So Much For Love...

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

One afternoon, the Rogue stood at the window from his bedroom, his heart aching as he watched the plain black carriage of the Duchess. 

Then a movement below caught his eye. 

He thought his mind was playing tricks on him when a giant gray stallion trotted down the street. 

But the girl was the same, staring at him through the glass and laughing at him, her eyes shining with contempt. 

He pulled the curtains to shut her out, but she had already disturbed his mood. 

Instead of reminiscing on his afternoon of love, the Rogue was absorbed with an unease he’d never known, wondering how that strange girl had found him. 

After that day, she was always there every time he met with the Duchess. 

For the first time in his life, the Rogue felt alone. He didn’t dare confide to anyone about this, not even his most intimate friend. Seeing his nemesis after a tryst was humiliating, but pride kept him quiet. 

Desperate to evade her, the Rogue started taking risks, insisting the Duchess make love to him in outrageous places. She resisted at first, only to give in to her lover’s demands, her eyes glowing from the thrill of danger. 

But the girl was always the first the Rogue saw after he parted from his mistress, and there was nothing he could do about it.     

As summer gave way to autumn, the Duchess announced she had a perfect solution to the dilemma of separation.

She found a private hotel and rented a suite there under an assumed name. 

The Rogue knew the place well, having been there many times with other mistresses.

For the first time, he felt empty when they made love, wondering if he’d been in these same rooms with another married woman. He tried to push such disturbing thoughts from his mind. 

He loved the Duchess. She loved him. Destiny was cruel. 

The Rogue held onto these beliefs while he dressed and his mistress prepared her toilette before returning to her husband. He took leave with adieus of tenderness, but his step was heavy when he left. 

The girl was outside the hotel. 

She must have stolen some new clothes. Her riding breeches were too big, but otherwise sound. Her creamy blouse was also large, but pristine with sleeves billowing down her arms. The front dipped into her chest, displaying the curve of her long throat. 

She turned to him with another insolent smile.    

The Rogue decided he’d had enough and stopped his horse near hers. 

Being close to her made him uncomfortable. 

During his long career, he seduced the most desirable ladies in society with their soft skin and sweet perfumes. 

This girl had an animal scent that shocked his senses. 

The Rogue had never been afraid of a woman before, but he was unnerved waiting for her to move or speak. 

But she just stared at him until he broke the silence. 

“Why are you following me?” he asked.

“Because I can,” she said.     

“As refreshing as it is to have a woman giving chase, I would prefer you stop.”

“Would you, now?”

Her command of his language was impressive, her accent so light he wasn’t certain which country she came from. Her face made that impossible to discern. 

The Rogue couldn’t stop staring at her. 

She brought to mind adventures he had in seaside towns, going into pubs filled with angry ruffians, men who spoke with their fists and felt more at ease in war than peace. If such a man were to be made into a woman, she would be this girl with her brutal features. 

Her figure was too slender to be fashionable, but her form appealed to him nonetheless. There was strength in her subtle curves, the shadow of breasts teasing behind the cream of her blouse, her thighs’ long muscles hugging the flanks of her mount. 

When he met her gaze again, he was embarrassed to see the return of her insolent smile.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked.

He was startled at first, but shrugged it off.

“I do. But to be honest, you’re not my taste.” 

She smiled and looked into the windows of the hotel. When she spoke again, her voice was taunting.   

“That which is savory today,” she said, “will taste bitter tomorrow.”

“What?”    

“Do you really believe you’re the first?”

The meaning behind her hint sunk its claws into the Rogue, and he was relieved to feel wrath surging within him. Ire liberated him from the fear that had gripped him when he approached her, and it engulfed him further with each stroke of conversation. 

“What are you trying to say?”

“What do you think?” She nodded to the apartments he just left. “Her husband knows all about you, just like he’s known about the others.”

“You filthy liar!”

“Don’t pretend to be such a naïf, or were you so easily duped? A man like you!”

The Rogue found it impossible to believe such a girl could have any information about the Duchess.

“How do you know?” he asked. 

“I was acquainted with one of her former lovers.”

“And how did you manage a connection like that?” 

“The same way I made yours.”

For months, her presence had been a torment. Every time he saw the girl after a rendezvous, the Rogue was reminded he had lost his freedom.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing you make good use of, Rogue,” the girl chuckled. “But that’s not my point. It is I who has what you want, and I’m here for you.”

“I want you to stop following me,” he said.  “If I ever see you again I will report you to an asylum. And I’ll make certain you stay locked up.”

“As you wish,” she said. “But you will want to see me again.”

The girl kicked her mount into a canter and left. The Rogue stared down the avenue long after she disappeared from view. 

He met with his mistress once more after that day. 

He started avoiding places where it was likely he would see the Duke and his wife. 

For the first time, the Duchess had to call for her lover, sending a note on rose-colored paper with her perfume a signature. 

The Rogue came to her. 

But he looked into her sparkling brown eyes and remembered the Duchess loved theatre more than opera. 

Then all he saw was a gifted actress playing her favorite role. 

He looked around the suite of a hotel that accommodated the indiscretions of the noble, and knew the Duchess had taken other lovers in these rooms.  

He could almost hear her crying the same words to another in the same anguished rapture that had overcome his better sense. 

He realized he’d been seduced into a fantasy of love in much the same manner he lured his debutantes hungry for an intrigue.  

The Rogue was appalled to recognize how much the Duchess was his kindred spirit. 

His refined sense of irony made it possible to leave the room with dignity, but he turned back when he opened the door. 

The Duchess was flushed and her eyes narrowed. At least she hadn’t foreseen her abandonment. 

The Rogue closed the door behind him, and the only illusion he ever cherished in his life was destroyed.

Outside the hotel, he looked up and down the street, and realized he was searching for his nemesis. 

She was good for her word, but he found no relief in her absence.