“German,” Max supplied for her.
“He would be wrong,” said Aurélie, coming to a conclusion and knowing it was right. She could feel Max’s breath release. “If the war were over and our countries were at peace, then, yes, yes I would run away with you. They do have lakes and meadows in Germany, haven’t they?”
“And ducks and drakes and wildflowers,” he said, and kissed her.
It was, Aurélie thought, rather a good thing to be ruined. It meant one could be ruined again without suffering any awkward twinges of conscience. She now began to understand why so many of her mother’s great friends were fallen women, and why they seemed to so enjoy being fallen.
Some time later, some rather long time later, they nestled together in sweat-damp sheets. As if there had been no break in their conversation, Max said, “I don’t only live in Berlin, you know. My mother needed to stay in town, to see specialists, but my real home is in Prosen, in a town called Rydzyna.”
“Rid-what?”
Max chuckled. “Rydzyna. There was a castle there held by my ancestors long, long ago.”
“Back when they went on Crusade with my ancestors,” said Aurélie drowsily. She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. Being ruined was exhilarating and exhausting.
“Most likely,” said Max, and she felt the press of his lips against her hair. “But we hadn’t the luck you’ve had with your castle. Ours was destroyed during the Thirty Years’ War and built up again after. It’s more a manor house than a castle.”
“You mean it’s not drafty and riddled with mice?” said Aurélie. “I’m not sure if I can lower myself to that sort of modern convenience.”
After a brief tussle, Max said, “I can’t answer for the mice, but we do have close stoves in most of the major rooms, which take care of the drafts rather nicely. The house sits on a lake—a manmade one, I’m afraid. My ancestor thought it would be rather nice to live on an island, so he made one for himself.”
“I understand the impulse.” An island sounded quite perfect at the moment, an island where one could love and be true, without the conflicting demands of affection and honor. Where no one would trouble them, or catalogue the number of coffee grinders, or threaten them with artillery and treason. “Would we live on your island, then?”
“If you would like it. I should like it—if you would like it.”
“I think I should like it,” said Aurélie gravely. “Very much. We could have little boats for the children.”
“And for the dogs?”
Aurélie gave him a withering look, which was rather wasted in the darkness. “Not for the dogs. They can swim.”
“So shall our children,” said Max easily. “I will teach them.”
“You can swim?” said Aurélie, trying to ignore both the casual reference to their children and the image of Max stripped down to his skivvies in a sunlit stream.
“Of course. One doesn’t live on an island without learning to swim. I’m not sure how old I was when I first fell into the lake. Or if I fell or was tossed.” He touched a finger to Aurélie’s cheek. “Shall I teach you to swim? The lake is particularly lovely in the summer twilight.”
“Do you promise not to toss me?” Too late, Aurélie realized the double entendre. “I didn’t mean—er. Tell me more about your home.”
“Our home.” Max leaned back against the pillows, bringing her with him. “There are formal gardens—my grandmother saw to those—but what I like best are the wildflowers. Fields and fields of wildflowers. The land is very flat and rather damp, and in the spring, when all is blooming . . .”
Aurélie frowned at his chin. “How could you bear to be in Paris when you had that waiting for you?”
“You were in Paris,” said Max simply.
When they could speak again, Aurélie said unsteadily, “I’m not clever like you, you know. I’m not cultured or well-read. I can’t debate philosophy in three languages—or even one.”
“But you can outshoot me. Didn’t you tell me so?” When Aurélie didn’t smile, Max turned so that they were lying on their sides, on a level, looking directly at each other, his fingers twined through hers. “I don’t love you for any of those things, you know. Not because you can outrace me or outshoot me, or doubtless outfence me, too. You are . . .”