deep breath to allow the words of his friend to sink in and slowly said, "If what you say is true, we have lost our greatest assets, stealth and time." He took another deep breath and addressed his friends again, this time with resolution. "Time is no longer on our side. We must get out of France as soon as it's conceivably possible. How soon can we rescue Armand?"
"We can do it first thing in the morning, Percy." Tony assured his leader.
"Good. We must act without delay. Andrew, what time are you to meet with Marguerite?"
"At about five o'clock."
"Very well. Be prepared to leave for England tomorrow afternoon. I would imagine that word of Armand's sudden disappearance will draw his sister out. Try to find her as quickly as possible. The sooner we leave Paris, the better."
The two men nodded in obedience and left the room to allow their fearless leader the chance to rest and recover.
Percy closed his eyes and sighed happily as he smiled to himself. Despite this unfortunate turn of events, he was strangely at peace with the world. Tomorrow he would return home to England with the woman he loved and he would make damned sure that she knew how much she meant to him. Nothing else mattered. With this in mind, Percy drifted off to sleep.
Marguerite stood outside Chauvelin's flat, clenching and unclenching her fists in an attempt to calm down. These next moments that awaited her would be her last of her time with the man. As of tonight, their love affair would be over, but she was still anxiety-ridden about how it would all fare.
Keeping her mind on the task at hand, she allowed only four things to run through her thoughts: she and Percy love each other, tonight she would push her lover out of her life for good, Chauvelin was stricken with madness, and he would not harm her. Resolving herself on what she knew she must do, she opened the door and walked into the room.
She slowly closed the door behind her and was left in total darkness, save for the light of the moon coming through the window. She held her breath and listened carefully as she gazed into the darkness, but heard and saw nothing. She gently called for her lover, but was met with no response. Perhaps he wasn't home yet.
She walked further into the room and looked for a light. As she shifted through some papers on a table, long, nearly feminine fingers rested under her chin and gently lifted her head up. She would have screamed, but as her eyes met with those passionate gold ones, her voice died in her throat.
"Good evening, my darling." he smoothly whispered as he leaned into her and tenderly kissed the lovely woman.
Marguerite's eyes slowly slid closed as she became lost in Chauvelin's touch. Chauvelin. Suddenly remembering the task she had to accomplish for Percy's sake, she pulled away from the man and walked away from him. "Chauvelin, this isn't right. We can't go on like this."
"Why not?" he gently asked as he came up behind her and pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck.
Marguerite flushed, but kept her composure and resolution. "Because, Chauvelin, I-"
"Do you love me, Marguerite?" he quietly interrupted.
The young French woman tensed and immediately made an attempt to cover the feelings she did have for the agent. "N-No. I don't." she hesitantly stuttered as she pulled away from him once again. "I thought I did, but I found that I don't anymore."
Chauvelin gazed at her with a broken stare. "Why, Marguerite?" he asked pitifully in a voice on the verge of tears.
"Because I have lost you to madness, Chauvelin!" she cried. "They say that you have slaughtered innocent people, and…and-"
Her impassioned speech was cut short by the agent's harsh, bitter laughter. "And you believe this erroneous gossip?" he snidely asked. "I thought you were above those credulous nonentities."
"Why would they say such thing with such a degree of urgency if it was untrue?" she countered.
"My dear Marguerite." he smoothly drawled as his entire disposition softened significantly. "You know how the people make a sport out of spreading rumors about influential public figures. If you would remember that particular bit of gossip that went around about two months ago. The people had even the court of England convinced that the only reason that Louis XVI still lived was because Robespierre had taken him as his lover. That bit of misinformation spread like wildfire on both sides of the channel."
"But Degas said-"
"Degas told you I was insane?" Chauvelin laughed slightly before saying "Degas, Madame, is a paranoid schizophrenic. The man can hardly distinguish between reality and his mind's delusions."
Marguerite was terribly flustered; everything Chauvelin was saying conflicted with what she had recently believed to be the truth. Now, she wasn't sure about anything. "How do I know whom to believe?" she quietly asked.
He slowly walked towards her and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Look at me, Margot." He gently said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her against him. "The only madness I possess is my love for you. And are the states of being insane and being desperately in love not synonymous?"
"You love me?" she whispered in shock. "You truly love me?"
"Had you not sensed this before, my angel?"
"Well, yes, it's just that…" She sighed happily and rested her head against his chest. "This is the first time that you have told me that you love me."
Chauvelin gently laid his head upon hers and softly whispered "I was a fool not to tell you sooner."
Marguerite gradually relaxed as she felt herself becoming lost in the man's embrace. This was all she really ever wanted; to be loved and cared for by a man who she loved as well. How long had it been since Percy had told her that he loved her? Percy. She regained her senses and found herself in the embrace of a man that was most defiantly not her husband. She quickly pushed away from the agent and turned her back to him. "It's over between us, Chauvelin. Do you understand?" she hissed nearly cruelly.
"No. I don't." he sadly whispered as he approached the woman from behind. "You have yet to offer an explanation. I feel I have a right to know what I have done to lose you yet again."
"It's nothing you have done. I just don't love you anymore." she said in a trembling voice.
"You're lying to yourself, Marguerite."
"So what!" she cried as she spun to face him. "If I tell myself I don't love you, maybe I'll come to believe it and then it will become the truth!" Her voice broke and lost all of its previous defiance as she began to weep. "Then maybe I'll finally be able to forget you."
"My Margot." he whispered as he drew her back to him and tenderly kissed the tears that stained her cheeks. "You know how I hate to see you cry."
"What are you doing to me, Chauvelin?" she quietly sobbed. "Why do I love you?"
"My love." The agent whispered as he took her hand in his and knelt before her. "I cannot bear to see you unhappy like this, and I'm willing to let you go and leave me forever if that would bring back the blithe young girl I know. But before you go, I beseech you, allow me to tell you what I should have said when I first met you."
Marguerite nodded slightly and he took a deep breath as he prepared to pour his heart out to this woman. "I was a fool to think that I could make you mine. A man like me does not deserve perfection. You are simply remarkable, Marguerite. My love, my life." He trembled as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it repeatedly. "You are my world, my everything. Things I once cared about no longer hold any importance to me. There is only you. Marguerite…"
He rose slightly as he left a trial of frantic kisses up her arm and to her shoulder when he stood behind her. "My heart belongs to you, Margot, and I don't think I can ever recover it. I am incomplete without you, darling." He gently wrappedhis arms around her waist and kissed her neck. "I love you, Marguerite. I will never love another. I cannot. I belong to you, and only you."
He drew in a shuddering breath as he pulled her even closer to him. "I want you. I need you. Margot, my heart and soul. I love you. I adore you. I worship the very ground you tread upon, the very air you breathe. I love you, Marguerite St. Just. I love you."
Marguerite hung on to his every word, and even though she tried to cling to his image, Percy was slipping away into the darkness. By the time he had held her, she had forgotten her husband, and when he had finished speaking, Marguerite knew she was his.
Turning in his embrace, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Chauvelin reacted immediately to her passion, and it wasn't long before the two lovers allowed all control to slip as they forgot everything but each other.