She picked up a thin contour paintbrush and fanned it over the ocean scene in half-circles, creating a series of waves. After a few moments, she felt calmer and sat back to survey her work. If he wanted French, she had a few choice words for him.
She pointed to the blue foam waves just breaking. “Here, you see the calm before the storm.” She turned to him. He wasn’t looking at the waves, but at the maelstrom she had painted further out to sea. It was coming toward the land in black slashes. In the center of the maelstrom was a female form, naked saved for an elaborate headdress sparkling with red stones.
“Rubies?”
She smiled, satisfied that her painting shocked him into his solemn expression. “I dreamed of her. If you cover that half of the painting, it is an otherwise serene view. Very deceptive, is it not, Captain Cardiff?”
He ignored her question and leaned against the stone border of the terrace to face her. “Has your father seen this painting?”
She snorted in answer.
“We both know you are not the nervous bride-to-be.”
“Oh, no?” She looked back at the painting, but did not pick up the brush.
“No, you won’t be. When you marry, you will be a willing participant.” The certainty in his voice was curious, but registered with her briefly as she thought of what a fool she had been to let her guard down with him.
She stood, deciding his statement offended her, after all. “Will you come to the wedding, Captain Cardiff?”
“Most certainly.” He folded his arms across his chest. The man’s audacity knew no bounds.
“Of course, you will.” She turned away in disgust, and then swerved back in his direction. “I just want to know one thing.”
“You have only to ask.”
“This is not an idle sojourn for you. What are you really doing here in France, Captain?”
“I cannot answer that.”
She snorted again because it was very unladylike, and very satisfying. “Don’t you mean you won’t answer it?” She started gathering her paints.
The captain stepped forward and stretched out a hand to still hers. “Mademoiselle, what is it you think you know about me?”
“You are here on behalf of your friend Lord Alsborough. Now that you’ve found out how I feel about him, you will have a very interesting report to relay when you return to England.” She was on tiptoe, in his face. “Will you tell him of our kiss?”
His bark of laughter drowned out her question. She came down on her heels from the height of her anger and stared at him.
The captain finally recovered, shaking his head. Though they were alone in the garden, he lowered his voice. “That kiss is something Lord Alsborough will never experience. That is ours alone, Jacqueline.”
She moved away to the edge of the terrace, but she could not escape the intimacy in his voice. At least she could think clearer now with some space between them. She was a dalliance, a way for him to pass the hours of observation.
“And that kiss is something you will never experience again!” Tears stung her eyes. She turned toward the lower level of the gardens. “And stop speaking in French,” she said in English. “You…you Englishman!”
He moved behind her, but before he could touch her, she stepped out of reach.
“Secrets. You have too many, captain, for my taste.” She walked away, leaving her precious paints behind.
* * * *
Jacqueline spent the next day in her room, hiding from the captain. She took all meals there, emitting a cautionary cough when her sister or mother came to check on her.
On the one hand, it allowed her to catch up on some much needed sleep. The fiery nightmares never came to her during the day. However, once she was well rested she was bored. There was, but so much of John Milton’s poetry she would read in a day, but that was a small price to pay to send a message to the captain. She preferred to be alone than to be in his presence. He would not come near her again. And he would not spy on her any longer. That satisfying rationale wasted one beautiful spring day.
By the next morning, she felt like the prisoner she had become with her sprained ankle, and very foolish to have brought the ruling upon herself.
The sun had not yet cleared the horizon to brighten the Seine. She itched to go out, but she would have to go alone. If Margaux knew she was well, her sister would alert the entire household, and the captain would soon seek her out.
She dressed quickly and slipped out of the house. She took off her shoes and stockings and walked barefoot through the gardens. Laughing by the time she reached the green, she ran all the way to the plane trees bordering the lawn.
Leaving a trail of garments billowing in the breeze, she arrived on the tranquil banks of the Seine in her chemise.
Jacqueline swirled a toe in the water, not at all put off by its temperature, which had not yet warmed with the day. This part of the Seine was her private place…a bend, which created a bubbling pool. It would soon warm.
She submerged herself and then turned on her back to swim out into the river. She swam back and forth in the pool, catching bubbles, darting back and forth. After a while, she floated, letting the current pull her this way and that as she watched the sun make its journey to the heavens. Here in her part of the Seine she was free from her betrothal, happy for a time. Here, she controlled what happened to her.
Letting out a sigh of exhilaration, she slowly started treading water.
Feeling wicked that she had snuck out for this swim nearly naked, she swung around in delight and met Captain Cardiff’s eyes. “Where did you come from?”
The captain did not answer. He was treading water just ten feet away from her. Wicked would not fully describe the expression on his face.
There was a feral hunger in his eyes. She dropped hers and they settled on the safer region of his strong jaw, which was set in control.
Her eyes did not stop there.
She could not stop her eyes from traveling down, as did the drops of water that ran off his curling locks to his strong neck. Her eyes moved on to the broad shoulders peaking the water, tantalizing hardness as the Seine lapped against them to conceal and reveal.
“You have recovered, Mademoiselle Jacqueline.”
“This is my pool.” She marveled at what made her carry on with this dangerous stubbornness even as unwanted warmth pooled in her belly. It occurred to her that he was, of course, naked in the water. He had thought himself quite alone out here this early in the morning.
“You must leave…” Her words trailed off when the captain’s eyes wandered down to the chemise, which clung to her as far as the water allowed. From that point, she was grateful for the distance between them, with the sun now in its complete glory.
When the captain’s eyes moved back to her face, his expression was even more severe. His voice was deeper and more intimate than her private pool. “You have had your swim. Retrieve your clothes and return to the château, and you may yet remain untouched.”
That ended her stand. She backed away. When there was a safe distance between them, she turned and swam swift strokes to the bank. She climbed up and picked her way through the trees to the undergarments strewn here and there. She was shaking now, whether from the cold water or the encounter, she did not know. It was impossible to put the clothes on. She gathered them to her chest and ran, and never once looked back.
* * * *
For some reason, she had goaded him unnecessarily in the Seine this morning. Now she was paying the price.
Captain Cardiff would not let it rest. His simple reference to the rolling waters later that morning at the breakfast table was all that was needed to instigate an enthusiastic commentary from Margaux. However, the captain did not stop there. The entire table was engaged in a rousing discussion in French of the delights to be had in a summer on the Seine. He refused to speak English.
Jacqueline did not dare look at him. He watched her while Margaux and then Maman, who was clearly enjoying herself, wen
t on and on about their various adventures on the Seine.
Serge entered the breakfast room. “Correspondence from the Duke of Alsborough.” He gave a letter to Papa.
She was not surprised when he gave another to the captain. Neither of them opened their letters. She was hard pressed to keep her eyes off the silver salvers, which rested at each of their wrists.
Also intriguing was the fact that the captain had stopped looking at her and was now fully engaged in a discussion with Papa. She stared at him and still he refused to look at her.
She shuffled the eggs on her plate, waiting for the others to finish. When the meal was finally over, she went out into the hall and up the stairs to the second landing where she could spy the captain’s movements.
He left the breakfast room behind Papa and both men went directly into the study. She had hoped to catch him alone to confront him about the letter, now she would have to wait until later. They could be in Papa’s study for hours.
How long must I wait?
Jacqueline was standing in front of the closed study door before she realized what she meant to do. Their voices muffled, but certain emphasized words in the captain’s stronger baritone teased her. “No choice in the matter…taking too long.” He was talking about her betrothal.
Had the Duke of Alsborough sent a request for the wedding date to be moved up?
She had begged Papa for a full year engagement and he had assured her with a promise. He could not go back on his word. The captain truly was a good friend to the House of Alsborough. He was trying to convince her father not to wait.
She pressed her ear to the door. They were talking business again. The captain seemed agitated. She wondered about that, but was hardly concerned when there was the more pressing matter of her scheduled nuptials to deal with.
The door opened and Captain Cardiff stepped out, nearly knocking her over.
Her skirt caught on her heels. She teetered in place with her arms flailing backward.
The captain caught her against his chest, effectively knocking the wind out of her. He reached for the door behind him and eased it closed.
She gasped for air against his chest and felt hard abs through his waistcoat. She leaned her head against that firm bed for a moment until she caught her breath.
Footsteps approached from the corridor.
With one arm about her waist and her feet dangling, the captain carried her into the library. When he set her down, she went to stand by the escritoire in the corner, as far away from him as she could get.
He watched her until the footsteps passed down the hall and then strolled toward her with an inscrutable expression on his face.
She backed against the writing desk and would have gone further if possible. He was too close.
“First you hide from me in your room, and now you stalk me.”
She came nose to chest with him. “I am not stalking you, monsieur!”
He had caught the eldest daughter of the house eavesdropping, and as anxious as she was to know what he and Papa had been discussing, she felt guilty as a thief.
Or, a spy…
Her worries compounded to the breaking point, turning into anger, which she directed at him. “Stay away from me and stay away from my pool!”
He raised his eyebrows at that.
“And stop doing that.” She sighed. “Mon Dieu, I know very little about you save for this penchant you have for bringing out the worst in me.”
“That is the passion in you, Jacqueline.”
He placed his hands on the desk behind her, trapping her between them, and murmuring close to her ear. “Do you know what a sight you were, shedding your clothes with such abandon? You could not get them off fast enough.”
“You were watching me.”
“A true wood sprite would have taken off the chemise. All things considered, it was more hindrance than covering.” His eyes raked over her from head to toe.
“Oh!” She pushed on his chest until he stepped aside.
He chuckled when she moved around the desk. The distance between them helped to calm her.
He loomed over the desk with his palms flat against it. She thought he was going to breach the barrier. He did not, and she took a deep breath.
“You are very good with words, Captain Cardiff. Tell me, did you succeed in gaining my father’s acceptance to betray me?”
He replaced his smile with one of his stern looks that made her feel like a child. “What are you talking about?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Will you deny the duke wrote to you about moving the wedding forward?”
“Listening at keyholes is not the way to gather information, Mademoiselle. Oftentimes, the outcome is misunderstanding, or worse.”
She presented him with her back and stared out of the library window. “I will not marry before the fall, if ever.”
He did breach the barrier then. He stood beside her, close enough so that she could feel his arm brush hers.
She could not think why his scent was comforting, nearly as comforting as the warm tone that said he was done with his teasing. She wanted to lean against him for…strength? Reassurance? She could not say.
The only thing she knew, for certain, was that confusion abounded.
“Beauty, you are worried about your forthcoming nuptials, I know. And I would not worry you further with news of your fiancé.”
She whirled around. “What do you mean? Tell me about him.”
His direct look held a hint of anger that softened when he leaned toward her. “These are not stories for innocent ears, Jacqueline.”
Her face burned when the import of his words sunk in. Many husbands kept mistresses. She had hoped to marry someone who preferred her to a mistress. However, she really could not bring herself to feel anything but relief that the Marquess had someone else to spend his time with. It was doubly so now that she had made up her mind about ending the betrothal.
Embarrassed by the topic they were now discussing, she ventured another question. “You don’t like him, do you?”
“Not at all. However, his father is a very honorable man. And he is looking for his son. The duke thought I might know of his whereabouts.”
“I thought the Marquess was away on business for his father.”
“The last time I saw him he was in Spain, and most certainly not on business.”
“Then you are not here to spy on me for the Marquess?”
“Spy on you…” the captain looked down at her bodice. “Take that off.”
“What?”
Their eyes locked as his fingers brushed away a lock of hair resting on her chest. Slowly, those fingers traveled to the ruffles above her breasts and dipped into the cleavage. Slipping the dragon ruby pendant out, he broke eye contact and rubbed the rubies between his fingers.
She shivered, still feeling his fingers skimming across the top of her breasts as he unclasped the pendant and put it in his pocket.
“I don’t want you to wear this. Ever again.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know its meaning.”
“He is my fiancé…”
The captain arched a brow.
“Maman will wonder why…”
“Tell her you’ve lost it.”
She touched the ruby dragon bracelet under the ruffles at her wrist. The hot gold warmed her blood. It was so lovely that she could not bring herself to take it off. The flames rose, agonized screams of the dying echoed in the chamber…“They are dying…,” she murmured.
“Jacqueline.” The captain shook her. “What is the matter?”
She rested a hand on his chest and focused on him. The horrible screams died away. “I am tired. I have not slept well lately.”
He cupped her chin. “Yes, I can see that. I know it seems impossible now, but everything will be all right. I wish I could tell you more, and I will, but you must be patient, Jacqueline. And now is not the time to approach your father about Lord Alsborough. There will be
time to sort things out later. Trust me on this.”
“How will anything be all right after denying Papa’s third match?”
He raised her hand from his chest and brought it to his lips. “Do not worry so.”
“You knew what I was going to tell Papa when I came into the study?”
He smiled down at her. “You had the most beautiful look on your face. Hope.”
“If you will not tell me about the Marquess, won’t you tell me what this business is you are working on with my father?”
“The future,” the captain replied. “I must go now, Beauty, but I will be back in time for dinner.”
The captain left the library. His words echoed in her mind. Trust me on this.
She had no reason to trust him, having only met him weeks ago, but the idea was not as shocking as it should be.
Rubbing her neck now free of the dragon pendant, she sighed. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her neck. It was tension, nothing more.
Chapter 4
Versailles Palace, Paris – May 31, 1789
Roman scanned the crowded ballroom.
Courtiers haunted every grandiose affair. Not one wished to be excluded else they appear not to have the Crown’s ear. Tonight it seemed all of Louis XVI’s cronies attended, showing support to the faltering sovereign.
King Louis sat on the dais with his consort Marie Antoinette, their haughty expressions identical masks. Both shimmered in cloth of gold trimmed in ermine while the heart of their country wallowed in dysentery.
As a personal friend of King George, Roman was welcome at King Louis’s court and used it to his advantage when necessary. Though he grew bored with posturing officials, it was necessary to attend tonight’s ball.
He looked over the balustrade to the main ballroom into the sea of pastel satins and silks of the bewigged and bejeweled aristocrats.
There.
Duke Argo stood in conversation with the Princess of Lamballe, Marie Therese Louise of Savoy-Carignan, the queen’s confidante and a notorious courtesan.
He chuckled under his breath, meeting the eye of the duke who would never learn. He had recently extricated Argo from an indelicate situation. It seemed Argo was now on the brink of another.
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