The General's Mistress by Jo Graham Page A

urgency.”
    “Of course, Madame.” He disappeared for a moment, then hastened out. “The general will see you.”
    I preceded him inside.
    Moreau got up from his paper-strewn desk and crossed the room with his hands outstretched. “To what do I owe the pleasure? And you are most charmingly dressed.” His eyes raked me up and down, lingering just a moment on the tight legs of the breeches, the buttons on either side at the waist.
    I put my head to the side. “Does your offer stand?”
    “My offer?” His voice was even, but I saw the flash in his eyes.
    “Your offer to teach me better when I left my husband. I have left him.”
    Moreau laughed. He turned his back and crossed behind his desk. I stood stock-still and immobile.
    “I am not laughing at you, Madame,” he said. “I am laughing at myself for not anticipating such directness. Of course I should have expected you to be entirely singular in this.”
    “Does your offer stand?” I asked. “I will be your mistress if you will do one thing for me.”
    He turned around, and his face was keen. Victor Moreau was no fool. “What is the thing?”
    “My husband wants to return me to Amsterdam. He has sent men to seize me. If you will prevent this and arrange for me to stay in France, I will do what you desire.”
    “What I desire.” He came toward me again. “I must say, I prefer this charming defiance to your slavish submission to that lout. I assume he means to lock you up. I wonder why.”
    “Because the money is mine,” I said. “It’s my dower. Jan hasn’t a sou that’s not mine.” He had very dark eyes, and they lingered on my face, on my throat. I did not look away from him. “He has to control me to keep the money. My mother is mad. It’s easy to tell people that I am just like her.”
    “And that he is solicitously caring for an invalid. I see.” Moreau reached one hand out and traced the line of my jaw, sensuously and slowly. His fingers pinched down on my earlobe, and I gasped. “Is that the way it is? You do look charming in that ensemble. I wonder how you’d look bent over my desk?”
    “I keep my word,” I said. I felt a strange excitement rising in me, curling out from between my legs and crawling up my body. “Whatever you desire.”
    “Ah, but what do you desire?” he asked. “Do you even know yet? Playing the coquette for men with no imagination?”
    With some difficulty I stepped back. “Do we have a bargain?” I asked. “You will not see me over your desk or anywhereelse until I have your word that you will offer me your protection and prevent me being returned to Holland.”
    He laughed. “You drive a bargain like a burgher, Madame. Very well. You have my word. I will protect you from your husband and guarantee you the protection of France. You are wasted on him, my dear. I think you will like this better.”
    “Then we have a bargain,” I said.

    I bade Colonel Meynier farewell with many thanks. He asked me at least ten times if I would be all right left in Menin.
    “I will be quite well, I assure you,” I said, clasping his hand warmly. “And I will always remember your kindness.” I watched him ride away, then returned to Moreau’s office. The day was ending and it was growing chilly despite the spring sun.
    Moreau looked up as I entered. “Well, Madame?”
    “The colonel is gone,” I said.
    He got up and walked around the desk to me. The door was closed, but there were two men in the outer office. I did not back up. I would not. I had made this bargain and meant to abide by it.
    “You will need a name,” he said. “My men know that you are here. If you wish to avoid any unfortunate encounters with your husband’s hirelings, then you need a name that is not your own.”
    I nodded. “St. Elme,” I said. “For the fire that illuminates everything and yet is nothing but illusion.”
    “Very poetic,” Moreau said. He stood just a little too close, but he did not touch me. “And perhaps Ida for a