Leo appeared to be conflicted, but he might only be pretending. His acting abilities were above the norm. “My sister and I were just on our way to luncheon. Perhaps later…”
The widow cast an exasperated look at Claudine, then turned back to Leo. “It won’t take but a moment or two of your time.” She silently communicated some secret known only to them. “The exercise might even build up your appetite.”
The woman might as well announce their affair with a bullhorn. “I think I should return to my studies,” Claudine blurted before bolting from the pair.
What a pathetic cow she was, dissecting Leo’s words for hidden meanings when they clearly meant nothing. He wasn’t thinking about her while he was with Mrs. Glendenning. Her stomach churned at unwanted imaginings of what they might soon be doing.
Why was she working so hard to deny the obvious? His interest was solely professional, just as he’d said and just as she wished. She found a deck chair in the shade and resolved to put the distasteful matter out of her mind.
On nearby chairs two smartly dressed ladies passed the day with gossip and pleasant chitchat about their travel itineraries. She missed the company of other women. She’d kept mostly to herself among the first-class passengers because she feared someone might recognize her.
Everything would be different in America. She’d make new friends with people who knew nothing about Claudine Valencourt, begin her life anew as Madeleine Lavoie in every respect but one: She would find Alexandre and tell him everything.
He might judge and lecture her, as he had a tendency to do. He was older and, in his mind, wiser. But it would be worth braving his inevitable disappointment in her just to be able to unburden herself.
He would keep her secrets. She’d kept enough of his. He owed her for all those nights she’d acted as his alibi when he would steal away in the middle of the night. She knew he went to the cabarets and dance halls as a teenager, associating with all sorts of shady characters. His stories the next morning appalled and fascinated her.
He craved danger as much as she sought stability. They were complete opposites, but they understood each other better than anyone else. Strictly speaking, Alex was her cousin, her uncle’s child, but they’d been raised as siblings because both of his parents had died. She felt as though he were her brother, no matter how unreliable he was.
Without him, she would have been very lonely as a child. Her parents were absorbed in their work and each other. Their circle of friends was artistic and eclectic. Young visitors to the house were rare. At dinner philosophical discussions and jokes went above her head. She was forever in the dark about so many things until Alex shared his precocious insights with her.
How she missed his clever quips, dramatic stories, and evocative music. He was a child prodigy, a piano virtuoso, as his father had been. From the very beginning, she loved and empathized with her adopted sibling and she, more than anyone else, knew how to draw him away from his bleak and destructive moods.
He’d never met his father, and his mother disappeared when he was very young. As if that weren’t enough for one child to endure, he’d also witnessed the violence of war and political uprising and suffered several years of abject poverty before he’d come to live with them.
Her life was never the same after he left for his concert tour in America. She felt as though she’d lost a part of herself. His letters were sporadic and always from a new address, a few days in San Francisco, a week in Chicago. She’d savored and saved each one, re-reading his descriptions of concert halls and the bizarre characters he’d met, living vicariously through his adventures.
The tone of his last letter to her, three months ago, worried her. He was scheduled to make his debut at Carnegie Hall, a lifelong dream, but he sounded unhappy, overwhelmed. She waited to hear news of his performance, but there were no more letters and no news.
She wrote to him at his newest address. He didn’t reply. His indifference hurt her so much she made a point of not thinking about the matter.
But now she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She hoped he wasn’t having one of his moods. What if he needed her? She certainly needed him, and she was determined to find him.
Two facts worked in her favor. First, her handsome and charismatic cousin tended to leave an impression wherever he went. Second, she remembered the name of the building he lived in before he broke off communication: The Wilbraham. An address would have been better, but how challenging could it be to find such a uniquely named residence?
Excited and restless, she took the familiar path back to her stateroom to change for dinner, all the while envisioning their reunion in her mind. He would be beyond surprised. She turned her key in the lock and absently stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her.
Her eyes locked upon a bare, male chest as Leo emerged from the bathroom in a haze of steam. His muscles stood out in relief against his lean torso: deltoid, pectoralis major, rectus abdominis, external oblique. Her mother, a painter, had taught her how to draw the muscles and bones of human anatomy, but Claudine had never experienced the beauty of line and shadow in such a palpable way.
His biceps bulged as he rubbed a towel over his wet hair. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You’re usually away at this hour.”
For precisely this reason. At least, he was wearing trousers. Her face felt stiff as she tried very hard to appear indifferent. “It would take far more than the sight of a man’s chest to embarrass me. I’ve seen it all.”
“Is that why your face is so red? I’ve really shocked you,” he said with a galling degree of surprise.
She touched her cheeks and found they were actually hot. “I must have gotten a burn from the sun after I fell asleep, or maybe it’s the temperature in here. You’ve created quite a tropical climate.”
He looked over his shoulder at the mist rolling out of the bathroom and shrugged. “I like steam. It should dissipate while we’re at dinner.”
He snatched up the white shirt that had been hanging over the back of a chair and flicked it open with the flourish of a bullfighter. “I promise you I’ll dress in the bathroom from now on, even when you’re not here.”
“It’s so hot in there I think that would defeat the purpose of bathing.”
He slid his arms into the sleeves and commenced buttoning, his fingers working downward from the center of the shirt. Little by little the sight of his glorious physique disappeared. “True. Maybe we should formulate a schedule.”
Wouldn’t that conflict with his unpredictable nocturnal activities? The thought made her irritable. “We never should have invented this fiction in the first place. It’s forcing us to tell more and more lies. What excuse will you invent when I mysteriously cease to exist as your sister?”
He picked up a cream silk tie from the console table and went to tie it before the Venetian mirror hanging above the settee. The angle was awkward for his height, causing him to lean back and bend his knees in order to see his neck in the glass. “It’s getting complicated, I’ll admit, but I still think our pretense is for the best. You wouldn’t like the way those people would treat you if they knew you were a cabaret girl.”
“I’m used to it.” She carefully watched the mirror for any sign that he doubted her story.
“I looked for you… as soon as I was free.” The pitch of his voice was lower, almost apologetic.
She was glad he hadn’t found her. She’d didn’t want to be around him after he’d just been with that woman.
He tugged and pulled at his tie, adjusting the bow. “Mrs. Glendenning can be quite insistent.”
“I’ve noticed.” She wished he would leave off with the distasteful subject. Somewhere far off, a bugle blared, announcing dinner.
“Regarding that little nap you mentioned, I wish you’d take better care when you are on your own. Some men view an unattended female, particularly a sleeping one, as fair game.”
Infuriating, contradictory, impossible. “I’d better ge
t used to that, don’t you think? Music hall singers aren’t known for their modesty or propriety. It’s not as though I’m some fine lady.”
He turned and flashed a half-smiled at her. “Aren’t you? I know of none finer.”
Was he mocking her? More likely, he was only flattering her in order to handle her, as he did with every woman he encountered. “Is that why you are so eager to be gone from my company from the moment you wake up each morning?”
She wished she could take back the accusation as soon as she’d said it. Her ears burned with embarrassment during the heavy silence that fell between them.
He frowned. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m afraid in my attempt to allow you privacy I’ve neglected you. This must be frightening for you, going to a new land where you know no one. I want you to know you can count on me for anything you might need.”
She wanted to believe him. He sounded so sincere. But she knew he would be far too busy in New York to concern himself with her.
He removed an ivory waistcoat and black dinner jacket from his trunk and put them on. “Beginning tonight, I intend to rectify the situation so get dressed or we’ll be late for dinner.”
The prospect of listening to Mr. Treadway drone on while Leo devoted his attention to Mrs. Glendenning dulled her appetite. “You can go without me. I’m not hungry.”
“You mustn’t skip meals. You’re growing too thin. At this rate, your wardrobe won’t fit by the time we arrive.”
Here was the entrepreneurial Leo again, looking out for his investment. She should have known all his comforting talk had nothing to do with compassion or any feeling for her.
“If it’s the company you object to, we’ll go someplace more private than the dining saloon.”
The idea held enormous appeal and defeated her best effort at cynicism. “We can do that?”
He gave her that grin, the sly, suggestive one that only a reckless woman would fall for. “We’re free to do anything we wish.”
Chapter Seven
Leo had his own reasons for avoiding the grand dining saloon. They’d become a topic of speculation. He’d long ago stopped worrying about what people said about him. He couldn’t prevent people from spreading lies so why expend the effort? But he had hoped to protect Madeleine from gossip or worse.
He knew this protective instinct ran contrary to his plans for her, but he couldn’t ignore an impulse that kept growing stronger.
He didn’t notice any whispering or finger pointing as he escorted Madeleine across the restaurant’s carpeted floor to a table set for two. The evening was off to an excellent start. Some of the gentlemen openly gaped at Madeleine as the waiter pulled out her chair, but that was to be expected. In her cerulean silk gown with silver beading, she was easily the loveliest woman in the room.
A stringed orchestra played Tchaikovsky, allowing them to speak freely without fear of being overhead. Illuminated primarily by backlit stained glass windows, the room was much darker than the grand dining saloon. After a glass of wine, she visibly relaxed and, with a little prompting, told a few tales of “her life on the farm in Burgundy”.
He sensed she knew he didn’t believe a word of it, and still she persisted with her fiction. He admired her imagination. It would serve her well in the theater.
Someday he hoped to learn the truth of her background but only if she chose to tell him. Where had that thought come from? Why was he thinking about someday with a woman he barely knew?
He needed to be a friend to her, as he’d promised, but still maintain a professional distance. He’d surely managed more challenging feats than that.
“What a remarkable coincidence!” Corinne Glendenning called in an overly sanguine tone that made him clench his teeth.
Pembroke strolled beside her with a smug look on his square-jawed face. “Guess you tired of the dining saloon as well. Horribly dull. Too many courses, too many people… They’ll let anyone buy a first-class ticket it seems.” He motioned for a waiter and demanded extra chairs.
“Certainly seems that way,” Madeleine mumbled as two men in white uniform jackets quickly squeezed two more chairs around the small round table. Leo couldn’t help but grin as he faintly shook his head in her direction. Pembroke could be petty and vindictive toward those who offended him. It was best not to antagonize him.
Pembroke reached into the centerpiece of pink roses and white daisies, plucked out a flower with his thick fingers, and offered it to Madeleine. “A perfect rose for a perfect rose.”
She accepted it with a frozen look on her face and placed it beside her wine glass. From there the evening became excruciating. Pembroke had the unfortunate habit of directing vague insults toward females he found attractive. This was his warped way of flirting. The prettier the woman, the more pointed the jabs.
Madeleine was doing her best to ignore him, but he persisted. “Ever find that book?”
She looked baffled for a moment. Then she said, “The grammar book. Yes. I studied all afternoon.”
He smirked. “With your brother?”
While Leo considered what excuse he could make to depart in the middle of the meal, Corinne’s hand found his thigh under the table. Her fingertips skimmed over his leg with little subtlety. “There’s going to be dancing tonight in the reception hall,” she purred. “You’ll both attend, won’t you?”
From across the table, Madeleine looked at him with a wounded expression that made him feel like a cheating husband. It made no sense whatsoever. He considered his resistance to temptation most admirable, perhaps even noble. Instead of seducing the lovely and vulnerable woman in his care, he’d made due with Corinne, who was experienced and worldly enough to expect nothing from a temporary arrangement.
Or so he’d thought. Every encounter with her was stranger than the last, culminating in the disturbing events that had taken place this afternoon in her stateroom. Looking back on it, he was relieved their trysts never evolved into intercourse.
Last night he’d gone to her with every intention of seduction. It wasn’t her first invitation or his first visit. She was pretty and willing, and he’d thought he knew what he wanted. But there was a false note to their coupling that compelled him to pull away after a few minutes of kissing and fondling upon her bed.
That didn’t go over well. He’d tried to assure her of her desirability, but she could not be consoled. She broke down and cried so he held her in his arms. That was when she called him “Harry”, the name of her deceased husband.
He felt sorry for her. He supposed she was lonely and needed comfort, but he didn’t care for role-playing, especially when he didn’t know the rules of the game.
But this afternoon she’d been so insistent he was afraid she’d break down again if he refused her request. He loathed public scenes. So he returned once again to her cabin to explain his position as kindly and delicately as possible rather than callously break off all communication with her. She was clearly in a vulnerable state.
He began his explanation as soon the door was closed, but she seemed not to hear one word. She knelt before him and began to unbutton his trousers. Nothing could have reminded him more sharply of a past he’d rather forget. What was it about him that drew women like this to him?
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but she seemed so dreadfully desperate he no longer felt even the faintest trace of desire her. When he finally extricated himself from her grasp and helped her to her feet, she stared at him as though he were an intruder and slapped him.
He was lucky she hadn’t stabbed him instead. The woman was clearly unbalanced. Beyond that, she was boring and prone to gossip for lack of anything interesting to say.
He was going to have to rethink his entire approach to sex. Passionate but impersonal liaisons had lost their appeal altogether. “I must see to my sister. She’s not feeling her best.”
Pembroke’s gaze dipped to Madeleine’s cleavage as if he might find the cause of her malady there. Leo rose before his temper could
take control. If Corinne and Pembroke were offended, so be it. If they both refused to speak to him ever again, he’d consider himself lucky.
With a knowing flutter of eyelashes and a subtle twist of her lips, Corinne conveyed a hint of sadness and a great deal of bitterness. “Well, maybe later then…”
He tried to feign some polite response, but the muscles of his face refused to comply. Madeleine was leaving the room without him. He dashed after her and caught up with her on the grand staircase, but she didn’t acknowledge his presence and spoke not a single word to him until they reached the stateroom door.
“I’ll be fine here on my own,” she informed his shoes. “I’m accustomed to it. There’s no need to keep your Mrs. Glendenning waiting.” Again he felt a pang of guilt though he’d done nothing wrong.
He unlocked the door and stood aside so she could enter first. “I’m not in the mood to dance.”
Her lips quirked. “Too tired, are you?”
He looked away from the accusation in her eyes and noticed the marble chessboard on a marquetry bombe chest. “I’m not tired at all. Do you play?”
She blinked in surprise. “I have a general familiarity.”
“Care for a match?”
Her head tilted as she considered the idea. “I hope you’re not expecting a challenge. I haven’t played for some time… Can we move this?” Without waiting for an answer, she picked up the board and placed it on the rug. “It helps me to be at eye level with my people, to think as they would.”
“Even the horses and castles?”
“Especially the horses and castles.” She stretched her legs behind her and shifted her body to lie prone in a casual and childlike manner that told of many prior games of chess.
“But castles have nothing with which to think, and horses are not known for their intelligence.”
She put her fingers on either side of her horse’s head. “Shh… I’ve known some brilliant ones.” Then she adjusted the other marble pieces. “Besides, my way is more fun. It’s the way my father taught me to play.” Her expression turned wistful, then sad.
The Rake's Proposition Page 8