Micheline was moaning, her breath warm in his mouth. Every fiber of her being craved the union of their bodies. As one, they fell back on the pillows and she arched her hips against him, aching until with one hard thrust he filled her. They moved together with a rhythmic violence, breathing harshly, passion seeming to crackle in the air that surrounded their straining bodies.
Finally Micheline was jolted by a climax that swept out in wildly pulsating currents, down her thighs, over her breasts, even to the tips of her fingers and toes. Moments later Sandhurst found his own release, and the two of them lay entwined in the aftermath, gasping for breath.
Slowly the storm receded and coherent thought seeped into his consciousness. He forced himself to withdraw from the addictive warmth of Micheline’s body and lay on his back a few inches away from her.
“I cannot believe that I just did that! Damn!” he cursed.
“Andrew, what is it?” Micheline reached out to him in confusion.
“Don’t touch me! For the past twenty-four hours I have steeled myself to live without you, told myself to forget you, tried to convince myself that I am strong enough to put all that was between us in the past and get on with my life. Tonight I went out with Jeremy and saw a few old friends, and enjoyed myself for a moment or two! I was beginning to feel quite proud, thinking I was conquering heartache with the sheer force of my own will. Don’t you find that amusing? I walked in here, found you, and the force of my will and all my resolutions went right out the bloody window!”
“If you’d just allow me to explain—”
“Yes, that’s right, explain! Did you come here for one last goodbye, since you weren’t in any condition to send me off properly last night?”
Stung, Micheline reached out and slapped him sharply, but Sandhurst caught her wrist in a punishing grip. “Spare me the dramatics, madame, and tell me what brings you to Paris… and to my bed.”
Emotion boiled up within her and sent tears spilling down her cheeks. “I—I came here to tell you that I love you! I love you, Andrew! You must believe me!” She sobbed. “I don’t even remember talking to you last night. The king’s physician kept giving me sleeping draughts, and after a while everything seemed a dream. When I awoke today, feeling well, and learned that you had left Fontainebleau, I had to come after you. Andrew, I love you! I was wrong before, and I admit it. I want to marry you more than anything in the world… if you’ll still have me.”
Sandhurst rubbed both hands over his face, then folded them and pressed his mouth against the clenched knuckles. “Oh, God.”
“Is that all you can say? Have you changed your mind?”
“Michelle, this is all well and good, but I can’t just wipe out everything you’ve said in the past on the basis of your new, more welcome sentiments.” He turned to stare at her through the shadows. “You were so adamant about choosing marriage to the Marquess of Sandhurst over my simpler but heartfelt proposal. What happened to your resolution never to love again… and your lifelong devotion to your dead husband? It’s certainly gratifying to hear you change course again and say that you do love me, but how do I know that you won’t reverse this position tomorrow, or next month?”
“I swear to you that I am sincere. I simply couldn’t face my true feelings before.”
“Why not?” The softness of his voice was belied by a steely undercurrent. “Tell me, Michelle. I’ve seen that haunted look in your eyes. If you expect me to believe that you love me, you’ll have to start by being honest.”
“Alors. I will explain.” She shivered in the darkness and Sandhurst relented and reached out to draw her into his embrace. Safe in the warm circle of his arms, Micheline rested her head against his chest and haltingly told her story.
She spared no detail, revealing all that St. Briac had heard that morning and more. Somehow, it was easier than she had expected. What had caused her such desperation in the past now seemed a fading memory.
“I see my marriage in a different light now,” Micheline whispered at one point. “After I learned of Bernard’s infidelities at court, and it dawned on me that I had been clinging to an illusion, I felt disgraced. Every time I thought of Bernard, and our marriage, a knife twisted in my heart. It wasn’t until you came into my life that I saw the past clearly. Bernard brought me happiness when we were young but it was an immature love that we shared, and he changed as he grew older. I’m not bitter anymore about Bernard. I feel sad for his sake, but in my own case, I’ve grown up only these past few months, learning first of all to rely on myself, and then… what real love can mean.”
Micheline went on to explain the stages she’d passed through before facing the truth about her love for Andrew, including the odd influence Rabelais had had on her. When her story was finished, ending with her journey to Paris with Thomas and Aimée, Micheline sighed with pleasure. “I feel so different, but I don’t suppose I’ve really changed. Do you remember the day I told you that there were doors I’d kept shut inside of me?”
“I remember everything, fondling,” Sandhurst replied, kissing her fragrant hair.
“I was afraid to open those doors, because I couldn’t be certain what lay on the other side. As my love for you developed, courage came with it, and I couldn’t hide any longer.”
“What did you find on the other side?”
“Freedom. Freedom from the past and all the fears that were suffocating me. I feel as if I’ve shed a tremendous weight. My heart is light now, perhaps for the first time.”
Andrew was silent for long minutes, lost in thought, until Micheline turned her face up to gaze at him.
“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“About loving you? Marrying you?” He smiled and kissed her tenderly. “No. No, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just digesting all of this. Why don’t we get some sleep, and hopefully I’ll have sorted out a few things by morning.”
That wasn’t quite what Micheline had hoped to hear, but it was difficult to worry when they snuggled down under the covers and she lay in Andrew’s warm masculine embrace. Sleep seemed impossible, yet moments later she was breathing evenly, one slim hand curled around his forearm.
Sandhurst, meanwhile, stared into the darkness, thinking.
*
Blinking against the sunlight that flooded the bedchamber, Micheline turned her face away and attempted once again to open her eyes.
“Good morrow, Michelle.” Sandhurst sat in a carved chair near the bed. Washed, shaved, and dressed, he was eating an apple and looking exceedingly handsome.
“What time is it?” She pushed back her mane of curls and rose on an elbow.
“Ten o’clock. Don’t look so guilty! You must have needed the sleep.” He, in turn, had needed the early morning to speak to St. Briac. Andrew had suspected that word of his true identity had slipped out, but the Frenchman had reassured him that he was the only person who knew. Most important, Micheline still thought Sandhurst was a painter named Selkirk. St. Briac swore that love alone had prompted her to travel to Paris in search of the man she meant to marry.
“What of you?” she was asking. “You claimed that you needed to sort things out. What have you decided?”
He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, offering her the apple, which she nibbled at solely because it was in his hand.
“I’ve decided to take you back to England with me, fondling. How could I refuse?”
“Oh, Andrew, I love you!” She reached up to trace the sculpted line of his cheekbone, and felt that she would die of happiness when he caught her hand and brought it over to his mouth.
“And I love you, Michelle.” He kissed her sensitive palm. “I’ve never said that to another woman, nor have I even considered marriage in the past. I’m deadly serious now, though, and for that reason I want to put off our wedding until we’re in England.”
She looked stricken. “But—!”
“We’re both rather besot at the moment, but we have to keep in mind that there’s mor
e to marriage than love.” He paused, smiling ironically. “In truth, until I met you I wasn’t even sure that love was necessary! The point is, I want you to see what your life will be like while you still can change your mind. There’s a great deal you don’t know about me—”
“I know enough! I know what kind of man you are!”
“There’s much more involved than that. England is quite different from France, and my usual life is different from the one I led at Fontainebleau.”
“Andrew, I could be happy with you if we lived in a hovel!”
He had to laugh. “I appreciate that… and I can reassure you that my circumstances aren’t quite that desperate, but all the same, I want you to see for yourself. I have relatives that even I have trouble tolerating—”
“I shall love them all!” she vowed.
“I doubt that. I’m quite serious about this, so you would do well to save your breath. We’ll go to England, you will see for yourself what lies in store for you if you marry me, and then, if you remain certain, we’ll have the proper sort of wedding you deserve.”
Micheline sighed, pretended to pout, then suddenly gave him a blinding smile unlike anything Sandhurst had seen before.
“I yield, my love,” she said. “But can we depart for England without delay?”
Chapter Twenty
April 1-4, 1533
“Is this some sort of perverse jest on your part, Sandhurst?” Jeremy Culpepper demanded, his cheeks red with outrage and stuffed with the freshly baked bread he had been chewing.
“Shh!” Andrew laid a finger over his mouth and shook his head with mock severity. Drawing his friend into a corner of the kitchen, he whispered, “It’s only for a few more days, old man! Just until we reach London.”
“I don’t believe it! The chit’s followed you to Paris, begged to marry you after all, and still you won’t tell her who you really are! Sometimes I think you continue this farce only because it amuses you to watch me humiliate myself answering to ‘Playfair’ and acting the part of your manservant!”
“Jeremy, stop ranting.” The spark of humor had gone from his eyes. “I have my reasons for not telling Micheline I’m the Marquess of Sandhurst, and I can assure you that they have nothing to do with you. Instead of complaining, why not look on the bright side? It’s April. Spring’s in the air, and we leave for England within the hour.” He gave Culpepper a distracted smile. “Cheer up.”
Pretty Therese Joubert, at ten the oldest of Nicole’s three children, came in then and he greeted her, glad for the interruption. She offered them some sweet butter to spread on the warm bread, which Jeremy accepted. It seemed that his appetite only increased when he was upset.
Sandhurst excused himself to check on the horses. Outside, he glanced up to the third-floor window that Micheline had flung open earlier to let in the sunshine. Last night’s snow was only a memory; today was warm and fragrant with the promise of spring. Micheline was making final preparations for the journey to London while Aimée kept her company. It would be their last opportunity to talk for a long time to come.
Sighing, Andrew wondered once more if he was right not to divulge his true identity to Micheline yet. He told himself that he wanted her to have a chance to become accustomed to one thing at a time. So much had happened just in the last twenty-four hours. What if she had second thoughts as they traveled to England? It seemed better that she be given the opportunity to ease into her new life… or even to change her mind.
Sandhurst had other reasons that he was less willing to examine. Part of him still worried that Micheline might have acted on a romantic whim. It was difficult to forget all the things she had said to him during their weeks at Fontainebleau, and difficult to believe that the shadows were gone from her eyes forever. They were both new at love, and there was still a part of him that remained detached, watching in cynical disbelief. He, too, needed the next few days, before she learned that she was marrying the Marquess of Sandhurst after all, and not Selkirk the painter.
Besides, he had grown to like his new identity. He was in no hurry to reclaim his wealth, title, relatives… or past.
“For a man in love, you look altogether too serious,” St. Briac remarked, coming up behind him.
Sandhurst mustered a faint smile. “In this case, love is proving to be fraught with untold complications. My heart may be filled with joy, but my mind is overcrowded with worries.”
“Will you take a piece of advice from an old married man?”
“Gratefully!”
“Listen to your heart if you begin to despair. You and Micheline have genuine love on your side. I’ve learned, during years spent with Aimée that have been anything but tranquil, that problems which may seem insurmountable when they arise really can be sorted out—and later forgotten—if two people love each other enough. Have faith, and for God’s sake, don’t give up!”
“It sounds as if you’re sending me off to war,!” Andrew remarked sardonically.
“Believe me, war is far simpler than marriage… but nowhere near as much fun!”
St. Briac’s wry laughter was irresistible. Sandhurst joined in, clasping the Frenchman’s hand. “I appreciate your sage advice… I think!”
*
A hearty midday meal was served in the Joubert kitchen, complete with several toasts to the future happiness of Andrew and Micheline and the health of the next St. Briac baby. Then, amid loud cries of “Au revoir!” and “Bonne chance!” Andrew, Jeremy, and Micheline rode out into the crowded street, bound for London.
They first had to reach Calais, which lay on the northernmost coast of France. Sandhurst’s first thought had been to hire a coach, but Micheline would not hear of it. She loved nothing more than riding. On horseback they could reach Calais more quickly, and since the weather was fine, what was the point of a coach?
Once they were out of Paris, Andrew watched as she galloped ahead. She wore a ladylike habit of hyacinth-blue velvet, and her curls were protected from the wind by a pearl-studded gold crispinette and a velvet cap, but Micheline’s manner was that of a free-spirited young girl.
“What a wonderful day!” she exclaimed, laughing as she looked back over a shoulder. “Don’t dawdle, you two! We’ve a long way to go!”
Even from a distance he could see the sparkle in her eyes. “Dear God, I hope she won’t feel obliged to change once she learns she’s to be a marchioness,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” Culpepper asked, his own gaze riveted on Micheline.
“I said, hurry up! Have you no shame? Do you want to be left in the dust by a female?”
Sandhurst was laughing now himself, and urging his steed forward. The sun struck sparks on his hair as he drew alongside Micheline and reached out to briefly catch her hand.
“I am the happiest lady in France!” she proclaimed, beaming at the man she loved.
He arched a brow. “I only hope you will express corresponding sentiments when you are in England.”
Micheline laughed. “How could I not? I shall be Madame Selkirk then!”
Behind them Jeremy Culpepper rolled his eyes and wondered if he’d ever see this coil unsnarled….
*
It had been dark for an hour when the three travelers stopped at a quiet auberge called the Levrette, near the village of Poix. The place appeared clean, which was a change from most inns, and the food smelled appetizing.
First, they ate in the common room. There was a rich potage served on pewter dishes covered with thick chunks of bread. Micheline ate as heartily as the men, enjoying the mixture of veal, beef, mutton, bacon, and vegetables. They drank strong sour wine from pewter cups, then Sandhurst bade the innkeeper show them their rooms. By then Micheline was glad to escape, for the stares of the other male guests, including two ruddy-cheeked monks, were making her nervous.
“Your chambers are at the end of the corridor, on the right.” The innkeeper, carrying tankards of wine and ale to other guests, motioned vaguely with his bald head. “They’
re the only two I have that adjoin.”
Sandhurst glanced back at Jeremy. “Go and see to the horses, won’t you, Playfair?”
“But—” Color flared in his cheeks. “As you wish, master!”
Upstairs, Micheline followed right behind Andrew into the first room and put down her bag of possessions on the grander of two beds. When the straw tick made a crunching sound, she tried not to wince.
“A far cry from Fontainebleau,” she said, smiling bravely, “but it won’t matter as long as you’re next to me.”
Sandhurst crossed the chamber and opened a connecting door. “I appreciate the thought, but you’ll be sleeping in here.” Picking up her belongings, he disappeared through the doorway.
Surprise then embarrassment washed over her. Slowly Micheline followed her betrothed into a smaller room with a clean and serviceable bed for one.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
The sight of Micheline’s flushed cheeks was nearly too much for him.
“Last night was a mistake that I don’t intend to repeat until we’re married,” he explained evenly. “It would be best if we didn’t bind ourselves together with words—or acts—of love until… you are absolutely certain that you have made the right choice.”
Her iris-blue eyes were wide with confusion. “I have already made my choice! I want you!”
“You may have second thoughts after we arrive in London.”
The sight of his sculpted profile, accentuated by the firelight, filled her with longing that was heightened by his cool demeanor.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you afraid that I’ll meet the Marquess of Sandhurst and be led astray?” Micheline approached him and declared, “I don’t want Lord Sandhurst! As far as I’m concerned, he can take his title and his wealth and go to the devil!”
Andrew flinched slightly. When her small hands clasped his own, their eyes met and he opened his mouth. Whether he’d meant to speak or to kiss her, Micheline wasn’t sure, for a moment later he was turning away.
“Sleep well, fondling. We have a long day ahead of us if we’re to reach Calais by nightfall.”
Lords of the Isles Page 47