Even though Rosalind had put a white handkerchief in the window, the Duke did not show. She was restless, her shadow flickering up and down the room as she paced. The Chevalier knelt outside her door, watching her, unsure of what to do.
He knew the reason for her lover's absence, a quarrel with his favorite Lignerol. It would relieve her, to at least know the Duke would not be coming, instead of waiting. The Chevalier scratched at the door, and the footsteps stopped. He raked his nail up and down the wood until the door opened. Even in the dim light he could see the feverish tint of her cheeks and the disappointment in her eyes. Still crouching, he entered her room.
Sitting on Rosalind's bed, he said to her, "The Duke won't be coming tonight. His favorite is angry with him and he will be busy all night trying to soothe Lignerol's temper."
"Thank you for telling me." She sat beside him. "How is..." She was going to ask him how her husband was, but she did not think she was supposed to know about them.
Her husband's behavior toward her had become mercurial since her affair with the Duke had begun in earnest. Sometimes he would not leave her be, causing her to miss the Duke's visits. Other times, it was though he could not stand to look at her. He would escort her to court, only his fingertips touching her. His eyes would focus on her ear, her chin, but not her eyes.
The Chevalier sighed. There was something he wanted from Rosalind, an intimacy only she could give him. He wished to speak of her husband, to be treated like the Prince's lover. Already he was happy he disturbed her.
He moved to lay back against the pillows, and held his arms out to her. She crawled over to him, laying her her cheek on his chest. "I think your husband is conflicted. He suffers because you love the Duke, because he loves to watch you love the Duke, because he loves both you and me. It seems we all suffer."
"Not the Marechal, or the Duke, or the Princess Mary," she replied with a bitter laugh.
"No, the Duke suffers, I see it in his eyes when he knows you are not watching him. And Mary, she risks much in seeing you. She must pine for you." A large ruby ring caught his eye, the true vermillion that they called pigeon's blood. "Was that ring a gift from her?"
"Yes."
"What does the Marechal say about me?"
Rosalind rolled in his arms to look up at him. There was thoughtful look in her eyes, and he stroked her face, waiting for her to answer. "He tells me never to confide in you."
He bent down to kiss her. "Does he tell you not to lay with me?"
"No."
"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
She shook her head, fidgeting with the ribbon of her chemise. "The Marechal is odd. I think he's waiting for everyone to grow tired of me."
The Chevalier slipped his hand into her gown to cup her breast. "Is that his plan to win your heart, to loiter?"
"No, he's my friend, that's his plan to woo me."
Her nipple hardened under his fingers, and his other hand reached underneath her skirt to rest on her thigh. "Do you think he's right about me, that you shouldn't trust me with your secrets?"
There was color rising in her cheeks, and she was pulling at his shirt to caress his skin. While the court was full of all manner of exotic rumors, none of them concerned her husband having an affair with another man. In fact, there were very few rumors about an affair between her and the Chevalier. Looking into his eyes, she saw something there she did not expect--a shyness, a trembling need. "No, I think he would be jealous though. It pleases him that there is some distance between my husband and I. He doesn't worry about the Duke; he's confidant that my love for him will flare and die, like a moth consumed in a flame."
She curled one knee in, exposing her sex to him. If he took her now, it would be a secret between them. He had left the Prince fast asleep in his bed, exhausted. His lover had played the man with great fury, and he quickly fell into a slumber when the act was done. "What about me?" the Chevalier asked.
"He fears we could grow to be close friends. I don't know why, but to the Marechal, that is worse than a lover."
"I have heard rumors of his strange passions, and in a way I understand." As he idly stroked her she began to squirm in his arms, arousing him. "Does it worry you, to have so many lovers, in a court so full of gossip?"
"Diana uses her influence to aid me. Regardless of the gossip, there are enough people backing me that it does not matter."
"Did your mother teach you to navigate the court? It would surprise me, you made your debut with that humble elegance of the innocent." The hands touching her were thoughtful now, as if he were tracing her journey through the court, from fresh bud to full blown rose. He did not mean to make her come; his fingers moved by habit, coaxing a hot rush of liquid that coated his hands.
She pushed him away, panting. "No, she did not. The Marechal is teaching me, and the Duke. And you and the Prince, you two teach me discretion."
The Chevalier chuckled. "You are a poor pupil then. You are always being spied upon, having your name whispered."
She stiffened in his arms for a moment. "It is just you and my husband who watch at my doors, right?"
"Don't worry, the only man I have caught peeping in at you is the Duke, which I doubt you mind."
"You're right, that I don't mind." Taking his hands, she put his finger in her mouth.
"Do you want me to make love to you?" the Chevalier asked. There was a feral look in her eyes as she took a measured breath. He rolled so she was under him, his sex pressed between her legs.
"There's no one watching," she said, tangling her fingers in his hair.
