The Chevalier

by Jacqueline Seewald

  In fact, it wasn’t until the next day that he saw any of the women in his family. By then, he was in control of his temper again. He was working with a new colt when he spied Madeline and Gwenda sitting on the hillside above the stables sketching on paper. Gwenda waved to him cheerfully. He walked toward them, curious to see what they were drawing.

  Madeline was quite a good artist, he discovered with some astonishment. He recognized himself and the colt. She managed to capture the rapport that had been established between man and beast. Gwenda’s work was hopeless; she had as much talent in that direction as he did.

  “Your wife is teaching me how to draw properly,” Gwenda informed him.

  “When we go to the Lake District,” he said, “you shall have lovely scenery to paint.”

  “Is it truly as lovely as the Highlands?” she asked.

  “Not so rugged or wild, but there are middling mountains and deep, blue lakes and pasture land so lush and green you’d swear you’d seen heaven.”

  She smiled with pleasure. “It sounds delightful.”

  He inclined his head. “Anything to make my wife happy,” he said pointedly, watching with some satisfaction as her face colored deeply. “I’ll leave you ladies to your sketching now.”

  He left them alone and went back to working with the colt, but still, he was well aware of Madeline watching him through the morning. He thought that it might truly be different for them when they were alone at his estate in the lake country. West Yorkshire was pleasant enough, but there was nothing that compared to the splendid isolation of his own small place. He loved the woodlands filled with roe deer, badgers, foxes, and the long, silent sweep of the moors. He would take Madeline on walking tours about the smaller lakes and gentle mountains. She was too delicate for the rugged tramping about that he generally enjoyed, but she would appreciate the unspoiled beauty of it all just the same. Perhaps then they might reach some accord.

  For an entire month, Gareth watched his wife blooming like a rare flower. He listened to her sweetly sing and accompany herself on the harpsichord with amazing skill. He saw her begin a portrait of his sister, painting Gwenda in watercolor with a deft, delicate hand. Madeline won the admiration of his sister, the respect of his aunt and the adoration of the servants. She was kind and considerate toward everyone. She showed no signs of the overweening pride he associated with those of aristocratic birth. There was no doubt that his young wife was quite remarkable. Perhaps, Madeline was right, he hardly knew her at all. However, he was bound and determined not to go near her again until she made the overtures. The problem was, this abstinence was destroying his peace of mind.

  She was keeping her distance from him, sleeping in her own room at night, never coming into his. He had begun to sleep very badly. He lay awake for long hours wondering if he should go to her, knowing that if he did, she would not deny him. Yet, he could not. She would take it as having won a victory over him.

  The more appealing his wife seemed, the more irritable he became. He was losing his temper too easily with everyone around him and not wishing to do so. He felt like a dog that was tied to a stake, fed meanly, and tantalized with fine meats, only to have them pulled away. Such an animal became quite vicious. And so it was with him.

  The tension between himself and Madeline had become so acute that everyone noticed it and the conversation became uneasy and strained when the two were present in the same room together. Still, Gareth thought that he would manage to work the matter out and was just on the verge of asking Madeline to accompany him to the Lake District when an unexpected visitor arrived at the farm.

  Twenty-Six

  “Emily,” Gareth exclaimed in surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I’d heard that you left the army and were rusticating in Yorkshire. My husband has property in the area and I thought I might impose upon your hospitality for a time.”

  Emily was as magnificent as ever, he thought. Her bold, flame-colored hair and ample bosom marked her as a woman that turned men’s heads. She smiled at him now in a way that told him her true purpose in coming for a visit.

  She took his arm as he led her inside the house and pressed her breasts suggestively against his chest. “I’ve certainly missed you,” she said. “I’ve actually dreamt about you making love to me. I’m afraid I couldn’t wait for you to come back to London. But you will be down soon, won’t you?”

  Her eagerness flattered him at a time when he most needed it. “I’ll be there soon enough. I have business I’ve let go longer than I should.”

  She gave him a sunny smile, which made her look younger than her years. “So glad to hear that,” she said. She glanced around then lowered her throaty voice to a confidential whisper. “I’m afraid it’s worse than ever with my husband. The Marquis thinks only of his own pleasures. He knows exactly how I feel, yet the beast forces himself upon me whenever it suits his fancy. He says he does not understand why I complain so, since he’s generally pushed up my gown and disposed of the matter in no more than a few minutes. There’s no explaining to him that a woman wants to share in the experience. He is a very selfish fellow, I daresay.”

  Gareth took her hand and held it sympathetically. He had little respect for men who used their wives like whores. It was hardly more than rape as far as he could tell. He fully understood the bitter glint in Emily’s eye.

  “Perhaps if you might solicit someone he respects to speak with him on the matter.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “‘Tis a delicate subject at best and the man is obdurate. He thinks himself the best of lovers and takes pride in his virility. He becomes quite irate when I imply differently. In fact, he’s struck me once or twice when I voiced my dissatisfaction.”

  Gareth put his arm around her in a comforting gesture. “How could you relate to such a fellow as he? You are a man in every sense of the word and a true gentleman as well.”

  Gareth smiled ruefully. “There are those who would disagree with you on that score.”

  “Then they are stupid snobs. I know the truth.”

  “You are very good for boosting a man’s sense of self-worth, my lady.”

  She patted his hand. “No more than you deserve, Gar. You are the most perfect of lovers. I only wish that I had known you before I met him.”

  “What, are you suggesting you would have done without title and wealth?”

  “I should manage nicely without either. The truth is, my life has been quite nasty except for the children. Now that they are almost grown, I must look to making my life tolerable. The Marquis has taken a string of mistresses, thank God, and I must look to my own diversions.” She brought her mouth to his and kissed him passionately. For a man of lusty appetites who had been deprived for some weeks, this was hard to resist, but he pushed her away from him with an air of finality.

  “There is something I must tell you,” he said.

  She brought her body hotly against his in a close embrace. “There is nothing I need to know.”

  At that moment Madeline came into the hallway. Immediately, almost guiltily, Gareth divested himself of Emily.

  “I think perhaps I better introduce you to my wife,” he said in as cool a voice as he could manage.

  Emily’s first expression was one of surprise, but then as she looked closely at Madeline, her lips curled into a knowing smile.

  “Of course, I remember the little chit. Oh, Gar, you seem to have been taken by a woman’s oldest ploy. And I thought you so dreadfully sophisticated. This will be quite an amusing story in the ton, the most successful rake in London marrying a schoolgirl. Was the wedding at pistol point?”

  His chagrin did not compare to the expression on Madeline’s face. Her cheeks were deep crimson, her eyes molten steel. Carefully, he stepped between the two women.

  “Please, ask this person to leave our home!” Madeline was actually trembling with rage.

  He put out his hand to steady her, but she pushed it away furiously.

 
Emily gave Madeline a smooth smile. “Where is your hospitality? It is nearly teatime. Surely, you will invite me to stay. I had hoped to remain for a good deal longer, but I can see that will not be possible.”

  Emily gave him a seductive smile, tossing her bright coif. She’d worn no wig today, obviously knowing how much he liked her red hair.

  Emily turned back to Madeline. “You were quite clever, my dear, to have managed to snare the most virile man in England.”

  Madeline gave the older woman a blistering frown. “I shall see that the tea things are ready,” she remarked, ignoring Emily entirely. Then she quickly left the room.

  “I believe I’ve just been cut,” Emily said, a glint of amusement in her eye. She caressed Gareth’s arm. “Your little wife is terribly jealous. You shall have to reassure her considerably after I am gone.” Emily laughed. It was a deep, throaty sound, sensual and exciting.

  Gareth smiled at her. She was too perceptive by halves. Still, if Madeline was jealous, wasn’t that all to his advantage? Hadn’t she been simply taking him for granted? It would do her a great deal of good to be reminded that other women found him attractive and wanted him in their beds. Yes, she needed a stiff reminder. This was one tea party he intended to enjoy.

  They were joined by Lydia and Gwenda promptly at four o’clock in the withdrawing room. Yarber carried in the tea service that Gareth recognized as the one his aunt reserved for special company. Lydia had brought it with her from the castle years ago, an impressive sterling silver set with the family crest upon it. Gareth hated seeing it, hated the pretentiousness of it, but he wasn’t in any mood to argue with his aunt at the moment. There was fresh bread and butter, also delightful small pink iced cakes.

  Gareth introduced Emily to his aunt and sister and they were duly impressed with her beauty, her fashionable clothing and her title. Madeline took only a cup of tea, said nothing to anyone, and looked like a thundercloud ready to burst. Lydia acted as hostess and did most of the talking. He thought at first that his aunt had no inkling of the situation, but that proved to be contrary to the truth. After the tea things had been cleared away, Lydia glanced from Emily to Madeline with an intent look.

  “You have business in these parts?” Lydia questioned.

  “Yes, of a personal nature,” Emily replied, throwing an intimate smile in Gareth’s direction.

  He felt extremely uncomfortable and did not look at anyone.

  Emily placed her hand on his, turning to him. “Gar, dear, perhaps you might give me a tour of your estate before I leave? I think it quite charming.” Emily’s husky voice held an exciting, sensual suggestiveness.

  He had forgotten quite how thrilling just the sound of her voice could be. He was about to agree to the requested tour when Madeline spoke up.

  “Your friend and I have a few words to exchange. Gareth, perhaps you might escort Aunt Lydia and Gwenda for a walk in the meantime?”

  The way Madeline made her suggestion left no one willing to argue with her. Gareth left the room with Gwenda and Lydia, although both looked less than eager to withdraw. He hoped his sister, in particular, would not ask too many difficult questions. A final look back at the two women, facing each other like saber-tooth tigers ready to fight to the death over a choice kill, made him think that he had best return in a very short space. As a soldier, he sensed when blood was about to be spilled.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Madeline was feeling sick to her stomach. How dare that red-headed viper come into her home and try to steal her husband! The woman had no decency, no morals. She could barely control her rage.

  Lady Emily gave her a disarming smile. “I know exactly what you are thinking, child. But you are wrong. Yes, I would have Gareth in my bed, but there is plenty of him to go around. He has the stamina of a stallion, the capacity to satisfy a great many women. You are so fortunate to have snared him. Many have tried and failed.”

  “You have your own husband. Leave mine alone!”

  “I shall not come here again, of course. It was a mistake. But I did not know when he would again be in London, nor was I aware that he had married.” Lady Emily gave her a patronizing smile.

  “He is married now and there should be no other women in his life.”

  “You are so very young, my dear and dreadfully naive. In your condition, you will soon be unable to provide the kind of satisfaction he desires. He will come to London eventually without you. What would you expect him to do? I find it hard to believe that you would demand or expect fidelity from such a lusty man. How childish!”

  Madeline was beside herself with rage. Perhaps there was truth in what Lady Emily was saying, but that only made her angrier. Gareth did not love her. He had only married her out of a sense of obligation. Hadn’t he told her so? When her time came closer, she would be fat and awkward and he would find her ugly and unattractive. He would go to London and seek the company of women like Emily – or they would seek him. He would not be faithful to her. Why should he be? To his way of thinking, he had done quite enough marrying her. But the thought of him in another woman’s arms drove her to distraction.

  She stared at the tightly corseted figure before her. Lady Emily was elegantly attired in a low-cut gown of apricot silk, the stomacher trimmed with satin bows, the skirt with a deep flounce and trimming of artificial flowers, a lace ruffle round her neck. Her coif was perfection itself; she was an exquisite, rococo work of art. Madeline was painfully aware of how dowdy she must appear in comparison. She hated the smug, superior expression on the woman’s face. Without realizing what she was doing, Madeline picked up the sharp-edged golden letter opener that sat on a mahogany table.

  “You will stay away from my husband,” she threatened.

  At that moment, a strong hand took hers and forcefully removed the letter opener. “Madeline, what are you doing?”

  She turned and saw Gareth staring at her in marked disapproval. She looked from Lady Emily’s superior pitying smile to Gareth’s stern frown and suddenly she found herself running from the room. Hurrying up the stairs, she ran panting to her room and locked the door behind her. Then she threw herself down on the bed and burst into tears. How could she have made such a fool of herself? What must they think of her now? Were they laughing together at her current faux pas? The thought tortured her. She was too ashamed of her conduct to face him.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  When the shock wore off, Gareth felt a certain sense of pride in his wife. At first, he was appalled and afraid that she might actually stab Emily. He could only speculate as to the reason for Madeline’s impetuous fit of temper. With Madeline, one never knew what to expect. Her mercurial nature was passionate and unpredictable. However, once he’d disarmed her, he couldn’t help but admire her spirit. If he did not know better, he would swear that his wife had at least a measure of gypsy blood. All he knew for certain was that he wanted her and, if possible, desired her more than ever.

  After escorting Emily to her carriage and allowing her a kiss goodbye, he went in search of his wife. He could hear her sobbing right through the thick door of her small chamber. The sound of her suffering moved him greatly; he wanted to hold her warm, vibrant body in his arms, then comfort and reassure her with his lovemaking.

  “Madeline, let me in; we have to talk.”

  “Go away!” she cried. “I don’t want to speak to you!”

  Gareth’s patience with his wife was wearing thin. He could not understand her at all. Her thinking was totally alien to him. From the beginning, they had shared a mutual attraction that seemed to make all the differences between them irrelevant, but now he was not certain that would serve to bind them together. Perhaps their mutual gratification in bed was not enough to create permanent cohesion; obviously, she did not think so. He had an awful sense of having lost control of the situation and he hated the feeling.

  Suddenly, he exploded with rage. Damn her! He’d been allowing her to avoid him for the past month, allowing her to make all the decisions and dicta
te the terms of their relationship. It was time he asserted himself. “You won’t lock doors against me. I’m not to be kept away from you. If I choose to be with you, than I bloody well shall be.” He brought his shoulder to bear, thrusting it forcefully against the door and battering against it.

  “What are you doing?”

  He could tell that she was off the bed now, near the door and that her crying had stopped. He noted all this with a great deal of satisfaction.

  “I’ll smash the door in if you force me. But I won’t be kept away from you. Now, will you open it of your own accord or do I have to further amuse the servants?”

  She unlocked the door and let him into the chamber. He saw immediately that her great, gray eyes were red and puffy from crying. He felt like simply taking her into his arms and comforting her but she made a display of moving away from him.

  “What do you want?” she folded her arms over her breasts.

  “Were you really going to stab Emily?” That was the first thing that came to mind. He saw that his bluntness made her flinch.

  “I don’t know what I would have done. I wasn’t myself at all. In fact, so much has happened since my mother’s death that I hardly know who or what I am anymore. I feel very troubled and confused. I act without thinking.” She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

  He came and sat down beside her, taking her hands in his own. He looked down at her fingers, running his callused digits over the slender, tapered ones that she presented. His hands looked darkly tanned next to the whiteness of her skin. They were sensitive, artistic fingers, delicate and lovely, he thought, just like Madeline. He began kissing each finger in turn, sucking each tip.

  “Oh, don’t do that!” she cried out, trying to pull her hands free of his.

  “Why not? I am simply paying homage to the beauty of these fingers.”

  “You cloud my reason.”