Percy looked with longing on the woman that he loved, the woman that he adored, the woman that he would die for. She sat beside him on the long drives that he liked to take at night, the darkness enfolding them. He wanted to reach out and hold her, to caress her and to whisper in her ear how much he loved her. He knew that he should not, that she could still be a traitor. After all, she had sent the Marquise family to the guillotine.
He allowed himself the slightest pleasure as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear that had escaped from her perfectly coiffed hair. He could live a while on that one touch alone.
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