by Ann Stephens
“No, madam, I cannot tell you my plans in the morning, because I am not accustomed to deciding where or how—or with whom—I am spending my evening until much later in the day.” He drew near to her during his speech, but she stood her ground.
“You weren’t married before.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Kieran stiffened. She braced herself for whatever he might say next.
“True, I wasn’t.” He considered her speculatively. “I could send my excuses to my friends, under one condition.”
“Which is?” She could smell the faint scent of sandalwood soap emanating from his body, he was so close.
“I will dine with you this evening if you in turn will resume our physical relationship.”
She drew back as though slapped. “Certainly not! I will not be coerced!”
“Why do you insist on refusing me?” He ran a hand through his hair as his voice tightened in frustration. “As your husband I would be within my rights to insist on your cooperation.”
She paced a few steps away from him to quell her own agitation. “Why should I admit you to my bed? However nice it was, you still ran off to that dreadful senhora the next day, humiliating me in front of the entire ship! You didn’t even have the decency to apologize.”
“I shall not apologize for actions that did not harm anyone!” He hissed the words as he followed her.
At his steady approach, she slipped behind an overstuffed chair, not taking her eyes off him. He sighed.
“Diantha, I shall not strike you.” He ground the words out through clenched teeth, but at least he stopped following her. “No matter how thoroughly you provoke me.”
She mastered her trembling knees. “I appreciate that, my lord. But I do not appreciate being told that my company is so very dull that it is only acceptable with the promise of—”
She broke off, floundering for an acceptable expression.
“Conjugal relations. Sex. Making love.” He listed the terms as he came around the chair. She edged back a step but did not retreat farther. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Come, now. Let us begin again.”
His fingers worked sensuously at the joining of her neck and shoulders, and she closed her eyes in enjoyment. She opened them again to see a flash of triumph in his eyes. “Making love” indeed. He only caressed her to manipulate her.
“No.” It cost her not to give in, but better to have him staring at her as he did now, infuriated, than smirking in contempt. His hands dropped to his sides.
“As you wish then. I shall see you tomorrow.” Just as he bowed, a small cough interrupted them.
In the doorway, the majordomo presented a sterling salver containing a small white rectangle. “Forgive me, but the lady was quite insistent.”
Kieran strode over to pick up the calling card. “The Dowager Comtesse de Pontrevault. A distant connection through my grandmother’s family.” Before she could speak, he ordered the majordomo to admit their visitor.
As soon as the door snicked shut behind the little man, he addressed her. “We’ll finish this discussion later. The dowager is prominent in Parisian society. It might not be a bad thing if we could persuade her to take you under her wing.”
Diantha opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and simply nodded her agreement.
“How is your French? It’s important that you make a good impression on her.”
She arched a brow. “May I remind you that I attended finishing school just outside Paris? I am quite sure my command of the language is adequate to greet the comtesse.” She could not repress a smile as she strolled over to a gilt-edge mirror over the mantelpiece. “And I am certain she speaks English.”
“How typically American!” He frowned at her. “For your information, the rest of the world is not going to learn English for your convenience.”
Straightening her lace collar, she shrugged. “Something you had best mention to some of your compatriots, then. I’ve never met as many snobs as I did in England.”
“I happen to be a Scot, thank you.” He crossed his arms and observed her actions with a cold stare.
“One in need of a comb.” She beckoned him over. “Here, let me fix your hair.” He approached, still radiating hostility.
“I never said you were a snob.” She spoke softly. “Just disheveled.”
Somewhat mollified, a smile twisted his lips as he caught sight of his reflection. Most of his hair remained in perfect order, but the side he had run his hand over hung in loosened waves.
“Let me fix that.” She plunged her fingers into the silky strands before he could move.
“What are you doing?” He pulled his head back, out of her grasp, but it was too late.
“I don’t have a comb with me.” She chuckled in spite of the scowl on his face. “At least now you don’t look uneven.”
Dark waves framed his face, brushing the edge of his firm jaw, enhancing the wide-set eyes inches from hers. She found it hard to breathe. “Much better.”
“Is it?” Her lips tingled as his gaze settled on them. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it then.” Her hands dropped to his shoulders and he bent closer to her.
The door opened.
Kieran closed his eyes and sighed before wheeling around to greet their guest.
“The Dowager Comtesse de Pontrevault.” Undoubtedly the majordomo had seen them, for he addressed the announcement to an invisible spot in the middle of the room. He bowed an elderly woman into the room and left after Diantha requested him to send up suitable refreshments.
They found themselves under the observation of a pair of twinkling eyes the color of a summer sky. “Ah, newlyweds. I recall my own days as a young bride.” The comtesse halted just inside the room, straight as a pillar in her fashionable ensemble. Although past sixty, her only concession to age was the walking stick she rested her joined hands on.
Kieran recovered first. “Madame, how kind of you.” He kissed the fine-boned hand held out to him and addressed her in slightly accented French. “It is an unexpected and welcome honor.”
“It is entirely my pleasure, Lord Rossburn. I trust your family is well?” The lines around her eyes and mouth crinkled as she smiled at him.
“So far as I know, madame. Much as I enjoy your lovely country, I look forward to returning home.” He gestured to Diantha. “May I present my wife?”
Her wide grin at the noblewoman earned a glare from her husband, which she ignored. “Madame, it is so very good to see you!” Her schooling served her well as she greeted the woman with flawless French.
“Dianthe, ma fille!” The comtesse rustled toward her in a cloud of organdy and bergamot perfume. “Why so formal, my dear?”
As they kissed one another’s cheeks and embraced, she could not resist smirking at her husband over the other woman’s shoulder. His dumbfounded expression gratified her excessively.
Their guest chatted on. “You cannot conceive my delight, Lord Rossburn, to hear that my granddaughter’s dear friend was engaged to marry so distinguished a man.” She patted Diantha’s cheek. “Roch will be devastated.”
“As your grandson is a dreadful flirt, madame, I imagine he will recover the next time he sees a pretty girl.” She gave Kieran a saccharine smile. “Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”
His cheeks darkened at her tone, though whether with chagrin or embarrassment, she could not tell. Before he could reply, she begged the older woman to take a chair and sat down on a sofa nearby. As they exchanged news of their families and gossip, Kieran took the seat next to her, crossing his legs and laying his arm across its back. Diantha sat up a bit straighter. The long fingers, near enough to just graze the fabric of her sleeve, distracted her from the other woman’s conversation.
A footman appeared bearing petits fours and small fruit tartlets on a round tray, along with glasses and a bottle of sherry. After everyone had been served, Kieran leaned forward.
“How long have you and Lady Rossburn known each other, madame?�
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Diantha glanced at him, but his face betrayed only curiosity.
The comtesse beamed. “She and my only grand-daughter became friends when they attended the same school four years ago. When Sabine begged me to include her new friend in an invitation to visit me, I agreed.”
She reached over and patted Diantha’s knee. “I had no idea what to expect, but I have a soft spot for Sabine and braced myself for a wild American.”
“I think she expected me to show up dressed in animal skins.” Diantha chuckled.
“Instead a charming young lady got out of the carriage, with impeccable manners. Except for her penchant for swinging from trees.” She shook her head, tsking.
Kieran sat bolt upright, an unholy grin lighting his features. “What? Madame, you must tell me!”
Next to him, Diantha could not keep from laughing even as she protested. “No, I beg you! Not that story again!”
“Again? You mean all Paris knows about this—proclivity of my wife’s?” Kieran looked at her, trying to imagine his shy, slightly stodgy wife engaging in such outrageous behavior. She glanced over, merriment brimming in her face.
As their eyes met, something passed between them, almost like affection. Startled, he realized she had never completely relaxed in his company, even during their one night together. He wondered what would have happened between them if they had met like this, instead of in the stifling atmosphere surrounding her parents. Then the comtesse spoke and the moment slipped away.
“My son, the current comte, and I were strolling at the far end of our garden one afternoon—it is designed as a wilderness and abuts the Loire, I must invite you both to visit someday—and out of the blue we see Miss Quinn swinging out from a tree overhanging the river! I was never so stunned in my life.” She thumped her stick on the floor for emphasis.
“She had removed her jacket and looped it over a branch above her head, then used it to launch herself from one side of the trunk around to the other.” Wagging a bony finger, she regarded the younger woman with mock severity. “I wanted to give you the scold of your life!”
“And so you did,” Diantha replied drily. A second later, she giggled. “But you had to stop laughing first.”
“Wicked girl, you nearly gave me a fatal spasm! What if you had fallen in?” The comtesse shook her head even as another chuckle escaped her.
“Pooh! I was entirely safe.” Kieran watched in near amazement as she bantered with one of the bastions of Paris society. “I learned how to pick out sturdy branches when I was a girl.”
He could not resist joining in with a bit of raillery. “Come now, you don’t expect us to believe that. Even in America, I doubt that governesses routinely teach young ladies the varying strength of different trees.”
“Certainly not.” She sniffed disdainfully. “My brothers taught me at Cliff Heights. One tree hanging out over the Hudson was especially fun.”
He gaped at her. “Do you mean to tell me that you did that hanging a hundred feet above the river?” She nodded. “Good God, it’s a wonder you weren’t killed.”
“My sentiments exactly, your lordship.” The comtesse shuddered, and changed the subject.
After twenty minutes of general conversation, she sighed. “I must take my leave before long, but I should like to invite the two of you to dine with me this evening, if you are free. I would enjoy a longer talk with dear Dianthe.”
Before he could open his mouth to accept such a singular honor, Diantha spoke. “I fear his lordship is engaged to dine with friends this evening.” Although her voice sounded properly regretful, when she looked at him a spark of anger replaced the laughter that had danced in her eyes.
“I am sure they would understand if I sent them a note, my dear.” He fixed his gaze firmly upon hers, willing her to be silent. She raised one eyebrow and turned her back to him.
“As you can see, his lordship is everything that is obliging, but I am under the impression that these are very dear friends, since he is meeting them while on his honeymoon.” He did not miss the emphasis on the last three words. “Under the circumstances, madame, I could not possibly ask him to beg off.”
The old woman regarded the two of them through narrowed eyes. Kieran immediately stood to assist her as she heaved herself to her feet with the help of her stick. “By all means dine with your friends, Lord Rossburn. I entertain often and you shall come another evening.” She faced his wife. “My dear, before I take my leave, I insist you show me over this delightful little house.”
Regally, she extended her hand for Kieran to kiss, and swept Diantha before her out of the room.
He stared after them. Something had just happened, but he had no idea what.
The comtesse wasted no time in demanding that Diantha show her the boudoir. As soon as she settled into a cushioned chair, she fixed her bright eyes on the younger woman. “Now, tell me at once what is wrong between you and that delicious young man.”
Diantha gulped once. Then the entire story burst out of her about their awkward engagement, the senhora, Kieran’s flirtation, and his refusal to accept the realities of married life.
“Ah.” Uttering the one syllable, her friend closed her eyes and sat quite still.
“Madame?”
Only an upraised finger answered her. Interpreting the gesture as a sign to remain mute, Diantha waited. At last the comtesse opened her eyes.
“Ma fille, it is my experience that a husband is like a new pair of shoes. They are not going to change into another kind, and they are never comfortable.” She bestowed a smug smile on the younger woman. “But you can break them in.”
“That’s all very well as far as it goes, madame, but I don’t think my husband will take well to ‘breaking in.’ “ Diantha pleated and unpleated a fold of her twill skirt.
“Child, you don’t tell them what you’re doing!” Slender fingers detached Diantha’s hand from her skirt and squeezed it affectionately. “Stop that. You’ll cause a permanent crease.”
The comtesse sat back and scrutinized her from head to toe. “In truth, I must ask why you’re wearing so unflattering an ensemble. The fit is impeccable, but the only yellow you should ever contemplate wearing is pale lemon. And even that would require great caution.”
“Thanks to my mother, I have exactly three becoming gowns in my trousseau, and one of those is unsuitable for daytime.” Diantha did not hide her bitterness. The comtesse had met Mrs. Quinn.
The older woman cleared her throat. “I am sorry to say it, but your wardrobe might account for the senhora. Although from what I have seen, Lord Rossburn’s charm has doubtless helped him conquer any number of female hearts.”
“Doubtless.” Diantha echoed the word, staring at the patterned rug under her feet. She lifted her gaze to find the comtesse regarding her with half-closed eyes.
After a sharp nod, as though confirming something to herself, the older woman rose from her chair and paced the room. “What we need is a plan of attack. Starting with your wardrobe.”
“I agree, but I can’t very well burst in on Monsieur Worth and tell him his clothes look dreadful on me.” The master couturier’s ego matched his genius.
“You shall not burst in at all. You shall write him and ask if he might see you for fittings tomorrow—I am certain he will not refuse the former Mademoiselle Quinn. I presume you have a generous allowance?”
Diantha calculated mentally. “Not enough for an entire new wardrobe at his prices. Perhaps I could purchase a few items from a less expensive modiste.”
The comtesse blanched. “After the journals have puffed off your dresses from Worth? Fatal, cherie!” She considered. “No, we shall just have to select essential pieces, starting with a ball gown. You should receive your invitations tomorrow for the one I am holding in Sabine’s honor.”
The two made a few more plans before she escorted her guest downstairs and bid her good-bye with a warm embrace. Through the open library door, she noticed Kieran’s dark head as he s
at reading, but she did not go to him.
With a lighter heart than she had known in months, she hurried up the stairs. According to the Comtesse de Pontrevault, she had some things to do.
Chapter 7
In the ensuing days, Diantha could not help but give thanks for the comtesse’s plans. They kept her occupied enough to avoid brooding over Kieran’s frequent absences. Although he treated her with punctilious courtesy, he spent much of his time away from the town house near Avenue Montaigne.
Having heard back from several school friends, she arranged to meet them for shopping or luncheon or walks in the city’s famous parks, but that left many hours open to take umbrage at his defections. On one particularly bad afternoon in the Luxembourg Gardens, she witnessed the galling sight of her own husband strolling along in company with a beautiful woman of noble ancestry and rather less elevated morals.
Fortunately Diantha was accompanied by the comtesse and her granddaughter. Both set out to assuage her feelings. The older woman pointed out that Lord Rossburn was one of several men attending the creature in question, while Sabine tried to divert her with an anecdote about the journey to Paris from her husband’s estate.
Dejected, Diantha begged to be taken home.
The comtesse sighed. “Ma fille, you will look like a goose if you flee the field. He is with the Marquise de Tourelle, one meets her everywhere. We cannot have her preening herself for routing you. Come along, one more time around the boat pond.”
For Diantha, the sunlight shining down on the green grass and the gravel promenade dimmed. Even the lively shouts of children trying to prod their toy vessels across the shallow basin failed to cheer her.
Upon taking leave of her in the town house’s drawing room, the comtesse reminded her of a fitting she had the next morning.
Charles Worth had not only welcomed Diantha to his establishment on the rue de la Paix, he oversaw the creation of her new wardrobe himself. Thanks to her money, her family name, and the sheer number of seamstresses the couturier employed, the first of her carefully selected gowns arrived within a week.
