ext_71853 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
alyxbradford.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2006-05-16 11:49 pm
alyxbradford.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-05-16 11:49 pm
[16 May] [The Scarlet Pimpernel] Chivalry in 1793
Title: Chivalry in 1793
Day/Theme: 16 May - with infinite regret but negligible hesitation
Series: The Scarlet Pimpernel
Characters: Chauvelin, Marguerite
Rating: PG
"Well."
Marguerite tried very hard not to tremble, but feared that her lower lip was giving her away. Still she kept her back straight and her chin high, for all she was on her knees, her arms held behind her by one of Chauvelin's lackeys.
"My dear Madame, you must be terribly cold, wandering the streets of Paris in this weather without even a cloak." His fingers brushed a mussed curl back from her face, tucking it too gently behind her ear. "Whatever are you doing about, so very late at night?" As his thumb ran lightly over her cheekbone, he smiled, that cruel slice of lips she'd become far too accustomed to seeing. "And all alone?"
"You toy with me, Monsieur Chauvelin," she said, her musical voice strong, for all it was barely above a whisper.
Chauvelin regarded her for a long moment, seeing in the twenty-six year old woman all of the vivacity, all the youthful vigor he had fallen in love with eight years earlier. All of the barely-leashed passion, willing to burn for another's sake.
Another man's sake.
The decision was easy; there was no decision to make, not really.
Chauvelin straightened, turning away from her. "My dear Lady Blakeney, I'm afraid the streets of Paris have become quite dangerous for a young woman walking alone. You simply must allow my men to escort you." He looked to Planchè and nodded. "To La Force."
Day/Theme: 16 May - with infinite regret but negligible hesitation
Series: The Scarlet Pimpernel
Characters: Chauvelin, Marguerite
Rating: PG
"Well."
Marguerite tried very hard not to tremble, but feared that her lower lip was giving her away. Still she kept her back straight and her chin high, for all she was on her knees, her arms held behind her by one of Chauvelin's lackeys.
"My dear Madame, you must be terribly cold, wandering the streets of Paris in this weather without even a cloak." His fingers brushed a mussed curl back from her face, tucking it too gently behind her ear. "Whatever are you doing about, so very late at night?" As his thumb ran lightly over her cheekbone, he smiled, that cruel slice of lips she'd become far too accustomed to seeing. "And all alone?"
"You toy with me, Monsieur Chauvelin," she said, her musical voice strong, for all it was barely above a whisper.
Chauvelin regarded her for a long moment, seeing in the twenty-six year old woman all of the vivacity, all the youthful vigor he had fallen in love with eight years earlier. All of the barely-leashed passion, willing to burn for another's sake.
Another man's sake.
The decision was easy; there was no decision to make, not really.
Chauvelin straightened, turning away from her. "My dear Lady Blakeney, I'm afraid the streets of Paris have become quite dangerous for a young woman walking alone. You simply must allow my men to escort you." He looked to Planchè and nodded. "To La Force."