way….”
“You heard me, Countess,” he interrupted as he commandingly took her arm and escorted her to her cabin.
Outside the closed door of her stateroom, Armand stood facing her. He raised a long arm above her head and rested his hand on the door frame. Leaning close, he said, “Have lunch with me tomorrow.”
Her back pressed against the carved door, Madeleine said, “That, sir, is out of the question. You see, I am…that is, I…” She started to inform him that she was an engaged lady, but decided against it. She owed him no explanations. She owed him nothing. She said pointedly, “I am not interested in sharing lunch, or anything else, with you, sir.”
Unperturbed, Armand lowered his raised arm, brushed the tips of his fingers along her bare white shoulder, smiled easily and said, “Well, I can take a hint. Good night, Madeleine.”
She scornfully corrected him, “That’s Lady Madeleine to you, Mr. de Chevalier!”
Armand shrugged, grinned and said, “Now, Maddie, you are not my lady.” She whirled about, opened the door, and rushed inside as he silently added, Yet.
Three
Lady Madeleine Cavendish had a difficult time falling asleep that night. Armand de Chevalier was responsible. As she restlessly tossed and turned, Madeleine reluctantly conceded it was impossible to deny that the insolent Creole had aroused an unsettling emotion in her she’d long thought dead.
She promptly told herself that it was completely normal, nothing to be concerned about. It was quite simple, really. De Chevalier was formidably masculine. She, totally feminine. The polarity generated its own dynamic tension, engendered a natural curiosity and fascination. That was it. Nothing more.
Thank heaven she was wise enough to recognize the attraction for what was. That elementary knowledge was a valuable aid in building total immunity to the Creole’s questionable charms.
There was no need to worry about the handsome de Chevalier. Even if he refused to leave her alone—and she strongly suspected that would be the case—it was no great cause for concern. She was not some flighty, starry-eyed eighteen-year-old. She was an intelligent, levelheaded woman of twenty-seven whose knees did not go weak every time a strikingly handsome man smiled at her.
Decisively dismissing the vexing Creole from her mind, Madeleine let her thoughts drift across the ocean to the two fine men who were waiting for her in New Orleans. She was anxious to reach her destination and genuinely delighted that the charming river city was now to be her home.
With both parents dead and no close family left in England, she would live with her dear Uncle Colfax until next spring when she wed Lord Enfield. Her uncle had assured her that the earl was a gentleman of sterling character, well thought of and quite wealthy after more than a decade in America.
Madeleine smiled in the darkness, pleased that her uncle and her fiancé were such good friends. It was important to her that her Uncle Colfax fully approve of the man she was to marry.
She knew how much her bachelor uncle doted on her, loved her as if she were his own daughter. He had told her, on more than one occasion, that she was the sole heir to his sizable fortune. But she loved her uncle as he loved her and hoped that it would be many long years before she claimed her inheritance.
Besides, she would have no need of her uncle’s fortune. Lord Enfield was a wealthy man in his own right.
Madeleine sighed heavily, then yawned. Sleepy at last, she turned over onto her stomach, hugged her pillow, and closed her eyes.
And was soon sound asleep.
On that first full day at sea, Madeleine awakened to the bright August sun spilling through the port-holes of her luxurious stateroom. A woman who loved excitement and adventure, she dressed hurriedly and rushed out on deck.
A yellow parasol raised above her head to protect her fair skin, Lady Madeleine smiled and nodded to fellow passengers as she strolled along the promenade deck.
Inhaling deeply of the fresh sea air and looking out with pleasure at the calm blue ocean, Madeleine was enjoying herself immensely.
The gentlemen she passed tipped their hats or bowed slightly from the waist, acknowledging her. The ladies smiled and greeted her and several asked her to join them for high tea that afternoon in the ladies’ salon.
On she strolled.
Taking her time. No destination in mind. Smiling easily. Savoring the beauty of the warm August day at sea. Then all at once Madeleine abruptly blinked. She stopped walking. Stood stock-still. She squinted against the brightness of the sun, staring.
Several yards ahead a couple stood at the ship’s railing. They were laughing merrily and in their hands, each held a long-stemmed glass of what appeared to be champagne, although it was only ten o’clock in the morning. The woman, looking up at the man as if he were a god, was a voluptuous brunette dressed in an expensive-looking traveling suit of pale-blue cotton. The man, who was smiling down at the alluring brunette as if they shared some exciting secret, wore a finely tailored summer suit of crisp beige linen.
Armand de Chevalier!
Lady Madeleine felt her jaw tighten and her brows knit. She straightened her spine, threw her head back and started walking. Directly toward the laughing, champagne-sipping couple. As she approached, she waited expectantly for de Chevalier to look up, see her and perhaps motion her over.
It never happened.
Madeleine drew up even with the laughing pair and purposely paused not twelve feet away. She stood there for several long seconds, giving both the opportunity to acknowledge her. Neither seemed aware of her presence. Neither so much as glanced in her direction. They had eyes only for each other.
Madeleine hurried away, admittedly stung by the Creole’s pointed neglect and shocked by such callous behavior. Here was the man who, only last night, had held her in his arms. He had danced with her and escorted her to her stateroom, where he had asked her to have lunch with him today.
Had he already forgotten her? Had she made absolutely no impression on him? Had it not bothered him in the slightest that she had turned down his luncheon invitation? It would seem not. It was as if she didn’t exist. Well, what did she care? It was, after all, she who had advised him to leave her alone. She should be grateful that he was honoring that request. And she was. She was glad he had found someone else with whom to amuse himself. Someone with whom he could share lunch.
By evening, Lady Madeleine had begun to wonder if de Chevalier and the buxom brunette weren’t sharing a great deal more than lunch. At dinner the pair were together at a table close by and they seemed to be having quite a gay time.
After the evening meal, Madeleine joined some of her table companions in the ship’s ballroom. There she spotted, swaying on the floor, the Creole and his enchanted companion. Madeleine swallowed with difficulty. Watching the two of them glide about the floor brought back the vivid recollection of being in de Chevalier’s arms.
Suffering the onset of a sudden headache, Lady Madeleine made her apologies and said good-night. She hurried to the haven of her stateroom. There she stormed around, pacing back and forth, curiously angry and upset.
And much, much later after she
