Still here? Gluttons for punishment, aren't ya? Well, let's get on with it then...

OOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO

That was not the answer Joseph expected at all. His surprise was evident on his face. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged her shoulders. "It was either that or kill him. Either one would have been a pleasurable alternative, I suppose. Making love didn't involve my execution, though."

"You were right about one thing," Joseph said, shaking his head uncomprehendingly. "This is one hell of a good story."

"Rupert was all but weeping by the time I got back up here. I tried to lock him out, but the damn footmen let him in. I was so angry I was shaking. He stood just inside the doors, trying to get his shirt back into his pants."

The scene replayed itself in Clarisse's mind as she narrated it to Joseph:

"Clarisse! Clarisse, please, please listen to me!" Rupert said.

The young Queen stood with her back to him, holding her trembling body as she stared into the fire at the hearth. She didn't speak and she wouldn't let him see the tears she fought to keep behind her closed eyelids. When she spoke her voice was surprisingly cold and clam. "What could you possibly have to say that I would want to hear, Rupert? Haven't you humiliated me enough for one evening?"

"That wasn't my intention – not at all."

"I'm sure that's true. Your intention was to be 'serviced' by the lovely Miss Rosenthal!"

"Clarisse! Please! I know I don't deserve to even be standing here right now, but just hear me out," Rupert pleaded with her.

She still did not turn to look at him, but she didn't say anything, either.

"I knew what I was doing was wrong. I don't care about Adelita! I just… I just…"

She turned around then, favoring him with a cold stare.

He was caught in her gaze and couldn't tear his eyes away. He sunk to his knees on the floor, the very picture of abject repentance.

His voice choked. "I was tired, and angry. I just wanted sex. Someone to - to work out my aggression with. She was willing. I couldn't ask that of you, my darling. Please try to understand," he pleaded.

"What do you mean, you couldn't ask that of me?"

"You're my wife - the mother of my children. I couldn't treat you like that – like a whore. I suppose I was looking for someone to exert some power over. And I am powerless with you. Look at me, Clarisse! I am the King for God's sake, and here I am on my knees, in tears, for you. Only for you!"

"This is ridiculous, Rupert," she said. "You are a sad excuse for a man if you really believe what you're saying. You've done nothing but treat me like a whore for years now. I am quite possibly the highest paid harlot in all of Europe. And still that isn't enough for you!"

"What?! No! Clarisse, that's not true!" He struggled to his feet and came to stand in front of her. His eyes were almost desperate as they sought understanding in hers. All he could find was anger. He clutched at her forearms. "How can you say that Clarisse? How can you imagine that is all you mean to me?"

Her voice was as deadly cold as her icy blue eyes. "You don't love me Rupert. And I don't love you. And whatever feeling might have been possible between us was shattered a long, long time ago."

"You're a liar," he stammered. "Whenever we make love, it's different. I can feel your heart. I know you're lying."

She laughed now. "Yes, I am a liar, Rupert. I've lied to you every time we've been together. I can do it again."

His eyes hardened as well. "I can make you eat those words, Clarisse."

"Not in a million years, darling."

"Let me show you," he whispered.

"Feel free to try," was her haughty response.

The King brought his lips down on hers with a white hot intensity. His mouth was like a starving beast as it devoured her. First her lips, then her jaw, her neck. His hands ran furrows through her hair, his body pressed against her.

As he pulled back to regain his breath, he reached down and swept her into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her back on the luxurious mountain of pillows. She made no move to stop him, but neither did she respond to his caresses.

Her stony demeanor robbed him of his confidence and he moved cautiously, unsure of what to do. He kept his approaches light, questioning, treating her as if she were a delicate flower. Still he received no response. He kissed her neck and flicked his tongue down to the crevice between her breasts. He kissed and caressed each breast in turn, and still nothing. Finally she gripped his shoulders and raised a knee for leverage so she could push him off of her. He rolled over and looked somewhat startled as she moved to straddle his body. He was breathing heavily, she wasn't.

"Aren't you bored yet, Rupert? I certainly am," her voice was harsh and unbending. "If we're going to do this, at least make it worth the time and effort."

Clarisse fell silent again. Joseph waited patiently.

She was staring at him this time. "Have you ever made love to an angry woman, Joseph?"

"Angry? No, my mother taught me never to go to bed angry. And I always listened to my mother," he replied seriously but his eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Your mother raised a smart son," she said with a wicked grin. "Rupert's mother didn't train him nearly as well. It took weeks for the scratches to heal. I was still seething even after it was over. I kicked him out of bed and sent him packing back to his rooms. He was still walking gingerly when he passed the guards outside my door."

Joseph laughed out loud. "Oh God," he laughed, wiping his eyes. "You are not a woman to be trifled with. There's a dangerous fire burning under that icy demeanor."

"You're very observant, Joseph. It took Rupert years to realize that."

"I've spent years studying you," Joseph admitted, trailing the back of his hand down her cheek before running his fingers around to the nape of her neck. "And yet, I have so much more to learn."

He leaned in to kiss her, meeting her lips gently, exploring the softness of her mouth with his own lips. She leaned towards him with a soft moan and opened her mouth slightly, inviting a deeper exploration. She didn't touch him, except with her mouth. He followed her lead and didn't move his hand from the back of her neck, concentrating only on the kiss and the dance of their tongues together.

Unable to keep his body still any longer, his hand clutched at the fabric of the couch cushion. The hand that rested on her neck began to move on a downward path towards her shoulder. He moaned into her open mouth, then felt her smile against his lips as she started to pull away.

"Clarisse," he murmured. "Please don't stop."

She continued to move slowly away from him. He opened his eyes and looked at her imploringly. She continued to smile as she slowly shook her head, and settled back on the cushions.

"I haven't finished my story."

"Clarisse…" he whined. "Please…"

"Please finish the story? Certainly!"

He pretended to glare at her. "You are a horrible tease."

"That's true. And it's one of the reasons you need to know what you are letting yourself in for if you and I pursue this relationship," she said.

He took a deep breath, a somewhat shaky breath. "Ok. I'm listening. How long was it before you were on speaking terms again after that night?"

"Well, breakfast the next morning was a little tense."

"I bet!"

"He was somewhat contrite, but I wasn't ready to talk. I wasn't sure what I wanted from him at that point. Later that day I went to his office to speak to him…"