The Countess Misbehaves

by Nan Ryan

  Her lips fell open and her eyes widened.

  Madeleine cringed inwardly when her uncle caught sight of her and immediately motioned for her to join them. She had no choice. If she refused, it would look suspicious. Dear lord, how did she get herself into these terrible predicaments?

  Swallowing hard, drawing a spine-stiffening breath, Madeleine started toward the two men.

  “My dear,” said her uncle, smiling broadly, when she reached them, “I want to introduce you to a good friend.”

  She glanced warily at Armand and caught the gleam of mischief in his eyes. She wanted to choke him.

  “Armand,” Colfax stated proudly, “this is my beautiful red-haired niece, Lady Madeleine Cavendish.” Armand reached for her hand as her uncle continued, “Madeleine, may I present Mr. Armand de Chevalier, a true Creole whose ancestors came to New Orleans from France more than a hundred years ago.”

  “A genuine honor, Lady Madeleine,” Armand said before he bent and brushed his lips lightly across the back of her hand.

  “Can you believe it, my dear?” Colfax Sumner added, “Armand was on the same ill-fated vessel as you!”

  Attempting to unobtrusively free her hand of Armand’s, Madeleine feigned surprise. “Indeed? That certainly is a coincidence.”

  “Isn’t it a miracle that you both survived?” said Colfax. Before either could reply, he asked, “Did the two of you happen to meet on board?”

  Madeleine felt her heart stop beating. Terrified the devilish Armand would give her away, she anxiously clasped his hand in a pleading request that he remain quiet.

  He gently squeezed her slender fingers and replied graciously, “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the pleasure.”

  “Too bad, too bad,” said Colfax, then, “Armand, my boy, next time you have a free evening, please come round for dinner.”

  Twin points of impish light flashing in his night-black eyes, Armand stated, “Why, luckily I’m free tomorrow evening.”

  “Then we insist you join us for dinner at eight,” Colfax said, and looked at his niece as she withdrew her hand from Armand’s, “don’t we, my dear?”

  “By all means,” she replied calmly, favoring Armand with a self-assured smile. But the pulse in her bare throat was beating double time and he was not fooled.

  In the next breath, her uncle informed Armand that, unfortunately, he wouldn’t be having his only niece with him for very long.

  “Oh?” Armand looked from uncle to niece. “A short visit? You’ll soon be returning to England, Lady Madeleine?”

  “No, no,” Colfax answered for her. “New Orleans is to be her home. She’ll continue to live right in the city, but not with me. You see, she is engaged to be married next spring.”

  “May I wish you every happiness,” Armand addressed Madeleine. Smiling easily, he asked, “And who is the lucky fellow?”

  “Desmond Chilton, the Earl of Enfield,” she haughtily informed him.

  And was taken aback by the fleeting look of shock or dismay that came into his expressive black eyes at her smug announcement. It vanished so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. Surely she had. After all, she had told him out on the balcony that she was engaged and he hadn’t seemed to care one whit.

  She stiffened when she heard Armand say, “Sir, may I have your permission to dance with Lady Madeleine?”

  Colfax knew his niece well. He chuckled and said, “You have my permission, but you’d better ask Madeleine if she…”

  Armand didn’t. He knew she’d refuse. So he simply wrapped his long fingers firmly around her upper arm, assertively guided her out onto the floor and took her in his arms.

  Flashing him a dazzling smile to ensure that no one would know how she really felt, Madeleine informed him, “If you possessed even the tiniest bit of sensitivity, you would know that you are the last man on earth with whom I wish to dance.”

  “Why is that, Countess?” He grinned wickedly at her. “Think you’ll enjoy it more than you should?”

  She laughed in his face. “I think, Creole, that you greatly over estimate your appeal.”

  “Do I?” he responded, drawing her closer. He put his lips near her ear and whispered, “Tell me your heart is not fluttering just as mine is. Declare here and now that you dislike having my arms around you. Swear to me that you’re not experiencing even a hint of that uncontrollable passion we knew on the ship.”

  Her angry reply was, “You are mad, de Chevalier. Totally insane. And you’re unprincipled, as well! Indecent. Vulgar. Disgusting. Repulsive. Loathsome and…and…”

  “Revolting?” he prompted with a grin, unfazed by her insults.

  “That, too!” she said. “Now won’t you please take me to my fiancé, Lord Enfield, at once.”

  “Are you afraid of me, Countess?” He lifted a dark eyebrow and added, “Or are you afraid of yourself?”

  “Afraid? I?” She gave him a wilting look. “I’m afraid of nothing, de Chevalier.”

  “Then finish the dance and I won’t say another word.”

  She sighed and reluctantly agreed. And then wished that she had not. As he slowly, seductively turned her about the polished floor beneath the blazing chandeliers, Madeleine experienced all the things of which he just accused her.

  Her heart, pressed against his solid chest, was pounding with excitement. His arms, those long, powerful arms, felt splendid around her. Her temperature swiftly rising, she found herself suffering from more than just a hint of the uncontrollable passion they had known on the ship.

  When at last the dance ended, she felt quite faint and unnerved. Armand cupped her elbow and ushered her back to her uncle. Madeleine was so shaken from the close contact with the Creole she was glad that Lord Enfield was engaged in conversation across the ballroom, lest he notice.

  “Child, you look flushed,” said her Uncle Colfax, his brows knitting. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Just a little overheated,” she said with a weak smile.

  “Ah, what you need is some refreshment,” said her uncle. “I’ll go get you a nice cup of iced fruit punch.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said, and grabbed Colfax’s arm. Glancing at Armand, she said, “You’ll excuse us, sir?”

  “Why, certainly, Lady Madeleine.”

  Colfax Sumner smiled at the younger, taller man. “Now don’t forget dinner tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll be there,” Armand promised.

  Eleven

  Armand arrived at the Royal Street town house next evening at eight sharp. In one hand was a bouquet of long-stemmed white roses; in the other a box of Swiss chocolates.

  Avalina let him in and Madeleine, seated on one of the twin damask sofas in the spacious drawing room, watched in annoyance as Armand effortlessly charmed the usually sedate housekeeper. Avalina squealed like a schoolgirl when he kissed her hand and teased her.

  “The roses are for Lady Madeleine,” he told the laughing black woman. “The chocolates are for no one but you.”

  Madeleine, overhearing, rolled her eyes heavenward. Then braced herself as the Creole stepped into the arched doorway of the parlor. Looking suave and handsome, he was smiling easily, his neatly brushed raven hair gleaming in the lamplight, his clothes perfectly tailored, the crease in his buff trousers breaking at just the right spot atop his leather shoes.

  Madeleine felt her pulse quicken at the sight of him. Such potent masculinity. Such dynamic magnetism.

  Much as she hated to admit it, the handsome Creole need do nothing more than enter a drawing room to disturb the entire atmosphere. An electricity immediately filled the air and Madeleine knew instinctively that hers was not the only feminine bosom in which he stirred shameful thoughts.

  “My boy, we’re so glad you could come,” Colfax rose to greet Armand. “Come in, come in, and we’ll have a glass of tafia before dinner.” He shared Armand’s fondness for the potent sugarcane rum. “Lord Enfield’s running a little late. Should be along any minute.”

  “Good
evening, Lady Madeleine,” Armand acknowledged.

  She nodded almost imperceptibly. And to her chagrin, he, grinning and looking for all the world like a charming, spoiled little boy, crossed the elegantly appointed room and sat down right beside her on the sofa. He was seated there, with a long arm resting behind her on the sofa’s tall back, when Lord Enfield arrived. Desmond walked into the room and Armand unhurriedly came to his feet, as did Colfax Sumner.

  “I believe the two you know each other,” said Colfax to Desmond.

  “Yes, we do. De Chevalier,” Desmond said, smiling, and thrust out his hand.

  “Lord Enfield, good to see you,” Armand responded and the two men shook hands.

  “My love,” Lord Enfield quickly turned his attention to Madeleine. “Forgive me for my tardiness.”

  “Of course, I forgive you,” she said, then blinked in genuine surprise when he came to her, reached for her hands, drew her to her feet, and warmly embraced her before her uncle and Armand de Chevalier.

  Beaming, Colfax said to the couple, “Now, now, none of that romantic foolishness before dinner, you two.” And to Armand, “Guess we’ll have to forgive them for being so much in love they hardly know we’re here.”

  Colfax laughed jovially.

  So did Armand.

  Soon the foursome went in to dinner in the candlelit dining room. Madeleine was seated across from Armand, Desmond at her side. Within minutes she wished it had been the other way around. If the Creole was sitting beside her, she wouldn’t have to look at him. As it was, each time she lifted her eyes she caught sight of the dark, handsome face, half shadowed in the candlelight, the gleaming raven hair, the beautifully tapered brown fingers holding the heavy cutlery or lifting the wineglass.

  And, it did not escape her attention that Armand’s bold dark gaze, too often, touched her cleavage. She wished now that she had worn a different gown. The one she had carelessly chosen for the evening was an unquestionably lovely creation of rich turquoise merino wool, but the bodice, fashioned into a deep V between her breasts, was quite low, revealing, perhaps, a bit too much flesh.

  Aware that de Chevalier had noticed her decolletage, Madeleine self-consciously drew quick, nervous breaths. Which only served to accentuate her dilemma. Mortified, Madeleine was tempted to snatch up her dinner napkin and pointedly cover herself.

  But then her Cavendish pride asserted itself and she decided she was not about to let the brash Creole think he was embarrassing her. She knew that she had a magnificent bosom and she was vain enough to be proud of it.

  Madeleine quickly glanced at her uncle to be sure he was not looking at her. He wasn’t. He was focused fully on Desmond, shaking his heavy silver fork to make a point. Desmond was thoughtfully nodding his head, agreeing.

  So Madeleine, her lowered lashes fluttering over mischievous emerald eyes, pointedly glanced at Armand to make sure she had his attention. She did. She sat up very straight, moved her arms back until her elbows touched the plush fabric of the chair, allowed her hands fall to her lap, and then took a long, deep, slow breath, the deliberate gesture swelling her full bosom against the gown’s tight bodice until her pale white breasts were nearly spilling out of the dress.

  She felt a pleasing degree of victory when she caught the flash of fire in Armand’s black eyes and saw him swallow hard and reach for his wineglass.

  Trifle with her? She’d show him! Madeleine gave Armand a smug look and turned her attention to Lord Enfield.

  Her victory was short-lived. At her uncle’s urging, Armand began to talk about the shipwreck and the events leading up to it. As Madeleine listened to him speak in a low, clear baritone, she was on pins and needles. Would he, as he had at the masked ball, keep quiet about her? Or would he tell what really happened that day? Would he carelessly reveal that the two of them had not only met, but had been together in that last hour she spent on the sinking ship?

  Avalina interrupted when she came into the dining room bearing a heavy silver tray. Madeleine gave silent thanks and exhaled heavily.

  Avalina had outdone herself on the dinner.

  She had prepared not one, but two, tempting entrees. And so many mouthwatering side dishes Madeleine lost count. Smiling broadly, Avalina served Armand a huge helping of her own special brand of succulent gumbo; a rich combination of shrimp, crab, bits of ham and spicy herbs served over a heaping bed of rice.

  Then she brought in a plump roast duckling, covered in a thick rich brown sauce. While Madeleine was well aware that roasted duckling was one of Desmond’s favorites, it was obvious that de Chevalier couldn’t get enough of the spicy gumbo. How, Madeleine idly wondered, did Avalina know that gumbo was one of the Creole’s preferred dishes?

  Madeleine had never liked roast duckling. She loved Avalina’s rich gumbo. But tonight she chose the duck, shaking her head no to the tempting gumbo. She didn’t want de Chevalier to think they shared anything, even the appreciation of a good, spicy dish.

  The three men ate with genuine relish. Madeleine had no appetite. She just wanted the meal to end so that the vexing Creole would leave and she could relax. She noticed, as the table conversation went spiritedly on about her, that Armand seemed perfectly comfortable and at ease.

  Damn him. Shouldn’t he feel awkward and ashamed to be sitting at the table with Desmond? Didn’t it bother de Chevalier that he had been intimate with her when she was Lord Enfield’s fiancée? Did the man have no conscience?

  Apparently not.

  Desmond, too, appeared to be perfectly placid. Uncle Colfax, who loved entertaining, was clearly having a delightful time. While she was in agony, the men were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Apparently none of them cared how she felt. She wondered if a single one of them knew that she was sitting here wanting to scream.

  Finally, after more than an hour, the miserable meal ended. The quartet rose from the table and strolled leisurely back toward the drawing room. Desmond and Madeleine were in the lead, Colfax and Armand following. Madeleine was smiling now, relieved the nightmarish evening was coming to an end.

  Or so she thought.

  “It’s early,” she heard her uncle say. “Let’s have a spot of brandy with our coffee and visit some more.”

  Madeleine held her breath, praying that de Chevalier would graciously decline.

  “I’d love a brandy,” Armand said and without being able to see his face, she knew that his black eyes were twinkling evilly.

  The three gentlemen drank cognac while Madeleine sipped an apricot brandy. She heard the tall cased clock in the hall strike the hour of ten. Surely the Creole would leave now.

  He did not.

  He stayed on, talking, laughing, swapping amusing tales with her uncle and Desmond.

  It well past eleven when, at long last, Armand rose and said, “I had no idea it was getting so late. Forgive me, I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “No, no, not at all,” assured Colfax.

  “It was a most enjoyable evening,” Armand said, shaking the shorter, older man’s hand. “Thank you so much for having me.”

  “Any time, any time,” said Colfax, smiling, patting Armand on the back. “Promise you’ll come back soon.”

  Both Madeleine and Desmond had risen to their feet. Armand turned to them, bade them good evening and was gone.

  Stifling a yawn, Colfax immediately said, “It’s past my bedtime. Good night, children.”

  “Good night,” they said in unison.

  “Walk me down to the carriage?” Desmond said to Madeleine and she nodded.

  In the courtyard, she was surprised when instead of going directly to his waiting carriage he guided her to one of the many iron lace benches that graced the garden. They sat down and he immediately took her in his arms and kissed her. A warmer, longer kiss than his norm.

  But nothing to compare with the blazing hot kisses of Armand de Chevalier.

  “It was an enjoyable evening, wasn’t it?” he said.

  “Yes, it was. Mr. de Chevalier ca
n be quite amusing,” she offered. “How well do you know him, Desmond?”

  He answered with a smile and question. “How well do you know him?”

  Madeleine panicked. “Me? Why, I don’t know him at all. I met him for the first time last night at the masked ball.” She hoped the Almighty wouldn’t strike her dead for lying.

  “Well, watch him, my dear. He’s a bit of a devil.”

  “A devil? What do you mean?”

  Still smiling, Desmond shook his blond head and told her, “I like de Chevalier, he can be most entertaining, a pleasure to be around. But, he’s a typical Creole, lazy and unprincipled, caring only for his own pleasure. His habits are quite scandalous. His only ambition, it seems to me, is to live a life of indolent ease, without aim or purpose.”

  Her heart hammering, Madeleine said softly, “If this it true, why does my uncle—”

  Desmond laughed and said, “De Chevalier is one of those people who can get away with murder. Colfax, like everyone else, is willing to turn a blind eye to the Creole’s shortcomings. Which is fine, so long as he never has any business dealings with de Chevalier. I wouldn’t trust the carefree Creole as far as I could throw him.” Madeleine listened intently, learning that Armand de Chevalier was exactly the kind of man she had thought him to be the first moment she laid eyes on him. A rogue. An adventurer. A disbarred attorney who owned and operated The Beaufort, one of New Orleans’ many gambling establishments.

  De Chevalier, Desmond told Madeleine, had made so much money from his popular gamblingden, that he had invested in other, more respectable businesses and had made huge profits.

  Madeleine made no comment. She didn’t want Desmond to think she was interested in anything the Creole did.

  But without her prompting, the lord continued to talk about Armand de Chevalier. “The Creole has been so prosperous he has several abodes. I’m told he maintains luxurious quarters upstairs above his gaming palace. And, he has an elegant apartment in the new Pontalba Building on Jackson Square. A lake house out on Pontchartrain.” Lord Enfield shook his head. “He even has a big plantation mansion upriver, not far from your uncle’s place.”