But that the newly married couple were already sleeping in separate rooms was a thought that he turned over in his mind.
He followed the couple to the theater and watched as they mingled with others. He recognized several of the people, including the owner of a brothel that was well known in Paris for its lovely clean girls, its exclusivity and its prominent members.
He wondered how well the madam was acquainted with Monsieur Fairfax and knew that she could be a useful tool against the man if ever he decided to go down that route. In the meantime, he was content to watch the couple from afar.
The newly wedded husband seemed devoted to his young bride. He spent much of the play gazing at her and touching her while she seemed enraptured in the play and oblivious to all around her.
He watched them quietly in the darkened theater and knew that since the marriage had been performed there had been no more pamphlets. He was certain a spoiled woman like Sophie, used to getting her way, would pick up the quill pen again. He doubted that the husband had forbidden her from writing.
He would continue to watch in silence. Sophie was the key and he would use her to further his ambition.
***
Juliette had not been startled by Sophie. She had always known that Sebastian would marry well and that she would be a beauty. She had been intrigued by the reason Sebastian had given for marrying her: the woman was in danger. How could a lovely, intelligent woman who had a powerful father and now an equally powerful husband be in danger?
She would never ask Sebastian about Sophie. She knew in her line of business that men preferred little talk and should only be questioned when they brought it up. A truly gifted courtesan was adept at using her tongue in a multitude of ways but conversation was chief among them.
She would wait for Sebastian to come to her. If it was truly a marriage of convenience, as he had said himself, he would become sexually frustrated soon enough and would visit her bed again. She didn’t mind. She had never been promised love and Sebastian was a considerate and talented lover. She would wait.
***
In the carriage ride home, Sophie rested her head against Sebastian’s shoulder. He touched her face lightly and she sighed.
“It was a lovely evening. Thank you,” she said, yawning.
“Of course. We should go on more outings. A picnic in the park, perhaps?”
Sophie closed her eyes. “Yes. I would like that.”
She reached out with her small hand to touch his and weaved her fingers into his on his thigh.
“It was a good evening,” she murmured.
Sebastian watched her lips move and wanted so badly to taste them—and every inch of her. No. He must behave himself.
“It was,” he murmured back.
***
Sophie was safely in her bedchamber undressing when Sebastian threw himself onto his own bed, naked. It had been a long evening—enjoyable, but also the same slow burn. He had not expected to see Juliette, but that had not been unpleasant. She had always been a loyal friend and good lover.
It was the closeness to Sophie that had been his undoing. He moved his hand along his hard shaft and thought of her again. So many times he had wanted her, ached for her, but was unable to take her.
He thought of her that morning at the chateau. He had been so close to pushing her legs apart and pressing into her. He moved his hand up and down the shaft and felt the tension building. He could well imagine her legs wrapped around his waist as his cock filled her deeply.
She would arch and beg him not to stop and he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He would move against her, their bodies glistening. He was moving his hand quicker and quicker up and down his thick shaft as the tension mounted.
He could imagine her lips against his as she climaxed with breathy cries in his ear. He would fill her tight pussy with his seed pumping deep inside her. At the same time, Sebastian climaxed with a guttural grunt as his milky ropes of seed spilled out onto his handkerchief.
He fell back onto his bed, exhausted and entirely spent.
***
Jean Pierre had been annoyed at the inspector’s arrogance to show his face on his doorstep. His claims of Marie as the writer of the pamphlets were laughable and he fully intended to cut the young inspector down a mark.
He wasn’t a man who threw his weight or power around such as it was, and he wasn’t a bully. But there was one domain which he would not have threatened and that was his home. The inspector had overstepped his boundaries. Jean Pierre would make certain it didn’t happen again.
He walked quickly from his offices to the commissioner’s office. He made no appointment because he didn’t need one. He would give his name, ask to see the man and he would state the case before him. The inspector should look elsewhere.
The commissioner was a portly man with little hair on top of his balding head. He seemed overly fond of drink and was already enjoying a glass of something brown when Jean Pierre was admitted to his office.