Free Little Red Writing by Lila DiPasqua

wanted nothing . No passion of any kind—involving either the heart or the body. And this is how I have remained. Embracing nothing. It is empty.”
    She’d gladly turn her back on love, but in no way did she want to withhold herself from the glorious passion she’d discovered in Nicolas’s arms.
    With one wickedly delicious act, he’d showed her that she wasn’t as dead inside as she thought. Moreover, he’d made her see the physical act of love in a whole new light. It wasn’t simply an act where the man took and the woman gave. At least not with him.
    Henriette frowned. “Your life is not empty. You are Gilbert Leduc. You are doing something with your writing. You are giving women a chance to speak through his stories.”
    “Yes, and I must confess that there are times during the interviews I feel like screaming, ‘ Is there not one decent man anywhere in the realm worthy of a woman’s heart or bod y?’ ” Anne let out a sharp breath and placed her book back down on her lap.
    “What are you saying?” Henriette asked. “You can’t be thinking of quitting—of no longer writing Leduc’s stories. We couldn’t earn enough to feed ourselves from our writing before. And you know how the Comtesse feels about Leduc's books.”
    “What I am saying is that we live in the most powerful nation in all of Christendom. A nation of twenty million people, half of which are men and none of which seem to have any appeal,” Anne said.
    Her sisters fell silent.
    “Well, I have found one who appeals to me,” she continued. “One can indulge in physical intimacies, share some bliss, without involving the heart. Men do it all the time. Why can’t I?”
    Her sisters looked at her with a mixture of emotions. The predominant one—concern.
    Anne rose and helped Henriette up out of her chair. Guiding her back to the desk, she said, “Everything is fine and is going to remain that way. For me and for Leduc. His stories will continue to delight his avid readership. Now get back to editing so this story can be published.”
    She would never stop writing Leduc’s stories. She believed in them. The Comtesse believed in them, and Leduc's readers clamored for them.
    She’d never allow anything to interfere with them. Not even a heavenly affair with a beautiful man. The deadline approached. The volume had to be sent to the printer soon.
    She had a job to do. She’d get it done.
    And no one would be the wiser.
    *****
    Nicolas pressed the key into Thomas’s palm. “Take this. It’s the master key to the desks in the hôtel.”
    The afternoon had trickled by. At last it was evening. Only a few more hours before he’d be with Anne. “ I want you inside me. ” Each time her provocative words entered his mind, it spiraled through his system, making his fever for her spike.
    Thomas’s eyes widened. “Where did you get it?”
    “Anne.” His response was purposely short and tight.
    Thomas grinned. “I take it the lady’s unaware you have her key?”
    “That’s correct.”
    Still grinning. “Care to share some details?”
    “Absolutely. You have a stomach ailment,” Nicolas said, taking the justacorps Thomas was about to put on and tossing the knee-length jacket onto a nearby chair in Thomas’s rooms. “You’re in great discomfort and are unable to go to supper.”
    “I am?”
    “Yes, and I will offer your regrets to the ladies.”
    “Why can’t I go to supper?”
    “Because you’re going to be searching Henriette’s and Camille’s private desks in their chambers. During the day and at night, a search is impossible. They are almost always in their rooms. The only time one can be conducted is while they’re together in the Salle de Buffet for supper. I’ve already searched both of the Comtesse’s desks. Neither desk yielded any evidence of any kind. I found nothing that proved or remotely hinted at the identity of the author of the pen portraits.”
    Thomas held out the key. “Since you’re been conducting