A/N: Okay m' dears, two things. One, I do not own the Scarlet Pimpernel or any of the characters I've mentioned.

Two, my friend and I wrote this right after the last day of school after watching the 1988, I think, version of the Scarlet Pimpernel staring Anthony Andrews (Sir Percy), Jane Seymour (Marguerite), and Ian McKellan (Chauvelin!). So it picks up right where the movie leaves off.

For those who have not seen said movie, it picks up right after 'Eldorado'. Haven't read the book, either? Basic plot: Percy rescues the Dauphin and sends him off to Austria with the French Royalists. Armand is supposed to have met Percy to help with the rescue, but he doesn't show up because he was at his mistress's house. So Percy goes and finds Armand, but Armand has told dear Chau- Chau that Percy's the Pimpernel. Percy gets arrested, Marguerite comes and helps get the Dauphin out of France, is taken hostage, and Percy "gives in" and in return for the safety of his wife, Armand, and himself by telling Chauvelin he'll get him the Dauphin. They go to where the League is staying; the League captures Chauvelin's forces, dresses up in the uniforms, and stages a mock execution of Percy. Percy "comes back from the dead", duels Chauvelin, wins (duh!), and Armand steals Chauvie's wardrobe so he can sneak back into Paris for his mistress. It ends up with everyone in the League sailing back to England.

Oh, one last thing: In the movie, dearest Chau- Chau is called Paul. As we could not get the image of Sir Ian McKellan as Chauvelin out of our heads, Chauvelin's first name will remain Paul. Yes, we know it's supposed to be Armand. Deal with it.

"My own, elusive, pimpernel," Marguerite murmured, a smile playing around her lips. She looked up at her husband from underneath her eyelashes and rested her hands on his arms.

Percy smiled back down at her, speaking in his normal, non- exaggerated fop drawl, for once. "Sink me. The lady's a poet." With that he bent down and kissed his wife passionately. The kiss lasted a long time, and would have lasted longer if Sir Andrew had not cleared his throat.

Sir Percy reluctantly stopped kissing his wife and looked up. Marguerite looked at Andrew as well, and smiled while raising her eyebrow in an extremely French fashion.

"Uh... Percy?" Sir Andrew hazarded, tugging unhappily at his flouncy lace cravat. "So sorry to bother you... when you... and, ah... and Marguerite, ah... are obliviously, er... obviously-"

Percy, reverting into fop mode as he realized the entire crew of the ship was staring at him, simply drawled, "Out with it, old chap, or my boots will be out of fashion before you can tell me whatever you need to!" Marguerite sent Percy an amused glance and rested her head on his shoulder. Percy was unable to resist playing with one of the ringlets in her hair.

"Um, well... er... Percy," Andrew stammered, his ears turning tomato red, "the men on board are, um... a, a tad distracted." Andrew gestured to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who were clogging up the staircase to get to below decks, apparently struck dumb by the fact that their normally reserved fearless leader was making out with his wife, and the crew of the ship had completely stopped whatever they had been doing in order to stare avidly at Marguerite, who was the only woman on the ship.

"Your point, Ffoulkes?" Percy questioned, examining his second- in- command through his monocle- type thing. Marguerite looked up from Percy's shoulder and smiled amusedly.

Andrew began to look as if he had sun-burnt his face. "Er... well, um... ah... that is to say..." Andrew looked completely at a loss as to what to say. "Just thought you should know that practically every man on deck is uh..."

"Lusting after your wife," Lord Tony interjected nonchalantly.

Andrew flushed horribly. Percy had not thought is possible for a human being to actually turn that color of red. But, he noted absently, Andrew's blush clashed horribly with his blond hair and blue silk jacket.

"Odd's fish!" Percy remarked, still in a drawling, bored tone of voice. "Is that all, m' dear fellow? I can assure you: I'm quite used to that."

"Percy!" Marguerite exclaimed, eyes dancing.

Percy gave her an amused glance and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I speak only the truth, m' dear. Odd's fish! I could never lie to a lady of such beauty, what?"

Marguerite smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well," Andrew interjected hurriedly, while he still had the courage to do so, "perhaps... um... !" Andrew promptly turned more scarlet before, resembling the ink Percy used to draw his mocking pictures of scarlet pimpernels to the French government. Percy began wondering how red Andrew could turn until he combusted or fainted.

"Umm..." Andrew stuttered, as Marguerite chuckled slightly and Percy looked amused. "I, I don't mean to, to... ah... insinuate anything, or, or add pointless innuendo to the conversation." He trailed off, looking uncertain and very red. "Uh... don't tell Suzanne I said any of this, please." Lord Tony looked as if he was having a fit of hysterics and Sir Phillip appeared to be choking from laughter.

"Below deck," Marguerite murmured, ignoring Sir Andrew's slightly coherent apologies for his previous statements. She looked extremely amused.

"Below deck," Percy said in tones of great interest, forgetting to drawl so that he sounded like an idiot.

"Belowdeck!" Andrew repeated rapidly, his face still a fiery red. "Please!"

Again, Marguerite raised an eyebrow and smiled, looking utterly French. She turned to her husband and murmured, "I have no qualms, Percy."

"Just... please," Andrew pleaded, obviously in torment. "If the men don't get back to work, then we'll be stuck out in the middle of the English channel, and the fisherman back in France told us that there was going to be a storm tomorrow, and I promised Suzanne that I'd be back in just a few days and she told me that she'd never forgive me if I wasn't, and-"

Percy began to worry that his friend was going to explode. "Calm down, Andrew," he said seriously. "We'll, ah... get out of the way soon enough." He bowed, with a flourish, to Marguerite, and offered her his arm. She laughed, but accepted, and they managed to get through the crowd of members of the League, who moved out of the way when they realized that the Scarlet Pimpernel was trying to get through. Brave and courageous as they might be, the members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel were not too intelligent, so getting down the stairs took some time.

Percy and Marguerite soon reached Percy's luxurious cabin, and Percy glanced around the halls to make sure no one was looking. Once he had established that no one was there, he opened the door to the cabin, and swept Marguerite off her feet. She laughed in delight and wrapped her arms around his neck. He walked into the room (which was slightly difficult as he was on a ship) and placed her on the bed. Marguerite smiled at him and managed to pull his jacket off. Percy obliged her and slid her dress off her shoulders. Percy was about to bend Marguerite back in a romantic kiss when someone began banging on the door.

"Can this wait?" Percy called out to whoever was behind the door. Marguerite kissed him and began playing with a strand of his hair.

"THIS IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE!" the man behind the door bellowed.

"He's a bit... busy, at the moment," Marguerite practically purred as Percy continued to help her out of her dress.

"I DON'T CARE!" the man roared. "BLAKNEY, THIS IS CHAUVELIN, AND I DEMAND CLOTHING!"

This abruptly spoiled the mood.

"Ew," Marguerite muttered, her dress dropping to the floor.

Percy sighed. "I'll just toss Master Chauvelin over there a pair of stockings and slam the door on him."

"Percy!" Marguerite exclaimed, looking stricken. "My darling, I'm all for Paul suffering abject humiliation, but I really do not want him wandering about the ship in the nude."

Percy refused to think about that. "You do have a point, m' dear." He mournfully handed Marguerite his coat and, with a slight pout, she elegantly wrapped it around herself. He opened his closet and yanked a spare shirt out, then opened the door to the hall. The door hit the person standing right outside of it with a satisfying smack.

"Oh!" Percy said, faux apologetically. "Lud, m' dear fellow! Didn't expect the door to hit you, what?"

Chauvelin, swearing muffledly in French, grabbed the shirt and yanked it on. Once he did so, he glared at the shirt. Percy could not help but grin when he noted that the shirt was made entirely of lace.

"Odd's fish, Master Chamberlain! I can't think of a good reason, not to shoot you right now." Percy eyed Chauvelin's messily tied cravat. "Sink me! It might even improve that abomination of a cravat. Lud, sir! What ever did you do to the poor thing?"

"Sir Percy," Chauvelin demanded with all the dignity he could muster (after he self- consciously straightened his cravat), "I must insist on a pair of breeches."

Percy reluctantly walked back into the room and began rummaging through his wardrobe. "I must ask, Master Chambering, what you are doing on my yacht? La, sir, I never did see you as a sea- farin' fellow."

"Your men," Chauvelin snapped, "somehow decided, after stealing my clothing, that it would best serve their amusement to shove me into a cabin on this stupid ship with a suit of clothing with the slogan, 'God Save the King' sewn all over it."

"That would explain his state of dress," Marguerite remarked to Percy with a raised eyebrow. "Or, undress, rather. Either way, I wish I did not have to think about it."

At the sound of her voice, Chauvelin stepped into the room and stared at her in astonishment. "Marguerite? What are you doing in Percy's chambers?"

Marguerite drew Percy's coat tighter around herself and sent Chauvelin a venomous glare. "What do you think, Paul?" she questioned tersely.

It was at that moment that Chauvelin noticed how Marguerite's dress was on the floor and how Sir Percy's vest was half- way unbuttoned.

"Oh," Chauvelin said, not really wanting to think about why she was there. "You... weren't... I mean, Marguerite, you wouldn't... I... uh..."

"We were consummating our marriage," Percy muttered, half to himself. He yanked a pair of trousers out of the wardrobe, flung them at Chauvelin and 'escorted' him out the door.

Percy reflected as he probably shouldn't have mentioned that; as Chauvelin smirked and looked as if he was about to verbally decimate him.

"It took you that long?" Chauvelin inquired in faux tones of polite interest. "Weren't up to it on your wedding night, Blakney?"

"Odd's fish, Chauvelin!" Percy exclaimed, showing him the door. "This is coming from the demmed Frenchie who cannot tie his own cravat correctly! Besides, m' dear fellow, it ain't like you'll ever be consummating anything!"

Percy shoved Chauvelin out into the hall and locked the door. He turned back to Marguerite with a roguish smile.

Marguerite smiled up at him from underneath her eyelashes and moved closer to him.

"Now... where were we m' dear?" Percy questioned smoothly, untying his cravat and flinging it into the open wardrobe.

Marguerite artfully let Percy's jacket slide off of one of her bare shoulders. "Well Percy-"

There were interrupted yet again when Chauvelin began banging on the door shouting, "BLAKNEY! I REFUSE TO WEAR LACE BREECHES!"

Marguerite, now thoroughly put out, flopped onto the bed and shot a glare at the door.

"That's it!" Percy hissed, now extremely angry. He grabbed the nearest piece of clothing he could find, which happened to be Marguerite's dress, and unlocked the door again. Upon swinging the door open, which hit Chauvelin with another satisfying smack, he threw the dress at said revolutionary's head.

"I'm terribly sorry, dearest," Percy apologized after slamming the door on a bewildered Chauvelin who was also in severe pain, "but your dress had to be sacrificed for the greater good of all those onboard the ship."

"Oh..." Marguerite sighed, propping herself up on an elbow so that Percy's coat slid off her shoulders onto the bed. "That's a pity. I liked that dress." She, however, did not seem to mind too much as Percy came over to her and kissed her.

"I'M NOT WEARING MARGUERITE'S DRESS!" Chauvelin roared.

Marguerite broke away from the kiss and yelled, "It's the closest you're ever going to get to me, Paul!" at the door.

"Odd's fish... it's not just a dress," Percy explained, reverting into fop mode. "M' dear Master Shovelin', it's a way of life! La, my good fellow; that is a genuine Antoine Dior day- dress made of pink Norwich silk and white velvet from Switzerland. The lace on the sleeves is imported from Austria and the seed pearls on the bodice... sink me, the pearls are from Venice and were hand- stitched on by the designer himself! And note the elegant embroidery on the hem. Lud love me, that pretty geometric design in made of real silver thread, and Genevieve Dior, the designer's wife, sewed it on herself! Be proud to wear it Chamberlain!"

With that, he sat on the bed and Marguerite settled herself on his lap. She kissed him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Percy held her comfortably around the waist and reached for the laces of her corset. He had achieved some success in this endeavor, when Chauvelin burst into the room, looking furious.

The ex- agent of the French republic had clothed himself in Percy's larger lace breeches and shirt and was waving about Marguerite's dress in an agitated manner. "Blakney, I'll have you know that I am a highly respected... agent... of... the... French... republic..." He trailed off to stare at Marguerite, who had turned to glare at him, her corset now lower then usual.

Percy was severely irked by Chauvelin's scrutiny of Marguerite and so held her closer to him, as if to say: "MINE! HANDS OFF!" Marguerite was not adverse to this and snuggled closer to him, leaning her forehead against his.

"Sink me!" Percy said loudly and pointedly. "Mon- sewer Chamber-tin does not seem to understand the meaning of a closed door."

Chauvelin did not take the hint and kept staring at Marguerite.

"If he doesn't stop looking at me like that," Marguerite muttered, tightening her grip around Percy's neck, "I swear, I'll shoot him."

"There's a gun under my pillow," Percy informed her quietly. "I keep it there in case of emergencies."

Marguerite smiled and was about to kiss him when Chauvelin cleared his throat in a strangled manner.

"Ah... Marguerite," he stammered, looking at her oddly. "This... ah... belongs to you." He held the dress out. Marguerite did not look amused at all, but yanked it out of Chauvelin's grasp while keeping her other arm firmly around Percy.

"Thank you," she said icily.

"If you will excuse us, Master Shovelin'," Percy drawled equally coldly, "my wife and I were in the middle of something and would like to finish it."

Marguerite sent another poisonous glare at Chauvelin, who didn't seem to notice at all. He was too busy looking elsewhere to meet Marguerite's gaze.

Percy cleared his throat and Chauvelin looked up.

"Oh, er," Chauvelin mumbled, plucking at his lacy sleeves, "I'd like real clothing."

Percy scowled and, much to Marguerite's delight, removed his own vest and shirt. Percy pegged them at Chauvelin, who nearly fell backwards.

Chauvelin untangled the garments that had been tossed at him and examined them with disgust. "This is hardly better, Blakney. It's frilly and lacy and... worse then all that, you've worn it. This is worse then before."

Marguerite smiled flirtatiously at Percy and trailed her hands across his shoulders down to his upper arms. "I, personally, would say it's a definite improvement." She closed her eyes and was about to kiss him when Chauvelin threw Percy's shirt and vest over them both. Marguerite gave a muffled shriek of surprise and Percy reluctantly removed her from his lap. She wrapped Percy's shirt around her with a small, reluctant sigh, and Percy flung open his wardrobe again.

After a moment's deliberation, Percy found a suitable piece of clothing for Chauvelin and flung said garment at said revolutionary's head. This being done, Percy attempted to force Chauvelin out into the hall.

"WHAT'S THIS?" Chauvelin roared, not moving. "ANOTHER DRESS?"

"No," Percy retorted cheerfully. "Honestly, Mon- sewer Shove- Lin... haven't you ever seen a monk's robe? They're actually quite comfortable."

Marguerite laughed in delight. "Oui, Paul. I must confess that it will suit you. For one thing, it covers everything- and believe me, chéri, the less skin you show the better."

"Are you," Chauvelin questioned, practically seething in anger, and gesturing wildly with the robe, "attempting to insinuate anything, Marguerite?"

Marguerite quirked her eyebrow and smiled in her flirtatious French way. "Nothing Paul... except that I'm afraid my dress was just too low- cut for you." She reclined back on the bed as she had once done as Cleopatra in Shakespeare's 'Anthony and Cleopatra'. Needless to say, every night that Marguerite had performed, attendance- male attendance in particular- was through the roof.

"If you wouldn't mind, Mon- sewer Chauvie- line," Percy drawled, leaning against the door post, "my wife and I have some unfinished business to attend to."

Marguerite winked at Percy, and Percy, now grinning, physically threw Chauvelin into the hall.

"Have a pleasant day, Paul!" Marguerite called, with a little laugh.

"Yes, do, Master Shoveling," Percy said before slamming the door.

There were more sounds of laughter behind the door that faded into muffled, 'I love you' s. This caused Chauvelin no little annoyance, but he pulled the monk's robe on over his head and stormed on deck, so as not to hear Marguerite telling Percy how much she loved him.

Once on deck, he began wishing he had stayed below, as everyone turned to look at him. Lord Tony looked as if he was going to break a rib from suppressed laughter.

"Uh, Chauvelin?" Sir Andrew questioned in disbelief. "Ah... when we incarcerated you in one of the guest rooms... did you decide to repent of your evil ways and live out the remainder of your life as a monk?"

"Well," Chauvelin muttered huffily, as he tugged on his sleeves to straighten them, "It's apparent that I'm the only one with concerns about oaths of celibacy."