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abyssal-ali · 2 months

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her own elusive pimpernel

| Pairing: Percy Blakeney x Marguerite St Just | Rating: M | WC: 5.5k | Ao3 | Summary: Somewhat of an exploration between Marguerite and Percy after their wedding, when all the angst begins, to after the ending, where the fluff begins. |

Spring 1791

Percy stared blankly into the mirror in front of him, overcome with disgust at the news the Baron had just delivered..

“From this moment on, she must never be trusted,” he whispered to Tony. “I only pray that I might be able to hide my horror at her actions.”

The musicians began a dance tune, and Percy slipped from the Scarlet Pimpernel, scourge of the Revolution, to Sir Percy Blakeney, idiotic sweetheart of London. Marguerite approached him, a small smile on her lips.

He swallowed down the disgust, fixing a smile onto his own and taking his new wife’s offered hand.

~~~

Marguerite received the nod from the musician, alerting her to the couple’s dance coming up. She crossed the room to find her new husband, talking with his friend, Lord Dewhurst.

He looked at her strangely, delaying in taking her hand with an unusual restraint. Their dance was perfectly smooth, but he was stiffer than she’d ever felt, keeping his hands and body in their regimented places, not even stroking her with his thumb as he had done before when they danced. Why was he being so stiff, she wondered. She hoped it was only post-wedding jitters.

She herself was smiling brilliantly, not giving away her nerves at the thought of the upcoming wedding night. Did bridegrooms get nerves too, or was it only the brides?

The dance ended and they paid their courtesies to each other. Percy stepped away as soon as he could, greeting some friend or another of his. She didn’t even miss his warmth–she hadn’t felt it at all.

Was Percy coming down with a cold? That could explain his strange behaviour and unusual lack of warmth.

Marguerite turned to greet the guest who had called her name, with one last glance at her husband.

~~~

The carriage was readied to take them to the inn at the port, where they would board Percy’s yacht the next day to take them to his estate in England. Marguerite waved her goodbyes and climbed in, accepting Percy’s hand.

He settled on the seat opposite her, even though there was plenty of space for the two of them on her side, even with the yards of fabric making up her wedding gown. She hid the hurt that caused her. Perhaps he did not want to be teased by his friends, who were still gathered on the portico outside.

The carriage started with a jerk, and she grasped the edge of the seat for balance. Percy did not glance at her, staring out the window. What he could see in the darkness outside, she did not know. He didn’t even bring his habitual quizzing glass up to his eye.

She was starting to think that he was ignoring her.

Dieu, she’d heard from other women that men liked the thrill of the chase, that they grew bored once they’d trapped their wives into marriage, but surely it did not happen the moment the ring was on her finger.

She recalled the moment from only a few short hours ago. No, he had looked at her with such passion in his eyes. She was the best actress in Europe–she knew when others were acting. That had been no pretense. So what had happened to make him so cold towards her?

Marguerite cleared her throat.

Her husband continued to look out the window.

“Percy.”

Finally, he deigned to look at her.

“Yes, m’dear?”

She bit back a sigh at his flippant query. He was certainly a simpleton in her eyes at times, but never to the extent that he showed the public. He had promised she would find out what lay behind those guileless brown eyes once they were wed!

“You seem rather tired,” she said instead. “Is it long till we reach the inn?”

~~~

Marguerite breathed in the fresh sea air, tilting her neck to watch the small flock of gulls crying in the sky above. The voyage to England on the Day Dream had been pleasant so far; she had never been one for seasickness–or any illness, louange a Dieu.

However, she was in rather an ill temper at the moment. Her darling new husband had been steadfastly avoiding her–a rather impressive feat, for having such a limited amount of space available to dodge her.

He’d also been rather stupider than normal, making an absolute mess of the ropes and lines his crew had left out in an attempt to be helpful, among other things.

Well, Marguerite would like him to stop attempting to be helpful to a crew of sailors who’d manned this yacht many a time, and would like him to instead attempt to be helpful to his wife , whom he was on his honeymoon with , and perhaps pay some attention to her instead.

The man hadn’t even tried to kiss her! She’d kissed him when he’d shown her to the privacy of her room, more spacious and holding more thought put into her comforts than she’d expected, and he’d barely even kissed her back, instead heading immediately out the door when she’d stepped back, hurt at his distance.

His kisses before their marriage had always had a certain level of passion to them, igniting a burning in her that she was sure only he could douse. Now, nothing more than a single spark passed between them. He’d been such a gentleman during their courtship and engagement, which she’d found rather sweet, if a bit irritating at times.

It was one of the reasons men married, non ? She would have thrown herself at him if she’d thought it would make any difference, but she instinctively knew that would not close the distance Percy had put between them.

Shaking her head at her musings over her husband’s strangeness, she turned from the rail. They were almost at port, and she needed to change to make a good impression on her new country.

~~~

Percy released a long sigh inwardly as the walls of Blakeney Mansion appeared. Home at last. Somehow, this had been the most stressful of his visits to France that he could remember, and he’d not been close to discovery once.

The unknowing source of his distress alighted from the carriage, turning slowly to take in her new home. Percy felt himself wishing for her to be impressed by her surroundings.

“Welcome to Blakeney Manor, my dear,” he said, taking her hand. “Shall we?”

~~~

Summer 1791

Percy’s refusal to stand up for her, despite having just received the horrible news that she’d sent an entire family to Madame Guillotine, was the straw that broke the back of Marguerite’s well-restrained feelings. He hadn’t chosen the other acceptable course of action, either–comforting her upon learning that she had innocent blood on her hands.

His cruel words to her still rang in her ears. “So, m’dear, it would seem you found a way to repay St. Cyr, after all.”

Suzanne, her dear friend, clasped her hand between hers, bringing her back to the present.

“Oh, Suzanne, what do I do? My husband does not love me, and I do not know why.”

“Percy worships the very ground you tread,” insisted Suzanne.

“Once, perhaps,” Marguerite said dully. Had she lost it even before she could even truly call him her husband? When had it begun, why had his disdain started? “But now he hides from me in private and in public. I sense moments when I catch some fondness in his eyes…a look, a glance…”

A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden. “Why does he no longer love me?”

~~~

Marguerite took Percy’s hand grudgingly, sweeping into the Manor with her head held high. He may not speak with her as if they were equals, anymore, but she would not let him make her feel inferior.

He followed her up the stairs, to her room. She did not think that he truly wished to spend time with her, but perhaps– he’d simply been stunned as well to hear of St. Cyr’s death? No, the disgust in his eyes when he’d spoken to her had been all for her.

“Good night, my dear,” he said cheerfully as she laid her hand on the doorknob. “Pleasant dreams.” He smiled, an ironic twist to his lips as if knowing she would not get any sleep that night, tossing in her bed at the thought of her bloodied hands.

He kissed her forehead simply, and that small gesture, after weeks of his ignorance except when absolutely needed, moved her to impulsively ask him, “Stay with me tonight.”

He looked as if he might accept, for one moment, then his expression closed and he gave a yawn that, even if she had not been the best actress in Paris, she could have seen was fake.

“No, I’m afraid I’m far too fatigued. Besides, I don’t want to disturb you…I have an early appointment in London tomorrow.”

Oh, how positively thoughtful of him. Anger beat fiercely in her chest as she opened the door, intent on shutting it in his face. Not that he’d particularly feel left out, since he hadn’t stepped foot in her chambers since she’d arrived, but it was the symbolism of the matter.

“Your tailors, no doubt,” she snapped.

“Bootmakers, to be precise.” He waved his quizzing glass at his leather-clad feet.

Her anger melted some, to disappointment, perhaps. “Oh, Percy. Where is the man I married?”

“Od’s fish, my dear, you’re looking at him.”

“No, what I see before me is a facade, some role you are playing; I don’t know why, but I am sure it is. You promised me that I would get to know the man behind the mask, if I married you.”

Had anything been real? Which was the role, the fop or the actor playing the fop? She could never tell which was his true face, and which his stage face.

No, the actor playing the fop had always been honest with her. He was still there, somewhere, even if he refused to let her see him.

“Well,” he said softly, blinking. “Perhaps there’s no more to know.”

She exhaled in frustration. “I refuse to believe that. The man I fell in love with still exists somewhere. I shall never, ever stop loving him.”

Percy looked at her, really looked at her, something she hadn’t seen from him in ages. He leaned forward slightly, and she dared to hope that he would finally shed whatever role he insisted on playing, even in private.

But then he recovered, turning away.

She watched him walk away, heart breaking as she fled into her chambers.

~~~

Armand was visiting, and Marguerite felt some small measure of happiness. The first man she loved was there, and still loved her, even if the second did not.

But then her brother broke the news that he was returning to Paris, despite the dangers it held for him. She could not survive losing him as well, and she turned to her silent husband, begging for his help.

“Oh, Percy, do persuade him to stay here.”

Percy chuckled lowly, unusual for his higher, effected tones he continually used in her presence these days. “What has Armand done to be damned to matrimony?”

His words sliced through what somehow remained of her still-beating heart. Stricken, she stared at his implacable expression, before gathering her skirts and retreating to the house.

God help her, she loved him still.

~~~

Marguerite stared at her dressing table, thoughts swirling throughout her mind. Chauvelin’s whirlwind of a visit that afternoon had completely muddled her head.

Dear Armand was working with the Scarlet Pimpernel. She detested the added danger that her brother was in, but she herself had described the unknown hero as ‘brave, honest, and compassionate’. She could not blame her brother for wanting to work with the man, and she was certainly proud of his own bravery.

Apparently all of London thought her to be unhappy in her marriage. Well, she certainly was not happy, but she was an actress, for heaven’s sake! Surely, her skills had not completely failed her in the few months of her marriage?

And then the dreadful man had propositioned her! The nerve of him, in her husband’s house and after he’d maliciously implicated her in the death of the St. Cyr family! She had felt some fondness for him, once, but it paled in comparison to what she felt for Percy, even when he was being a dreadful idiot.

Any remnant of fondness died when she discovered he was the one to send the St. Cyr family to the guillotine, naming her as informant and putting the final nail in the coffin of her love-dead marriage. Now the only feelings she had for the man were hatred and repugnance.

The real issue tangling her thoughts was what the odious man had left her with: a proposition of the darker sort, to spy on society through her guise as Lady Blakeney, to find out the Scarlet Pimpernel’s true identity. And he had used his proof of Armand’s heroic links to blackmail her. Her brother, now the only one in her life who loved her, or the masked man saving dozens of aristos’ lives?

She could not send any more innocents to the guillotine, purposely this time, any more than she could sacrifice her brother.

Percy’s form behind her reflected in the mirror. She looked up, an unconscious smile gracing her lips. He looked so very handsome.

“I apologize if I startled you, my dear.”

There it was, that cold, cold ‘my dear’. That term of endearment meant nothing when he dropped it casually, the both of them knowing that he did not truly mean it.

Her smile faltered. “I was simply daydreaming.”

He smiled back at her in the mirror, gently resting his hand on her shoulder as he complimented her.

Percy may not love her anymore, if indeed he ever had, but she still loved him, and she would treasure every kind word he gave her, if he gave them even half-sincerely.

This was why she had refused to fall in love with any other before him. The pain of love she had observed in others did not seem to outweigh the giddiness of the emotion, the desperation that would drive one to act in ways they were far too composed for, eager for any crumb of fondness from the one they had enslaved themself to. No, it was not for her.

Then this stupid, beautiful man had come and swept her off her feet, stealing her heart with his playful clumsiness. Now, she was the one forlorn and aching for a morsel of affection, and yet she could not bring herself to regret it or give up on him.

She had meant what she said, forever loving the man she knew he was, somewhere deep beneath the mask he donned.

~~~

The ball was in full swing when they arrived, trailing the Prince of Wales. Percy left her almost immediately, and she was approached by Chauvelin.

She still had not decided on her response, the weight of at least two lives hanging over her head, making her unable to think clearly. Percy had surely been no help, nor comfort.

Marguerite was relieved to find out that she had only to lift the letter off of Sir Ffoulkes, for the evening’s task.

Feigning faintness was nothing new, and she maneuvered Andrew into the small reception room off the ballroom. Once she had memorized the note’s contents and assuaged Andrew’s worries that she’d read it, she bit her lip in thought.

Now what was she to do? The words circled her mind as she thought of the best plan of action.

We are leaving tonight for France. Meet me in the library at midnight for your instructions.

She had half-suspected Andrew of being the Scarlet Pimpernel, but clearly he was only in league with the man. Lord Dewhurst, then?

Her husband’s friends were certainly rather suspicious. She could not betray the hero or her husband like that. What to tell Chauvelin…

The simplest and most believable action was to simply tell the truth. With bated breath, she informed the man of the note’s contents.

The clock said a quarter to twelve.

As soon as Chauvelin was distracted with his dancing partner, she headed off to the library. There was no time to waste.

The dimly lit room was quiet and still when she cautiously entered. She glanced around, but no one appeared to be there.

A board creaked and she whirled. “Who’s there?”

“You must not turn around,” a man whispered.

A small smile crossed her lips. She had reached the man in time to warn him, and she was now in his very presence.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I tricked Sir Andrew and read your note,” she confessed. “I came to warn you. Chauvelin knows that you will be here at midnight.” Because of me.

“You told him,” the reproach was clear through his whisper.

“I had to.” For Armand. “To save my brother. He threatened to arrest him unless I aided his search to uncover your identity.”

“Why do you do this now?” he sounded wondering, hopeful almost.

“I could never live with myself, knowing I was responsible for your death.”

“You already have the St. Cyr family to your credit, what is another life?”

“That’s a lie!” she turned her head. A curtain rustled behind her. “Chauvelin deceived me!” Telling someone, who might believe her, even if he were not her husband, was a relief she had not known she needed.

“I turned him down for another and he maliciously used my name to arrest the man, knowing I disliked him for what he did to my brother. But I could never have sent the St. Cyrs to Madame Guillotine anymore than I can send you.”

“If that is true, you are very brave for meeting me here.”

“I am a fool,” she retorted. “If Chauvelin finds out, he could rake Armand from me”

“I will protect your brother,” swore the Pimpernel.

“Can I trust you?”

“I give you my word.”

“I don’t even know who you are; why don’t you tell me,” she suggested. His quiet footfalls sounded closer to her now.

“A phantom, my lady.” He sounded like he was warning her away from him.

“No,” she breathed. “You are as real as life itself to me…You are so near, I can feel your warmth.” As warm as Percy had once been, before their wedding dance.

“Touch me,” she asked.

For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then the weight of a hand was on her shoulder. The same feel as the hand that Percy had laid on her same shoulder that very night.

Her hand came up to grasp his. Could it be-

The clock struck midnight.

“Chauvelin,” she gasped.

She turned.

No one was there.

With one last glance around the room, she stepped out of the window. Her act here was complete; the curtain could now fall.

~~~

“Tell her I love her. More than ever.”

As Percy strode aboard the Day Dream for his nighttime sail to France, the evening’s events traipsed through his mind, instead of his usual plans.

His dear wife had not been as vicious as he thought, sending an innocent family to the guillotine. She had been tricked, by someone she once thought was a friend.

Now, with her darling brother’s life in peril, she had chosen to help him anyways, proving her goodness. When she had revealed her situation, he had felt a great weight lift off his heart, swelling up with love for her in its stead.

He had never stopped loving her, but for a time his disgust at her actions had covered it. Now, he found, she was more lovely than ever, and a certain happiness filled him. When he returned, he could find more about her than before and love all that he found as well.

But first: the Dauphin and Armand.

~~~

“Where is Percy? I must speak to him at once,” Marguerite ran into the Manor, rousing the footman by the door.

“He’s gone, my lady.”

“Where on earth would he have gone in the middle of the night?”

“There’s a note for you, in the library,” he motioned at the room.

She snagged a candelabra and headed off.

It was even darker than the one at Lord Granville’s, but with the light from the damped fire and the candles, she caught the letter left on the mantel for her.

“The north country?”

Percy was eccentric, but he would never do something like this. What if his precious cravats were wrinkled because they were packed in a hurry in the dark?

“Ridiculous.” She glanced up at the portrait of one of Percy’s ancestors hanging above the mantel. The signet ring on his left hand had a strange pattern on it–not the one she’d seen on Percy’s ring.

She had seen that same pattern on the Scarlet Pimpernel’s ring–three small pimpernels.

The Blankeney coat-of-arms was scarlet pimpernels–oh, how blind she had been!

Percy was the Scarlet Pimpernel!

It all made sense once that small missing piece had been fitted into place. His trips to France, his strange behaviour, his silly rivalry with Chauvelin, his lord friends’ suspicious acquaintances…all a cover for his identity as the Pimpernel.

Oh, that foolish, wonderful man!

With a gasp, she realized where he had gone. She had to go after him, to tell him that Chauvelin knew–

She summoned the carriage for the Ffoulkes Estate.

“You’ll have your brother back alive–once I have caught the Scarlet Pimpernel. Think twice before you interfere again,” Chauvelin had snapped as he left.

Marguerite headed for Andrew. She had thought twice, and her answer was still the same.

~~~

Andrew had taken the news that she knew of his involvement with her husband, and her husband’s secret identity, rather well.

“He gave me a message for you when he left last night, my lady. ‘Tell her I love her, more than ever’, he said.”

A tear formed in Marguerite’s eye, but she let the sea breeze blow it away.

There were no secrets between her and Percy. She desperately hoped that they could have the marriage she’d dreamt of once they returned to England.

~~~

They arrived in Paris, and she learned that Percy had been imprisoned by Chauvelin and her brother was caught as well.

Both men were now in more danger than they’d ever been before. She demanded Chauvelin let her see Percy. Surely, he would have a plan, and she could help somehow. She still had connections, and at the very least, her acting skills and love for her husband.

The cell Chauvelin let her into was fairly large, a thin ray of sunlight shining on Percy’s golden hair, illuminating the grey, damp space.

He turned, adoration and horror mixed on his face. “Marguerite,” he whispered.

“You promised me alone,” she reminded Chauvelin sternly.

He left, “two minutes” his own reminder.

She stared at him, fitting her new version of Percy together as he stood there. Bravery and honour stood in front of her, and she felt a new surge of love for him bubbling in her veins.

“Oh, my darling,” she cried, running into his extended arms, wrapping her own around him.

He kissed her passionately, more than he ever had, seemingly feeling as she did, relief and hope and love.

“Oh, Marguerite. I wished so desperately to see you. Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?”

He looked so heartbroken at the reminder of the time he had spent mistrusting her.

“Oh, darling, it is I who must beg your forgiveness. Chauvelin told me he will release you if you give him the Dauphin’s whereabouts.”

Percy’s gaze shifted, and her heart sank.

“Tell them what they want to know,” she begged.

“My darling, you must not ask me.” He looked afraid…that she would refuse him after he said that. That she would turn and leave him, or implore the information from him, and he would willingly give it to her.

She took a breath. “Then we must get you out of here.”

He looked relieved as he considered her words. “I may have a way.”

~~~

Percy watched on in amusement as the plans he and Marguerite had made played out exactly as they had hoped.

The line of his men, his friends, aimed their rifles, firing at the target on the wall.

“PERCY!” The echoes of Marguerite’s screams wiped the humour off his face. He’d debated not telling her this part, so that it would be real enough to convince Chauvelin, but ultimately decided that his brilliant wife would have no trouble with that part of the performance at all.

Still, hearing her calling his name in grief, even faked, was difficult to hear.

“Sink me, I couldn’t agree more,” he interrupted Chauvelin’s smug victory.

His smile returned as Chauvelin’s disappeared.

~~~

Marguerite leaned into Percy’s embrace, staring ahead at the cliffs of Dover. As often as she could, she wanted to touch him, to reassure herself that he was really there, with her, unharmed. It had been terribly stressful, watching as he methodically and smugly took Chauvelin apart in their sword fight, even as it had been incredibly gratifying watching her husband play with him.

“They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven? Or is he in Hell? My own elusive Pimpernel.”

Percy stared down at her as she recited his verse back to him, a genuine smile on his face and love in his eyes.

“Sink me, the lady’s a poet,” he breathed, and then their lips met and his breath was hers.

~~~

The trip from the Day Dream to Blakeney Manor was much different from the first she had taken, with Percy by her side and his intelligent conversation to accompany her.

The time was not nearly long enough for her to completely figure out what was Sir Blakeney, Baronet and Wealthiest Fop in London, and what was the Scarlet Pimpernel, Hero to the French Bourgeoisie, but he was no longer hiding anything from her, and she could not have been happier.

She told him how she had realized his identity, and he stared at her with a proud smile on his face. “The cleverest woman in Europe does not do you justice by half, my dear.”

Warmth spread through her, and she knew that Percy had meant it when he called her dear. She’d been a little too preoccupied earlier to think too hard about the ‘darling’s and ‘dear’s he’d bestowed upon her while they rendezvoused in his cell.

“Oh, Percy, I do love you so,” she confessed, settling her head on his chest.

He wrapped his arm around her. “And I love you, Marguerite. Truly, I’m the luckiest man in Europe, to be loved by you.”

~~~

Marguerite’s maid closed the door softly behind her, leaving her alone.

She straightened her bottles of perfume on her dressing table, thinking. Percy and she had never had their wedding night, but now, with their renewed commitment to one another…

She’d been sheltered at the convent, but overheard enough at the theatre to understand at least the basics of the act of consummation. She would be no blushing bride, and she desperately wanted her husband.

If he would not come to her, she would go to him. Mind made up, she stood, striding across her chambers to the door.

Percy stared at her as they met in the hallway, his own door cracked open behind him.

“Marguerite. Is something the matter?”

“I was simply looking for you,” she replied, stepping closer until she was face-to-face with him.

“Ah, what a coincidence. I was coming to find you, my lady.”

She motioned towards his rooms. “Shall we?”

~~~

As soon as he closed the door behind him, she turned, wrapping her arms behind his neck. “Kiss me, Percy.”

And he did, the sparks they had shared now an inferno, spreading throughout her body, settling at her core.

She let her fingers trail down his neck to undo his cravat, tossing the starched cloth to the floor with an impatient flick. Her fingers continued their path to his waistcoat, undoing the buttons deftly.

His hand covered hers and he pulled away. “Marguerite-”

“I want you to make love to me, Percy.”

Her interruption caused him to swallow hard, any objections going with it. “Whatever my lady desires,” he said, bending further to kiss along her neck.

A strange noise escaped her, spurring him on to spread his kisses across her decolletage revealed by her nightdress.

He moved his hands off her shoulders long enough to shrug off his now-loose waistcoat, then they were back on her, skimming her side, her hip, her back.

They were everywhere and nowhere, and she felt like she was drifting away, only he was her anchor to earth.

She managed to work his buttons on his shirt and get it off him, revealing his very pleasing muscled torso.

She backed up, bumping into his bed, and he picked her up, setting her on the mattress. He sat beside her, bending over to take off his boots, but she slid off, kneeling in front of him, covering his hands with her own.

Her earnest gaze met his. “Let me.”

He slowly removed his hands, straightening slightly as she removed his boots for him. She reached for the buttons along the waistband of his breeches, having heard from other actresses what men enjoyed.

His hand covered hers again.

She met his eyes steadily. “Will you help me with this?”

Slowly, he pushed his breeches down, nimbly undoing his garters and stockings as well and kicking the whole ensemble off.

Nonplussed, Marguerite leaned forward a little, wrapping her hand around his length and gliding it up and down. She glanced up at Percy, smugly enjoying the look on his face. “I’ve heard men enjoy it when women put their mouths on them.”

“You don’t have to do anything you do not wish to, my dear.”

“But what about what you wish?” she retorted, licking curiously up the tip.

He jerked and she felt pleased, fitting her mouth over him carefully, not wanting to accidentally bite him. As she bobbed up and down, she attempted to take a little more each time, until the back of her throat refused to let her take more in. Her fingers stroked what she did not fit in her mouth, spreading her saliva to the very base.

Percy’s muttered praises cut off. She pulled back, glancing up to see if he was alright.

“More than fine, my darling Marguerite,” he assured her. “As to what I wish…” He helped her to her feet, then lifted her back onto the bed. “I wish to kiss my wife.”

Every touch of his lips sent tingles straight to her core, burning a path behind them as he moved over her mouth, neck, chest, breasts, even the inside of her wrists, making her gasp.

“Allow me to return the favour, my dear.” He moved her further up the bed, staying where he was so that he could trail kisses from her ankles to her thighs.

He shifted, lying between her legs so that his chin rested on her belly. “Are you comfortable?”

The vibrations from his vocal chords went straight through her. “Quite.”

With a tilt of his head, he licked at her core, one hand coming up to stroke through her folds while the other held her down, bracketing her hips. He worked his finger in her walls, then a second, rubbing until he found the spot she twitched and gasped at. The tenseness that had been building at her core released and she called out his name, pleasure suffusing throughout her body.

He grinned up at her, pleased. “Are you ready for the main event?”

She nodded, watching curiously as he entered her. It was a strange feeling at first, but made her feel so very complete, so close to Percy. She pulled him down to her by his shoulders so that she could kiss him.

“Je t’aime , Percy Blakeney, mon amour.”

He smoothed a hair back from her face before kissing her again. “Je t’aime tellement, Lady Blakeney.”

His hand came down to stroke her where they were joined, building up the tension again as he traced circles around her nipples with his tongue.

“Oh, Percy!” she cried, feeling a second release take over. He became boneless as well, collapsing by her side and drawing her into his.

“You were marvelous, my dear wife,” he praised, kissing her softly.

She returned it, throwing an arm over his waist. “As were you, my darling husband.” She kissed him again. “Let’s not stay in separate beds any longer, Percy. I quite like being here with you.”

“I, too, my love. As you wish, we will sleep together, as long as Fate lets us.”

LE FIN

#percy x marguerite #the scarlet pimpernel #perguerite #sir percy blakeney #marguerite st just #fic #ali writes

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