The Countess Misbehaves Read online

  It was, for Madeleine Cavendish, a miserable meal. Her usual healthy appetite missing, she pushed the food around her china plate and forced herself to smile and engage her fellow diners in idle conversation. All but de Chevalier. She said nothing to him. And, further, she silently, subtly let him know that she was not interested in hearing more about him nor did she intend to tell him anything about herself.

  He didn’t press her.

  Still, she was greatly relieved when at last the seven-course meal finally came to an end.

  At the captain’s insistence, the smiling countess courteously allowed the beaming, white-haired ship’s officer to escort her into the ship’s mirrored ballroom. Leaving Armand de Chevalier behind, Madeleine immediately began to relax and enjoy herself.

  Lavishly dressed dancers were spinning about on the polished parquet floor as a full orchestra in evening wear played a waltz. Warmed by the wine and relieved to be free of the bothersome Creole, Lady Madeleine was gracious when the aging captain lifted his kid-gloved hand and led her onto the floor.

  She smiled charmingly as the barrel-chested captain turned her awkwardly about. And she laughed good-naturedly when he stepped on her toes and quickly assured him she was unhurt, no harm done.

  Her smile was bright and genuine as the captain, soon wheezing for breath and perspiring heavily, continued to clumsily turn her about on the floor.

  But her smile evaporated when Armand de Chevalier appeared and tapped the Captain on the shoulder. He brashly cut in, decisively took her in his arms and deftly spun her away.

  She was trapped. Everyone was watching. The other dancers abruptly stopped dancing to watch the Countess and the Creole. Madeleine couldn’t make a scene. She couldn’t forcefully push de Chevalier away and storm out of the ballroom. She was left with no choice but to smile and endure the dance.

  Madeleine’s smile was forced.

  She was as stiff as a poker.

  At least at first. But that quickly changed. The Creole was such a graceful dancer and so incredibly easy to follow, Madeleine—who had always loved dancing—found herself relaxing in his arms. And enjoying herself. Too much.

  Soon she was no longer aware of the watching crowd. She was aware of nothing and no one save the man who held her and turned her and spun her about. His lean body barely brushed her own, yet she sensed his every movement as if she were pressed flush against his hard male frame. It was as if they were one body, hers so finely attuned to his, she could easily anticipate even the slightest nuance of movement before it took place.

  It was strange.

  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 wa
s 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 had retired and lay sleepless in a shaft of summer moonlight, she heard a deep, masculine voice that she instantly recognized. Curious, she tossed back the silky sheets, got out of bed, hurried across the carpeted state-room to an open porthole and peered out.

  Directly below, at the railing, a lone couple stood bathed in moonlight. While Madeleine watched, wide-eyed, the provocative brunette who had spent the day with the Creole, slipped her bare arms up around his neck and lifted her face for his kiss.

  Madeleine quickly turned away in disgust.

  She had been so right about de Chevalier! He was nothing but a rogue and a scoundrel. She felt sorry for his enthralled victim.

  In the days and nights that followed, Madeleine found that the pretty brunette was not the only woman who was entranced with de Chevalier. The handsome Creole never lacked for feminine companionship. Each time she saw him he was with a beautiful woman. A different woman each evening. And each of those beautiful women clung possessively to his arm, gazed adoringly at him and laughed at his every word.

  Lady Madeleine pitied them, making such fools of themselves over a charming scamp who changed women as often as he changed shirts. Seeing him for the cad he was helped to extinguish the troublesome heat she had felt for him that first night at sea.

  The Creole was somebody else’s problem, not hers.

  But the Countess was bored.

  As several long days and longer nights at sea passed by uneventfully, Madeleine grew weary of the journey, the idleness. She was tired of being trapped on a ship in the middle of the ocean. She was anxious to step onto terra firma. Anxious to reach New Orleans. Anxious to see Lord Enfield and Uncle Colfax. Anxious to go out to dinner and the theater and the opera.

  So she was relieved when finally the long journey neared its end. She experienced an escalating degree of excitement when Lucinda awakened her with the news the ship was rounding the southernmost tip of the Florida Keys before it headed up into the Gulf of Mexico. Sometime within the next forty-eight hours, she would be disembarking at New Orleans’ busy port.

  Humming happily, Madeleine quickly dressed and eagerly made her way out onto the deck, blithely ignoring the strong winds that had risen with the red dawn. She shaded her eyes and gazed, smiling, at the old lighthouse rising majestically from the very last island of the Keys. And she laughed when a great gust of wind caught her yellow silk parasol, tore it out of her hands, and sent it skittering away.

  Several gentlemen, immediately aware of her plight, went after the dainty umbrella, but each time one of them bent to pluck it up from the de
ck, another puff of wind sent it toppling out of reach.

  Instantly, it became a highly competitive game to see who could successfully seize Lady Madeleine’s tumbling, wind-tossed parasol. Determined gentlemen scrambled to recover the colorful article, each eager to be the lucky one who could present it to its lovely owner.

  As fate would have it, the parasol was effortlessly retrieved by a disinterested gentleman who was not in on the game. The flapping, fluttering object slammed up against the trousered leg of none other than Armand de Chevalier. He placed his well-shod foot gingerly on the parasol’s handle to secure it. Then bent from the waist, picked it up and slyly raised it over his head. Turning slowly, he stood there twirling the parasol playfully, waiting for its owner to reclaim it.

  Good sports all, the gentlemen who had been chasing the wayward umbrella laughed and applauded de Chevalier’s good fortune. Armand nodded and accepted their congratulations. When the small crowd dispersed and the laughing gentlemen went on their way, Armand stayed where he was.

  The Countess, several yards down the deck, also stayed put. She naturally assumed de Chevalier would bring the parasol to her.

  So she waited.

  And waited.

  Frowning she motioned for him to come. He shrugged wide shoulders and a look of puzzlement crossed his face as if he had no idea what she wanted.

  Madeleine’s hands went to her hips. She glanced cautiously around, not wishing to attract attention. She looked directly at Armand and, without sound, mouthed the words, “Bring me that parasol!”

  “Not a chance,” Armand replied in a firm, loud voice. He grinned devilishly and added, “Come and get it, Countess.”

  Taken aback and instantly irritated, Madeleine said, loudly enough to be heard by him as well as by passersby, “Sir, I command you to return my personal property.”

  Ignoring her queenly command, Armand’s devilish smile remained solidly in place. “You may have your little umbrella anytime you want it. All you have to do is take the few short steps to me.” His smile grew even broader. “Or, you could stop by my stateroom late this evening and we’ll…”