He had kept her garter all this time.

“I know what that is on your upper arm!” Madeleine hotly accused. Armand de Chevalier smiled, said nothing. “How dare you wear my garter for all the world to see!” she raged.

“Now, Maddie, no one but you and I know that it’s your garter.”

Unconvinced, she charged, “You are bent on ruining my life simply because I…because we…”

“Made memorable love in a summer’s storm?” He softly finished her sentence.

“Shhh!” she hissed. “Give that garter back to me!”

“Can’t do that,” he said, lifting then lowering his wide shoulders. “It’s my good luck charm. Besides, it’s all I have of you.”

“It’s all you’ll ever have of me, de Chevalier!”

“Ah, you’re wrong there, Maddie,” he said with irritating cockiness. “You know you are.” A sudden warmth radiated from his eyes when he added, “One day we’ll be together again.”

Countess Madeleine Cavendish swallowed with difficulty. Then she narrowed her eyes and promised him in a soft, acid-laced voice, “You’re the one who’s wrong, Creole. That day will never come!”

“Yes, it will, chérie.” He smiled seductively and predicted, “Perhaps sooner than you think.”

Nan Ryan “writes beautifully. Her style, plotting and characterizations are skillfully developed.”

—Wichita Falls Times Record

Also available from MIRA Books and NAN RYAN

WANTING YOU

The Countess Misbehaves
Nan Ryan

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For

Katonna Smothermon

A super talented lady, a beautiful woman, an excellent mother and a treasured friend.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

One

Liverpool, England

August 1856

She knew he was trouble the first time she saw him.

And the first time the Countess of Ballarat saw Armand de Chevalier, was as she boarded White Star’s luxury liner, the S. S. Starlight, for the long voyage to America.

The Countess, known to most as Lady Madeleine Cavendish, lifted her skirts, stepped onto the ship’s long gangway, and then paused to look up. She immediately spotted a tall, strikingly handsome, raven-haired man lounging against the ship’s railing and boldly giving her the once-over.

He smiled disarmingly at her. But the wise noblewoman did not return his smile. Instead, she quickly looked away. She had no wish to encourage him in any manner. She knew his kind well. Too well. She had married just such a man when she was a young, impulsive girl and it had been a disaster.

Lady Madeleine’s delicate jaw hardened at the unpleasant recollection. She had fallen deeply in love with him and the passion between them had raged white hot. In his arms, she had experienced incredible ecstasy, but it had lasted only for a very brief time. They had barely returned from the Italian honeymoon before her bridegroom—a charming commoner her mother had warned her not to wed—began behaving as if he had no wife. He began drinking heavily and gambled away great sums of money. Money that was hers, not his. Worse, he was soon seeking diversion in the arms of other women, humiliating her. It was a nightmare of a kind she was determined never to experience again.

After three miserably unhappy years as the neglected wife, Madeleine Cavendish had been widowed at age twenty-one when her wayward husband was killed in a drunken brawl over another woman.

Now as she ascended the ship’s gangway, Lady Madeleine impatiently shook her bonneted head to clear her mind of those events. The action turned her thoughts to the present.

Was the dark, dangerous-looking man still at the ship’s railing? When she reached the huge vessel’s polished teak deck, she couldn’t restrain herself from casting a quick glance in his direction.

He was, to her genuine surprise, still there. Still staring. And still smiling at her in a disturbingly affable way that enforced her earlier impression that he was indeed trouble. Uncharacteristically flustered, Lady Madeleine made a misstep and almost fell. In an instant, the tall, jet-haired admirer was at her side, steadying her.

The startled Countess abruptly experienced an unwanted rush of excitement when the dark stranger’s powerful right arm went around her waist and he pressed her close against his side. Awed by the granite hardness of his lean male frame, she suddenly felt very small and vulnerable.

Lady Madeleine looked up with intent to thank him, but his flashing midnight eyes arrested her so completely she could not speak. She said nothing. Snared by his hot gaze, she felt her heart begin to pound alarmingly and she knew that she must, on this long journey to America, stay as far away from this sinfully handsome man as possible.

After a long, awkward moment, she finally recovered. “Let me go!” she ordered in a most imperial tone.

She was totally caught off guard when he immediately released her. Struggling to regain her balance and her dignity, the Countess was shocked and highly incensed that this tall stranger offered no further assistance. Instead he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, laughing.

He was laughing at her, the rude cad!

Nonplussed, she opened her mouth to hurl stinging oaths at him, but closed it before saying a word. To censure someone with such abominably bad manners and such a twisted sense of humor would be a waste of her precious time. He wasn’t worth the effort.

She lifted her noble chin, looked daggers at him, turned about and haughtily flounced away.

Continuing to laugh, an amused Armand de Chevalier watched the angry woman storm off down the crowded promenade deck. Armand liked what he saw. Very much. He decided then and there that he would get to know the lady better during the crossing. He had no idea who she was, but he knew that she possessed a remarkable beauty and fiery spirit.

His kind of woman.

Their face-to-face meeting had been brief, but her image was indelibly etched into his memory. She was, he surmised, about five-six or five-seven. He stood six-two in his stocking feet and the top of her head reached the level of his mouth. Her hair, dressed elaborately atop her head and partially concealed beneath a fussy hat, was an intriguing shade of red-gold. He could all too easily envision it spilling down around her bare shoulders.

A muscle danced in Armand’s tanned jaw and his chest grew tight at the pleasant fantasy.

She was such an uncommon beauty. Her pale skin was as flawless as fine alabaster and her large eyes were a deep emerald green. Her mouth, even tightened in anger as it had been when her face was close to his, was full-lipped and decidedly tempting.

Tall, slender, with a natural grace despite her momentary loss of equilibrium, she was a dazzlingly pretty woman and she had effortlessly arrested Armand’s attention. He wondered who she was and where she was going. And how long it would be before she was in his arms?

This late-summer crossing was, Armand decided, going to be far more pleasurable than he had hoped.

Once she was safely inside her elegantly appointed stateroom, Lady Madeleine was careful to maintain her calm composure. She didn’t want her hired attendant to know that she was upset. She hardly knew Lucinda Montgomery, the young woman who had agreed to be her traveling companion in exchange for passage to America.

“Lucinda, will you please have some ice water sent up at once? I’m very thirsty,” the Countess requested in an effort to have a few minutes alone.

“Yes, my Lady,” Lucinda replied and she hurried out of the stateroom to do her mistress’s bidding.

Alone at last, Lady Madeleine sighed with relief, then immediately shivered and hugged herself. The brief encounter on deck with the impertinent stranger had left her breathless, oddly disturbed and anxious. Which was not at all like her.

She had always led a very social life, one in which she mixed often with the great and near great and took their admiration as her due. She was well aware of her beauty and knew that she possessed a natural talent for charming people. From the time she was a young girl she had been completely comfortable in the company of powerful men. And she had learned early on that she need put forth very little effort to have males, be they young or old, handsome or plain, eating out of hand. She was accustomed to being fawned over, flirted with, panted after and she took it all with good grace and a grain of salt.

So what on earth was bothering her now?

Granted, the stranger was so darkly handsome and potently masculine no female could help but notice and be affected. Tall, slim, impeccably dressed, he appeared to be quite the gentleman. Yet his flashing eyes and audacious manner were contradictory. And, no well-bred gentleman would laugh at a lady the way he had laughed at her.

He was, undoubtedly, a reckless rogue whose outrageous behavior some women would find appealing. Not her. She found him coarse. Common. Vulgar. Not worth wasting another minute’s thought on.

Madeleine decisively shook her head, then took off her bonnet and tossed it on a velvet-covered sofa. She crossed to the bed, turned about, and sat down on its edge. She sighed, stretched and slowly sank down onto the brocade-covered bed.

She raised her arms above her head and sighed once more. And she gave silent thanks that the man to whom she was officially engaged, was a kind, cultured nobleman.

Madeleine smiled as she pictured Desmond Chilton, Fourth Earl of Enfield, whom she was to wed next spring. A distant cousin whom she had known since childhood but had rarely seen, Lord Enfield had left their native England more than a decade ago.

The earl had settled in New Orleans where Madeleine’s dear uncle, Colfax Sumner—her deceased mother’s only sibling—had lived for the past forty-five years. The two men had become good friends and when she had visited her uncle during the past summer, the handsome blond earl had spent a great deal of time at Colfax’s French Quarter mansion. A week before she was to return home to England, the earl proposed and she had accepted.

Lord Enfield would, she felt sure, treat her as a wife should be treated. He clearly adored her. And, if she was less than passionately in love, that presented no weighty problem as far as she was concerned. She much preferred being the ‘beloved’ as opposed to the ‘lover.’ Desmond was most definitely the lover. She his beloved. Which was as it should be, as it would remain.

Never again would she risk being humiliated by a mere mortal man.

Armand de Chevalier remained on deck for the next hour, strolling unhurriedly from stern to bow as the huge vessel moved slowly out of the Liverpool harbor and made its way to the open sea.

Excited, well-dressed travelers had lined the ship’s railing, waving to those left behind. Others, like Armand, promenaded around the ship’s polished decks, greeting fellow voyagers, laughing, talking, anticipating an enjoyable adventure.

Many of those happy passengers were, of course, women. Some with husbands or family members. Others traveling together in groups of two or three. Still others were alone, save for a servant or attendant. There were, Armand noted, dozens of unattached, attractive women.

But not one captured his attention as the stunning woman with the red-gold hair. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He wanted to see her again, and he searched the milling crowds, hoping that perhaps she would take a stroll once they were on the open sea.

She did not.

After a couple of frustrating hours, Armand gave up and made his way to the gentleman’s tavern. There in the darkly paneled club, he stepped up to the long polished bar, ordered a bourbon straight and downed it in one swallow.

As the barkeep poured another, Armand couldn’t help overhearing a conversation taking place between two gentleman standing next to him who were sipping port.

“She’s a British noble lady,” said a short, balding gentleman with muttonchop sideburns. “The only child of the fifth earl of Ballarat and his American-born wife, both of whom are now deceased.”

“Is she now?” replied his drinking companion, a tall, cadaver-thin man in a brown linen suit with a boutonniere in his buttonhole.

Armand knew, instinctively, that they were talking about his red-haired beauty. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said and the port-drinking pair turned to look at him. “Does the noblewoman of whom you are speaking happen to have red hair?”

The tall, skinny fellow nodded, and said with a slight touch of wistfulness, “An unusual shade of red-gold that is incredibly striking against her pale-white skin.”

“Who is she?” Armand asked bluntly.

“Why she’s Lady Madeleine Cavendish, the flame-haired Countess,” said the short man with the muttonchop sideburns. “One of the most renowned beauties in all Europe.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Armand before he downed his second whiskey. “Gentlemen,” he said as he nodded good-day then turned and walked out of the tavern.

Armand was unfazed by her lofty status. Un-bothered by the fact that she was a Countess. An inherently confident man, Armand had learned, long ago, that beneath fine satins and laces, often beat the passionate heart of a hot-blooded woman.

He’d bet everything he owned that the lovely Lady Madeleine Cavendish was such a woman.

Two

After a restful afternoon nap followed by a long leisurely bath, Madeleine Cavendish was again feeling like her old self. Relaxed. Self-assured. Looking forward to her first evening at sea.

When the blinding summer sun had finally slipped below the horizon and full darkness had fallen, Madeleine was humming happily as the surprisingly talented Lucinda meticulously dressed her long hair. It took a good half hour, but when Lucinda had finished, Madeleine’s heavy locks were skillfully fashioned into a shiny coronet of thick braids atop her elegant head. The style was quite flattering to Madeleine as it accentuated her graceful, swanlike neck and beautiful throat.

Madeleine had chosen, for the first dinner at sea, a shimmering green silk ball gown with a low-cut bodice, an uncomfortably tight waist, and billowing skirts that spilled attractively over yards and yards of crinoline petticoats.

By ten minutes of nine she was fully dressed and ready for dinner. But she waited another half hour before leaving the stateroom.

Arriving fashionably late, she swept into the immense dining hall with its blazing chandeliers, deep lush carpet and gleaming sandalwood walls. A uniformed steward ushered her directly to the captain’s table. A dozen diners were seated at the enormous round, white-clothed table.

All the gentlemen stood as a chair was pulled out for her. Nodding and smiling as she was presented to the well-dressed group, Madeleine noticed that one table companion was even later than she. The gilt chair next to hers was vacant. Perhaps the guest who was to be seated there had come down with a bad case of mal de mer. Poor miserable soul. She recalled, all too well, her first crossing years ago, when she had suffered from sea sickness.

As a white-jacketed waiter shook out a large linen dinner napkin and draped it across her silk-covered knees, Madeleine glanced up and saw the stranger from the railing. He was dressed impeccably in evening clothes and was making his way across the crowded room.

Dear lord he was coming straight toward the captain’s table!

Lady Madeleine stiffened. She gritted her teeth as he pulled out the empty chair on her right and sat down. The captain made the introductions and she learned her rogue was Armand de Chevalier, a New Orleans native on his way home after a lengthy summer stay in Paris. The elderly, gray-haired gentleman on her left, a New York banker, leaned close and whispered that de Chevalier was an aristocrat. A wealthy Creole who often traveled to Europe. He was, it was rumored, of the chacalata—the highest born of the Creole elite. Madeleine nodded. She knew that the haughty Creoles were the descendants of the early French or Spanish settlers who had been born in America. She also knew that they were considered the nobility of New Orleans.

Conversations resumed. Diners began to sample the vichyssoise. Armand de Chevalier turned away to politely reply to a question from a stout, expensively dressed woman seated on his other side.

Lady Madeleine suffered a mild twinge of alarm knowing that she and this raffish Creole were to be dwelling in the very same city. At the unsettling prospect, she involuntarily shivered.

“Are you chilly, my Lady?” Armand de Chevalier, turning his full attention to her, softly inquired. “If so, I could…”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you, Mr. de Chevalier.” She icily set him straight and reached for her wineglass.

From the corner of her eye she saw that the Creole’s full lips were turned up into a hint of a sardonic grin. Her dislike and distrust of the man increased.

It was, for Madeleine Cavendish, a miserable meal. Her usual healthy appetite missing, she pushed the food around her china plate and forced herself to smile and engage her fellow diners in idle conversation. All but de Chevalier. She said nothing to him. And, further, she silently, subtly let him know that she was not interested in hearing more about him nor did she intend to tell him anything about herself.

He didn’t press her.

Still, she was greatly relieved when at last the seven-course meal finally came to an end.

At the captain’s insistence, the smiling countess courteously allowed the beaming, white-haired ship’s officer to escort her into the ship’s mirrored ballroom. Leaving Armand de Chevalier behind, Madeleine immediately began to relax and enjoy herself.

Lavishly dressed dancers were spinning about on the polished parquet floor as a full orchestra in evening wear played a waltz. Warmed by the wine and relieved to be free of the bothersome Creole, Lady Madeleine was gracious when the aging captain lifted his kid-gloved hand and led her onto the floor.

She smiled charmingly as the barrel-chested captain turned her awkwardly about. And she laughed good-naturedly when he stepped on her toes and quickly assured him she was unhurt, no harm done.

Her smile was bright and genuine as the captain, soon wheezing for breath and perspiring heavily, continued to clumsily turn her about on the floor.

But her smile evaporated when Armand de Chevalier appeared and tapped the Captain on the shoulder. He brashly cut in, decisively took her in his arms and deftly spun her away.

She was trapped. Everyone was watching. The other dancers abruptly stopped dancing to watch the Countess and the Creole. Madeleine couldn’t make a scene. She couldn’t forcefully push de Chevalier away and storm out of the ballroom. She was left with no choice but to smile and endure the dance.

Madeleine’s smile was forced.

She was as stiff as a poker.

At least at first. But that quickly changed. The Creole was such a graceful dancer and so incredibly easy to follow, Madeleine—who had always loved dancing—found herself relaxing in his arms. And enjoying herself. Too much.

Soon she was no longer aware of the watching crowd. She was aware of nothing and no one save the man who held her and turned her and spun her about. His lean body barely brushed her own, yet she sensed his every movement as if she were pressed flush against his hard male frame. It was as if they were one body, hers so finely attuned to his, she could easily anticipate even the slightest nuance of movement before it took place.

It was strange.

It was exhilarating.

All her senses seemed suddenly to be heightened. Her vision was so sharp that as she looked at him, the thought struck her that this handsome man’s aquiline profile could have been traced from a drawing of a conquistador.

Her hearing, too, was nothing short of incredible. She could hear, above the music and commotion, his deep, steady breathing and even the heavy, rhythmic beating of his heart. His clean, unique masculine scent, so subtle, so intoxicating, caused her to inhale deeply.

Most pronounced of all was her sense of touch. His hand at her back, gently guiding her about, was warm and persuasive, the tapered fingertips only lightly touching her waist, but seeming to burn through the silk of her ball gown. His other hand lightly clutched her own slender fingers and pressed them against the solid wall of his chest. The heat emanating from him was intense; her sensitive fingertips, which touched against his muscled chest, felt as if they were on fire.

A thrill rippled through her.

She was overwhelmed by the sight, sound, smell and touch of this sinfully handsome man. Guiltily she wondered about that other sense. The sense of taste. What would it taste like to be kissed by him? Covertly, she glanced at his sensual lips and felt butterflies take wing inside.

Quickly she looked away.

And saw—reflected in the ballroom’s mirrored walls—duplicate pairs of the dancing duo. He so tall and dark and broad-shouldered. She so pale and slender and bare-shouldered. The two of them moving perfectly together. Swaying seductively to the music.

It was a powerful image and Madeleine felt quite faint. Her partner immediately sensed her condition and artfully danced her out of the warm ballroom and onto the ship’s deserted deck.

Armand solicitously steered Madeleine to the railing where the salt-laden sea breeze cooled them. He gave her a chance to catch her breath, watched as some of the color returned to her cheeks.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded and took a couple of long, deep breaths. Then she gripped the railing tightly, lifted her face into the wind and closed her eyes. In silence Armand stared at her in frank admiration. What a lovely vision she was with her noble head thrown back, her delicate chin lifted, her long dark lashes fluttering restlessly over her closed, beautiful eyes. He noted, and not for the first time that evening, that she possessed the most exquisite shoulders and bosom he had ever seen.

The bodice of her emerald-green gown was cut low enough to reveal the tempting swell of her milky-white bosom. At the same time the gown’s fabric rose high enough to modestly conceal her soft, rounded breasts.

Madeleine opened her eyes. She turned to look at Armand and some of the disturbing warmth quickly returned. Struck by his imposing height, the width of his shoulders and the way the moonlight silvered his raven-black hair, she said anxiously, “Good night to you, Mr. de Chevalier. I…I must retire to my…my…stateroom.” She stammered as she stared at his mouth and tingles of excitement swept though her. “I hardly know you and it’s improper for the two of us to be here alone.”

Armand smiled at her and asked, “Would it have been better to have stayed inside where you would have fainted before all those staring people?”

“I never faint!” she promptly defended herself.

“Ah, I see. My mistake,” he replied in a low, teasing voice. “I thought that you were feeling a little dizzy and…”

“I was, but I am perfectly fine, Mr. de Chevalier. Now if you’ll kindly excuse me.”

She turned away.

He followed.

“I will see you to your stateroom, Lady Madeleine,” he said.

She was quick to protest. “That isn’t necessary, I can find my way….”

“You heard me, Countess,” he interrupted as he commandingly took her arm and escorted her to her cabin.

Outside the closed door of her stateroom, Armand stood facing her. He raised a long arm above her head and rested his hand on the door frame. Leaning close, he said, “Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Her back pressed against the carved door, Madeleine said, “That, sir, is out of the question. You see, I am…that is, I…” She started to inform him that she was an engaged lady, but decided against it. She owed him no explanations. She owed him nothing. She said pointedly, “I am not interested in sharing lunch, or anything else, with you, sir.”

Unperturbed, Armand lowered his raised arm, brushed the tips of his fingers along her bare white shoulder, smiled easily and said, “Well, I can take a hint. Good night, Madeleine.”

She scornfully corrected him, “That’s Lady Madeleine to you, Mr. de Chevalier!”

Armand shrugged, grinned and said, “Now, Maddie, you are not my lady.” She whirled about, opened the door, and rushed inside as he silently added, Yet.

Three

Lady Madeleine Cavendish had a difficult time falling asleep that night. Armand de Chevalier was responsible. As she restlessly tossed and turned, Madeleine reluctantly conceded it was impossible to deny that the insolent Creole had aroused an unsettling emotion in her she’d long thought dead.

She promptly told herself that it was completely normal, nothing to be concerned about. It was quite simple, really. De Chevalier was formidably masculine. She, totally feminine. The polarity generated its own dynamic tension, engendered a natural curiosity and fascination. That was it. Nothing more.

Thank heaven she was wise enough to recognize the attraction for what was. That elementary knowledge was a valuable aid in building total immunity to the Creole’s questionable charms.

There was no need to worry about the handsome de Chevalier. Even if he refused to leave her alone—and she strongly suspected that would be the case—it was no great cause for concern. She was not some flighty, starry-eyed eighteen-year-old. She was an intelligent, levelheaded woman of twenty-seven whose knees did not go weak every time a strikingly handsome man smiled at her.

Decisively dismissing the vexing Creole from her mind, Madeleine let her thoughts drift across the ocean to the two fine men who were waiting for her in New Orleans. She was anxious to reach her destination and genuinely delighted that the charming river city was now to be her home.

With both parents dead and no close family left in England, she would live with her dear Uncle Colfax until next spring when she wed Lord Enfield. Her uncle had assured her that the earl was a gentleman of sterling character, well thought of and quite wealthy after more than a decade in America.

Madeleine smiled in the darkness, pleased that her uncle and her fiancé were such good friends. It was important to her that her Uncle Colfax fully approve of the man she was to marry.

She knew how much her bachelor uncle doted on her, loved her as if she were his own daughter. He had told her, on more than one occasion, that she was the sole heir to his sizable fortune. But she loved her uncle as he loved her and hoped that it would be many long years before she claimed her inheritance.

Besides, she would have no need of her uncle’s fortune. Lord Enfield was a wealthy man in his own right.

Madeleine sighed heavily, then yawned. Sleepy at last, she turned over onto her stomach, hugged her pillow, and closed her eyes.

And was soon sound asleep.

On that first full day at sea, Madeleine awakened to the bright August sun spilling through the port-holes of her luxurious stateroom. A woman who loved excitement and adventure, she dressed hurriedly and rushed out on deck.

A yellow parasol raised above her head to protect her fair skin, Lady Madeleine smiled and nodded to fellow passengers as she strolled along the promenade deck.

Inhaling deeply of the fresh sea air and looking out with pleasure at the calm blue ocean, Madeleine was enjoying herself immensely.

The gentlemen she passed tipped their hats or bowed slightly from the waist, acknowledging her. The ladies smiled and greeted her and several asked her to join them for high tea that afternoon in the ladies’ salon.

On she strolled.

Taking her time. No destination in mind. Smiling easily. Savoring the beauty of the warm August day at sea. Then all at once Madeleine abruptly blinked. She stopped walking. Stood stock-still. She squinted against the brightness of the sun, staring.

Several yards ahead a couple stood at the ship’s railing. They were laughing merrily and in their hands, each held a long-stemmed glass of what appeared to be champagne, although it was only ten o’clock in the morning. The woman, looking up at the man as if he were a god, was a voluptuous brunette dressed in an expensive-looking traveling suit of pale-blue cotton. The man, who was smiling down at the alluring brunette as if they shared some exciting secret, wore a finely tailored summer suit of crisp beige linen.

Armand de Chevalier!

Lady Madeleine felt her jaw tighten and her brows knit. She straightened her spine, threw her head back and started walking. Directly toward the laughing, champagne-sipping couple. As she approached, she waited expectantly for de Chevalier to look up, see her and perhaps motion her over.

It never happened.

Madeleine drew up even with the laughing pair and purposely paused not twelve feet away. She stood there for several long seconds, giving both the opportunity to acknowledge her. Neither seemed aware of her presence. Neither so much as glanced in her direction. They had eyes only for each other.

Madeleine hurried away, admittedly stung by the Creole’s pointed neglect and shocked by such callous behavior. Here was the man who, only last night, had held her in his arms. He had danced with her and escorted her to her stateroom, where he had asked her to have lunch with him today.

Had he already forgotten her? Had she made absolutely no impression on him? Had it not bothered him in the slightest that she had turned down his luncheon invitation? It would seem not. It was as if she didn’t exist. Well, what did she care? It was, after all, she who had advised him to leave her alone. She should be grateful that he was honoring that request. And she was. She was glad he had found someone else with whom to amuse himself. Someone with whom he could share lunch.

By evening, Lady Madeleine had begun to wonder if de Chevalier and the buxom brunette weren’t sharing a great deal more than lunch. At dinner the pair were together at a table close by and they seemed to be having quite a gay time.

After the evening meal, Madeleine joined some of her table companions in the ship’s ballroom. There she spotted, swaying on the floor, the Creole and his enchanted companion. Madeleine swallowed with difficulty. Watching the two of them glide about the floor brought back the vivid recollection of being in de Chevalier’s arms.

Suffering the onset of a sudden headache, Lady Madeleine made her apologies and said good-night. She hurried to the haven of her stateroom. There she stormed around, pacing back and forth, curiously angry and upset.

And much, much later after she had retired and lay sleepless in a shaft of summer moonlight, she heard a deep, masculine voice that she instantly recognized. Curious, she tossed back the silky sheets, got out of bed, hurried across the carpeted state-room to an open porthole and peered out.

Directly below, at the railing, a lone couple stood bathed in moonlight. While Madeleine watched, wide-eyed, the provocative brunette who had spent the day with the Creole, slipped her bare arms up around his neck and lifted her face for his kiss.

Madeleine quickly turned away in disgust.

She had been so right about de Chevalier! He was nothing but a rogue and a scoundrel. She felt sorry for his enthralled victim.

In the days and nights that followed, Madeleine found that the pretty brunette was not the only woman who was entranced with de Chevalier. The handsome Creole never lacked for feminine companionship. Each time she saw him he was with a beautiful woman. A different woman each evening. And each of those beautiful women clung possessively to his arm, gazed adoringly at him and laughed at his every word.

Lady Madeleine pitied them, making such fools of themselves over a charming scamp who changed women as often as he changed shirts. Seeing him for the cad he was helped to extinguish the troublesome heat she had felt for him that first night at sea.

The Creole was somebody else’s problem, not hers.

But the Countess was bored.

As several long days and longer nights at sea passed by uneventfully, Madeleine grew weary of the journey, the idleness. She was tired of being trapped on a ship in the middle of the ocean. She was anxious to step onto terra firma. Anxious to reach New Orleans. Anxious to see Lord Enfield and Uncle Colfax. Anxious to go out to dinner and the theater and the opera.

So she was relieved when finally the long journey neared its end. She experienced an escalating degree of excitement when Lucinda awakened her with the news the ship was rounding the southernmost tip of the Florida Keys before it headed up into the Gulf of Mexico. Sometime within the next forty-eight hours, she would be disembarking at New Orleans’ busy port.

Humming happily, Madeleine quickly dressed and eagerly made her way out onto the deck, blithely ignoring the strong winds that had risen with the red dawn. She shaded her eyes and gazed, smiling, at the old lighthouse rising majestically from the very last island of the Keys. And she laughed when a great gust of wind caught her yellow silk parasol, tore it out of her hands, and sent it skittering away.

Several gentlemen, immediately aware of her plight, went after the dainty umbrella, but each time one of them bent to pluck it up from the deck, another puff of wind sent it toppling out of reach.

Instantly, it became a highly competitive game to see who could successfully seize Lady Madeleine’s tumbling, wind-tossed parasol. Determined gentlemen scrambled to recover the colorful article, each eager to be the lucky one who could present it to its lovely owner.

As fate would have it, the parasol was effortlessly retrieved by a disinterested gentleman who was not in on the game. The flapping, fluttering object slammed up against the trousered leg of none other than Armand de Chevalier. He placed his well-shod foot gingerly on the parasol’s handle to secure it. Then bent from the waist, picked it up and slyly raised it over his head. Turning slowly, he stood there twirling the parasol playfully, waiting for its owner to reclaim it.

Good sports all, the gentlemen who had been chasing the wayward umbrella laughed and applauded de Chevalier’s good fortune. Armand nodded and accepted their congratulations. When the small crowd dispersed and the laughing gentlemen went on their way, Armand stayed where he was.

The Countess, several yards down the deck, also stayed put. She naturally assumed de Chevalier would bring the parasol to her.

So she waited.

And waited.

Frowning she motioned for him to come. He shrugged wide shoulders and a look of puzzlement crossed his face as if he had no idea what she wanted.

Madeleine’s hands went to her hips. She glanced cautiously around, not wishing to attract attention. She looked directly at Armand and, without sound, mouthed the words, “Bring me that parasol!”

“Not a chance,” Armand replied in a firm, loud voice. He grinned devilishly and added, “Come and get it, Countess.”

Taken aback and instantly irritated, Madeleine said, loudly enough to be heard by him as well as by passersby, “Sir, I command you to return my personal property.”

Ignoring her queenly command, Armand’s devilish smile remained solidly in place. “You may have your little umbrella anytime you want it. All you have to do is take the few short steps to me.” His smile grew even broader. “Or, you could stop by my stateroom late this evening and we’ll…”

“Shhh!” Madeleine hissed and hurried toward him, looking furiously around, afraid someone had heard. Reaching him, she stepped up close and said angrily, “How dare you make such a suggestion for all to hear! Your behavior is inexcusable! You would lead our fellow passengers to believe that I might actually come to your stateroom when you know very well I would never do such a disgraceful thing!”

Continuing to twirl the yellow silk parasol above his dark head, Armand said, “Calm down, Countess. I’m quite sure everyone knows you would never consort with the likes of me.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she replied haughtily.

Armand smiled easily, handed her the parasol and then reached out to push a windblown lock of red-gold hair off her forehead. “It’s getting awfully blustery, Lady Madeleine. You might consider retiring to your stateroom.”

“You might consider not telling me what to do, Mr. de Chevalier.”

“You might consider listening when someone gives you a bit of sound advice.”

“You might consider that I neither need nor want any advice from you.”

“You might consider occasionally behaving like the lady you’re supposed to be, my lady.”

Madeleine’s red face grew redder. A strong gust of wind assaulted her just as she started to speak. It caught the umbrella and again tore it from her hands. She anxiously looked at Armand and pointed to the fluttering parasol. Armand didn’t move a muscle.

He smiled and said, “You might consider fetching it yourself, Countess.”

Anger and frustration flashing out of her emerald eyes, she said, “You might consider leaping overboard and ridding this vessel of its vermin!”

She stepped around Armand and took a few tentative steps toward the parasol. Then stopped abruptly. She wasn’t about to chase after anything. Let it go. And let him go.

She spun on her heel and majestically marched over to the railing. Muttering under her breath, wondering if he was still there, she soon hazarded a glance over her shoulder.

Strong west winds pressed the fabric of his slate-gray trousers against his long legs and lifted locks of his jet-black hair. As Armand started toward her she hastily turned back around. He walked up beside her and, without saying a word, put a leather-shod foot on the lower rung of the railing. He swung up onto the wooden railing, straddling it.

Staring, she said, “You fool, what are you doing?”

“I’ve decided you are right, Lady Madeleine. I should just go ahead and leap overboard.”

He threw his other leg over and came to his feet, balanced precariously on the decorative molding outside of the railing.

Her heart in her throat and her eyes wide with fear, Madeleine impulsively threw her protective arms around his lean thighs and shouted, “No! Don’t do it. I was only teasing.”

“You don’t want me to jump? You want me to live?”

“No! Yes! Please, Mr. de Chevalier, come back inside before you fall to your death.”

“Would you care?”

“Of course, I would care. Stop scaring me.”

“Okay,” he said as he agilely turned and jumped down onto the deck. He stood facing her. “Were you really afraid? Did you think you might lose me?”

His safety now ensured, Madeleine felt her anger quickly returning. She was furious that he had frightened her. And annoyed that he knew that she was frightened.

“Mr. de Chevalier, you might consider joining the children down in their play lounge. Your childish stunts clearly reveal that you have the intellect of a backward ten-year-old.”

Four

Later that morning, Lady Madeleine was alone at the ship’s railing, gazing expectantly out over the churning blue waters. A couple of hours had passed since she had spotted the ancient lighthouse rising majestically from the very last island of the Florida Keys. She had experienced a great rush of excitement when the huge ship had rounded that final spit of land and headed northward into the Gulf of Mexico. Now the Keys had been left far behind and no land was visible.

The winds, she suddenly realized, had risen dramatically since she’d first come out on deck that morning. She now had to cling tenaciously to the railing to keep her balance. And she noted that the waves had grown much higher, so high they were actually lifting and tossing the heavy vessel. Her breath caught when, all at once, deep swells rose beneath the huge craft and it swung and rolled violently.

Madeleine became curious, and increasingly anxious, when the ship’s crewmen began rushing about, hurrying to obey shouted commands from the stern-faced first officer. There was a sudden burst of activity as passengers hurried onto the decks. She heard a gentleman shouting to his companion as they passed that a West Indian cyclone was upon them.

Alarmed, Madeleine started toward her stateroom when the ship took a frenzied swing. As she struggled against the rising winds, she overheard two crewman speaking softly. One claimed the ship was taking on water.

Seconds later, the captain appeared on the promenade deck. Calm, collected, he walked briskly among the passengers speaking quietly, yet with clarity. “Passengers should return to their state-rooms,” he instructed. “No need to rush, no reason to panic,” he said, although he was more worried than anyone would ever know. Not only were there not enough lifeboats, they were painfully short of life preservers. And the waterproof integrity of those pitiful few vests on board was in doubt. “Return to your staterooms and secure the portholes,” he repeated again and again. On encountering her, the captain said reassuringly, “Merely a safety precaution, Lady Madeleine.”

She smiled and nodded, but she knew better. A full-fledged hurricane was racing toward them.

Struggling against the worsening winds and dodging scrambling passengers as they fled to their cabins, Madeleine finally reached the door of her stateroom. She banged on the solid wood and Lucinda yanked the door open and anxiously drew her mistress inside.

There the two women huddled together in growing fear as the S. S. Starlight pitched and rolled in the punishing winds as if it were a child’s toy. The roar was deafening as mountainous seas and fearsome gales assaulted the mighty vessel.

While the fierce storm raged, sending the huge ship into fits of savage rocking and lurching, the Starlight’s crew and many of the male passengers—including Armand de Chevalier with his suit jacket cast aside and his shirtsleeves rolled up—toiled tirelessly at three bucket brigades to reduce the flooding in the engine room.

Soaked to the skin, striving to stay on their feet, the contingent labored manfully to keep five hundred tons of boilers and engines afloat in the angry, storm-tossed Gulf of Mexico. But it was a losing battle. Soon it became evident. The S. S. Starlight was irreparably breached. The huge ocean liner was going down.

The ship now badly listing, a terrified Lady Madeleine and Lucinda rushed back outside. Terror-stricken passengers ran about on the slippery, slanting decks shouting, “Where are we to go? What are we to do?”

Families hugged their loved ones to them and herded them toward the ship’s railing where lifeboats were being deployed. Frightened people were pushing and shoving, fighting to gain a coveted spot in one of the lifeboats.

“Hurry!” shouted Lucinda to Madeleine, “we must hurry!”

The servant clung to her mistress’s hand and pulled her along through the pressing crush of humanity. But when Lucinda realized that most of the lifeboats, filled to capacity, had already dropped into the sea, she panicked. Survival her only instinct, she dropped Madeleine’s hand and elbowed her way through the mob, desperate to flee the sinking ship and a drowning death in the ocean’s depths.

Lucinda made it to the railing, climbed over, and jumped down into an overflowing lifeboat as it was being lowered down the ship’s tilting side.

The countess, struggling against the ferocious winds and screaming passengers, anxiously followed. Fighting her way toward the lowering lifeboat, badly hampered by her heavy hoop skirts, she was struck by a giant wave and flung violently against the railing and momentarily stunned.

If not for the strong hands that reached out and caught her, she would have been washed overboard.

“My God!” shouted Armand de Chevalier, “why have you waited this long? We must get you into a lifeboat at once!”

Madeleine’s head snapped around and she stared up at him in shocked surprise. She would have supposed that this self-absorbed Creole would have shoved women and children out his way to get to a lifeboat and save his own hide.

“Why have you waited?” she shouted against the wind.

Ignoring the question, Armand firmly propelled her through the hysterical crowd to the railing. Armand looked over the ship’s side and saw the last of the lifeboats splash down into the boiling sea.

Against Madeleine’s left ear he shouted, “We have to make it to the other side of the ship. There may still be lifeboats off the port that have not yet been deployed!”

The pair fought their way up across the badly listing deck, falling once, slipping back downward toward starboard. But Armand managed to rise again and pull Madeleine up. Holding on to anything they could find to steady themselves, the pair fought on.

It was far from easy.

The howling winds kept ballooning Madeleine’s skirts, threatening to lift her off her feet. Quickly assessing the situation, Armand propelled her to a deck chair that was bolted to the deck. While she held tightly to the chair’s back, Armand took a small, sharp-bladed knife from a leather holster at his ankle. He lifted Madeleine’s damp dress and slashed the threads that held her fashionable crinoline petticoats. In seconds the heavy crinoline frame fell away and Armand lifted her out of it. Free of the impeding contraption, it was easier for Madeleine to keep up with him.

After what seemed an eternity, the embattled pair finally reached the ship’s rising port side. Gripping the wet wooden railing, Armand drew Madeleine in front of him, enclosing her in his arms as he clutched the rail. His eyes watering from the wind and salt spray of the sea, he anxiously peered over the ship’s side in search of a lifeboat.

There were none.

All the lifeboats had cast off and were rapidly rowing away from the doomed ship.

“God in heaven!” Armand swore in frustration. “There are no more lifeboats!”

“I know,” Madeleine said, exhaling resignedly as she pushed a soaked lock of hair off her cheek and gazed wistfully after the departing boats.

For a long uncertain moment the couple stood there together on the badly listing deck of the sinking vessel. The winds roared relentlessly and the huge waves rose to awesome heights, badly buffeting the crippled ship. Dozens of people, washed overboard, clung to wreckage. Others bobbed about like corks in the roiling sea, supported by life belts. And above the din, the terrible screams of people filled the air as they flailed about and drowned.

Madeleine trembled and a sob of fear escaped her lips.

“Come,” Armand shouted, “let’s get in out of the wind.”

His arm firmly around her, Armand guided the frightened Madeleine back across the slick deck and up the tilting bridge to the captain’s cabin, just off the wheelhouse. Sheltering her against his tall body, Armand tried the door. It was jammed. He pressed a muscular shoulder against it, pushed with all his strength and it flew open.

Quickly he handed Madeleine inside and followed, closing the door behind him. The cabin was deserted. The captain was gone. The crew was gone. They had either been swept overboard or had fled cowardly in one of the lifeboats.

Madeleine stood in the center of the small, tidy cabin, hugging herself. Chilled with fear, she thanked Armand with her eyes when he took a large white towel from a sea chest and handed it to her.

She blotted her wet shiny face, then began rubbing her thick, soaked hair. She watched as Armand took another towel, peeled off his drenched white shirt and dried his dark chest and wide shoulders.

“I’m sorry there are no dry clothes here for you to…” he began.

Swearing, he tore a clean gray blanket from a narrow bunk that hung from the far bulkhead by strong link chains. He wrapped the blanket around her trembling shoulders and suggested she sit down. She looked around, realizing the bed was the only place to sit. Madeleine shook her head and said she’d rather stand. The words had hardly passed her lips before a giant wave crashed against the cabin, sending her sprawling on the sharply canted deck.

Armand reached her in an instant, drawing her to her feet. “Are you all right?” he shouted, clasping her upper arms.

“Yes,” she shouted back, “but maybe I had better sit down.”

He guided her to the bunk and she sank down onto the mattress’s edge. Armand drew down the bunk’s canvas restraining straps and cinched them around her waist. “That should hold you,” he said. Then he exhaled heavily and sat down on the bed beside her, realizing there was nothing more to be done.

The ship continued to pitch and roll and plunge and rise as the hurricane-force winds slammed mercilessly into the crippled vessel. Strapped down in the captain’s bunk beside a virtual stranger, Lady Madeleine Cavendish tried very hard to be brave. She had been reared to keep a stiff upper lip in moments of crisis and to never let others know she was upset.

But she had never faced anything like this. It was impossible to hide the fact that she was terrified.

“We are going to die, aren’t we, Mr. de Chevalier?” the shivering Madeleine asked, her eyes round with fear.

Armand was quick to offer hope to the frightened woman. “No. Certainly not. This vessel has a wooden hull, which means it can stay afloat for hours,” he said and slid a comforting arm around her shaking shoulders. “There’s every chance that we will be picked up.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then dropped his hand away, bracing a stiffened arm behind her on the mattress.

“You don’t believe that,” she accused, studying his dark face for signs of sincerity. His unchanged countenance revealed nothing. “Do you?” She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders.

“Yes, I do.” Armand insisted, keeping up the pretense for her sake. “With any luck another ship will pass by here within the hour and take us on-board.”

She nodded, but she was not fooled.

Her shoulders slumped with despair and try as she might, she could no longer hold back the tears that were stinging her eyes. Madeleine began to quietly cry. Armand didn’t hesitate. He took her in his arms and pressed her wet cheek to his bare chest. He stroked the crown of her damp hair, gently patted her slender back and comforted her with soft spoken words of solace.

In her rising fear, Madeleine put her arms around his trim waist, clasping her hands together behind his back. The blanket fell away from her shoulders. She clung to Armand as if he were her lifeline to survival. Tears spilling down her cheeks, she buried her face in the warm solidness of his naked chest and closed her eyes. Above her bent head, his deep, calm voice soothed and reassured.

Madeleine’s tears soon ceased, but Armand continued to hold her in his arms. On a soft inhalation of breath, she raised her head and looked up at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?” He replied, then smiled at her in that devil-may-care way of his as if nothing were amiss. She knew that he was being brave and strong for her sake. And it touched her. She smiled back at him and realized, as she did so, that it was the first time she had ever really smiled at him. His dark, beautiful eyes lighted in response.

And as she smiled at him the thought struck her that his handsomely chiseled features would be the last face she saw this side of heaven. The two of them were going to die together in this tiny cabin. It might be an hour. It might be less. But soon the sinking ship would plunge with decisive finality into the dark, fathomless depths of ocean and she and de Chevalier would drown.

They were going to die together, two strangers who knew nothing about each other. Neither of them would ever see their homes or loved ones again. They would never again eat a sumptuous meal. Or drink chilled champagne. Or warm themselves before a roaring fire. Or laugh in the rain. Or dance beneath the stars.

Or make love.

Madeleine stirred against the handsome man who held her. The sea pounded against the ship. Waves slapped against the cabin. She clung to Armand, her arms wrapped around him, her head on his shoulder.

It was crazy, she knew, totally insane, but she wondered—as she had that first night when they had danced—what it would be like to kiss him. To be kissed by him. Through the cover of her half-lowered lashes, she gazed with interest at his sensual mouth.

And was amazed when Armand said, as if he could read her thoughts, “Kiss me, Countess.” He gently drew her closer, pushing the blanket completely away. Her head fell back against his supporting arm. He slowly bent his dark head to her upturned face. “Kiss me, once.”

Not waiting for permission, Armand kissed Madeleine. It was not a soft, feathery kiss of two people slowly becoming better acquainted. It was not a tender, closed-mouth caress of a lover who had forever and a day to win and woo his reluctant lady fair. It was not a brief, introductory meeting of two tentative pairs of lips.

It was a kiss of such flaring fire and primordial passion that Madeleine was instantly overwhelmed. Dazed and clutching at his smooth, deeply clefted back, she felt herself go limp in his strong arms as he swiftly deepened the blazing kiss. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth, boldly exploring all the highly sensitive regions, stroking her tongue with his own, sending her wits scattering and her pulses pounding.

Madeleine realized, as her lips were combined with his, that she wanted this handsome, hard-faced rogue. Before she died she wanted to know—one last time—the kind of passion she barely remembered from her first nights as a newlywed.

If any man could give her even the slightest taste of that kind of rapture, it was surely this dark, seductive Creole who was kissing her with such unrestrained passion. She sighed into Armand’s mouth and her nails raked down his warm smooth back. The more she considered the two of them making love, the more she wanted it.

The more she wanted him.

When at long last his conquering lips released hers, her head fell back against his rock-hard biceps. She looked into his eyes and trembled with rising desire.

“Mr. de Chevalier,” she said finally, almost shouting to be heard above the wind’s constant roar, “will you…that is, I…could we…?”

“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned down, placed his ear close to her lips.

“Make love to me, Mr. de Chevalier,” she blurted out. Armand raised his head, looked at her, one dark eyebrow lifting slightly. She rushed her words, “We are going to go down with this ship. You know we are, I know we are. So what difference would it make if we…we…” Her words trailed away and she lowered her eyes, sorry that she had made such a preposterous proposal.

Until he put his thumb and forefinger to her chin, raised her face to his, and looking straight into her eyes, said, “I’ll make love to you on one condition.” He brushed a kiss to her temple. Madeleine’s brows knitted in puzzlement. He smiled and said, “If you’ll stop calling me Mr. de Chevalier. Say ‘Armand, make love to me.”’

Aroused by his stirring kiss and the granite hardness and awesome heat of his lean body, Lady Madeleine eagerly said, “Armand, make love to me.”

“With pleasure, Countess.”

Five

For a long, tense moment, Armand de Chevalier did nothing, didn’t move a muscle. He simply held Madeleine in his arms and looked into her eyes. Unable to look away or even to breathe properly, Madeleine felt as if she were being pulled into the fathomless depths of his unforgettable black eyes.

The winds howled and the cabin plunged sharply into the sea, then rose again. Madeleine hardly noticed. She was totally mesmerized by this dark stranger with whom she wanted desperately to be intimate.

She drew a sharp intake of air as Armand slowly lowered his face to hers. Expecting another of those instantly ardent, breath-stealing kisses, she was surprised when he brushed his smooth, warm lips ever so lightly against hers. For several sweet, unhurried moments, he kissed her softly, undemandingly, as if she were actually his treasured love.

Madeleine found it incredibly moving. Stirring. Exciting. Each gentle, unhurried kiss became more thrilling than the last. His mouth seemed to fit so perfectly with hers. As if their lips were made solely for each other’s kisses.

Pressing one last feathery kiss to her slightly parted lips, Armand flipped open the buckle to the restraints holding her in place. He lifted her and sat her on his right knee and both were almost dumped to the floor when a great gust of wind hit the ship. Armand gripped the bunk’s frame with one hand and held Madeleine with the other. Then quickly drew the restraints around both of them, buckling them loosely behind her back.

Clutching his neck, Madeleine was both astonished and thrilled when he took her hand, placed it directly over his heart and said in a low, husky voice, “Touch me. Feel me, sweetheart.”

She immediately complied. Her fingers spread, palm flush against him, she eagerly explored the perfect symmetry of his naked bronzed torso. She stroked and rubbed and examined him thoroughly, letting her fingertips circle the flat brown nipples almost hidden in the dense black chest hair. She felt a small tremor surge through him at her touch and was excited by the knowledge that she had so titillated him. Her eyes focused on the broad expanse of bare flesh before her, she popped her finger into her mouth and sucked it briefly. She then circled his left nipple with her wet fingertip before looking up to get his reaction.

Incredible heat radiated from his dark eyes and he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, drew her to him and kissed her hungrily. As he kissed her, Madeleine continued to toy with him, raking her nails down his chest, fanning her hand over his hot skin, tangling her fingertips in the crisp, springy hair.

When their heated lips finally separated, Madeleine was surprised to find that Armand had managed—during the prolonged kiss—to completely unbutton the jacket of her peach traveling suit. When he pushed it apart, she suffered a mild twinge of doubt. But when he bent his head and placed the gentlest of kisses in the valley between her breasts, all misgivings fled. She felt her nipples tighten and her stomach contract. And she made no move to stop him when he pushed the open jacket down her arms and tossed it aside.

“God, you are so sweet, so beautiful,” he said, placing the tip of his little finger under the lacy strap of her camisole.

Madeleine felt the strap being slipped off her shoulder and sliding down her upper arm. She took a quick excited breath through her mouth and heard him say, “Look at me, chérie.”

Her eyes met his and again she experienced the feeling of being pulled into him.

“Trust me. I won’t hurt you,” he promised and as her gaze stayed locked with his, he raised her damp skirts and ran a hand up her stockinged left leg. When his fingers encountered the ruffled border of her knee-length pantalets, he gave the lacy trim a playful tug, then urged her knees apart.

Madeleine inhaled anxiously as his warm fingers moved steadily upward along the inside of her thigh.

“Kiss me,” he coaxed and she eagerly obeyed.

Wildly she kissed him, cupping his lean cheeks in her hands, anxiously moving her questing lips against his and thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. During the fervent kiss she felt his lean fingers move all the way up between her legs to touch her in that most intimate spot.

Through the soft cotton of her pantalets he slowly, expertly caressed her until the fabric, which was the only barrier between his moving fingers and her tingling flesh, was damp from her body’s response.

Sucking anxiously at his lips, she sighed and squirmed and became more aroused with each passing second.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Armand murmured against her lips.

“Mmm,” was all she could manage in reply.

“I want you to feel even better,” Armand told her, and with the speed and wizardry of a trained magician, he deftly relieved her of her pantelets.

Naked now beneath the skirts of her damp dress, Madeleine held her breath, waiting expectantly for him to touch her again. Armand made her wait. But only long enough to unhook her lace-trimmed camisole and remove it.

“I knew it,” he said, when she was bare to the waist.

“W-what?” she asked, trembling.

“That you don’t wear those horrible corsets. You have no need for them. Your waist is naturally small and your breasts—” his eyes lowered to the twin mounds of pale flesh topped with satiny pink nipples “—are full and need no stays to enhance or lift them.” As if to punctuate the sentence, he bent his head and kissed the rising swell of Madeleine’s left breast.

After that, everything became an electrifying blur of sheer ecstasy to the highly aroused Madeleine. While the storm raged on with winds so forceful that the couple was at constant risk of being dumped onto the rolling, pitching floor, Armand de Chevalier made passionate, prolonged love to Lady Madeleine Cavendish as if they had forever.

Madeleine wiggled and sighed with pleasure as Armand’s warm hand again stole up under her skirts to touch and tease and toy. His fingers slid easily in the silky wetness flowing freely from her, as he leaned to her and brushed a kiss to her right nipple. Instinctively Madeleine arched her back, thrusting her breasts more fully against his hot, handsome face. Armand kissed her, then opened his mouth and gently nibbled on her rapidly stiffening nipples.

Dizzy with desire, Madeleine hugged Armand’s dark head to her while he sucked on her responsive nipples and his fingers gently circled that ultrasensitive button of pure sensation between her parted legs.

Armand felt her climax beginning even before Madeleine realized it was happening. He gave her nipple one last plucking kiss, raised his head, and watched the changing expressions march across her beautiful face as she ascended steadily toward total release.

And all the while she was pleading, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, please.”

“Never, my love,” he assured her, not rushing her, patiently taking her all the way, carefully guiding her to an all-encompassing climax.

“Armand! Armand! Armand!” she cried out at last and dug her nails into his muscular biceps as she reached the shattering zenith.

“Yes, baby, yes,” he soothed, continuing to caress her until he was certain her powerful orgasm was totally completed.

Frantically she grabbed his arm to stay his hand, then went limp against him, shaking and trembling with emotion. He pressed her head onto his shoulder and kissed her parted lips, her closed eyes, her flushed cheeks.

Gale-force winds continued to buffet the sinking ship and the bunk upon which the two were strapped rose and fell with the high, tossing waves. It had little effect on the pair. Hot for each other, determined to fill their last minutes on earth with abandoned carnal joy, they ignored the roar of the wind, the rolling of the ship.

When Madeleine had calmed a little and had caught her breath, Armand finished undressing her. He managed the pleasant task as she continued to sit on his right knee. And as he disrobed her, he lovingly caressed each portion of bare skin he exposed. She was like malleable clay in his artistic hands, stirring to the slightest touch of his fiery fingertips.

When she was as naked as the day she was born, save for her silk stockings and leather slippers, Armand placed a hand behind her right knee and raised it, lifting her foot up onto his own left knee. He took the slipper from her foot and dropped it to the floor. Then he smiled at her, slipped a hand under her lace-trimmed, blue satin garter and peeled it down her leg.

Madeleine watched, puzzled and amused, as he slid the garter up his bare right arm, and released it when it tightly encircled his biceps.

“A keepsake from you,” he explained and she nodded.

He stripped the silken stocking down her bent leg and tossed it aside. She suddenly felt very foolish and awkward. Here she was, naked, sitting on his knee with one of her legs bent and raised, her bare foot propped on his knee. She shuddered when he cupped her foot in his palm, raised it slightly and bent to kiss her instep. Then she giggled uncontrollably when she felt his tongue go between her ticklish toes.

He laughed, raised his head and lowered her bare foot to the floor. She waited for him to remove the other stocking. But he didn’t do it and she didn’t complain although she was sure she looked quite silly wearing nothing but one stocking and one garter.

He didn’t think so. “God, you’re desirable,” he murmured, his hand sweeping down her silk-encased leg. “I want you to leave this one stocking on for me.”

“Whatever you want,” she said, unhampered by conscience or inhibitions or thoughts of tomorrow, “I want.”

“I want you,” he said. “I want you to give me every kind of love you can possibly express. I want you to tell me everything you’ve ever wanted to do and never did. I want you to reveal to me every secret yearning you’ve ever had and never told. I want you share with me every craving you’ve ever experienced. I want you to give yourself to me completely and let me love you as no one ever has. I want you. I want you, over and over again.”

Already aroused, his bold words further awakened Madeleine’s innate sensuality. The things he said excited her, made her want to give him all she had to give, to lose herself in him and his love-making, to actually do all the forbidden things she had never done with anyone.

Armand kissed her, took her hand, and placed it on the waistband of his dark trousers. Her lips fused with his, her fingers found the buttons of his trousers and she hastily undid them. Then, without his urging, she laid her hand against the ridge of hard flesh restrained by his white linen underwear. As the probing kiss continued, Armand made a half-strangled sound that Madeleine easily interpreted.

She pulled the white underwear out and away from his flat belly, freeing his straining masculinity. Her hand was back on him then, stroking, caressing, arousing.

Until Armand could stand it no more.

He clasped her fragile wrist, stayed her hand and said, “I can’t wait any longer, sweetheart.”

In seconds he was naked and Madeleine was stretched out on her back on the bunk with Armand lying atop her. The restraining straps were buckled loosely behind his back. His weight supported on stiffened arms, Armand lay between Madeleine’s parted legs, kissing her, murmuring shockingly forbidden words of passion, arousing her to a fever pitch by carefully positioning himself so that his heavy, pulsing erection was warmly cradled by her open female flesh.

Madeleine lay squirming beneath him, gazing into his eyes and clutching his upper arms. His handsome face, broad chest and muscular shoulders filled the entire scope of her vision. She could see nothing else. Nothing but him. He was her whole world, this giver of such exquisite erotic pleasure.

When Armand bent his head to press a kiss to her breasts, she sighed with prickling pleasure as his silky hair ruffled against her chin and his lips tugged at her nipple. She turned her head on the pillow and smiled dreamily at the sight of her blue satin garter encircling his muscular upper arm.

But when he raised his head and put his hand between their pressing bodies, Madeleine automatically tensed for what was to come.

“Don’t, chérie,” he said. “Relax. I’ll be gentle. Let me love you.”

She did.

And he did.

She released a shallow breath as she felt his throbbing tumescence slide slowly, cautiously into her. She knew that he was watching her face for signs of pain so she was very careful not to exhibit any traces of the discomfort she briefly experienced. It did hurt. It had been a long, long time. And he was so…so big. She felt as if her body were being filled and stretched far beyond its capacity.

But not for long. Amazingly enough, she found that her yielding flesh was indeed able to accommodate his impressive erection. And when he began to move inside her, Madeleine gave silent thanks that this stranger to whom she was willingly surrendering her body was so very well endowed.

In this dark lover’s arms, Madeleine became oblivious to the raging storm. Swept away in a tempest of white-hot passion, deeply impaled upon his thrusting flesh, she rocked and bucked against him, finding the rhythm of the rocking, bucking bunk beneath them.

It was a wild, erotic ride as neither Madeleine nor Armand held anything back. Mating in an almost animalistic manner, they moaned and gasped as they made hot, totally uninhibited love as the ship rose and fell violently, the fierce movements only adding to the savage joy of their vigorous coupling.

Glorying in the intimacy and the ecstasy, Madeleine was certain that this handsome Creole was indisputably the world’s most thrilling lover. She was totally enchanted, loving the look in his flashing black eyes, the taste of his burning lips and the splendid feel of his lean body on hers—and in hers.

She was amazed that he had the power and the stamina and the skill to make her climax again and again until she was practically weeping his name in near sexual hysteria. And she was shocked that he could attain his own hot, spurting orgasm and then be able and ready to pleasure her again within just a few short minutes.

And so it went.

While the hurricane howled and punished and threatened to capsize the already sinking ship, the lovers continued to thrill and please and pleasure each other as if there were no tomorrow.

And there wasn’t. But it didn’t matter.

As Madeleine again felt her lover’s hard flesh seek the soft warmth of hers, she sighed and gazed at him, enthralled.

He was everything. He was the only thing. There was no future and no past. Only now with him moving inside her as he looked into her eyes and murmured her name in low, soft tones that she magically managed to hear above the deafening din.

Only him.

Only now.

And now was forever.

Six

Forever came to the end seconds later.

The world intruded.

Loud shouts from out on deck brought the lovers abruptly back to reality. Heads snapped around, listening intently, Armand and Madeleine learned that the sudden flurry of excitement was over a coastal steamer that had been spotted making its way toward the crippled ship.

The sea, they now realized with some surprise, had calmed dramatically in the last few minutes of their lovemaking. They were not going to die after all.

Armand gave Madeleine a quick kiss, levered himself up and drew her to her feet. In haste they dressed and hurried out on deck, hearts pumping with adrenaline.

The steamer had reached the sinking ship, but it was a small vessel. Passengers were already clamoring over the Starlight’s railing and crowding onto the steamer’s deck, endangering the vessel that offered safety.

“No more!” shouted the worried steamer captain, “we can’t take any more passengers. We’ll swamp if we do! Water’s already to the gunnels! Get back, get back!”

A cry of protest rose from the pushing, shoving mob of men. Determined to get Madeleine on the steamer and save her life, Armand swept her up into his arms and forced his way through the crowd.

“Wait!” he shouted to the captain of the City of Mobile, handing Madeleine down onto its decks, “You must take her! She’s the last woman on board. Show a little mercy, Captain!”

“Very well,” the frowning captain reluctantly agreed, “but she’s the last one I’ll take.” He drew a pistol from his waistband and shouted, “I’ll shoot the next man who tries to board this vessel!”

Amidst curses and threats from those left behind, the dangerously overloaded steamboat backed away from the sinking ocean liner. Jostled and pushed about, Lady Madeleine stood on the crowded deck and looked back at the sinking ship.

Her tear-filled eyes clung to Armand de Chevalier as he gallantly smiled, waved and threw her a kiss. The lump in her throat grew bigger as she kissed her fingertips and threw the kiss back. And when he hastily unbuttoned his soiled white shirt and whipped it off his left shoulder to reveal her blue satin garter encircling his hard brown biceps, she laughed and sobbed at the same time.

“Armand,” she said without sound, realizing that her lover was going to die. She would never see him again.

After many long, nightmarish hours spent on the badly over-crowded City of Mobile as it steamed through the Gulf and made its slow way upriver, Lady Madeleine at long last arrived in New Orleans.

It was sunset.

Wan and exhausted from the ordeal, Madeleine stood at the riverboat’s lacy railing wondering if her Uncle Colfax and Lord Enfield would be at the landing to meet her. She wondered if they had heard of the hurricane in the Gulf and the sinking of the S. S. Starlight. Would they think she had perished? Gone down with the ship? They would have no way of knowing that she had been spared.

Madeleine sighed as she shaded her eyes from the dying summer sun. She couldn’t expect them to meet every river steamer making port in hopes she would be on it. It didn’t matter. As soon as she reached the levee, she’d hire a carriage to drive her straight to her Uncle Colfax’s French Quarter mansion.

Her eyes lighted in anticipation of seeing her adored uncle. It would be so pleasant to have a little time alone with him before she had to face her fiancé, Lord Enfield. The prospect of looking the lord in the eye and pretending that she was still the high-moraled lady he thought her to be, filled Madeleine with dread and apprehension. She was eager to see him, of course, but now that reality had sunk in, she was so riddled with guilt she wasn’t sure she could conceal her anxiety.

Dear, kind, unsuspecting Desmond. If he knew what she had done, his heart would break and he would surely hate her for all eternity.

The Louisiana sun finally sank beneath the horizon as the slow-moving riverboat approached the levee. In the lingering orange afterglow Madeleine spotted, standing side-by-side on the bustling levee, her Uncle Colfax Sumner and Desmond Chilton.

Torn by conflicting emotions, she raised a hand and waved madly.

“My sweet little Madeleine!” exclaimed her beaming uncle after the riverboat captain had personally escorted her down the gangway and into the outstretched arms of the spry, sixty-seven-year-old Colfax Sumner. “We heard about the terrible storm,” he said, embracing Madeleine, but addressing the captain. “The S. S. Starlight, did she make it?”

Madeleine’s heart hurt when the captain replied, “Afraid not, sir. The last we saw of her, she was swiftly going down. Those left on board most surely perished.”

“Such a tragedy,” said Colfax, then hugged his precious niece so tightly he almost crushed her ribs, unaware of his own strength. Against her ear, he said, “I never gave up hope. Thank the Almighty you’re safe!”

He released her and Madeleine stiffened slightly when the tall, blondly handsome Lord Enfield immediately took her in his arms. He hugged her, but made no attempt to kiss her and for that she was grateful. He was a well-mannered, blue-blooded nobleman who thought it common and vulgar to demonstrate affection in public. Thank heaven. She was not yet ready to kiss him. She needed a few days, or at least a few hours, before she kissed anyone again.

Holding her in a much gentler embrace than her spirited uncle, Lord Enfield said softly, “My dear, we were so worried.” He pulled back to look down at her. “Are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, not feeling fine at all. Forcing a smile, she glanced at her uncle and added, “Now that I’m here with the two of you.”

The trio climbed into the waiting carriage and Colfax himself drove them directly to his Royal Street town house. The troubled Madeleine experienced a measure of well-being when the carriage passed through the mansion’s heavy iron gates and rolled through the porte cochere.

She loved this comfortable French Quarter home with its captivating gardens and private courtyard. A charming Creole town house, the structure consisted of a ground floor containing the kitchen and service rooms that opened onto the courtyard. Stairs to the living quarters were mounted outside the galleries in the courtyard. At the far back edge of the property, beyond the courtyard, were a couple of two-story garçonnières, carriage houses that had originally been built for male relatives or guests. Their only occupant was the indomitable black woman, Avalina, who single-handedly tended the Sumner house.

On the second floor of the main house were the entertaining rooms: drawing room, dining room, small ballroom, and Colfax’s book-lined study and spacious bedroom suite. On the third floor were a number of bedrooms, one of which belonged to Madeleine, even though she had stayed in it only two or three times in her life.

As she alighted from the carriage, Madeleine automatically inhaled deeply and sighed with satisfaction. The sweet scent of magnolias and azaleas and honeysuckle and japonica and Cherokee roses made her realize fully that she was back in the seductive semitropics of New Orleans.

That, and the damp, muggy heat that caused her hair to curl around her face and beads of perspiration to stand out on her forehead.

Eagerly climbing the stairs to the second floor gallery that was embellished with fancy iron lace, Madeleine hurried through the tall, fan-lighted double doors and stepped into the spacious entryway. She had taken but a few short steps before Avalina, her signature white tignon on her head, her broad black face radiating pleasure, was there to meet her.

“My stars above, Lady Madeleine, you had us all worried sick,” exclaimed the smiling woman who for the past thirty-one years had demonstrated unquestioned efficiency, style and undying loyalty to the man whose home she so capably ran.

“I know and I’m so sorry,” Madeleine replied, wrapping her arms around the stout woman.

Half embarrassed, as she always was, when the spirited young noblewoman embraced her—a mere servant—Avalina quickly pulled away, nodded to Lord Enfield and said to Colfax Sumner, “Welcoming celebrations and countless questions about her ordeal will have to wait until Lady Madeleine has fully recovered. She looks weak and pallid and she needs rest.”

Nodding, Colfax Sumner quickly agreed with the intuitive Avalina. Lord Enfield similarly demonstrated his caring and kindness, insisting, along with her concerned uncle, that she go directly up to bed and remain there for a least a week. She surely needed that long to recover from all she’d been through.

Madeleine put up no arguments. There was nothing she desired more than to escape the unsettling presence of her devoted fiancé, whom she could hardly face, so plagued was she with guilt.

“You go on now, dearest,” said Lord Enfield. “I’ll come up to say good-night once you’re settled in bed.” He glanced at Colfax Sumner. “That is, with your permission, sir.”

“Permission granted,” said Colfax, smiling.

The lord turned his attention back to Madeleine. “Dear?”

Madeleine inwardly cringed, but managed a smile as she said, “Yes, that would be nice.” She turned and hugged her uncle, then followed Avalina.

Upstairs, Madeleine released a soft sigh of relief and nodded gratefully when Avalina asked if she would like to take a nice, long bath.

Moments later Madeleine sank down into the depths of a tub filled to the brim with hot sudsy water. While Avalina gathered up her soiled clothing and laid out a clean white nightgown, Madeleine laid her head back against the tub’s rim, closed her eyes and began to unwind as she tried to fully relax.

But with her eyes closed she saw again the handsome face that had been just above her own when the Creole had made love to her during the storm. She was heartsick to think that Armand de Chevalier had drowned, but she knew that it was true. She was genuinely saddened by his death and at the same time filled with remorse for what she had done.

Madeleine opened her eyes and reached for a loofah and bar of sweet-scented soap. She began to anxiously lather her body and to scrub vigorously, determined to wash away any lingering traces of Armand de Chevalier.

As she avidly lathered every inch of her flesh with the soap and hot water, Madeleine told herself that this cleansing bath was exactly what she needed to put everything right. She would, she was determined, successfully wash away even the nagging memories of what she and Armand de Chevalier had impetuously done.

But when, fresh and clean from the bath, she lay in the big four-poster awaiting Lord Enfield, Armand de Chevalier was still very much in her thoughts. It was, she realized, going to take more than a hot bath to free her from the clutches of the Creole.

At the gentle knock on the door, Madeleine glanced at Avalina, half tempted to ask her to stay. “Please invite Desmond in,” she said to the housekeeper.

Avalina nodded, opened the door and left as Lord Enfield entered. When he quietly closed the door, Madeleine automatically stiffened. Smiling, he crossed to her, sat down on the edge of the bed facing her and held out his arms.

“Alone at last,” he said and reached for her.

He drew her up into his arms and Madeleine fought a perplexing desire to push him away, to order him out of her room, to tell him to leave her alone, that she wasn’t feeling well. She sat there in bed with her arms around his neck, her cheek pressed to his chest, feeling trapped and uneasy.

She felt his lips in her hair as he murmured, “How I yearn for the day when we’re married and I no longer have to leave you at bedtime.” He pulled back to look at her and said, “If only we were already man and wife. I could undress, get into bed with you and hold you all through the night.”

Madeleine swallowed convulsively. “Yes, that would be…wonderful.”

He read the anxiety in her expressive emerald eyes and felt her slender body tremble. He gave her a puzzled look. “What is it, my dear? You’re not yourself. Why, you’re trembling.”

“It’s just…well, I am very tired and I…”

“Oh, of course you are.” He was immediately contrite and sympathetic. “How thoughtless and selfish of me. I’ll run along now and let you get some rest.”

“Thank you, Desmond.”

“Good night, my dearest love,” he said softly, and his face slowly descended to hers. Terrified he was going to kiss her, Madeleine sighed with relief when he merely brushed his lips to her forehead.

“I love you very much, Madeleine,” he whispered, “and I’m so relieved that you came through that terrible disaster unharmed.”

Lord Enfield rose to his feet, smiled down at her, and said, “Dream of me tonight, darling.”

“I will,” she said.

But after he had gone and she’d put out the lamp and lowered the gauzy mosquito baire around the bed, it was not Desmond Chilton who filled her thoughts. Armand de Chevalier again intruded.

Madeleine impatiently kicked off the covering sheet, yanked her long nightgown up around her thighs in an effort to battle the sultry New Orleans heat, and closed her eyes.

Exhausted, she fell instantly asleep. But the man who tortured her waking hours followed her into her dreams to hold her and kiss her and make her misbehave.

“She’s sound asleep.” Avalina, having looked in on Madeleine after Lord Enfield left, announced to Colfax Sumner. “I expect she’ll sleep round the clock.”

“Yes, bless her heart. She needs the rest,” he said. Then he stated, pleased, “It sure is good to have her here.”

“It is,” Avalina agreed. “And the best part is, she’ll be right here at home with us for eight full months.”

“That’s right,” said Colfax. “The wedding is planned for April. We’ll have time to enjoy her before she marries and leaves us.”

“Indeed,” Avalina replied.

“Well, I think I’ll retire myself,” said Colfax. “It’s been an exciting day.” He turned, started down the hall toward his bedroom suite, but stopped after taking only a few steps. “Avalina, be sure all the doors have been locked before you go to bed.”

“I always do, sir.”

“I know you do.” He nodded, smiled and went on to his room.

There he disrobed, slipped into the nightshirt Avalina had laid out for him, and got into bed to read. But soon he was yawning sleepily, the words blurring on the pages. He laid the book aside, blew out the lamp, and stretched out on his back, folding his hands beneath his head. He sighed in the quiet darkness, content as he hadn’t been in a long time. His only niece was now in his house, safe and sound upstairs, sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

In minutes he, too, was sleeping soundly.

But in the middle of that hot dark night, Colfax Sumner was abruptly awakened by the sound of something hitting the streetside balcony just outside the open French doors. Heart hammering, he lunged up, grabbed his dressing gown and hurried out to investigate.

There on the balcony lay a small leather pouch. Colfax gingerly picked it up, took it inside, lit a lamp and examined the contents of the bag.

Several locks of human hair. Some nail parings. The skin of a reptile. A couple of chicken bones tied together to form a crude cross.

Colfax Sumner had learned enough about the practice of voodoo from Avalina to know that a bundle like this left in the dark of the moon was supposed to work incalculable harm on the occupant of the house.

An intelligent, logical man, Sumner did not believe in black magic. But he did believe that someone wanted to frighten or even harm him. Or someone in his house.

He decisively shook his head and told himself he was being foolish. He had no enemies that he knew of. No one who would wish harm on him or his. Most likely the sneaky person who had tossed the bundle of gris-gris onto his balcony had, in the darkness, gotten the wrong house.

Still, as Colfax threw the offensive pouch into the trash before he took off his dressing gown, he trembled.

And it was a long time before he fell back to sleep.

Seven

It was nearing ten the next morning when Lady Madeleine awakened to the sound of a feminine voice with a pronounced southern drawl excitedly calling her name. Madeleine struggled to open her eyes as a young, pretty woman with coal-black hair and pale-white skin stepped close to the bed and yanked up the mosquito baire.

“Lady Madeleine Cavendish!” the young woman happily exclaimed as she sank down onto the bed facing Madeleine.

“Melissa Ann Ledette!” replied Madeleine, lunging up, smiling broadly.

The two young women threw their arms around each other and hugged like long-lost sisters. Madeleine was genuinely delighted to see this raven-haired Creole belle with whom she had become close friends on her last visit to New Orleans. Full of vim, always animated and ready to gossip and laugh, Melissa was the pampered only daughter of prominent New Orleans physician, Dr. Jean Paul Ledette.

“Oh, Maddie, I couldn’t wait one second longer to see you,” exclaimed Melissa, finally releasing her friend.

“Well, I expected you last night,” Madeleine responded.

Melissa’s pale, pretty face immediately screwed up into a frown. “But I didn’t know you were here last night!”

“I know you didn’t,” Madeleine said. “I was teasing you.”

“Oh, of course.” The bright smile was back on Melissa’s face. Then, the questions began. Taking Madeleine’s hand in both of her own, Melissa said, “Now you must tell me all about the terrible sea disaster. Weren’t you absolutely terrified? Did you think you were going to die? Did you actually see people drown? Were there women and children who…who…” Melissa abruptly interrupted herself to say, with a sudden look of sorrow, “Oh, Maddie, the saddest thing…a New Orleans native was on that ill-fated vessel and he didn’t make it. He went down with the ship. He drowned.”

“I—I’m sorry to hear that,” said Madeleine, feeling suddenly as if a band had tightened around her chest.

“I just can’t believe he’s really gone. He was so handsome and charming and half the women in this city were hopelessly in love with him, including me.” Melissa bowed her head and tears welled up in her large, dark eyes. “New Orleans will never be the same without Armand de Chevalier.” She immediately raised her head and asked, “Maybe you met Armand on the ship and…”

“I don’t think so,” said Madeleine, “the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Melissa nodded. “If you’d met Armand, you would remember him.”

Madeleine gave no reply.

“Forgive me for being so maudlin,” said Melissa. “From now on I’ll speak of only pleasant things. Want to hear all that’s happened in the year since you were here?”

Madeleine finally relaxed a little. “You know I do.”

“All right. Let’s see, oh yes, you remember Prudence Picard? That prissy girl with the frizzy blond hair and the high-pitched voice? Well, she up and married old Louis Jaubert. It’s scandalous, if you ask me. Prudence is barely eighteen and Jaubert is well into his seventies.” Melissa immediately burst into laughter and added, “He can’t hear and he can’t see too well, but apparently one part him still functions. Prudence is pregnant!”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes!” Melissa bobbed her head for emphasis. “Let me see, what else? The youngest Le Blanc boy got killed in a duel last Thanksgiving. No one was surprised. He swaggered around asking for trouble all the time. Pierre Lemonnier’s widow ran off with a cabinetmaker from Mobile before her dear-departed was cold in the ground. Abigail Stuart called off her wedding at the last minute and…”

Melissa continued to talk, to inform her friend of all that had happened in the river city since they had last seen each other. Finally she paused, took a breath, and said, “I declare, what gets into me? Momma says I just never shut my mouth. Forgive me, Maddie. I really do want to hear about the shipwreck and all.”

Madeleine relayed, in the briefest terms, the events of the disaster, concluding with, “And then a small steamer appeared, took me onboard and saved my life. I’m sure the ocean liner went down less than an hour later.”

“What a terrible nightmare,” Melissa commented. Then patted Madeleine’s hand and said, “But it’s over and now you must put it behind you.”

“Yes, I know.”

“It’s so great to have you here and…and…oh, did I tell you? This year we’re planning a big holiday bazaar in December to aid Florence Nightingale and her brave nurses in the Crimea. You’ll help out, won’t you?”

“Certainly,” Madeleine said.

“It’ll be great fun. Then, after the holidays we’ll have to start planning your wedding! I will be maid of honor, won’t I?” Not giving Madeleine a chance to respond, she gushed, “You are so lucky. Lord Enfield will make the perfect husband. He is handsome and distinguished and respected and…and he’s rich. Isn’t he? I mean, I assume he is, everyone says he is.”

Madeleine smiled. “Desmond has, for years now, worked very hard and has made a great deal of money in the cotton and sugar markets. The profits were wisely invested in various other enterprises, such as real estate. Yes, he is a wealthy man.”

Melissa sighed. “Well, I’m green with envy. He’s so madly in love with you. You’ll be pleased to know that I have attended numerous social functions where beautiful women openly flirted with your blond nobleman, but to absolutely no avail. Lord Enfield’s heart belongs solely to you.” She gazed dreamily at Madeleine.

Feeling as if she had to comment, Madeleine said, “And mine belongs to him.”

“Oh, it’s all so romantic,” said Melissa, clasping her hands together beneath her chin.

The two young woman continued to talk and laugh until Avalina, knocking softly on the door, entered and said, “Miss Melissa, you have been here for over two hours. Time for you go so Lady Madeleine can rest.”

“Avalina’s right,” Melissa said to Madeleine and rose from the bed. She leaned down, pressed her cheek to Madeleine’s, and promised, “I’ll be back to see you real soon.”

Lord Enfield’s many business interests required all of his time and attention during the daylight hours. But he visited the Royal Street town house and his cherished fiancée each evening. Taking care not to overstay his welcome and tire his bride-to-be, he would ascend the stairs to her bedroom every evening, bringing with him a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, or a book, or a box of bonbons. He would pull up a chair and visit with Madeleine, gently holding her hand and smiling at her as they talked quietly together.

Concern for her welfare always uppermost in his mind, the lord never stayed longer than an hour or two. And when it was time for him to depart, he would lean down and brush a brief kiss to her forehead or her cheek.

“I love you so much it hurts to leave you,” he’d whisper. “But I want you to get plenty of rest, so I’ll go now.”

Madeleine was touched by his thoughtfulness. Most men would have already been pressing her for intimate kisses and caresses, but the blond nobleman was chivalrous. He realized fully that she was not yet well enough to be receptive to displays of passion.

His unfailing kindness and astute understanding caused Madeleine to suffer even greater bouts of guilt. It would have been easier if he had behaved the impatient male and attempted to make love to her. Then she could have blamed him for being so unfeeling and intolerant.

As it was, she could blame him for nothing. He was consistently the empathetic, compassionate fiancé who cared only for her well-being. She was, she knew, a most fortunate woman to have such discerning gentleman eager to make her his wife.

Nonetheless, when Lord Enfield was not there with her, when Madeleine was alone, her thoughts unfailingly returned to the darkly handsome Creole who had gone down with the sinking ship. Armand de Chevalier was, she knew, dead. She knew, as well, that she would never completely forget him.

Fortunately, Madeleine was seldom left alone to brood. Overjoyed to have her in his home, her uncle Colfax spent long hours with her, talking, reminiscing, enthusiastically discussing her upcoming marriage to Lord Enfield.

On a hot, sunny day in early September after spending a full week in bed, Madeleine awakened feeling rested and eager to get up. She reached out and pulled the bell cord that would summon Avalina.

When the woman appeared, Madeleine said, “I can stand this bed no longer. I want to get up. I am feeling well enough to join Uncle Colfax downstairs for breakfast.”

Indulgent, Avalina smiled. “The master will be delighted and I will fix something special for the momentous occasion.”

Shortly before 9:00 a.m., Madeleine, aided by the stalwart Avalina, descended the stairs. Colfax waited at the base. When the two women reached him, Avalina turned and hurried downstairs to her kitchen, while Colfax ushered his niece into his paneled, book-lined study.

“Are you sure you feel like being up?” he asked, noting that she was still quite pale.

“I’m fine, Uncle Colfax, really I am.”

“Well, then we’ve a few minutes before Avalina calls us to breakfast and there’s something I want to show you.”

He led her across the carpeted study to where a portrait of LaFayette hung directly behind his mahogany desk. While she watched, curious, he slid the heavy portrait aside to reveal a hidden wall safe. A small round safe with a heavy bronze door.

“I keep my most valuable documents here,” he explained, then beckoned her forward. “I will tell you the combination and I want you to open the safe.”

When she had opened the safe, Madeleine stepped back. Colfax reached inside and withdrew a legal-looking vellum document. He handed it to her.

“My last will and testament,” he explained. As Madeleine unfolded and skimmed the document, he said, “Upon my death everything I own will belong to you, and as you surely know, I have accumulated a vast fortune over the years.” He smiled then and added, “Fortunately, we live in Louisiana, the only state in America where a woman can own property. Much of my fortune in is real estate holdings.”

Madeleine looked up and handed the will back without reading further. With a smile she said, “Uncle, let’s not talk about wills and dying. You are going to be around for at least another twenty or thirty years!”

“Perhaps,” he said, but with little conviction.

Madeleine noticed and asked, “Uncle Colfax, you’re not…you’re not ill, are you?” Worriedly, she studied his face.

“No, no, child,” he quickly assured her. “I’m in excellent health.”

He returned the will to the wall safe, but withdrew a second document. He began to smile as he told her that it was a provisional will that he had had drawn up some eight or nine years ago.

“You were,” he explained, “a rather flighty young woman then, as I fondly recall, and I wanted to make certain that you would be protected.” Madeleine stared at him, her eyes questioning. He continued, “As you well know, Lord Enfield has been a loyal, trusted friend almost from the minute our cousin arrived in New Orleans. I realized back then—well before the two of you discovered each other and became engaged—that he was an honorable, trustworthy man who would, I felt confident, look after your best interests.”

She nodded her agreement.

“So I wrote up a provisional will making Chilton coexecutor along with a couple of other old friends, giving the three of them total control over my estate, on your behalf.” Colfax frowned then and added, “Unfortunately, the other two gentlemen have since passed away.” He shook his graying head, then continued, “But I digress. The provisional will remained in effect for seven years. Then, a few months before you and Lord Enfield fell in love and decided to marry, I drafted my last will and testament making you the sole heir.”

She smiled at him and said, “As usual, you left no stone unturned. My inheritance had been protected all these years.”

“Indeed it has,” he replied. “Now I want you to memorize the safe’s combination.”

“I already have,” she said and then proved it by flawlessly reciting it.

He beamed with pride and said, “You always were a very clever girl.”

She slid her hand around his arm and said, “Well, of course, I am. I take after my brilliant uncle.”

Eight

Soon Lady Madeleine had regained her strength, had pushed Armand de Chevalier and her guilt to the back of her mind and was eager to get out and enjoy the many pleasures of New Orleans.

Lord Enfield, delighted that the roses were back in her cheeks, said at dinner, “My love, I will take you anywhere you wish to go this evening.”

“You won’t laugh if I tell you where I really want to go?”

“I would never laugh at you, Madeleine,” was his gallant reply.

Her emerald eyes lighted and she said, “To Le Circus de Paris! I saw handbills posted that the circus is in town and Avalina said the show is drawing huge crowds every night. I want to go. Say we can, Desmond, please.”

Lord Enfield was indulgent. “The circus it is,” he said and smiled warmly at her.

Moments later the handsome pair stepped down from Lord Enfield’s chauffeured carriage and onto the banquette at St. Ann’s. They crossed the street to Jackson Square where a large gathering had assembled to watch the circus.

Sword swallowers. Fire eaters. Jugglers. Trained animals. Colorful clowns. All delighted the spectators. Madeleine applauded like everyone else, fully enjoying herself.

Midway through the performance, the red-coated ringmaster stepped into the center ring and raised his hands for silence.

“Mesdames et Messieurs, ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted loudly enough for all to hear, “our next performer is a man of great strength.”

A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd and they began to chant, “Big Montro! Big Montro! Big Montro!”

The ringmaster again signaled for silence and announced, “The moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived, my friends. It is with great pleasure that I present to you the amazing Big Montro!”

A gigantic man stepped into the center ring amidst loud applause and whistles and admirers shouting his name. He wore nothing but a low-riding pair of loose white linen trousers. His massive chest was bare, as were his feet.

Like everyone else, Madeleine stared in awe at the imposing giant. Knotted muscles rippled in his gargantuan arms and across his mammoth chest. He slowly turned round and round to afford everyone a good long look at him.

Ironically, his face was round and smooth—a baby face at complete odds with his powerful body. And his dark-brown hair had a little boy’s cowlick at the crown. He was smiling shyly, as if embarrassed by all the attention.

He went immediately into his act when a quartet of laughing, tumbling clowns joined him in the ring. The clowns circled the strong man, taunting and teasing him until he reached out and plucked one off the ground. Gripping both the clown’s feet in one hand, Montro lifted the laughing man high over his head, extending his long, muscled arm full-length.

The crowd roared.

In minutes Big Montro had scooped up all four clowns and held them easily on his outstretched arms, turning slowly about as the crowd screamed its approval.

For the next half hour the strong man demonstrated his astounding strength and Madeleine applauded as enthusiastically as all the others. She was so caught up in the amazing spectacle, she never noticed that Lord Enfield was not particularly enchanted by Montro’s crowd-pleasing act.

At breakfast the next morning, Madeleine excitedly told her Uncle Colfax and the attentive Avalina about the circus and how thrilling it had been.

She took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice and said, “The very best part was the strong man. Big Montro. You wouldn’t believe the things he did!” And she proceeded to tell them of the many incredible feats he had performed.

Colfax smiled and nodded as she spoke. She was, in many ways, still quite childlike, a trait he found most engaging. But she possessed another trait, one that concerned him.

She was a strong-willed woman and so she ignored the frown of worry that immediately crossed her uncle’s face when she announced, “I’m going down to the French Market this morning to…”

“Oh, child, I’m afraid a visit to the market will have to wait,” Colfax interrupted. “Unfortunately, I have an important business engagement that I simply cannot break.”

“And why should you?” she replied. “I never expected you to go with me.” She glanced at the black woman pouring another cup of coffee for Colfax. “Avalina will accompany me to the market,” she stated in tones that brooked no argument.

Colfax’s frown deepened, but he acquiesced.

Lady Madeleine and Avalina walked the three short blocks down to the French Market on the riverfront. The place was humming—women with baskets over their arms were carefully choosing fruits, loaves of bread and freshly caught fish.

Pausing before the many stalls, interested in all that was for sale, Madeleine savored every sight and smell and sound. She loved this busy market where all the varied factions of New Orleans shopped. The haughty French Creoles, the Spanish, the Germans, the Irish, the Americans. People who would normally not even speak to each other rubbed elbows here and haggled over prices.

Drawn to the booth where fresh, hot beignets were being served, Madeleine bought one for herself and one for Avalina. Rolling her eyes with pleasure, she quickly devoured the delicious diamond-shaped doughnut that was generously dusted with sweet powdered sugar.

Madeleine was having such a good time she hated to leave. But they had been out in the sultry summer heat now for well over an hour and she was beginning to feel flushed and faint. So, with their many treasures in a big basket over Avalina’s arm, the two started home.

They had gone but one short block when a trio of unkempt ruffians suddenly stepped into their path and began making crude, suggestive remarks to Lady Madeleine. One, a big, ugly brute moved in so close Madeleine could smell the strong offensive odor of stale sweat and unwashed flesh.

Horrified, her heart beating in her throat, she said with as much authority as she could muster, “You get away from me! Step out of my way or I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what, my pretty,” mocked the monster, “have a case of the vapors and fall into my arms?”

While Avalina cursed the men in gumbo French, Madeleine looked anxiously about for help.

Help appeared in the form of the six-foot-six giant who Madeleine recognized as the strong man from Le Circus de Paris. Big Montro stepped out of an alley and onto the banquette. Without lifting so much as a finger, the giant, his arms crossed over his massive chest, planted himself squarely in front of the frightened women, sending their tormentors scurrying for cover.

Once the ruffians had gone, he turned, smiled at the grateful ladies and said in a deep, surprisingly soft voice, “I am Montro. I will escort you to your home.”

They both nodded, still badly shaken and more appreciative than he would ever know.

The very next morning when Lady Madeleine and Avalina again ventured out, Big Montro was there below on the cobblestone banquette, waiting for them.

“Montro,” Madeleine exclaimed when she reached him, “I thought the circus was leaving New Orleans today.”

“It is,” he said without emotion, “I am staying here.”

“I see,” she replied. “Well, Avalina and I are going to meet with a dressmaker over on Toulesse and…”

“I will see you safely there,” he said and did.

From that morning on the gentle giant accompanied the two women wherever they went. Very soon, without any formal arrangements, Big Montro became Lady Madeleine’s faithful bodyguard.

Madeleine was somewhat surprised that her uncle offered no protests to including Big Montro in his household. It was Colfax who suggested that Montro move into the vacant garçonnière across the courtyard at the back edge of the property. And, he agreed to pay him a generous monthly salary, much more than he’d made with the circus.

The truth was that Colfax Sumner was quietly relieved that the strong man would be watching over them. Colfax would never have mentioned it to Madeleine or Avalina or anyone else, but he had felt increasingly threatened of late. Plagued with a nagging sense of foreboding that he couldn’t seem to shake.

It was as if some unseen danger lurked in the shadowy streets directly below the mansion’s iron lace galleries.

Nine

On a blistering-hot day in September, a tall, dark man stood on the wooden wharf in Havana, Cuba.

Armand de Chevalier patiently waited his turn to board the cargo ship that would take him to New Orleans. Armand was smiling, as usual. He knew how lucky he was to be alive. Plucked from the sea by a small trader bound for Cuba late that fateful August afternoon, he hadn’t complained when he learned it was headed for Havana.

“Sounds good to me,” he had said with a laugh, after having spent hours bobbing in the water under a burning summer sun.

Now, after three long weeks of rest and boredom in Havana, Armand was as robust as ever and more than ready to go home.

“Señor,” said one of the crewman, motioning him forward.

Armand nodded and climbed the gangway, whistling merrily.

The days were the drowsy ones of late summer. The weather in New Orleans stayed hot and muggy throughout the month of September. The hot mist off the bayous seemed to scald the skin.

Along with the humid heat was the constant irritant of the buzzing, biting mosquitoes. The residents of the low-lying river city didn’t dare try sleeping without a mosquito baire protecting them.

The mosquitoes had been worse than usual this summer, but Colfax Sumner told his niece it was a good thing, really. There had been very few cases of yellow fever this year, thanks to the mosquitoes. He was convinced that the swarms of mosquitoes purified the miasmic swamp airs that caused the deadly disease.

“You actually believe that?” Madeleine asked, skeptical, as the two of them sat together in the shaded courtyard on a sweltering September afternoon.

“Indeed. If the fever had been rampant this year as it was in ’53, I would never have allowed you to come near New Orleans. Or, if you had come, you’d have had to stay upriver at the plantation or else have shut yourself up inside this house and never have gone outdoors. You wouldn’t have liked that.”

“Heavens, no. I do so enjoy going out.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, Colfax mused, “I recall that the mosquito population was so sparse in ’53 one could sleep without the baire enclosing the bed. But bronze john swept through this city all summer and took countless lives. Barrels of burning tar constantly blackened the skies and burned our eyes and choked us. The cathedral bell tolled each time another poor soul died and it seemed that the terrible tolling never stopped. Night and day it pealed.”

“You were in no danger since you had the fever all those years ago?”

“That’s true. I’ve been immune ever since…since the summer of…” He shook his head sadly, fell silent, and his eyes clouded.

Madeleine knew he was looking back into the past, to that dreadful summer of 1816 and the sad events that had changed his life forever. He had been a young man who was to be married to a beautiful Creole belle. The two had been madly in love, but a yellow fever epidemic had ended their dreams. Both contracted the fever, but Colfax survived. His beloved had not. Twenty-four hours before they were to be married, she died in his arms and was buried in her white wedding gown.

As if there had been no lapse in the conversation, Colfax said, “Yes, thankfully, I am immune. That’s why I didn’t flee upriver to the safety of the plantation with Avalina in ’53. Many of the sick were good friends and they needed me. I did what I could for them, but in many cases it wasn’t enough.”

“I know you did,” Madeleine said and affectionately patted his arm. Quickly changing the subject, she said, “Desmond is coming for dinner and afterward we are going to the theater. Why don’t you come with us?”

“Some other time,” he begged off. “I’ve some reading and paperwork to catch up on.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t ask,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before she hurried upstairs to dress.

On those evenings when Lord Enfield wasn’t taking Lady Madeleine out to dinner or to the theater, he dined with her and her uncle at the Royal Street town house. Or else he invited them to join him for the evening meal at his own Dumaine Street home.

Whether at the Sumner town house or his own home, the earl, ever the caring consort, was careful not to keep either of them up too late. He insisted that the countess should continue to get plenty of rest. Colfax readily concurred, pleased that Lord Enfield was such a thoughtful man.

Madeleine, too, was grateful that Desmond was concerned for her welfare. A true blue-blooded gentleman, he expected nothing more from her than brief good-night kisses in the flower-filled courtyard. Which made her feel terribly guilty. What would he think if he knew how wantonly she had behaved with a total stranger?

One such evening, Madeleine returned to the parlor after kissing Desmond good-night beneath the porte cochere. When she came into the room, Avalina looked at her, then looked at the French clock on the white marble mantel. Nine-thirty. Avalina pursed her lips.

“What? What is it?” Madeleine asked, puzzled.

The black woman shrugged. “Nothing.”

“I know better,” said Madeleine. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”

Avalina made a face. “Seems to me it’s mighty early for a lovestruck gentleman to be leaving his fiancée.”

“For heaven’s sake, Desmond’s only being considerate,” Madeleine promptly defended him. “And I appreciate it.”

Avalina rolled her eyes heavenward and said, “Will you need me anymore this evening?”

“No. No, I can undress without you.”

“Then, good night, my lady.” Avalina turned and left the room.

Madeleine stared after her. She had the distinct impression that Avalina did not like Lord Enfield. But why? Desmond was unfailingly cordial to Avalina and even brought her little presents on occasion. Which she accepted almost grudgingly.

Madeleine sighed and climbed the stairs to her room. It was too early for bed. She wasn’t sleepy. She was hot and she was restless. The latitude and climate of New Orleans had a disturbingly potent effect on her. The tropical heat of the sultry summer days made her feel lazy and content.

But the long languorous nights had the opposite effect. The New Orleans nights were powerfully provocative. The humid, heavy air. The moonlight on the Mississippi. The sweet scent of jasmine and gardenias. The faint sound of music from a street musician’s banjo.

Madeleine wandered out onto the streetside iron lace balcony and inhaled deeply of the warm moist air. Almost wistfully, she looked out over the sprawling city.

Under a beguiling tropic sky, carriages noisily rolled down the streets and laughing people crowded the banquettes. At 10:00 p.m., the Crescent City was alive with merrymakers hurrying to the restaurants and theaters and gaming palaces.

Many were just now leaving their homes to go out for the evening. Avalina was right. It was early for Desmond to have gone. He could have stayed a while longer.

She frowned and went back inside.

Madeleine began to undress in the darkness, knowing that she would not sleep. It would be another of those nights when, tormented by the heat and the buzzing of mosquitoes and a shameful yearning for a dead, dark lover, she would toss and turn and sigh.

Feeling edgy and irritated, Madeleine finished undressing. She picked up the fresh nightgown Avalina had laid out for her, then shook her head and tossed the gown across the back of a chair. Naked, her russet hair pinned atop her head for coolness, she climbed into the big four-poster bed. She lowered the mosquito baire, punched the feather pillows and lay down on her back.

Her eyes on the cream satin bed hangings above, she exhaled heavily and stretched her long, slender legs, wiggling her toes, ordering herself to think only of Desmond and their wonderful future together.

She assumed that her fiancé was home by now. He lived only a few short blocks away. He was probably having a nightcap before bed.

The weather finally turned.

The damp, sticky heat of summer gave way to clear, brisk autumn air. The mosquitoes subsided and a cool breeze blew in off the river.

On a chilly evening in early October, Lady Madeleine was extraordinarily excited. She was to attend, with her tall blond earl, the first masked ball of the season. She was in high spirits. Memories and regrets had begun to fade. The dark, handsome face that had haunted her dreams was less clear. It blurred. She couldn’t recall exactly what Armand de Chevalier looked like.

And she vowed to herself that she would be a faithful, loving wife to Lord Enfield and never look at another man for as long as she lived.

Now as she finished dressing for the momentous occasion, Madeleine smiled as she gazed at herself in the mirror. She had kept her choice of costumes a secret, except from Avalina, who was helping her dress. She was going to the ball as Shakespeare’s tragic heroine, Juliet. Biting her lips to give them color, Madeleine idly wondered, would the earl guess and show up dressed as her Romeo?

At shortly after 8:00 p.m., a cortege of carriages rolled up before the French Quarter’s grand St. Louis Hotel. The hotel’s façade boasted no outthrust portico, but instead a line of six graceful columns. In the New Orleans tradition, intricate iron-work galleries opened before the outer rooms. The structure was impressive in every way, but a large domed rotunda was the hotel’s real marvel.

The imposing Creole hotel was the center of the city’s French business, entertainment and cultural district. It was here that throngs attended the bals de société, subscription affairs given by the aristocratic Creoles.

On this evening, gorgeously costumed ladies and gentlemen alighted from gleaming coaches and hurried inside and through the rotunda. Beautiful milky-skinned, dark-eyed Creole belles clung to the arms of the city’s gay handsome blades.

This glittering gala in the hotel’s opulent ballroom was one of the season’s major affairs, attended by the city’s elite. Bowers of fresh-cut flowers sweetened the air. French champagne flowed freely. An orchestra, in full evening dress, played waltzes.

And Lady Madeleine, in a flowing gown of virginal white chiffon, her russet hair hidden beneath the long conical hennan headdress with shimmering white silk streamers trailing from its tip, wore an elaborate mask adorned with semiprecious jewels. She fairly glowed as she turned about on the dance floor in Lord Enfield’s arms. Her fiancé was dressed as Robin Hood.

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