The Chevalier

by Jacqueline Seewald

  As he stood enjoying the full moon above and the glitter of starlight, his eyes caught a white object on the ground and he reached down. It was a woman’s pearl bracelet. He recognized immediately that it must belong to Madeline. Still, he couldn’t very well simply hand it back to her inside; that would only draw gossip. He would have to pay a discreet visit to her townhouse, preferably in the morning when few people were about. Whatever else, he did not wish to endanger the girl’s reputation. She might not understand the importance of it now, but she would be grateful for his discretion when the business of husband-hunting became more strongly fixed in her mind. He placed the small bracelet in his inside pocket and smiled to himself. The thought of seeing the girl again did not repulse him in the slightest.

  When he returned to the ball, Emily fixed a look of annoyance on him. “Where have you been?”

  “Enjoying the moon and stars,” he replied tersely.

  “You might have invited me along.”

  “I will later.”

  She gave him an inviting look. “Good, I believe I’ve done my duty here. We can leave as soon as I’ve said goodbye to our hostess.”

  The fact that she was at least eight to ten years older than he and married besides was of no consequence – all of his ladies were experienced. He preferred them that way – only not too experienced. He was not quite the rake everyone seemed to think. Even when he was away with his regiment, he did not use women of easy virtue to satisfy his lust. He had no need of the pox that plagued so many soldiers.

  Gareth felt as if he were being watched, and when he glanced across the room, he found Madeline looking at him. Under the candlelit crystal chandeliers, he could see her more clearly. She was a beautiful girl, a wonder really. Her high cheekbones were stained the color of a pink sunrise, her soft skin white as milk, in total contrast to her glossy midnight hair. He itched to touch the velvet skin that swelled enticingly above the bodice of her gown.

  She wore neither wig nor powder, and he suspected that she was like himself, little concerned with fashion – or was it that she simply chose to do as she pleased, caring naught for convention? Her jet brows arched like raven’s wings over eyes as inviting as soft gray mist. Beneath her small but classic straight nose, her lips were pink and generously sensual. Unlike so many of the ladies present, she needed neither paint nor cosmetic to enhance her loveliness. He yearned to kiss those lovely lips once again.

  There were seed pearls sewn throughout the square-cut bodice of her gown and silver ribbons that set off her eyes. A silver sash was tied at her slim waist and there were silver slippers to match as well as silver ribbons in her high coiffure. A simple strand of perfectly matched pearls hung from her long, slender neck.

  He did not imagine the stain of color in her cheeks deepening as he stood admiring her beauty as thousands of candles in the fine crystal chandeliers above them illuminated the opulent ballroom. She opened a silvery fan and moved it with a flutter of uneasy motion.

  “Does that chit intrigue you, darling?”

  Startled, he turned to Emily, whose hand reached possessively for his. “Of course not.”

  “That child has been staring at you all evening. If I were her mother, I would spank her.”

  “You needn’t be jealous. I have had enough of young girls one must fight duels over.”

  Emily smiled sweetly. “Is it not well that his lordship and I have such a convenient arrangement? I care not what he does and he does not mind what I do just as long as I am discreet.”

  “I hardly think being at this ball with me tonight would be considered discreet.”

  “I have not done a single thing that could redden a cheek or raise an eyebrow – although I confess to planning on some very interesting entertainment for later in the evening.” She licked her lower lip provocatively with the pointed tip of her pink tongue. “I can tell you are already thinking about touching the brassy red hair which lies beneath my wig. If you please me, I shall indeed let you see the red curls that lay elsewhere.”

  Normally, such an insinuation would be more than enough to incite his lust. However as he looked back at Madeline de Marney, her silvery eyes caught his own. And suddenly he knew without a whisper of a doubt that tonight he would not be kissing Emily into insensibility. His thoughts were still fixed on the lovely child-woman who had touched him more deeply than he cared to admit.

  He felt a surge of desire, but not for Emily. The girl drew him magnetically like no other he had ever known. He would leave Emily at her doorstep and spend the rest of the night gaming. Certainly he knew better than to waste time and money gambling, but he also knew his raging desire would not allow him to sleep.

  There was only one thing that would slake his lust and desire for the girl and it was denied him.

  Three

  Madeline brushed her hair, dreamily thinking about the evening before. All night she slept with an image of a golden Nordic god in her dreams. No, she had not imagined that Gareth Eriksen kissed her, nor the feelings that kiss had stirred in her; it was as if her heart would surely explode from the excitement.

  It was her first real kiss. She yearned for him to kiss her again but doubted that it would ever happen. He was a man who obviously had experience with women; her unschooled passion would either arouse amusement or disdain in him. Either reaction on his part would cause her humiliation. She sighed deeply, giving her hair an extra hard brush as if that bit of pain would push away what she knew to be silly thoughts.

  A knock at her bedroom door stirred her from self-tormenting reverie. Clothilde, her maid, entered and began speaking in excited French.

  “Mademoiselle Madeline, there is a gentleman downstairs who asks to see you.”

  “Me?” she exclaimed with surprise. “Did the gentleman identify himself?”

  “Non, and I expressly told him it was too early for callers but he insists that you receive him. A most rude Englishman.”

  Madeline bit down on her lower lip thoughtfully. “This gentleman, would he be tall and blond, Clothide?”

  “Oui, very tall, very blond.”

  “I will see him.” Her heart was beating wildly. She ran to her wardrobe and hurriedly pulled out her best morning wrap of green silk, then drew it around her night-rail.

  “Mademoiselle, surely you will not greet the gentleman dressed so?”

  Her maid had been selected by Maman for her severity, Madeline suspected. Madeline had much preferred her old Scottish nanny who had once been her mother’s abigail. She was a warm-spirited woman. But Sarah died when Madeline was eleven. Soon after, Maman decided that Madeline needed lessons in obedience and humility and must be sent to study with the good sisters. Afterwards, there was no affectionate, cheerful Sarah to attend her, instead stern, proper Clothilde served as replacement.

  Clothilde made her disapproval perfectly evident, but Madeline merely rushed past her with a toss of her silky mane of ebony hair. All she knew was that if Gareth Eriksen were in her house, she desperately wanted to see him. She was nearly breathless as she sought to compose herself at the bottom of the staircase.

  She found him seated in the drawing room, waiting for her, and as she entered, he rose to his feet with the grace of a natural athlete. The very size of the man was disconcerting; the immense shoulders hardly seemed contained by his velvet coat. The room suddenly appeared small. His eyes raked over her appreciatively from head to foot and she found herself unable to keep from blushing.

  “I am sorry about the early hour and catching you before you were ready to receive callers; however, I did not want to come at a later hour when you might be entertaining other guests and my visit might prove an embarrassment.”

  She was reminded again of Constance’s warning that Gareth Eriksen was unsuitable, but the thought hardly served to quell the feelings this man stirred in her.

  “I never thought to see you again, Colonel Eriksen. Needless to say, I am surprised.”

  He was still staring at her with interes
t. “Green is a most becoming color for you, Mademoiselle. I did not notice last night, but in daylight I observe you have flecks of green in your eyes like chips of brilliant emeralds.”

  She felt the heat combust in her face and knew he must observe that as well. “Have you come to brighten my morning? If so, you have already succeeded.” She tried to keep her tone light and teasing.

  “Actually, I came to return this to you.”

  His hand touched hers and made her fingers tingle. Inside her palm he placed a familiar pearl bracelet. She realized suddenly that she hadn’t even noticed its loss, so preoccupied had she been with thoughts of Gareth Eriksen since the first moment she’d seen him.

  “I didn’t want you to worry over losing the bracelet; it looks quite valuable.”

  “It is, nor is it mine. It belongs to Maman. Thank you for saving me much misery.”

  “I hoped that would be the case. So now you understand the unorthodox visit I have made to your townhouse.” He smiled at her warmly and she noticed not only did he have a cleft in his chin but a dimple in his right cheek. “I should be going now, Mademoiselle. I want to wish you bon chance.”

  “No wait,” she said, aware that her voice was too loud and shrill. “Have you breakfasted yet? Surely, courtesy such as yours deserves some small reward.” She moved closer to him, hoping that he might stay with her at least a little longer. She knew very well that it was foolishly headstrong of her, but she could not bring herself to part with his company just yet. The truth was that even were he not so devastatingly handsome, she would have wanted him to remain. She was very lonely; she had been especially isolated since coming to England.

  He moved toward her as she smiled appealingly. “I’ll join you if you like.”

  She led him happily into the dining room and informed Reynolds, the butler, that breakfast was to be served immediately.

  “What about your mother, will she join us?”

  Madeline shook her head sadly. “No, ma mere hardly eats these days. It’s the nature of her illness. She takes only tea in the morning in her bed.”

  He did not respond but his eyes looked sympathetic, as if he understood exactly how she felt. No, she was not wrong about this man; he was special. There was kindness in him; her instincts confirmed it.

  And just as she thought, there was more than enough food for her guest. The dishes were placed on a sideboard so they might informally help themselves. That was one English custom she did like. Dining in Paris was always so formal, even in the morning. Everything was surrounded by ritual and ceremony. Something in her nature rebelled against such formality.

  Gareth seemed to enjoy the kippers. She joined him in eating poached eggs, a rasher of bacon, tea, toasted muffins and fruit, savoring the taste of fresh berries. Looking up, she found him watching her with an amused smile.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat with such obvious delight and vitality.”

  “Ma mere says I have a certain joi de vivre – although she often disapproves. Mon pere enjoyed life to its fullest, and I believe he was right to do so. Life is so uncertain.”

  “When I was your age, I thought I would live forever. Why do you look so sad, Mademoiselle?”

  “Oh, I was thinking about the performance of Othello tonight. I was supposed to go with my friends, the Havingtons, but they have a previous engagement.”

  “Unfortunate, tonight is the acting debut of the mistress of the Earl of Clarksford in the role of Desdemona. I understand there will be quite a crowd there to cheer or jeer depending on their bias. I myself have been invited by a friend. It should be quite an entertaining evening.”

  “I wish I could go,” she said dreamily.

  “You must have an escort – someone suitable,” he added with emphasis. “Actually, the Opera House would be more appropriate – although even there an escort is required, otherwise you would be confused for, well, other than a lady.”

  She didn’t see that it really mattered very much if she attended a performance by herself, but she knew Maman would be in accord with Gareth Eriksen, for ladies never went out in public alone and most especially not girls her age.

  “How exciting it must be to act upon the stage,” she said dreamily.

  “It is not deemed a fitting profession for a young woman of good character.”

  She lowered her gaze. There was obviously a great deal she did not know.

  “The eggs are excellent,” he said, eating with obvious enjoyment.

  “If you were sitting at our table in Paris, you would be more pleased. Armand, our chef, does amazing things with eggs.”

  “Myself, I like plain English fare.”

  She became aware of the cultural differences between them. How very little she knew about this man. “Are you from London?”

  “No, when I come to the city, I stay at the townhouse of a friend. I’m not here very often. I have an estate in the North where my sister and aunt live, and then I’ve another property in the Lake District.”

  “The Lake District?”

  “It’s the most beautiful part of Northern England – in all of England as a matter of fact. Serene, wild, sparsely populated. When I leave the army, I intend to raise sheep and do some farming there as well.”

  His cerulean eyes became more animated when he spoke of the country. He looked like a man who enjoyed the outdoors. His face had coloring as if he worked outside a good deal, but then he was a soldier, she reminded herself. No one could look at his well-muscled frame and not be aware that he was a physical man.

  “You like the active life?”

  “I do indeed. When I leave the army, I intend to live on my land full-time. I’ve taken what money was available to me and made some discreet investments, mostly in shipping. The profits I reaped, I reinvested until I could afford to buy the kind of property I wanted.”

  “Will you marry once you leave the army?” Why had she asked that? How stupid she was! He gave her such an amused smile that she felt like crawling under the table.

  “Do you think I should take a wife?”

  “Of course,” she exclaimed, “men are much happier married.”

  At that he laughed deeply. He had a wonderful laugh; the sound was mellifluous. “It sounds like a tale told by a woman.”

  “In fact, Maman has told me so, and she is most wise.”

  “Then I will not presume to disagree.”

  She noted that his eyes twinkled just a bit too brightly and felt perplexed. He was playing with her, teasing her. Rising abruptly from the table, she walked toward the drawing room. Gareth followed her and she closed the doors after them so that they might have some privacy. When she sat down on the settee, he hesitated a moment but then joined her.

  “You have quite a nice establishment here,” he remarked glancing around the room. “Elegant and tastefully furnished.”

  “Papa was accustomed to living well. Most of the furniture comes from France. Papa came from an old, aristocratic family. Even in England, he felt that it was important to live in a fashionable area. I like this square because it looks out on the park.”

  “You like to ride?”

  “I prefer to take walks.”

  “As a soldier, I’ve never viewed walking as recreational, but I concede that it is a good form of exercise.” His knee brushed against her skirt as he moved closer to her.

  “Did you ever wish to marry?” Why did she ask him that again? Where was her sense? It seemed she was so nervous around him that she scarcely expressed an intelligent thought.

  “You will not let me make polite conversation, will you?” The brilliant, azure eyes appeared to peer into her very soul.

  “I wish to know you better.”

  “I cannot imagine why,” he said. “We are strangers, Mademoiselle, and must remain so.”

  “I was told that you have a scandalous reputation with women, yet all of my instincts tell me that this is not the real m
an. I admit that I am very interested in you.” There she was speaking out of turn again. She could feel the blood throbbing in her veins.

  He frowned deeply now, his eyes suddenly darkening. “There was a time when I was young and in love. I believed the object of my devotion loved me as well, but her father disapproved most strongly.”

  “And what happened?”

  He shrugged uneasily. “She married someone else.” His voice had a bitter inflection and his nostrils flared.

  “I am sorry,” she said in a soft voice, observing his pain with sympathy.

  “Yes, I do believe you are.” His eyes held hers with a sudden tender regard.

  Encouraged by his response, she continued. “If I had been that girl, I should have eloped with you if you had loved me.”

  “And gone against your own family?” His voice mocked her.

  “Yes, I would not have cared,” she replied fervently.

  His eyes locked with hers. “And what if the reason your father objected was because he knew I was a born on the wrong side of the blanket? Would not that matter to you?”

  She was thoughtful. “Some are born out of wedlock and they cannot help that, nor should they be held accountable for the sins of their parents.”

  “You do continue to amaze me, Mademoiselle. You know me very little,” he warned.

  “I wish I could have known you when you were younger,” she said wistfully.

  “I doubt that it would have mattered.”

  “Oh, but it would have!”

  “In any case, I no longer consider it wise to give my heart away on request. When you are older, you will understand that too.”

  “But you should love again.”

  He shook his head.

  “I think perhaps you are a coward,” she challenged.

  He rose to his feet, looking offended.

  “Think what you like, Mademoiselle.”