The Countess Misbehaves

It was exhilarating.

All her senses seemed suddenly to be heightened. Her vision was so sharp that as she looked at him, the thought struck her that this handsome man’s aquiline profile could have been traced from a drawing of a conquistador.

Her hearing, too, was nothing short of incredible. She could hear, above the music and commotion, his deep, steady breathing and even the heavy, rhythmic beating of his heart. His clean, unique masculine scent, so subtle, so intoxicating, caused her to inhale deeply.

Most pronounced of all was her sense of touch. His hand at her back, gently guiding her about, was warm and persuasive, the tapered fingertips only lightly touching her waist, but seeming to burn through the silk of her ball gown. His other hand lightly clutched her own slender fingers and pressed them against the solid wall of his chest. The heat emanating from him was intense; her sensitive fingertips, which touched against his muscled chest, felt as if they were on fire.

A thrill rippled through her.

She was overwhelmed by the sight, sound, smell and touch of this sinfully handsome man. Guiltily she wondered about that other sense. The sense of taste. What would it taste like to be kissed by him? Covertly, she glanced at his sensual lips and felt butterflies take wing inside.

Quickly she looked away.

And saw—reflected in the ballroom’s mirrored walls—duplicate pairs of the dancing duo. He so tall and dark and broad-shouldered. She so pale and slender and bare-shouldered. The two of them moving perfectly together. Swaying seductively to the music.

It was a powerful image and Madeleine felt quite faint. Her partner immediately sensed her condition and artfully danced her out of the warm ballroom and onto the ship’s deserted deck.

Armand solicitously steered Madeleine to the railing where the salt-laden sea breeze cooled them. He gave her a chance to catch her breath, watched as some of the color returned to her cheeks.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded and took a couple of long, deep breaths. Then she gripped the railing tightly, lifted her face into the wind and closed her eyes. In silence Armand stared at her in frank admiration. What a lovely vision she was with her noble head thrown back, her delicate chin lifted, her long dark lashes fluttering restlessly over her closed, beautiful eyes. He noted, and not for the first time that evening, that she possessed the most exquisite shoulders and bosom he had ever seen.

The bodice of her emerald-green gown was cut low enough to reveal the tempting swell of her milky-white bosom. At the same time the gown’s fabric rose high enough to modestly conceal her soft, rounded breasts.

Madeleine opened her eyes. She turned to look at Armand and some of the disturbing warmth quickly returned. Struck by his imposing height, the width of his shoulders and the way the moonlight silvered his raven-black hair, she said anxiously, “Good night to you, Mr. de Chevalier. I…I must retire to my…my…stateroom.” She stammered as she stared at his mouth and tingles of excitement swept though her. “I hardly know you and it’s improper for the two of us to be here alone.”

Armand smiled at her and asked, “Would it have been better to have stayed inside where you would have fainted before all those staring people?”

“I never faint!” she promptly defended herself.

“Ah, I see. My mistake,” he replied in a low, teasing voice. “I thought that you were feeling a little dizzy and…”

“I was, but I am perfectly fine, Mr. de Chevalier. Now if you’ll kindly excuse me.”

She turned away.

He followed.

“I will see you to your stateroom, Lady Madeleine,” he said.

She was quick to protest. “That isn’t necessary, I can find my 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.