This is my first SP fic so please be gentle. None of the characters belong to me, merely the plot.

Paris was fowl with the lashing of a winter rain. She stared out of the window, her mind was trifling with her. He lay dead on a cobbled alleyway, blood pouring from his heart; a victim of Citoyen Chauvelin. A small sob made its way to her throat but she suppressed it. Just as she must learn to suppress these awful images with which her mind was torturing her. The room was cold; unwelcoming stone and gloom encased her. Wind and draft crept through the gaps in the glass windows and pierced her skin but she could not move from the chair to the even more unwelcoming bed. And she could not unlace her stays without trouble on her own either, so she wouldn't be able to lie comfortably. Not that she would sleep, she would merely lie so she could worry in a different position. She sighed slowly and tightened her shawl round her thinly clad body. Oh for the company of him. Of anyone. She gripped the cold metal of the pistol in the folds of her shawl. Percy had insisted she keep it on her person, in the case of anything untoward. She found this to be mightily hypocritical given that her lord only ever wielded an honorable sword. He had informed her that he thought pistols to be the weapon of the vagabond.

It had been more than a day he had been gone, with Andrew and all in tow and she had watched them from this window. Now she expected he'd be gone for days, perhaps weeks. It was all she could hope for. She leaned forward slightly and reaching her hand round her back, twisted her wrist uncomfortably until she was able to grasp at the laces of her stay. Perhaps it would have been better if she had stayed in Richmond. She tugged hard and felt the loosening relief that often came in the hand of her ladies' maid. Who was not here, for obvious reasons. Though she would give anything to have someone wait on her, just for the company. A tear tricked unwillingly down her cheek. She was very angry with herself for allowing this weakness and she tugged even harder at the laces, tightening them more than loosening. A tiny sob escaped her lips.

"Does my lady need help?"

She jumped with fright at the break of the silence and turned swiftly from her position on the chair, brandishing the pistol. But she merely smiled as she threw it to the floor at the sight of smiling eyes, of open arms and heart. He stood half in shadow, half in light with a glitter of laughter on his face.

"Percy!" She flew from the chair and into his arms, "Oh Percy!"

"Margot, good evening," he kissed her face gently, "I see I am a wanted man,but lud Madame you have been crying?"

She sobbed out an answer and he gently turned her in his strong arms, so he could unlace her. He was no longer shy as he had once been and it was with familiar hands he gently loosened laces with which he was well acquainted. He doubled as her ladies' maid as well as lover on these trips.

He kissed the nape of her neck, "No tears, dear. I am here."

"You took too long," she fell back against him as he reached up and unraveled her hair.

"I understand," he finally let his hands rest on her hips and buried his face in her hair as he pulled the stay apart and threw it onto the chest at the bottom of the bed.

"Better?" He turned her to face him, so she stood bedecked only in a white cotton slip.

"Yes," she rested her head on his chest and from his pocket, he produced a paper bag, "Sit down, I brought these from the coast, darling."

She shook the contents of the bag curiously and took a piece of chocolate from inside. She smiled at him as he removed his great coat and hat, laying them over the dresser.

"Would you like a piece?" She offered the bag to him as he removed his breaches and shirt and slipped into one of his freshly laundered night shirts. He still eyed her with great curiosity, her fragility was something he was oft concerned about. Yet she eyed him in return, not with concern but with lust. He felt both self-conscious and delighted by her scrutiny.

"Indeed. I have sent Tony for bread and wine and some salted beef, hopefully. I Haven't eaten and I am thoroughly ravished!" He finished by popping the chocolate into his mouth that she offered.

She smiled gently and flopped back onto the bed for she was suddenly overcome by fatigue. This fatigue was familiar, it came with the relief of seeing him. And now she could sleep forever because he was with her.

He crawled towards her and lay down next to her, his face resting between her neck and shoulder. He sighed gently, his hand coming to lie on her stomach.

"Ah, you smell beautiful," he whispered, kissing the skin of her neck softly.

"I do?" She laughed gently, "You smell very good too."

She smiled flirtatiously and using her tiny size to her advantage, crawled on top of her husband. Smiling, eyes closed he looked the picture of contentment and for that moment, she was proud that she had enslaved the adventurer in him and had charmed the lover whom she so adored from the depths of those lazy eyes.

"I have missed you, Sir Percy," she kissed his chin as his hands wandered over her hips.

"Oh. And I you madame," he did not want to play games any more and kissed her fiendishly, so she squealed with unbridled delight as he twisted and lay on top of her.

Hours later, he had left the bed to light the waning fire. She basked in the heat of the room and though it was not her bed at Blakeny Manor it would do for now. She thought more of her insistence to come to Paris - at last it had come to fruition. She had him in her bed and in her arms. She watched him, clad in a silk dressing gown. His movements were strong, no stooping or struggling. Simply strength and courage.

"These rooms are not good," he whispered lifting the sheets and climbing back beside her, "They are not good for my fine Lady Blakeney."

"They will do," she laughed, taking a piece of chocolate and dangling it tantalizingly over his mouth, "You are here." He made to bite but she pulled her hand away. England did not provide this intimacy. Rooms with only four chambers had forced them to share this room in Paris. There was little propriety here. There were no separate chambers. She thought of that cold, empty first year and how the adjoining door between their chambers in Richmond had remained firmly locked. She should like to think that the unlocking of that door over a year ago had been symbolic of the opening of his heart.

"Marguerite," he groaned lovingly, "Marguerite…"

She bent to kiss his mouth and then with a devilish grin ate the piece herself. He laughed and pulled her down, so his face hung above hers.

"What a beautiful body you have," he said rather naively, for Percy had known no other woman but her.

"You are a fine lover, with French Passion but English manners," she batted her eye lids, "I have taught you well. I imagine I have the best of all men rolled into one."

"Indeed my dear," He groaned longingly, "I wonder where Tony is with that food, it will be dawn soon."

"Perhaps he has fallen asleep," she yawned at that notion, " Much as I should like to do."

"I imagine," he laughed, "Well my dear, rest for we have a few more hours here. Then home."

"Home?" Her eyes sprung open, "But I thought we were not leaving Paris for months."

"I have decided it is too risky, on both sides. Our prolonged absence from England does us no favours and a longer stay here gives your old friend Chauvelin a better chance of seekin' us out. Eh what?"

"I see," she was quite easy with that explanation, for it did please her more than anything he could give her.

"Well, m'dear," he languished back, "No reason not to enjoy our last few hours in Paris. Then some time at home, then I shall return."

She lowered her eyes, "You will come back to Paris? When in such danger!"

"Margot," he sounded exhausted of this argument but she vowed never to give up, "I know…I am so aware of how this distresses y-"

She bent to kiss his lips, silencing him. He looked mildly surprised. Marguerite knew she could only have him for as long as she could possess the lover in him. And disappointingly for the woman, this time was never quite enough. She met with the realisation many times and dismissed it with vehemence. Perhaps the day would come when she could have him as her husband fully and not share him with the free spirited rescuer. But now, she must be content with this lover who showed himself rarely. But when he did, it was worth every moment of agony.

"I have you now," she whispered, "And that is enough."

Please Review. I'd be very grateful.