Louisa Rawlings Read Online Free PDF

your servant, Tintin. It’s up to you…”
    Chrétien had been sipping at the wine. Now he looked at Rouge, his soft brown eyes filled with laughter. “It doesn’t taste any less sweet for being ill-gotten.” He tried to look serious. “However, I’ll give the boy a stern reprimand. Tomorrow. Or the next day.”  
    Laughing, Rouge threw up her hands in despair. “I see I can’t win. Eh bien! Pour me a bit of that wine. I might as well enjoy François’ winnings with you!”  
    Supper was a merry affair. Tintin regaled them both with funny stories until Rouge couldn’t decide which brought her more pleasure: the food or the laughter. At length, sated, they leaned back in their chairs and finished the last of the wine, while François carefully covered and put away what little food they hadn’t managed to finish.  
    “For tomorrow,” said Rouge.  
    Tintin shook his head. “You’re just like your mother. Far too sensible and practical for a man like me!”  
    “Yet she married you.”  
    “She had no choice. I abducted her.”  
    “What? She never told me.”  
    “She always claimed to be shamed by the whole thing. But I suspect she enjoyed it, for all of that. It had all been arranged, of course. Without her knowledge. We had met in Paris, fallen in love, agreed to marry. The contract had been drawn up between my father and hers. The wedding meats were cooked and awaiting the arrival of the bride at Sans-Souci. But with the help of several of my friends…”
    “Hellions all, I have no doubt!” interrupted Rouge.  
    “Indeed. But I had her father’s approval. We stormed the coach that was bringing them to Sans-Souci; I dragged her out, kicking and screaming, and tossed her across my saddle. I spirited her away, and refused to bring her to Sans-Souci and the waiting priest until she agreed to pay the ransom.”  
    “Which was…”  
    Chrétien chuckled. “Never mind. But never was ransom more willingly paid, or gratefully received.”  
    Rouge smiled tenderly at her father. “What a foolish, romantic scheme. Small wonder she never told of it! But I’m sure that, in her heart, she found joy in the memory.”  
    Tintin looked away, his eyes filling with sudden tears. “Devil take me, but I loved that woman,” he whispered. He blinked and cleared his throat. “Now, daughter,” he said, smiling, “let me see if you’ve learned at last to play trictrac better than your mother!”  
    She gulped, stilling the sudden rush of emotion to her breast. Dear Tintin.  
    They laughed throughout the backgammon game, and, despite her protests, Tintin let her win, then denied having done so. Rouge insisted on a rematch, but as they were setting up their colored stones there was a soft tap on the door. Rouge put down her dice. “That will be your night’s work, or I miss my guess. What of François?”  
    “I can sleep in the passageway. I’ve done it before,” piped up the boy.  
    “Good night, then.” Rouge picked up a taper, lit it on Tintin’s candle, and shielded it with her hand as she passed through the connecting door to her own chamber. Her room was even smaller than Tintin’s: a cold cell sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, a small table, a stool. She sighed. Sans-Souci was old and in need of repair, but its meanest stable had more warmth than this cheerless room.  
    She lit her candle from the taper and began to undress. As she worked, she was conscious of the sounds that came from Tintin’s room next door: laughter and whispering and tender cries which could be heard quite clearly through the thin walls. She put down her comb and stared into the flame of the candle. How simple it was for Tintin. He fell in and out of love like a child, glorying in each new affair, each passing infatuation, each casual night of love. And the romantic abduction of her mother on their wedding day… She smiled to herself. How like Tintin, to declare his love in such a flamboyant way, for all