Subj: Quentin II and Daphne -- 6
Date: 1/16/01 7:26:39 AM Central Standard Time
From: DSRules

Laura lurked in the foyer while Quentin read the note she'd planted. A disgusted look on his face, he read the note and tossed it immediately onto the fire that Laura had left burning in the fireplace.

"I'm supposed to take a response back to her, sir," the messenger said.

"You are, are you? Well, give her this message from me. Tell her that Quentin Collins told her to go to hell!" And with that, he spun on his heel and stormed from the room.

Laura quickly ducked behind the open foyer door so that Quentin didn't see her on his way up the stairs. {This went better than I could possibly have imagined!} she gloated silently. {Pity I can't act on it right now. First I have some cleanup to do.}

She returned to the drawing room and found the original note from Daphne. She threw it onto the fire along with the sheets of notepaper she'd been using to practice Quentin's handwriting. After they were completely incinerated, she quenched the flames with a thought. {Can't have Edward coming in here and finding the fire going, after all.} Then she sifted through the still-warm ashes for pieces of any of the notes. Not finding any, she walked into the kitchen to wash the ashes from her hands.

{Now, if Quentin hasn't fallen asleep yet . . .} She thought lasciviously as she walked up the stairs and headed for the west wing.

~ ~ ~

Laura walked silently down the hallway to Quentin's room. When she opened the door to what Quentin referred to as his 'study,' though he never did any actually work in there, so far as Laura knew, she could hear the strains of Quentin's music coming through the bedroom door. She'd been watching Quentin carefully for the previous six months, and had learned that he only listened to that music when he was feeling introspective. Or was drinking. {Not the best development, but it could be worse.} Laura thought as she knocked on his bedroom door.

Quentin slurred as he opened the door, "Whaddya want, Laura?"

Quentin *had* been drinking. And quite a lot, by the sound of it. Quentin had to drink a lot to get any effect from the alcohol at all. And even then, the inebriation seldom lasted. He had one of the best heads for liquor that
Laura had ever seen.

"I . . . overheard you downstairs." Laura said.

"Yes?" By his impatience, it was obvious that Quentin wanted to get back to his date with the brandy snifter.

"And, you sounded . . . upset." Laura slipped off her robe, dropping it to the floor, and toyed with the neckline of her nightgown as she insinuated herself into Quentin's room. She sashayed across the room to the bottle of brandy, pouring a little into the snifter. She lifted the snifter to her lips, taking a small sip.

As she predicted, Quentin followed her across the room. "What are you . . ." He asked.

He never finished the question, for, after making certain the taste of the brandy still lingered on her lips, she turned to him and kissed him.

Quentin moaned deep in his throat as his hunger for liquor was overwhelmed by his hunger for the beautiful blonde in front of him. He crushed her body against his, lifting her off of the floor and wrapping her legs around him as he carried her to the bed.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Laura was awakened by the crow of the rooster that Emeril, their cook, kept out behind the kitchen.

She quickly slipped her robe back on, tucking her nightgown under an arm, and soundlessly slipped into the hallway.

* * *

Laura stood at the baptismal font at the front of St. Catherine's church and looked at the assembled Collins family. {As much fun as Alexander's siege of Tyre*,} she thought grimly.

Edward attempted to do justice to the role of patriarch, but it was clear that his heart wasn't in it. He'd fathered his heir, and he wanted to get back to his office and get some work done.

Daphne's eyes were red and swollen from crying. Laura could tell that she hoped that everyone would think they were tears of joy at the christening of her first great-grandchild. She was trying so hard to appear to be ignoring Quentin that she couldn't pay attention to anyone else.

Quentin, for his part, kept staring at Laura. She could feel the heat in his eyes even when she turned her back to him. {I wonder if I used too much on him last night . . .} She mused.

Judith sat through the christening with the air of a martyr.

Carl, who wanted more than anything for his family to be happy, had taken one look at the tension and anger on his family's faces and left. No one had seen him for hours.

Laura tried hard not to smirk as she brushed her fingers lightly across her abdomen. With any luck, she was carrying another son for the Collins family, and once that child was successfully brought into the world, she could leave until Jamison, or his younger brother, reached adolescence, and then she would return to claim him.

A chill ran through Laura at that thought. {But what if I'm not pregnant yet?} She glanced once again at her handsome brother-in-law. {And what if I'm not? Seems as good a reason as any to try for a repeat performance.}

~ ~ ~

Quentin barely heard the words of the priest as the christening progressed. His every thought was for his beautiful blonde sister-in-law. What he had found in her arms the previous night was much more consuming than the mere lust he'd slaked with the prostitutes of Collinsport previously. It made his comparatively-chaste feelings for Daphne fade into the background, as well.

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, walking to the baptismal font, where the priest was holding Jamison, and pulled Laura into his arms. Everything else in the room dissolved as he kissed her long and hard.

He moved his lips to her neck, but her dress got in the way. He fumbled with the buttons at the back of the dress for a moment, finally ripping the buttons right off in his desperation to taste the flesh at the join of her neck and shoulder.

More than anything, more than he wanted to breathe, he wanted Laura again. In a scene reminiscent of the previous night, he picked her up and carried her to the altar, where he used the dagger he carried with for protection down by the waterfront to slice open the maddening layers of skirt and petticoat that separated him from his goal.

"Quentin?"

Quentin jumped at the sound of his sister's voice. "Huh?" He asked distractedly as his eyes finally focused on her face.

"Come on. We're waiting for you."

Quentin looked around, and realized that he had been sitting alone in the sanctuary. With difficulty, he stood and attempted to unobtrusively cover his erection with his hat as he passed his sister.

{What is going on?} Quentin wondered as he escorted his sister back up the aisle. {I've got to get myself back under control.}

------------------------

*Which took seven grueling months, and led to a horrific battle.

See here: http://1stmuse.com/frames/alex-synopsys.html#Mediterranean for more details.