Master: An Erotic Novel of the Count of Monte Cristo by Colette Gale Page A

particularly unusual after his experience.
    “No, maman . They were unfailingly polite and even apologetic once it was made known to them that they had made a mistake.”
    It was March, four months after Albert had left to tour Switzerland and Italy. While in Rome for the Carnivale in February, he had been lured away from the festivities by an attractive woman, and then captured and held for ransom by her associates, a gang of brigands.
    But by the time Mercédès and Fernand had received word of the demand, Albert had been set free, unharmed, and without his parents having paid the ransom. And then, to Mercédès’ distress, an unconcerned Albert had continued his tour of Italy for another three weeks before returning to Paris.
    “A mistake?” Mercédès asked. She knew her son would prefer to protect her from the sordid details, but she would not be stopped from knowing all of them. Could it be a coincidence that Sinbad had imagined the possibility of her son being attacked by brigands, and then for it to actually happen?
    Albert seemed to realize how disconcerted she was, and holding her hands, he drew her to one of the pink-and-gold brocade sofas in the small parlor, settling himself next to her on a plump cushion. He even helped her to arrange her wide skirts so that they wouldn’t be crushed, and he continued to clasp her fingers. “Mama, it was a mistake. Once the bandit realized I was a friend of the Count of Monte Cristo—”
    “Monte Cristo?” Mercédès breathed, feeling the color drain from her face, and then return with such a force that her cheeks felt very warm.
    The name of the very island on which she’d been taken and kept in such a decadent, lush state by Sinbad the Sailor . . . and then abruptly and unceremoniously banished the day after her arrival. Indeed, Mercédès remembered only vague details from her time on Monte Cristo, deep beneath the rough, rocky surface—but what she did remember was enough to make her face flush even now. And to filter into her dreams in the night, waking her and leaving her hot and restless and confused.
    “Yes, Mama. Franz and I had the pleasure of meeting the great Count of Monte Cristo while we were staying in Rome during Carnivale. In fact, if it weren’t for him, we would never have had such a fine time, for he allowed us to use his carriage while we were there. He was staying in the same hotel, and learned that we had not—well, Mama, you know that Franz and I do not always make our plans in advance,” he said sheepishly.
    “When he learned that we had not found a carriage to rent, he offered us the use of his. What a grand gentleman he is, Mama! So learned and intelligent and very well-dressed and very, very rich. I have never seen such grandeur.”
    “And how did it come about that the Count of Monte Cristo saved you from the bandits?” she asked, her face having cooled to its normal temperature. “Surely we must pay him back for your ransom.”
    “But no, mama. You see, this bandit leader is indebted to His Excellency the count. When Franz learned that I had been taken, he was trying to find the money for my ransom, for we didn’t have enough between the two of us, and there was no time to send to Father for it. He had to do it quickly, for the bandits insisted that if the ransom was not produced by the second day, I would be—well, Mama, it is of no consequence now.”
    “What? He would have killed you, wouldn’t he?” Mercédès’ fingers convulsed over Albert’s, and her stomach squeezed anew.
    Thank God. Thank God, her son had been spared.
    “Well, that is what he threatened—but it did not happen, so there is nothing to be worried about now, Mama. When the count learned of my situation, for he was staying at the same hotel, and the news reached him easily, and he learned that the bandit’s name was Luigi Vampa”—here Mercédès was forced to smother another gasp—“he immediately intervened. Not only did the count intervene,”