Mistress of the Revolution by Catherine Delors Read Free Book Online Page B

river.
    Pierre-André was waiting for me, this time in the wood. One could barely feel any drops there. He helped me dismount and he led me without a word to a shallow cave on the banks of the river. Again, we shared an all too brief hour, sheltered from the rain, enjoying the softness of its noise, mingled with that of running water, and the smell of wet earth. Again we kissed, longer than the last time. I have a beauty mark on the side of my neck, and he kissed me there too, telling me that it was the most enticing thing he had ever seen. He traced the blue lines of my veins on my wrists, which the sleeves of my dress were too short to cover.
    “This is the origin of the phrase blue blood ,” he said. “People of noble descent are supposed to have fair skin, but I have never seen any as translucent as yours. Look at my hand: I have no blue blood, either literally, because my complexion is much darker than yours, or figuratively, because I am the grandson of a peasant.”
    He put his hand against mine. His was twice as large. He kissed the inside of mine and lightly followed the lines there with his fingertips. That simple caress, more than anything else, troubled me. I shuddered, my skin tingling. He never asked my permission before doing anything he pleased, but nothing he did offended me anymore. He now used the familiar form when addressing me. I no longer found it rude, and responded in the same manner. He did not try to touch me on those parts of my body hidden from public view. I rewarded his restraint by giving him my absolute confidence. He was over a foot taller than me, broad-shouldered and muscular, but I did not for a moment entertain the idea that he might take advantage of our isolation. I was not in the least afraid of him.
    In that manner we met many times in the course of the following weeks, until there was nothing on my mind but the thought of being with him again. I did not know what the future held for us beyond our next assignation, nor did I wonder about it. The present happiness occupied all of my waking hours, and many of my dreams. My brother was still often away and nothing prevented me from riding to the river.
    The heat turned stifling at the beginning of August. I met Pierre-André again on the pebble beach. No breeze was rustling the leaves above us. We were seated next to each other in the dappled shade, my head leaning against his arm. He had taken off his coat and waistcoat, and I my kerchief. My chemise was sticking to my skin under my corset and I felt beads of moisture forming between my breasts. Yet I did not recognize as mine the faint musky scent hovering in the still air. It came from him. To break free from its spell, I turned my attention to the river. Blue and green dragonflies, glittering like jewels, grazed the surface of the water. I looked wistfully at the insects. He read my mind.
    “You are dying to go into the water,” he remarked.
    I bit my lip and made no response. After our first meeting, I had never again bathed in front of him.
    “Do it,” he said. “Do you not trust me? I already saw you in your chemise, and did not harm you then. What is worrying you now?”
    I looked into his eyes. I read a certain amusement there, and no malice.
    “Would you do it too?” I thought of the Marquis de Carabas, the hero of one of my favourite fairy tales, who bathed naked in the river. I wondered whether Pierre-André would disrobe. This idea sent ripples of fear down to my stomach.
    “No, I will watch you from the bank,” Pierre-André said. “Like the first time we met. And I will turn away while you undress. Tell me when I may look.”
    His smile reassured me. I no longer hesitated. I removed my clothes and, wearing nothing but my chemise and corset, waded into the river. After a few yards, I turned around and looked at him. He was sitting on his haunches, his face averted. I could not resist the impulse to splash him lightly. He moved his head towards me and rose