The Chevalier

by Jacqueline Seewald

  What difference did it make what these people thought of her anyway? She had no reason to impress them. She was French and Scottish after all. English standards and values had nothing to do with her. She gave herself over impetuously to the boldness of spirit that her mother had sternly warned her to suppress.

  With a quick movement, she found her warm shawl and walked purposefully across the room and out the wide doors. There was torchlight to illuminate the walkways through the shrubbery, but the garden was deserted. Madeline bravely continued forward, shivering in the evening chill. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the tall figure of a man off to one side, looming near a carved bench, his leg raised as he leaned forward on it. She decided to simply stride past him.

  “I wouldn’t go walking through the hedge.” His voice was deep, resonant and pleasing to her ear.

  He had actually noticed her; she quickly turned around. “Why not?”

  “It is not the sort of thing a young lady should do if she is unescorted.”

  “Then perhaps you might escort me?” She was glad that it was dark so that he would be unlikely to see how red her face was, for she was certain that it had colored deeply. In her whole life, she had never been so outspoken.

  He let out a rumbling, surprised laugh that came from deep within his chest. “You would compromise your reputation if you took a walk in the maze with me.”

  “Would we get lost?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Most assuredly, I do not know the way. And you would certainly be lost.”

  She stared into his eyes with interest. “I was told that you are a notorious rake. Is that so?” She was mortified by her own audacity. What was wrong with her? Maman would slap her if she knew how badly Madeline was behaving.

  He laughed again with a surprised sound that had the clarity of a bell. “You are either the most innocent chit imaginable or the most accomplished flirt I have ever had occasion to meet.”

  He sounded amused but she regretted her foolish remark. Surely, she had been taught better. “I am sorry. I truly did not mean to behave in an insulting manner.”

  He smiled at her in a forgiving manner. “Who protects you?”

  Her brows rose questioningly. “Why do I need protection?”

  “From men like me, of course,” he said with a disarming smile that took her breath away. “We are prone to snatch away the innocence of young maidens. Who are you?”

  “I am Madeline de Marnay. My father, Etienne de Marnay, was the Comte de Sarnou, French Deputy Ambassador to England. He died six months ago.”

  “My condolences. And you have not returned to France, Mademoiselle?”

  “No, my Maman is ill and does not wish to leave England quite yet. But when we go, I believe it will not be to France but to Scotland.”

  He narrowed his jewel-like eyes. “Why Scotland of all places?”

  “Maman was born there. She still has family in the north-west. My grandfather was the chief of a clan in the Highlands but he supported King James against the Elector of Hanover and was forced to flee with his family or be arrested for treason.” She was telling him more than she ought. Why did she have the unfortunate tendency to babble when she was nervous?

  “So your mother wants to return to the Highlands, but why?” His tone was cool, disinterested.

  “The Highlands will always be her home. And now that Papa is gone, she wishes to be buried with her own people.”

  Gareth Eriksen shook his head. “She is picking the worst possible time to go to Scotland. Tell her that the Young Pretender is on the march with a Highland army. Soon, they’ll be facing a large British force and the danger to anyone caught in between could be devastating. She would be risking your life as well as her own.” His fierce frown was magnificently masculine and she let out a small sigh of admiration.

  “Prince Charles Edward might make a fine showing, don’t you think?” Madeline was unable to restrain the enthusiasm from her voice. The passion she expressed for the cause masked the strange, disturbing feelings for the handsome stranger that so heated her blood.

  She hoped that he could not read her mind; she would truly die of shame if he had an inkling of how desperately she wished to caress his cheek with the tips of her fingers. And Mother of God, if only this virile man would crush her into his arms and kiss her – perhaps even make love to her! Where were such wild, outrageous thoughts coming from? She must be mad!

  Two

  Gareth stared at the girl, again surprised by her words. “King George isn’t going to let the Young Pretender near London, just as his father squashed the Old Pretender’s move in ‘15.”

  She licked her lips in a gesture he found provocative. Her lips, full and lush, invited kissing. He had no intention of laying a finger on her but she was alluring.

  “The Prince is young and strong and he has the clans behind him. My Maman says there are no braver or fiercer fighting men in the entire world.” Her light eyes were alive, aglow. Her face was a moonbeam. In contrast, he felt world-weary, jaded, having seen too much of life – and death.

  “I believe we English would differ with you on that.” Why was he discussing politics with a chit barely out of the schoolroom? He was annoyed with himself. Why was he talking to her at all? Perhaps she was different? Most of the young ladies present were empty-headed creatures in his estimation. They offered little in the way of conversation, only gossiping or talking incessantly of fashion. He found them dreary, shallow and dull.

  “I believe I hear fear expressed among many of the people here tonight that the Prince will soon swoop down from the North,” she said.

  “So, Mademoiselle, you are an ardent Jacobite, I collect.”

  She was blushing most becomingly. “It is quite clear the true King was denied his throne merely because he was a Catholic. Instead, a German who did not even speak the English language and had no interest in England became king.”

  The passionate conviction behind her words intrigued him. She was obviously a misguided idealist, but that was typical of youth. Still, very few young girls had anything more on their minds than pretty clothes and husband hunting. She was hardly a silly, young twit. He detested those who giggled and flirted vacuously. Her face had drawn him at once. It was the face of an angel, a face he would have expected to see only in heaven, delicate and ethereal. The huge eyes were silver in the moonlight, the lips soft and full, the face shaped like a heart with high, sculpted cheekbones. She was beautiful in an exotic way, unique and different from any female he had ever encountered. But she was also terribly young, naive and certainly not for him.

  “You would find, if you knew George the Second, that he is quite a different man than his father was and very interested in English affairs. In fact, he personally led us at the Battle of Dettingen in Flanders. I do not think you will see many a king taking such a risk.”

  “You’re an English soldier?” she gasped in surprise.

  “Colonel Gareth Eriksen of the Pragmatic Army at your service,” he said with a slight incline of his head.

  Her huge eyes became even more enormous. “But how can that be? You are not wearing a uniform.”

  “I have been on leave, recovering from wounds received in battle.”

  “And are you quite recovered?” Her expression was one of concern.

  “I have orders to rejoin my men in two days.”

  The girl bit down on her lower lip. “I see.”

  “Let me offer you one small piece of advice. Although you are a foreigner and therefore not subject to His Majesty’s laws, it would be best if you did not go about spouting Jacobite sympathies. There is a great deal of bitter feeling here in London toward the cause you support. I would not like to see you suffer for it.”

  “Is that a threat, Colonel Eriksen?” Her eyes met his with amazing directness.

  “Merely friendly advice. You do seem in need of someone to take you in hand.”

  She stiffened her spine. “Now you sound like my
brother, Roland.”

  “Ah, so you do have a protector after all! I am relieved to hear that. Where is this brother of yours?”

  “Roland is actually my half-brother. He was my father’s son by a previous marriage. He has taken over Papa’s position in treaty negotiations between England and France.”

  “And does he approve of your plan to visit the Highlands?”

  “He wishes us to return to France as soon as his work here is done. Like you, he seems to think that Maman and I are foolish to consider such a journey.”

  Why did he bother talking to her? She spoke too much, gave too much away. A foolish, lonely child, perhaps seeking adult attention? Or was this some deliberate ploy on her part? A man must be wary of women, especially the young, charming ones. And hadn’t he been warned about the frogs sending spies out everywhere? He wouldn’t put it past them to send a female to seduce important information from army officers.

  Yet surely an innocent such as this could not be a spy. There was something genuinely appealing about her; she appeared real, without artifice of any kind. He looked at her, sensing passion, a certain wildness of spirit that aroused him and made the blood burn in his veins.

  What madness was he feeling? God, he hated these social evenings; he should never have come.

  “Are you bored by the ball?” Her directness was disconcerting, as if she could read his thoughts.

  “I find parties and balls quite droll in general. I am not the sort of man who likes these social events. I consider them rather meaningless frivolities, a general waste of time. And you?”

  “I hardly know what to think. This is my first ball, you see. My friend, Lady Constance, seems to think they are wonderful. She wants to sponsor me for the London season.”

  “You are in the market for a husband, Mademoiselle?”

  “Would you offer for me?”

  Their eyes locked. “No, I would not.”

  He expected that she would look away in embarrassment, but she surprised him by maintaining a steady gaze.

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, your brother would never approve me.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I am quite unacceptable,” he assured her in a cool, detached voice.

  “I do not understand.”

  “Mademoiselle, I have no title, no family, no great wealth.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Perhaps what you do have is more important than any of that.”

  He could not repress his laughter; she really did amaze him with her outrageous comments.

  “You think I am gauche and stupid?” She looked hurt.

  “No, I think you are a young romantic. I was just astounded by your frank manner – and also very flattered by your words.” The truth was that she had touched something deep within him, a part of him that had not been touched for many years, for he was far too careful to let any female reach him emotionally.

  He enjoyed women immensely and always felt that he gave as good as he got, but emotionally, he kept a scrupulous distance, his weary cynicism based on bitter experience. “I do think, Mademoiselle, that someone must teach you the ways of the world before you speak too candidly to the wrong person and embarrass yourself.”

  “I have been told that I am an apt student, particularly in the study of languages, but I believe my social education has been limited. The good sisters in the convent school I attended in Paris seemed also to think me too audacious in my speech.”

  “You were educated in a convent?” She really was too innocent by halves!

  He took her gloved hand in his own and felt her shiver. “It is growing cold out here. Perhaps you should return to the ballroom. Your friends will soon be wondering where you are.”

  “The Havingtons are dancing, and I would talk with you a little longer.”

  “How do you know them?” His face lost all expression.

  “They are our neighbors. Lord William said that you and he are old friends.”

  “We are, but I see little of him of late. Lady Constance is under the impression that I am Lucifer incarnate.”

  She smiled thoughtfully. “Milton’s Lucifer?” She could see him as that shining rebel.

  “Ah, the lady reads. How rare to find beauty and intellect in one so young.”

  She cast her eyes downward, obviously caught off-guard by his compliment, and he felt her shiver again.

  He pulled a gold flask from the inside pocket of his velvet coat. “Take a sip of this. It will properly warm your insides.”

  She did as he suggested, coughing slightly.

  “I thought French people were quite used to brandy.”

  “I have never drunk anything stronger than watered down wine. This does make my throat feel very warm though.” She took another small sip and handed him back the flask.

  As their hands interacted, he felt a quickening in his body as if lightening had hit him and thought he observed her lips press tightly together as if she felt it too. He was aroused, hard as a rock, just from touching her. How could that possibly happen?

  “Would you tell me some of the things that I should know about Englishmen? Lady Constance and Maman told me a little, but it would be nice to have a gentleman’s point of view on the subject. I have so little understanding of English attitudes.”

  She trembled and he gently placed his arm around her shoulders. Her skin felt like smooth satin.

  “The first thing is that you should never under any circumstances follow a man out into a garden alone at night.”

  He could see the color deepen in her cheeks.

  “Perhaps I might also wish to get some air.”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “Mademoiselle, I thought you honest.”

  She turned away from him. “I did indeed follow you.”

  “And you did stare at me earlier.” He turned her around to face him. “That is quite all right, since I am taking no more than a brotherly interest in you, but other men might consider you bold and seek to press their advantage. You understand that the rules are in force for a reason. If you give a man the wrong sort of encouragement, he might try to take certain liberties with you.”

  “What sort of liberties?” Her voice was sweet and pure.

  He found himself sighing deeply. “You really don’t want to know that.”

  “Yes, I do. Neither Maman nor Constance have discussed such matters with me.”

  “You must understand that men are more easily moved then women, and therefore, more open to suggestion. What a woman might consider innocent, a man might find – stimulating.” She looked at him openly bewildered and he realized that his explanation was not well done, but he was a man of action, not a man of words. In fact, he had talked more with this young girl then he had in years with any woman. Because of his reputation, women knew what to expect from him; they wanted exactly what he wanted. Therefore, he found little need for conversation. It was quite different with this child-woman.

  “Sometimes the very brush of a woman’s body against a man can excite him to behave in an ungentlemanly manner.”

  “I do not understand.”

  He put his hand around her slim waist and brought her body gently against his. He could smell her perfume, the fragrance of lilac. How appropriate, for she did remind him of a spring day.

  “A man might feel his passion rising on such small contact with a woman,” he said, his voice beginning to thicken. His desire for the girl was acute. Thank the Lord that he was a master of self-control.

  “What would happen then?” The angelic eyes stared deeply into his.

  He found himself pulling her against him, bending over to catch her lips in a gentle kiss. But as his lips brushed hers, she responded, her warm breath sweetly catching his. Then, without meaning to, his kiss deepened, hesitantly at first, the tip of his tongue moving ever so slowly across her lips. He sensed her pleasure at this brief taste of intimacy. Her lips opened shyly and his tongue stroked hers with small, ge
ntle circles. Her tongue joined his, imitating his moves. As her response became more passionate, he felt his body become alive and throb with need; he quickly broke the connection between them before he lost control.

  “That is what you must be careful about,” he said in as even a voice as he could manage.

  “It was wonderful,” she said.

  “You never tell a man something like that.”

  “Why not if it is so?”

  “First, because it gives the fellow the upper hand, and second, that was a very naughty kiss and you should probably have slapped my face.” He felt himself becoming very annoyed with her. Did she have no common sense at all?

  “Very well, I appreciate your advice. Is there anything else that I should know?”

  “Yes, be very careful to stay with your chaperone at all times, Mademoiselle. Go back to the ball now. If anyone so much as suspected that you were out here with me, your reputation would be compromised.”

  “Perhaps it is your reputation that worries you, Colonel, for I suspect being seen with someone like me might be embarrassing for you.”

  I want to strip you of your clothing. I want you lying naked beneath me. Where had that thought come from? And right in the middle of a supposedly civilized flirtation. But then again, his veneer of sophistication was stretched very thin. He was burning with desire for the girl. If he were honest with himself as he generally was, he would have to admit the girl caused him to feel an intense hunger, like a starving man beholding a magnificent banquet.

  He watched as she returned to the ball. Her white satin gown whispered as she walked. How could she look so sweet and so sensual all at the same time? The girl was an amazing paradox, he decided.

  Strange how she reminded him of his sister Gwenda. Not that the two girls looked anything alike physically, but Gwen was always surprising him with her remarks too. What would Gwen think of Madeline de Marnay? Probably, he decided, the two of them would get on famously, and, he supposed, Gwen was only about a year younger then Madeline. He might have a brotherly talk with his own sister. Would Gwenda kiss a stranger with as much passion as Madeline had displayed? He hoped not, shuddering at the thought yet still burning with need.