Of Monsters and Men
Title: Of Monsters and Men 1/2
Characters: Hellstrom/OC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: QT owns everything important. (in the fic, anyway)
Warnings: In this fic: Explicit themes, rape, implied non-con orgasm, violence, general heir of creeper.
Summary:Lila's life had been broken into two parts: before the occupation and after
It wasn’t as if she had the luxury of turning them away, Lila Boudreaux thought, staring at the mess of dishes on the long table in the dining room. Before perhaps, but not now, not after. She gave a cheerless smile, a kind lifting of the left side of her mouth that was more of a facial tic than anything else, and set about scraping plates.
There was a time when the big, rambling house was just that-a big, rambling house in one of the better parts of Paris. Originally it was home to a duc, then the Revolution came and it was absorbed into the new French state. Then it was a school for girls. After a fashion it fell into disrepair and a wealthy couple purchased it in hopes of building their estate. Those were her grand-parents. By the time the house fell to her, the large family was only a set of distant cousins in America and herself. There was a carriage house in back. When she first inherited the place, she wanted to make it a boarding house. She had the money, it was in a desirable location, so why not? It’s not like she needed this place for her rambunctious family, now did she?
Lila made a face, her life had two phases: before the occupation and after. Before the occupation, she was lucky enough to have a relatively successful business. After, her business slowed to a trickle and then to nothing. No one traveled anymore. The parts of Paris that weren’t in ruins were choking on ration books and the streets were crawling with grey uniforms. She wasn’t surprised when they came to her door, informing her with arrogant smiles that she had been given the honor of housing ranking officers of the SS. It seemed she would be a boarding house again, whether she wished it or not.
She supposed she shouldn’t complain. The presence of the officers meant more rations, first pick of the produce and meats at market (the shopkeepers were afraid to offer her any less than the best), and at least a modicum of safety from the almost daily raids of regular homes for “things that were needed for the War Effort.” Why the soldiers needed an ivory chess set from the little old man down the block she’d never know, but she never had to ask because they never came to her door.
Except to visit their compatriots.
Lila sneered. It wasn’t the uniforms that were the problem. It was what was inside the uniforms. Uniforms were just the wrapping. Like the unremarkable paper on a very unwanted gift.And so what if she was treated differently by her neighbors now. If she was ostracized for "collaboration" when all she was doing was what she was told. She wasn't particularly social before, why should she be after?
“Mademoiselle Boudreaux,” the voice boomed from the front hallway and Lila jumped almost upsetting the precarious tower of plates she was building.
“In here!” She knew it was one of the boarders. Probably angry they missed breakfast. She steeled herself for a demand of eggs-or something more difficult to throw together on short notice. Lila dragged the back of her hand across her mouth in irritation. She didn’t have time for any of their demands. Today was laundry day.
“Ah, mademoiselle, forgive me,” it was the young one. What was his name? “I seem to have lost a button,” he held up the offending bit of brass and gestured at his tunic, “I’m terrible at such things,” he grinned boyishly and tipped his head, “I don’t suppose you could…?”
“Of course,” Lila realized she was a kind of den mother to them. Everything from food to washing to darning their socks, it was enough to make her sick. “Into the salon please, I’ll find my sewing basket.”
Dieter, that was his name. She wiped her hands on her apron and left the dishes on the table. They would have to wait. Her sewing things were in the kitchen, she’d taken to leaving the mending by the large pot-bellied stove, because it was out of the way of the rest of the house. She could be downstairs if they needed her, but not a part of their nightly gatherings. Dieter, she wondered how she could have forgotten it, when first they were introduced she thought it sounded like a kind of beetle.
“I hope you don’t think me rude,” his voice was next to her elbow and she jumped again, reflexively clutching the sewing basket to her middle. Gasping, Lila turned accusatory eyes to him before she could stop herself. “My apologies, mademoiselle,” he looked abashed, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Not at all major, I would only have been a moment,” she gestured for him to take a seat at the farm table. “I’ll need you to remove your tunic, please.”
“Of course,” he went about the process of disrobing, belt, buttons, so on. “I do appreciate your taking the time-“
“Certainly,” she felt her lip lift in that awful grimace again, “anything to be of service.”
He laughed, folding the tunic in half precisely and handing it to her. “You don’t care for us, do you mademoiselle?” Lila held her face perfectly impassive and he smiled again, boyishly handsome. The glint in his eyes told her he knew it, “Now, don’t try to deny it, you don’t, you really don’t.”
“Would you care for a cup of tea while you wait, Major?” Lila’s heart beat ticked up a notch and she had to force herself to keep her tone even. She knew what happened to those who were openly opposed to the new regime.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” the way he said it told her he expected milk and sugar as well. She took the kettle off the stove and poured hot water into a china pot, she considered for a moment giving him the simple flower teas she made herself now that things were scarce, but a quick look at his smirk told her that was what he expected. She reached for the tin of the imported tea they favored.
“This won’t take long.”
“I have no doubt,” he leaned back in the cane chair, considering her as she placed the delicate pot and cup and saucer in front of him and resumed her seat. “You’re a bit of a mystery to us, you know.”
“Oh?” Lila reached into the sewing basket blindly and removed a small pair of embroidery scissors and the pin cushion. “Why is that?” the black thread was at the bottom of the basket.
“A young woman in a big house like this, usually a boarding house matron would be an old widow, you know.” He ignored the teapot and pulled a cigarette case from a pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?” He didn’t wait for an answer, lighting the cigarette with the practiced ease of a man not used to ‘no’.
“How do you know I’m not an old widow in disguise?” She didn’t know why she bothered to talk to them. They could find out whatever they wished about her anyway. She had no doubt this man knew her personal history better than she did and was only waiting for the excuse to spout it back to her.
“Because you’re much too pretty,” he exhaled and smoke enveloped her. Lila fought not to cough.
“You shouldn’t say such things, Major,” Lila was fully aware that she was pretty. In a purely superficial way, she knew she was almost beautiful. That didn’t mean that she wanted to be told such by the man sitting across from her. She glared at the needle in front of her and licked the thread again. It was hard to thread a needle while being watched so intently.
“What made you decide to open a boarding house? This is a family home, is it not?” he glanced around the well outfitted kitchen, “Sure you do not need the money.”
“What made you decide to be a Nazi, Major? Are you following in someone's footsteps?” she cocked her head, considering him, “Surely you do not need to seek anyone’s approval.”
His laugh was pure and infectious, his smile genuine. “I could have you shot for that, you know,” his tone was conversational.
“But you won’t,” she looked up from the needle before jabbing it into his tunic, refusing to wince when she speared her thumb. It wouldn’t do for him to see he upset her, “Who else would mend your uniform?”
“What makes you think I cannot do it myself?” He flicked his ash into the empty teacup at his elbow.
“Then why ask me?” Lila held the button firmly against the wool tunic.
“Perhaps I wanted to spend some time alone with the pretty proprietress.” He cocked his head, “Lila,” it was the first time he called her by her name. He seemed to savor it, rolling the vowels on his tongue like a sweet. She didn’t like the way it sounded in his mouth. “If we had not annexed your home, would you do as the other well bred ladies of Paris do?”
She arched a delicate eyebrow, “Do?”
He bared his teeth in a grimace, picked a piece of tobacco from his tongue and shrugged, “Surely you’ve heard what happens in the markets, the foolish, childish tricks.”
The soldiers occasionally insisted on searching the baskets of shoppers in the market. Parisians had their own kind of passive resistance. Rotten eggs, mostly, occasionally rancid meat, the trick was wrapping your real purchases tightly enough that when an errant hand was shoved into the basket and it broke the awful contents, the real meat or real vegetables weren’t contaminated. Some women were so good at it, that it was a kind of an art form. The soldiers were wary of the market baskets now.
“Perhaps if they weren’t made to feel prisoners in their own city,” she offered neutrally.
“Prisoners? Parisians?” he threw back his head and laughed. She noticed the skin of his neck, it reminded her of the fragile inside of an eggshell. “The strong have an obligation to the weak,” he spoke as if it explained everything.
“And what obligation is that, Major?” Lila expertly knotted the button and the embroidery scissors flashed. Replacing the needle in the pincushion and the scissors in the basket, she refolded the tunic and presented it back to him. He folded it over his knee and regarded her thoughtfully, flicking more ash into the teacup. Lila shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took the opportunity to get her own teacup and saucer. If he wasn’t going to drink the tea, she would. It was too scarce to waste.
“To protect, of course,” he considered his cigarette, “certainly there are those that must be put to work to ensure the nobility of the state. That is true in any society, mademoiselle. And there are those, the rabble rousers, the anarchists, that must be crushed under the boot heel. But the ordinary citizens are free to continue their lives as they always were.”
“Not quite as they always were,” Lila felt like pointing out that the French state was noble before the occupation, but thought perhaps he’d take offense.
“Well no, of course not,” here he flashed teeth again, “now things are better.”
“For whom?” She poured herself a cup of tea and was glad that her hands did not shake and the saucer did not rattle. Grandmere would be proud of that.
“For you, of course.” He gestured around the kitchen, “When has your boarding house been so full?” The way he said it told her he knew full well she’d never been full to capacity before the soldiers came.
“You are not paying boarders,” she took a small sip of the tea.
“Oh no?” he jerked his chin at the pot on the stove, “The quality of your meat suffers while we are here? You have no fresh fruit for the entrance hall? Your sugar bowl is empty?”
“You’ve made your point, Major,” Lila caught a glimpse of herself in the window over the table. Her blonde hair was bright in the morning light, her mother used to call it her lion's mane. “Would you care for more tea?” She gestured at his ashy teacup.
Dieter looked uncomfortable, “I must apologize. I prefer coffee.” Lila nodded, coffee it was then. “Tell me, mademoiselle, why is there no strapping husband to share the burden of this great house?”
“None would have me, I’m afraid,” she called over her shoulder, setting the percolator. That wasn’t quite true. There was a boy, lying dead somewhere in Ardennes. She had his ring in a box upstairs.
“I find that very hard to believe,” he was close to her elbow again. Lila glanced over her shoulder. He was so close she could count the stitches on his collar. His voice lowered and he touched her for the first time. Just a simple trace of her spine, but she jumped violently. “Surely there was someone once.”
“A long time ago,” she eyed the percolator, willing it to work faster. “None since.”
“War is a difficult time,” he answered softly, “for women especially. While men can prove ourselves bravely in battle, women must go on as before. It must get very lonely maintaining an empty hearth.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Major,” Lila’s fingers curled in her skirt.
“Would you miss him so much, do you think, if he had been man enough to give you children?”
“I beg your pardon?” Lila jerked, whirling to face him. She grabbed the counter with both hands, knowing if she didn’t she would strike him.
“My apologies, Lila, I believe I’ve said too much.” He held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I only meant that a woman is best at nurturing,” he dipped his head again, catching her eye full on, “women are the backbone of a functional society.”
Lila’s eyebrows rose. She had nothing to say to that. Actually, she wasn’t sure what he was even talking about. She decided a quick end to the conversation was what was needed. “I hope you will not take offense, Major. I have much to do today, the coffee is almost ready, and-“
“Of course, I’ve kept you from your work too long.” He stepped back and suddenly she could breathe again. “May I ask what’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Hare, I think,” she gestured at the pot on the stove, “perhaps a stew of some sort.”
“Wonderful. I’ve eaten too well since coming here, I think, mademoiselle,” he rested a hand on his belly, “I fear I will not be able to return to normal food.”
Lila smiled at the compliment and stepped fully away from him, retreating back into the dining room. She knew he watched her go and it made her edgy for hours afterward. She felt his eyes and when she turned to tell him to leave her alone there was no one there.
&&&
In the afternoon, as was her habit on laundry days, Lila found herself barefoot in the side yard of the carriage house. At one time it was the servants quarters and rather than ugly up the main gardens with a washing line, whomever first owned the property hung the lines in this little forgotten patch of grass. She was bent over her basket, pulling free a set of wet sheets when she thought she heard her name. Lila straightened, pressing a hand to the knot that was forming in her lower back, and looked around. There was no one there.
Convinced she was imagining things, she threw the top sheet over the line, reaching into her apron pocket for a clothes pin. She straightened the sheet, shaking out a wrinkle and standing on tip toe to fasten the last pin in place. She took two steps to her left to hang the next sheet on the line and came face to face with a grinning Major Hellstrom. Surprise made her cry out, she might have fallen back completely if he hadn’t reached out to steady her.
“Major Hellstrom!” Lila shook her head, waving off his hands, “You startled me.”
“Obviously,” his grin widened and she realized it was probably his intention all along. She wondered if he had actually called for her earlier or if it had been her imagination. “I thought perhaps you would care to join me for a picnic,” Lila arched an incredulous eyebrow, “well, more of an afternoon snack, really.” He gestured to a small, wrapped package on the carriage house’s patio table.
“I should finish here,” she forced her expression to remain neutral. Better he should think she was only busy.
“Please, mademoiselle,” he gave a kind of shallow bow and waved his hand at the table. Lila realized she had no choice. Heaving a sigh she gave the laundry basket a parting glance.
“Only for a moment,” she said finally.
“Certainly,” he followed her closely, in the few short steps to the patio his arm brushed hers so often she was almost sure it was intentional. He insisted on pulling out her chair for her, seeing to her comfort before he sat himself. By the time he was seated and reaching for the white baker’s box on the table, Lila felt she was on a knife edge. “So, tell me, what does the little proprietress do all day?”
The baker’s box held macaroons. Judging from the bright colors, she guessed strawberry, lemon, and grape. “Aside from laundry?” Lila glanced pointedly at the forgotten washing.
“Yes, aside from laundry,” he waved his hand as he helped himself to one of the pink rounds. “Do you read? Do you take walks in the park? Surely your entire day is not devoted to playing nanny goat to a bunch of overgrown boys.”
“I don’t believe your compatriots would agree with your analogy, Major,” Lila seriously doubted they would. Also, she had the feeling a few of the higher ranking offers would find a way to be angry period.
“They are a bit stuffed on their own importance, aren’t they?” He bit into the treat thoughtfully, “How would you describe us, Lila?”
She shrugged, choosing a macaroon for herself when he nudged the box with his finger. “Serious, I suppose.”
“Not monstrous?” He made a face of mock surprise, “Surely you must be aware that we’re devils.”
“You’re not,” she broke the confection in half and then again into fours. Breaking a smaller piece off one of the quarters she put it in her mouth-lemon, she was right. “Perhaps…abrupt is a better word.”
“Your countrymen seem convinced we’re demons. Are you certain? I could be hiding a tail and forked tongue.” He bit into the desert again, chewing thoughtfully. “Why are you so forgiving, mam’selle?”
“I’m not, really,” she shrugged a second time, smiling ruefully at the glare her Grandmere would have sent her for that. Grandmere believed ‘shrugging’ was horrifically unrefined. “But we share a roof, Major, for devils you behave a lot like men.”
“It is gratifying to hear you say that, Lila,” he leaned back in his chair, considering her. “It’s difficult to be constantly hated.”
She smiled tightly, not rising to the bait. “I’m sure it must be.”
“Of course, we’re taught that we’ll be hated, you know.” He laughed, “It is hard for those of lesser birth to accept the nobility of the German race.”
Lila bit the inside of her cheek hard but it didn’t stop the surprise from showing on her face. He smiled, delighted.
“Come now, Lila, surely you’ve noted the superior qualities of your boarders. Perhaps you more than any other must realize that what we say is true, after all, you admit we do share a roof.”
“It is plain that you exude superiority, Major,” internally she winced, it was more of a barb than she meant it to be.
“Yes,” he reached into his breast pocket and removed the cigarette case. “Tell me, are all the women of your family as beautiful as you are?” The lighter flared. “You do not have any pictures of your relatives laying about. One might think you were ashamed. Or,” he blew a thoughtful stream of smoke, “hiding something.”
“I have nothing to hide, Major,” Lila spread her hands, suddenly completely on edge, “my life is an open book. As to the pictures, they’re in the attic you’re welcome to examine them. When I opened the house to boarders I thought perhaps they wouldn’t wish to see strangers on the walls.”
“Ah,” his eyes held her captive, “your hair is such a fetching shade, almost like gold. Must you hide it?” He gestured at the scarf she tied around her head when she was working.
Lila lifted a hand to the knot at the base of her neck. The order was unspoken, but his eyes were hard. She undid the knot and pulled her hair free of the scarf. Shaking it to loosen the curls, she felt the heavy tresses fall around her face. He leaned forward, his eyes hooded, taking a lock of hair he twirled it in the afternoon sunshine.
“Sitting with your back to the sun it looks like a halo,” he smelled of tobacco, coffee and coconut. “As though you’re surrounded by a glow.”
“The Major is too kind,” Lila wanted to tell him hair was hair and he should leave her alone. Instead she sat mutely in the chair until he returned to his own seat. “To answer your question, all the women in my family are blonde.”
“And do they all have such beautiful eyes?” he ground his cigarette into his boot heel and placed the butt neatly on the edge of the table.
“Blue eyes are a trait that runs in my family, yes.” Lila was confused at the line of questions. “May I ask why the interest in my ancestors, Major?”
“Dieter, please,” he waved his hand, “I find with you I tire of formality.”
“Very well,” she felt her heart beat in her temples, “may I ask why the interest in my ancestors, Dieter?”
“I was just wondering,” he smirked, “if there was any possibility you had a German ancestry.”
“No,” she bit her lip, “my family was French peasant stock until the Industrial Revolution. I’m sorry m-Dieter, I don’t understand these questions.”
“You’re very beautiful,” he said quietly, ignoring her implication that it was really none of his business. “Were you German I have no doubt each and every one of us…overgrown boys,” he smiled boyishly again, “would be clambering to hold your skirts.”
Lila’s eyebrows shot upward at the double entendre. When she was able to find her voice she was ashamed that it broke, “Then perhaps I should be grateful I am not German. I’m sure that would become rather…hectic.”
“Yes, a bit,” he rose and nudged the macaroon box at her with his finger again. “Enjoy the afternoon, mademoiselle, I apologize for pulling you away from your work.”
Lila stared up at him, uncomprehending, mind still reeling.
He looked down at her, cocked his head as though cataloging her features still. He reached out with two fingers to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. Lila fought not to flinch. “Such arresting eyes,” he murmured, “I believe I can read you like a book.”
Lila broke the eye contact first, turning her head to the laundry line once more, “I believe I’d make a very boring book, Major.” Her hands were trembling. She curled them over the arms of the chair and gripped hard to stop it.
He chuckled, “The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do,” his voice was soft, even toned, but she could tell he was excited. Like a dog on a scent. “Until tonight, mam’selle, hare you said?”
She nodded jerkily and closed her eyes in relief when he walked away. If she hadn’t been sitting her knees would have given out. As it was she fell against the back of the chair and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold for no explainable reason. After a fashion she reached up to her hair, pulling it violently back into its scarf.
&&&
Thankfully there was a party that night. One of the other officers had a birthday, or his mistress was having a birthday. Either way, the house was full of people, a band, champagne and caterers. It wasn’t the first time a soiree like this took place in her house, they seemed to enjoy treating it as though the house really belonged to them and she was only the caretaker. As it was, the stew was forgotten and a more lavish meal laid out for consumption. The hired servants knew what to do and as the party was in full swing, she wouldn’t be missed if she decided to retreat to the private safety of her bedchamber.
Lila’s rooms were actually the suite reserved for the lady of the house. Not quite as lavish as the master suite on the second floor, but still quite nice. She had a large bedroom, full bath, a closet the size of the carriage house, a private balcony and the salon. There were other rooms on the third floor, rooms she outfitted for the officers, but these rooms were hers alone. She sat at her dressing table, a lamp burning softly, and considered her face.
She supposed he was right, she was pretty. Her cheek bones were high and she had a delicate, heart shaped face. Her lips were full, her eyes a clear, crystalline blue. And her hair. Grandmere’s crowning glory, she thought smiling. When Lila was a child she was kept on a strict beauty regimen. Milk baths for her face, hands and feet. Lemons to bleach anything remotely resembling a freckle. And rainwater to wash her hair in. Grandmere was strict about that. “Rainwater keeps a lady’s hair soft and lustrous.” Or so she said. And Lila supposed it worked, she lifted a hand to her hair. It curled naturally around her face.
There was a time when she hated the curls. The fashion was for looser waves and when she complained, Grandmere only laughed. “There are women who would kill to have curls like that, little one, hold your head high and do not shame yourself or them by trying to be something you are not.”
Never in her life had Lila ever wished she was ugly. Until now. She wasn’t sure why, but the young Major’s attentions put her teeth on edge. Made her jumpy, ready for something, but she was never sure what exactly.
Lila reached for the wide tooth, tortoiseshell comb. She while she no longer soaked her hands in milk or washed her hair with rainwater, she still did a hundred strokes a night. It was soothing to her, the ritual reminded her of Grandmere and the talks they used to have.
“You look like a goddess in the moonlight,” the voice from the doorway frightened Lila so violently she upset one of the delicate bottles on the dressing table, sending it smashing to the floor. He was at her side in an instant, “Don’t move! You’ll cut yourself.”
Lila lifted her slippered feet as he collected the little bits of glass. “You frighten me.”
Dieter glanced up at her, the lamp light made his face look impish, “I frighten you?”
“I mean,” she shook her head, “you frightened me. Just now.”
“I noticed,” he turned his hand over the delicate waste basket and let the bits of glass tinkle out. “You left the door open.”
No, she hadn’t. Lila distinctly remembered shutting the salon door. She looked at the old-fashioned key on the dressing table. She had, hadn’t she? “Is the party over?”
He shook his head, still on his knees next to her, he rested a hand on her satin clothed knee. Lila was immobile on the little chair. Her fingers tightened on the comb, the fingers of her other hand curled around her forearm. “Not for a while yet, I think.” He cocked his head, “It’s no wonder you don’t know, the sound doesn’t make it up here.”
“No,” we’re quite alone, it hung unsaid between them and she wanted to tell him to step back. Lila was very aware that she was in her dressing gown and there was a bed only a few yards away. Her entire body screamed at her to move away from him. “Did you need assistance, Major? Another button, perhaps?”
He laughed again, his fingers plucking the comb from her hand. He rose, towering over her he put the comb to her hair and gently ran it over her curls. “I was curious why you chose not to join us, Lila. You would have been a most welcome addition to the party.”
“I was under the impression I wasn’t invited. I am just the operator of a boarding house, Major.”
The comb jerked hard on a tangle and she winced. He made an apologetic sound in his throat, “Dieter, please.”
“My apologies.” Lila’s muscles were tensed for flight. She could smell his scent, tobacco and shaving soap and the citrusy smell of the soap she used to wash their laundry. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” his tone was gentle, differential even. Lila wondered why he was so enamored of her. “I enjoy doing this,” his fingers threaded through her hair. “You look as though you could be one of us.”
“Please don’t say such things, Major,” she felt shame in her belly. A visceral reaction, she supposed, Lila considered going to a hair dresser tomorrow and having them color her hair. She’d never done it before and knew the dye would permanently cloud the pure, spun gold on her head, but if it meant turning away this man’s eyes then she’d do it. “I don’t know how to respond to your compliments,” she finished, cheeks burning.
“There is something about you that is so very German, Lila,” he stopped the comb and stared at the top of her head. Lila couldn’t read his expression in the mirror. “I was trying to prize it out over dinner. And then I realized-you don’t act like a Parisian woman.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lila wasn’t sure if she should be offended, frightened, or highly amused by this bizarre conversation.
“I mean no offense of course,” he grinned, eyes meeting hers briefly in the mirror, and the way the lamp light shone on the planes of his face, for a brief moment he looked like the death’s head on his hat. “Only that Parisian women are so content in their hedonistic lifestyle, they color their hair, smoke like men, wear trousers-no well bred German woman would do such things.” His eyes met hers in the mirror again, “Much like yourself, they know they do not need to hide behind those kinds of actions to be found attractive.”
“Dieter,” she was trembling, a fine, light shaking was taking over all the muscles in her body. It was because she was holding herself so tightly, she realized. “We should go into the salon.”
“Of course,” he straightened, smiled affably and returned the hair comb to her dressing table, placing it precisely in the middle of the tray with her grandmother's brush and hand mirror. “The last thing I wish to do is make you uncomfortable, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you,” Lila rose and walked to the outer room of her bedchamber with her head high, but her knees were like water and her body threatened to collapse on the carpet in a heap. He’d left the salon doors wide open, she realized. Anyone could walk in. She found comfort in that. As though they weren’t as alone as she originally thought. She walked past the chaise and arm chairs, directly to the doors. Hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“I imagine I’m keeping you from a good book,” he stopped before reaching the hall, taking one of the doors and closing it firmly. Lila held herself against the other door. After a moment he had no choice but to pass her and go into the hallway. Dieter’s hand was on the door latch. He considered it for a moment, then grinned at her playfully, “These old houses are funny, aren’t they?”
“Are they?” Lila’s only thought was to get him to leave so she could go take a hot, hot shower and scrub her scalp raw. She could still feel his fingers in her hair and it made her nauseous.
“They’re deceptively fragile,” he turned the latch handle gently, “this seems strong, but it wouldn’t take much at all to force the lock, would it?” He met her gaze boldly, smiling with his mouth, but his eyes were empty. “Isn’t it lucky that you’re surrounded by so many fierce protectors?”
“Yes,” Lila couldn’t form a coherent sentence. She felt as though she were falling from a high place with no net to catch her.
“Good night, Lila.” He turned his head slightly, holding her gaze. She realized she should speak.
“Good night,” he was still watching her, his eyes cataloging every muscle twinge. Lila felt like a live butterfly pinned cruelly in place in a boy's shadow box, “Dieter.”
He rested his index finger against her lips, purposely, but so briefly she wondered if she imagined it. “Very good.”
&&&
She was watching herself in the dream, sleeping on her bed in her suite. The bed curtains were drawn and the moonlight pooled on the coverlet. She was on her back, one hand shoved under the pillow, the other curled on her chest. It was an awkward pose to be sleeping in, she supposed. Standing over her bed, watching her with the intent eyes of a wolf on the prowl, was the Major Hellstrom. Not touching her, or even speaking, just watching her intently. His eyes seemed to be telling her something but she couldn’t prize what it was. The sound of a baby’s wail woke her.
&&&
Characters: Hellstrom/OC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: QT owns everything important. (in the fic, anyway)
Warnings: In this fic: Explicit themes, rape, implied non-con orgasm, violence, general heir of creeper.
Summary:Lila's life had been broken into two parts: before the occupation and after
It wasn’t as if she had the luxury of turning them away, Lila Boudreaux thought, staring at the mess of dishes on the long table in the dining room. Before perhaps, but not now, not after. She gave a cheerless smile, a kind lifting of the left side of her mouth that was more of a facial tic than anything else, and set about scraping plates.
There was a time when the big, rambling house was just that-a big, rambling house in one of the better parts of Paris. Originally it was home to a duc, then the Revolution came and it was absorbed into the new French state. Then it was a school for girls. After a fashion it fell into disrepair and a wealthy couple purchased it in hopes of building their estate. Those were her grand-parents. By the time the house fell to her, the large family was only a set of distant cousins in America and herself. There was a carriage house in back. When she first inherited the place, she wanted to make it a boarding house. She had the money, it was in a desirable location, so why not? It’s not like she needed this place for her rambunctious family, now did she?
Lila made a face, her life had two phases: before the occupation and after. Before the occupation, she was lucky enough to have a relatively successful business. After, her business slowed to a trickle and then to nothing. No one traveled anymore. The parts of Paris that weren’t in ruins were choking on ration books and the streets were crawling with grey uniforms. She wasn’t surprised when they came to her door, informing her with arrogant smiles that she had been given the honor of housing ranking officers of the SS. It seemed she would be a boarding house again, whether she wished it or not.
She supposed she shouldn’t complain. The presence of the officers meant more rations, first pick of the produce and meats at market (the shopkeepers were afraid to offer her any less than the best), and at least a modicum of safety from the almost daily raids of regular homes for “things that were needed for the War Effort.” Why the soldiers needed an ivory chess set from the little old man down the block she’d never know, but she never had to ask because they never came to her door.
Except to visit their compatriots.
Lila sneered. It wasn’t the uniforms that were the problem. It was what was inside the uniforms. Uniforms were just the wrapping. Like the unremarkable paper on a very unwanted gift.And so what if she was treated differently by her neighbors now. If she was ostracized for "collaboration" when all she was doing was what she was told. She wasn't particularly social before, why should she be after?
“Mademoiselle Boudreaux,” the voice boomed from the front hallway and Lila jumped almost upsetting the precarious tower of plates she was building.
“In here!” She knew it was one of the boarders. Probably angry they missed breakfast. She steeled herself for a demand of eggs-or something more difficult to throw together on short notice. Lila dragged the back of her hand across her mouth in irritation. She didn’t have time for any of their demands. Today was laundry day.
“Ah, mademoiselle, forgive me,” it was the young one. What was his name? “I seem to have lost a button,” he held up the offending bit of brass and gestured at his tunic, “I’m terrible at such things,” he grinned boyishly and tipped his head, “I don’t suppose you could…?”
“Of course,” Lila realized she was a kind of den mother to them. Everything from food to washing to darning their socks, it was enough to make her sick. “Into the salon please, I’ll find my sewing basket.”
Dieter, that was his name. She wiped her hands on her apron and left the dishes on the table. They would have to wait. Her sewing things were in the kitchen, she’d taken to leaving the mending by the large pot-bellied stove, because it was out of the way of the rest of the house. She could be downstairs if they needed her, but not a part of their nightly gatherings. Dieter, she wondered how she could have forgotten it, when first they were introduced she thought it sounded like a kind of beetle.
“I hope you don’t think me rude,” his voice was next to her elbow and she jumped again, reflexively clutching the sewing basket to her middle. Gasping, Lila turned accusatory eyes to him before she could stop herself. “My apologies, mademoiselle,” he looked abashed, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Not at all major, I would only have been a moment,” she gestured for him to take a seat at the farm table. “I’ll need you to remove your tunic, please.”
“Of course,” he went about the process of disrobing, belt, buttons, so on. “I do appreciate your taking the time-“
“Certainly,” she felt her lip lift in that awful grimace again, “anything to be of service.”
He laughed, folding the tunic in half precisely and handing it to her. “You don’t care for us, do you mademoiselle?” Lila held her face perfectly impassive and he smiled again, boyishly handsome. The glint in his eyes told her he knew it, “Now, don’t try to deny it, you don’t, you really don’t.”
“Would you care for a cup of tea while you wait, Major?” Lila’s heart beat ticked up a notch and she had to force herself to keep her tone even. She knew what happened to those who were openly opposed to the new regime.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” the way he said it told her he expected milk and sugar as well. She took the kettle off the stove and poured hot water into a china pot, she considered for a moment giving him the simple flower teas she made herself now that things were scarce, but a quick look at his smirk told her that was what he expected. She reached for the tin of the imported tea they favored.
“This won’t take long.”
“I have no doubt,” he leaned back in the cane chair, considering her as she placed the delicate pot and cup and saucer in front of him and resumed her seat. “You’re a bit of a mystery to us, you know.”
“Oh?” Lila reached into the sewing basket blindly and removed a small pair of embroidery scissors and the pin cushion. “Why is that?” the black thread was at the bottom of the basket.
“A young woman in a big house like this, usually a boarding house matron would be an old widow, you know.” He ignored the teapot and pulled a cigarette case from a pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?” He didn’t wait for an answer, lighting the cigarette with the practiced ease of a man not used to ‘no’.
“How do you know I’m not an old widow in disguise?” She didn’t know why she bothered to talk to them. They could find out whatever they wished about her anyway. She had no doubt this man knew her personal history better than she did and was only waiting for the excuse to spout it back to her.
“Because you’re much too pretty,” he exhaled and smoke enveloped her. Lila fought not to cough.
“You shouldn’t say such things, Major,” Lila was fully aware that she was pretty. In a purely superficial way, she knew she was almost beautiful. That didn’t mean that she wanted to be told such by the man sitting across from her. She glared at the needle in front of her and licked the thread again. It was hard to thread a needle while being watched so intently.
“What made you decide to open a boarding house? This is a family home, is it not?” he glanced around the well outfitted kitchen, “Sure you do not need the money.”
“What made you decide to be a Nazi, Major? Are you following in someone's footsteps?” she cocked her head, considering him, “Surely you do not need to seek anyone’s approval.”
His laugh was pure and infectious, his smile genuine. “I could have you shot for that, you know,” his tone was conversational.
“But you won’t,” she looked up from the needle before jabbing it into his tunic, refusing to wince when she speared her thumb. It wouldn’t do for him to see he upset her, “Who else would mend your uniform?”
“What makes you think I cannot do it myself?” He flicked his ash into the empty teacup at his elbow.
“Then why ask me?” Lila held the button firmly against the wool tunic.
“Perhaps I wanted to spend some time alone with the pretty proprietress.” He cocked his head, “Lila,” it was the first time he called her by her name. He seemed to savor it, rolling the vowels on his tongue like a sweet. She didn’t like the way it sounded in his mouth. “If we had not annexed your home, would you do as the other well bred ladies of Paris do?”
She arched a delicate eyebrow, “Do?”
He bared his teeth in a grimace, picked a piece of tobacco from his tongue and shrugged, “Surely you’ve heard what happens in the markets, the foolish, childish tricks.”
The soldiers occasionally insisted on searching the baskets of shoppers in the market. Parisians had their own kind of passive resistance. Rotten eggs, mostly, occasionally rancid meat, the trick was wrapping your real purchases tightly enough that when an errant hand was shoved into the basket and it broke the awful contents, the real meat or real vegetables weren’t contaminated. Some women were so good at it, that it was a kind of an art form. The soldiers were wary of the market baskets now.
“Perhaps if they weren’t made to feel prisoners in their own city,” she offered neutrally.
“Prisoners? Parisians?” he threw back his head and laughed. She noticed the skin of his neck, it reminded her of the fragile inside of an eggshell. “The strong have an obligation to the weak,” he spoke as if it explained everything.
“And what obligation is that, Major?” Lila expertly knotted the button and the embroidery scissors flashed. Replacing the needle in the pincushion and the scissors in the basket, she refolded the tunic and presented it back to him. He folded it over his knee and regarded her thoughtfully, flicking more ash into the teacup. Lila shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took the opportunity to get her own teacup and saucer. If he wasn’t going to drink the tea, she would. It was too scarce to waste.
“To protect, of course,” he considered his cigarette, “certainly there are those that must be put to work to ensure the nobility of the state. That is true in any society, mademoiselle. And there are those, the rabble rousers, the anarchists, that must be crushed under the boot heel. But the ordinary citizens are free to continue their lives as they always were.”
“Not quite as they always were,” Lila felt like pointing out that the French state was noble before the occupation, but thought perhaps he’d take offense.
“Well no, of course not,” here he flashed teeth again, “now things are better.”
“For whom?” She poured herself a cup of tea and was glad that her hands did not shake and the saucer did not rattle. Grandmere would be proud of that.
“For you, of course.” He gestured around the kitchen, “When has your boarding house been so full?” The way he said it told her he knew full well she’d never been full to capacity before the soldiers came.
“You are not paying boarders,” she took a small sip of the tea.
“Oh no?” he jerked his chin at the pot on the stove, “The quality of your meat suffers while we are here? You have no fresh fruit for the entrance hall? Your sugar bowl is empty?”
“You’ve made your point, Major,” Lila caught a glimpse of herself in the window over the table. Her blonde hair was bright in the morning light, her mother used to call it her lion's mane. “Would you care for more tea?” She gestured at his ashy teacup.
Dieter looked uncomfortable, “I must apologize. I prefer coffee.” Lila nodded, coffee it was then. “Tell me, mademoiselle, why is there no strapping husband to share the burden of this great house?”
“None would have me, I’m afraid,” she called over her shoulder, setting the percolator. That wasn’t quite true. There was a boy, lying dead somewhere in Ardennes. She had his ring in a box upstairs.
“I find that very hard to believe,” he was close to her elbow again. Lila glanced over her shoulder. He was so close she could count the stitches on his collar. His voice lowered and he touched her for the first time. Just a simple trace of her spine, but she jumped violently. “Surely there was someone once.”
“A long time ago,” she eyed the percolator, willing it to work faster. “None since.”
“War is a difficult time,” he answered softly, “for women especially. While men can prove ourselves bravely in battle, women must go on as before. It must get very lonely maintaining an empty hearth.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Major,” Lila’s fingers curled in her skirt.
“Would you miss him so much, do you think, if he had been man enough to give you children?”
“I beg your pardon?” Lila jerked, whirling to face him. She grabbed the counter with both hands, knowing if she didn’t she would strike him.
“My apologies, Lila, I believe I’ve said too much.” He held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I only meant that a woman is best at nurturing,” he dipped his head again, catching her eye full on, “women are the backbone of a functional society.”
Lila’s eyebrows rose. She had nothing to say to that. Actually, she wasn’t sure what he was even talking about. She decided a quick end to the conversation was what was needed. “I hope you will not take offense, Major. I have much to do today, the coffee is almost ready, and-“
“Of course, I’ve kept you from your work too long.” He stepped back and suddenly she could breathe again. “May I ask what’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Hare, I think,” she gestured at the pot on the stove, “perhaps a stew of some sort.”
“Wonderful. I’ve eaten too well since coming here, I think, mademoiselle,” he rested a hand on his belly, “I fear I will not be able to return to normal food.”
Lila smiled at the compliment and stepped fully away from him, retreating back into the dining room. She knew he watched her go and it made her edgy for hours afterward. She felt his eyes and when she turned to tell him to leave her alone there was no one there.
&&&
In the afternoon, as was her habit on laundry days, Lila found herself barefoot in the side yard of the carriage house. At one time it was the servants quarters and rather than ugly up the main gardens with a washing line, whomever first owned the property hung the lines in this little forgotten patch of grass. She was bent over her basket, pulling free a set of wet sheets when she thought she heard her name. Lila straightened, pressing a hand to the knot that was forming in her lower back, and looked around. There was no one there.
Convinced she was imagining things, she threw the top sheet over the line, reaching into her apron pocket for a clothes pin. She straightened the sheet, shaking out a wrinkle and standing on tip toe to fasten the last pin in place. She took two steps to her left to hang the next sheet on the line and came face to face with a grinning Major Hellstrom. Surprise made her cry out, she might have fallen back completely if he hadn’t reached out to steady her.
“Major Hellstrom!” Lila shook her head, waving off his hands, “You startled me.”
“Obviously,” his grin widened and she realized it was probably his intention all along. She wondered if he had actually called for her earlier or if it had been her imagination. “I thought perhaps you would care to join me for a picnic,” Lila arched an incredulous eyebrow, “well, more of an afternoon snack, really.” He gestured to a small, wrapped package on the carriage house’s patio table.
“I should finish here,” she forced her expression to remain neutral. Better he should think she was only busy.
“Please, mademoiselle,” he gave a kind of shallow bow and waved his hand at the table. Lila realized she had no choice. Heaving a sigh she gave the laundry basket a parting glance.
“Only for a moment,” she said finally.
“Certainly,” he followed her closely, in the few short steps to the patio his arm brushed hers so often she was almost sure it was intentional. He insisted on pulling out her chair for her, seeing to her comfort before he sat himself. By the time he was seated and reaching for the white baker’s box on the table, Lila felt she was on a knife edge. “So, tell me, what does the little proprietress do all day?”
The baker’s box held macaroons. Judging from the bright colors, she guessed strawberry, lemon, and grape. “Aside from laundry?” Lila glanced pointedly at the forgotten washing.
“Yes, aside from laundry,” he waved his hand as he helped himself to one of the pink rounds. “Do you read? Do you take walks in the park? Surely your entire day is not devoted to playing nanny goat to a bunch of overgrown boys.”
“I don’t believe your compatriots would agree with your analogy, Major,” Lila seriously doubted they would. Also, she had the feeling a few of the higher ranking offers would find a way to be angry period.
“They are a bit stuffed on their own importance, aren’t they?” He bit into the treat thoughtfully, “How would you describe us, Lila?”
She shrugged, choosing a macaroon for herself when he nudged the box with his finger. “Serious, I suppose.”
“Not monstrous?” He made a face of mock surprise, “Surely you must be aware that we’re devils.”
“You’re not,” she broke the confection in half and then again into fours. Breaking a smaller piece off one of the quarters she put it in her mouth-lemon, she was right. “Perhaps…abrupt is a better word.”
“Your countrymen seem convinced we’re demons. Are you certain? I could be hiding a tail and forked tongue.” He bit into the desert again, chewing thoughtfully. “Why are you so forgiving, mam’selle?”
“I’m not, really,” she shrugged a second time, smiling ruefully at the glare her Grandmere would have sent her for that. Grandmere believed ‘shrugging’ was horrifically unrefined. “But we share a roof, Major, for devils you behave a lot like men.”
“It is gratifying to hear you say that, Lila,” he leaned back in his chair, considering her. “It’s difficult to be constantly hated.”
She smiled tightly, not rising to the bait. “I’m sure it must be.”
“Of course, we’re taught that we’ll be hated, you know.” He laughed, “It is hard for those of lesser birth to accept the nobility of the German race.”
Lila bit the inside of her cheek hard but it didn’t stop the surprise from showing on her face. He smiled, delighted.
“Come now, Lila, surely you’ve noted the superior qualities of your boarders. Perhaps you more than any other must realize that what we say is true, after all, you admit we do share a roof.”
“It is plain that you exude superiority, Major,” internally she winced, it was more of a barb than she meant it to be.
“Yes,” he reached into his breast pocket and removed the cigarette case. “Tell me, are all the women of your family as beautiful as you are?” The lighter flared. “You do not have any pictures of your relatives laying about. One might think you were ashamed. Or,” he blew a thoughtful stream of smoke, “hiding something.”
“I have nothing to hide, Major,” Lila spread her hands, suddenly completely on edge, “my life is an open book. As to the pictures, they’re in the attic you’re welcome to examine them. When I opened the house to boarders I thought perhaps they wouldn’t wish to see strangers on the walls.”
“Ah,” his eyes held her captive, “your hair is such a fetching shade, almost like gold. Must you hide it?” He gestured at the scarf she tied around her head when she was working.
Lila lifted a hand to the knot at the base of her neck. The order was unspoken, but his eyes were hard. She undid the knot and pulled her hair free of the scarf. Shaking it to loosen the curls, she felt the heavy tresses fall around her face. He leaned forward, his eyes hooded, taking a lock of hair he twirled it in the afternoon sunshine.
“Sitting with your back to the sun it looks like a halo,” he smelled of tobacco, coffee and coconut. “As though you’re surrounded by a glow.”
“The Major is too kind,” Lila wanted to tell him hair was hair and he should leave her alone. Instead she sat mutely in the chair until he returned to his own seat. “To answer your question, all the women in my family are blonde.”
“And do they all have such beautiful eyes?” he ground his cigarette into his boot heel and placed the butt neatly on the edge of the table.
“Blue eyes are a trait that runs in my family, yes.” Lila was confused at the line of questions. “May I ask why the interest in my ancestors, Major?”
“Dieter, please,” he waved his hand, “I find with you I tire of formality.”
“Very well,” she felt her heart beat in her temples, “may I ask why the interest in my ancestors, Dieter?”
“I was just wondering,” he smirked, “if there was any possibility you had a German ancestry.”
“No,” she bit her lip, “my family was French peasant stock until the Industrial Revolution. I’m sorry m-Dieter, I don’t understand these questions.”
“You’re very beautiful,” he said quietly, ignoring her implication that it was really none of his business. “Were you German I have no doubt each and every one of us…overgrown boys,” he smiled boyishly again, “would be clambering to hold your skirts.”
Lila’s eyebrows shot upward at the double entendre. When she was able to find her voice she was ashamed that it broke, “Then perhaps I should be grateful I am not German. I’m sure that would become rather…hectic.”
“Yes, a bit,” he rose and nudged the macaroon box at her with his finger again. “Enjoy the afternoon, mademoiselle, I apologize for pulling you away from your work.”
Lila stared up at him, uncomprehending, mind still reeling.
He looked down at her, cocked his head as though cataloging her features still. He reached out with two fingers to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. Lila fought not to flinch. “Such arresting eyes,” he murmured, “I believe I can read you like a book.”
Lila broke the eye contact first, turning her head to the laundry line once more, “I believe I’d make a very boring book, Major.” Her hands were trembling. She curled them over the arms of the chair and gripped hard to stop it.
He chuckled, “The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do,” his voice was soft, even toned, but she could tell he was excited. Like a dog on a scent. “Until tonight, mam’selle, hare you said?”
She nodded jerkily and closed her eyes in relief when he walked away. If she hadn’t been sitting her knees would have given out. As it was she fell against the back of the chair and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold for no explainable reason. After a fashion she reached up to her hair, pulling it violently back into its scarf.
&&&
Thankfully there was a party that night. One of the other officers had a birthday, or his mistress was having a birthday. Either way, the house was full of people, a band, champagne and caterers. It wasn’t the first time a soiree like this took place in her house, they seemed to enjoy treating it as though the house really belonged to them and she was only the caretaker. As it was, the stew was forgotten and a more lavish meal laid out for consumption. The hired servants knew what to do and as the party was in full swing, she wouldn’t be missed if she decided to retreat to the private safety of her bedchamber.
Lila’s rooms were actually the suite reserved for the lady of the house. Not quite as lavish as the master suite on the second floor, but still quite nice. She had a large bedroom, full bath, a closet the size of the carriage house, a private balcony and the salon. There were other rooms on the third floor, rooms she outfitted for the officers, but these rooms were hers alone. She sat at her dressing table, a lamp burning softly, and considered her face.
She supposed he was right, she was pretty. Her cheek bones were high and she had a delicate, heart shaped face. Her lips were full, her eyes a clear, crystalline blue. And her hair. Grandmere’s crowning glory, she thought smiling. When Lila was a child she was kept on a strict beauty regimen. Milk baths for her face, hands and feet. Lemons to bleach anything remotely resembling a freckle. And rainwater to wash her hair in. Grandmere was strict about that. “Rainwater keeps a lady’s hair soft and lustrous.” Or so she said. And Lila supposed it worked, she lifted a hand to her hair. It curled naturally around her face.
There was a time when she hated the curls. The fashion was for looser waves and when she complained, Grandmere only laughed. “There are women who would kill to have curls like that, little one, hold your head high and do not shame yourself or them by trying to be something you are not.”
Never in her life had Lila ever wished she was ugly. Until now. She wasn’t sure why, but the young Major’s attentions put her teeth on edge. Made her jumpy, ready for something, but she was never sure what exactly.
Lila reached for the wide tooth, tortoiseshell comb. She while she no longer soaked her hands in milk or washed her hair with rainwater, she still did a hundred strokes a night. It was soothing to her, the ritual reminded her of Grandmere and the talks they used to have.
“You look like a goddess in the moonlight,” the voice from the doorway frightened Lila so violently she upset one of the delicate bottles on the dressing table, sending it smashing to the floor. He was at her side in an instant, “Don’t move! You’ll cut yourself.”
Lila lifted her slippered feet as he collected the little bits of glass. “You frighten me.”
Dieter glanced up at her, the lamp light made his face look impish, “I frighten you?”
“I mean,” she shook her head, “you frightened me. Just now.”
“I noticed,” he turned his hand over the delicate waste basket and let the bits of glass tinkle out. “You left the door open.”
No, she hadn’t. Lila distinctly remembered shutting the salon door. She looked at the old-fashioned key on the dressing table. She had, hadn’t she? “Is the party over?”
He shook his head, still on his knees next to her, he rested a hand on her satin clothed knee. Lila was immobile on the little chair. Her fingers tightened on the comb, the fingers of her other hand curled around her forearm. “Not for a while yet, I think.” He cocked his head, “It’s no wonder you don’t know, the sound doesn’t make it up here.”
“No,” we’re quite alone, it hung unsaid between them and she wanted to tell him to step back. Lila was very aware that she was in her dressing gown and there was a bed only a few yards away. Her entire body screamed at her to move away from him. “Did you need assistance, Major? Another button, perhaps?”
He laughed again, his fingers plucking the comb from her hand. He rose, towering over her he put the comb to her hair and gently ran it over her curls. “I was curious why you chose not to join us, Lila. You would have been a most welcome addition to the party.”
“I was under the impression I wasn’t invited. I am just the operator of a boarding house, Major.”
The comb jerked hard on a tangle and she winced. He made an apologetic sound in his throat, “Dieter, please.”
“My apologies.” Lila’s muscles were tensed for flight. She could smell his scent, tobacco and shaving soap and the citrusy smell of the soap she used to wash their laundry. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” his tone was gentle, differential even. Lila wondered why he was so enamored of her. “I enjoy doing this,” his fingers threaded through her hair. “You look as though you could be one of us.”
“Please don’t say such things, Major,” she felt shame in her belly. A visceral reaction, she supposed, Lila considered going to a hair dresser tomorrow and having them color her hair. She’d never done it before and knew the dye would permanently cloud the pure, spun gold on her head, but if it meant turning away this man’s eyes then she’d do it. “I don’t know how to respond to your compliments,” she finished, cheeks burning.
“There is something about you that is so very German, Lila,” he stopped the comb and stared at the top of her head. Lila couldn’t read his expression in the mirror. “I was trying to prize it out over dinner. And then I realized-you don’t act like a Parisian woman.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lila wasn’t sure if she should be offended, frightened, or highly amused by this bizarre conversation.
“I mean no offense of course,” he grinned, eyes meeting hers briefly in the mirror, and the way the lamp light shone on the planes of his face, for a brief moment he looked like the death’s head on his hat. “Only that Parisian women are so content in their hedonistic lifestyle, they color their hair, smoke like men, wear trousers-no well bred German woman would do such things.” His eyes met hers in the mirror again, “Much like yourself, they know they do not need to hide behind those kinds of actions to be found attractive.”
“Dieter,” she was trembling, a fine, light shaking was taking over all the muscles in her body. It was because she was holding herself so tightly, she realized. “We should go into the salon.”
“Of course,” he straightened, smiled affably and returned the hair comb to her dressing table, placing it precisely in the middle of the tray with her grandmother's brush and hand mirror. “The last thing I wish to do is make you uncomfortable, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you,” Lila rose and walked to the outer room of her bedchamber with her head high, but her knees were like water and her body threatened to collapse on the carpet in a heap. He’d left the salon doors wide open, she realized. Anyone could walk in. She found comfort in that. As though they weren’t as alone as she originally thought. She walked past the chaise and arm chairs, directly to the doors. Hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“I imagine I’m keeping you from a good book,” he stopped before reaching the hall, taking one of the doors and closing it firmly. Lila held herself against the other door. After a moment he had no choice but to pass her and go into the hallway. Dieter’s hand was on the door latch. He considered it for a moment, then grinned at her playfully, “These old houses are funny, aren’t they?”
“Are they?” Lila’s only thought was to get him to leave so she could go take a hot, hot shower and scrub her scalp raw. She could still feel his fingers in her hair and it made her nauseous.
“They’re deceptively fragile,” he turned the latch handle gently, “this seems strong, but it wouldn’t take much at all to force the lock, would it?” He met her gaze boldly, smiling with his mouth, but his eyes were empty. “Isn’t it lucky that you’re surrounded by so many fierce protectors?”
“Yes,” Lila couldn’t form a coherent sentence. She felt as though she were falling from a high place with no net to catch her.
“Good night, Lila.” He turned his head slightly, holding her gaze. She realized she should speak.
“Good night,” he was still watching her, his eyes cataloging every muscle twinge. Lila felt like a live butterfly pinned cruelly in place in a boy's shadow box, “Dieter.”
He rested his index finger against her lips, purposely, but so briefly she wondered if she imagined it. “Very good.”
&&&
She was watching herself in the dream, sleeping on her bed in her suite. The bed curtains were drawn and the moonlight pooled on the coverlet. She was on her back, one hand shoved under the pillow, the other curled on her chest. It was an awkward pose to be sleeping in, she supposed. Standing over her bed, watching her with the intent eyes of a wolf on the prowl, was the Major Hellstrom. Not touching her, or even speaking, just watching her intently. His eyes seemed to be telling her something but she couldn’t prize what it was. The sound of a baby’s wail woke her.
&&&