<br/><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Nathan Hunter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 1, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Camp Gǒu<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Closed<br/><hr/>He gave a relieved nod when she mentioned being able to speak French – it wasn't a matter of her accent; he'd only heard a sentence and he was no expert in dialectic inflections.  He'd simply proffered the only two languages he felt reasonably fluent in.  He wasn't certain if the dead, stoic expression was more heart breaking or the shadow of a smile, but he resolved to help her if it meant calling in every Law Dog and Armed Volunteer from here to the Devil's Armpit.  His gaze slipped from her eyes as her fingers threaded down to the pegs at the side of the smock, then back up to her eyes by force of will.  Simply because the situation demanded a breach of protocol didn't afford him the right to take advantage of it, much as the swelling in his suit slacks begged to differ.  He swallowed hard as those milky curves bared themselves in the periphery of his vision, forcing his gaze from falling to admire them.  His mind idled iver the notion of letting his mouth walk across her sternum for 'show,' but he couldn't bring himself to put upon her as the violence of the west seemed to so clearly have already.<br/><br/>He frowned at her words, dark eyebrows furrowing on his brow.  She had a point, but it was a painful reminder that she'd already been done wrong on her trip out from the East.  He swallowed his rage, knowing she wasn't accountable for it.  Perhaps it was naivete on his part, but the aristocracy in her features, the gentleness in her voice had him quite certain she wasn't hear of her own choosing.<br/><br/>He nodded, and swallowed at her explanation.  The prospect of laying upon her while she was quite topless made his mouth go dry, and his limited command of French was perversely grateful he didn't have to muster an answer right away.  He saw her telegraph her motions, the pause of hesitation, and realized he was very much not acting the part to an outside observer.  He slipped trembling hands forward, to the hem of her shirt, lifting it up and off the rest of the way like a confident john about to seize his prize.  It was only then when he realized there was no way an outside observer could tell if his eyes were open.  While he couldn't look away as courtesy would demand, he could at least force his eyes closed from the tantalizing vision.  He slid a hand up her silken side, past her arm, up her shoulder, murmuring an apology as he did, until his fingers caught her neck.  Then he pulled her forward, whispering into her ear, his mouth close enough to her neck to look as if he might be planting rough kisses upon it, but lost in the tangle of dark hair, instead.<br/><br/>He remembered his French, belatedly.  “[My apologies,]” he murmured.  “[For everything that's happened to you.]”   His mouth trembled slightly, ever tempted to lower to kiss her silken skin, and trusting her to pull him towards her when it was an appropriate time to lay across her.  His manhood twitched at the prospect, but he fought back his own animal urges, a man of genteel nature and propriety no matter the temptation.<br/><br/>“[I will do everything I can to free you,]” he assured.  “[But I've little to offer in negotiation.  When I return, it will be in the eve, at the darkest hour.  Will you be able to slip out in the night?  I have a distraction in mind.]”<br/><br/>By the divine, she did smell good.