Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) (2 page)

“You give freely of your criticism, Monsieur. But disparagement requires very little wisdom, only the possession of an opinion and the willingness to speak it.”

She watched for his reaction across the narrow gap which separated them, expecting to be interrupted. Though the hint of a grin began to form at the edge of his mouth, he remained silent, as if he understood that she still had more to say and he was allowing her the space to speak the greater part of her mind. In this at least, he had judged her correctly.

“Discernment requires genuine erudition, which allows the root of a more profound understanding to take hold. I believe our impressions and opinions must diverge widely, Monsieur, in poetry and many other things, which by nature find their greatness in purposeful obscurity.” 

A crack appeared in the stranger’s icy calm as he felt the slap of her rebuff. The nascent grin had not wholly disappeared, but its promise was much diminished.

“I have a great number of deficiencies, Mademoiselle. This I admit to you freely and without hesitation. Perhaps I also lack a nature inconstant enough to allow the vagueness of an artful purpose to be revealed. I should be happy to accept your correction, so that I might improve myself. And I hope, Mademoiselle, that you should be gracious enough not to view my admission of fault, as a weakness of character.”

              “Humility is always a strength, Monsieur, especially when it is so richly deserved.”

The grin was gone now. Those pretty eyes were no longer smiling.

“I do not like to boast, Mademoiselle, but if you should come to better understand me, you will find me capable of discernment enough to know what is right, boldness enough to do it, and sufficient power, should fortune choose to abandon my standard, to compel capricious circumstances to yield to my will.”

Braggart
! She wanted to shout. Despite his protest, his words sounded exactly like the boast he claimed to shun. A Gascon by birth, her passions ran hot. Like anything wild and pure of spirit, they could be checked but never tamed. She rubbed her palms together, warming to the easy banter of ridicule.

“I am very eager to comprehend the manner by which you have persuaded the graces of fate to look upon you with such favor, Monsieur. Your prowess must be great indeed to grant you talents so marvelous and yet at the same time, so very well concealed.”

The sting of her derision was obscured beneath a pleasing tone and an even more agreeable smile. The stranger gazed at her but a moment, then lowered his head and began to slowly pace the floor, hands clasped behind his back. After a few moments of considered wandering, he stopped and met her mocking look with a glance so soft it was almost a caress. Then he turned his eyes gently aside and seemed to look at nothing in particular.

“You mock me, Mademoiselle, and most scornfully so, but I do not mind it. To be teased by you is to be noticed and I much prefer the sound of your disdain, to the silence of indifference. The beauty of your smile is my consolation, and I accept the lash of your rebuke as a stallion accepts the riding crop. Strike again if you will and rouse me from dull amazement. The sting spurs me to greater effort and I will yet stand and speak as plainly as you find me now. I have an eye for seeing the extraordinary, in horseflesh and in people. Where others find a plain plough horse, I discover a Bucephalus.”

She almost laughed out loud. If he meant to flatter her by comparing her to the favorite warhorse of Alexander the Great, he was more than a fool and no man of breeding to make such a clumsy appraisal. The last of her patience was expelled with an audible outrush of breath. It was time to see off this clumsy pretender who had only his pleasing form to recommend him and obviously nothing else of wit, grace, or substance.

“Now you mock me, Monsieur, and with far less grace than you pretend. If by hazard, then I pity and pardon you. If by purpose, then most assuredly, you are no gentleman. Your actions and speech make it clear you are unfamiliar with the practices of etiquette and decorum required of this house. I shall therefore grant you a measure of leniency by not informing my uncle, the Baron de Salvagnac, of your lack of courtesy and respect. I shall invite you instead, to take your leave of my person and this room and embark upon a tour of our fine stables. You will find sufficient flesh there on four legs and two, to which you may apply your “discernment” to your heart’s content. Perhaps the equerries will find you more illuminating than I. If not, you may try conversing with the livestock directly, but, so our discourse should henceforth conform to the requirements of our respective stations, from now on, you may address me properly as Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire.”

At the announcement of her noble rank, a look of utter bewilderment flashed across the stranger’s face. She watched the change with satisfaction. In one stroke she had succeeded in perturbing the cool arrogant detachment of the unwanted guest. Still, she was ever mindful, as any person of gentle breeding must be, of the duty to properly educate and shepherd the less fortunate. In keeping with this obligation, she made a concession to his embarrassment. Though by design it was but a small one.

“After your tour of the stables, I’m sure the equerries can guide you back to my uncle’s waiting room, from which you have become so evidently lost. You may continue to attend him there to beg for whatever particular favors you seek. I should be happy to call for the assistance of the servants to guide you, if you cannot find your way out.”

Without waiting for a reply, the vicomtesse turned her back on the stranger, walking toward a cabinet to the left of the hearth, to take up the bell which would ring for the house lackeys to come at once. Her temper simmered as she considered all the indignities she had been forced to bear.
How tiresome they are, these grasping fellows who fill my uncle’s drawing rooms each day in search of a position or a favor. And this one has neither the sense nor the manners to know his place. What could he possibly have in his head but mischief, to make his way here to the private areas of the house? Well, he had best be on bended knee in apology when I turn around, or I’ll have him thrown out and he’ll lose for good whatever position he had hoped to obtain by coming here in the first place
.

From the center of the room the vicomtesse heard the sound of laughter. She turned in complete consternation, the behavior so unexpected she couldn’t decide whether it was endearing or infuriating or both. Their eyes met again and the innocence of his regard quickly took the heat from her temper. Yes, he was laughing, but she could see by the hunching of his broad shoulders, that her words had hurt him. There was something artless and sweet about the way he looked at her now, like an over eager puppy who’d been scolded too harshly. She hadn’t really meant to wound him so.

But the thing in his eyes which had held her, that special confidence he had possessed as a matter of nature, that was gone now. She hadn’t meant to rob him of that either. Because that magic belonged to him. A part of his spirit as her temper was a part of hers.

As she looked across the room, the giant she had fashioned, suddenly seemed no more imposing than a bewildered child, despite his daunting size. He shuffled his feet and there were tremors of nervousness in his hands. Had she simply been too preoccupied with her own presumptions to notice his anxiety as well? He bowed low before her. The act was boyish, ungainly, and yet, utterly charming.

“A third time I ask for your forgiveness, Mademoiselle. You have every right to be cross with me. The unexpected pleasure of finding you here and my own youthful inexperience has caused me to twist a tribute into its opposite. I am not by nature hesitant or uncertain, but standing in the light of your presence has reduced me to being a complete bungler. I beg of you to stay your hand but a moment more and allow me the honor of presenting myself to you, as I should have done from the beginning.”

Rather than wait for the vicomtesse to reply, the stranger hurried on with his speech, as if afraid she might refuse him even this last request.

“I am Nicolas Étienne Alexandre Hyacinthe-Christophe de
Montferraud, Chevalier and Vicomte d’Argentolle, and I am entirely at your service.”

“Vicomte d’Argentolle?” the vicomtesse gasped.

The summoning bell fell from her hand and struck the floor with a dull clang. The chevalier retrieved the bell and returned it to its place on the serving cabinet. The vicomtesse’s hands pressed against her cheeks in embarrassment.

“Then you are not here to see my uncle for a position, Monsieur?”

“Not at all, Mademoiselle. I came with my father, the Marquis de Blaise, and my brother, the Comte de Marbéville. We arrived at the invitation of Monsieur and Madame de Salvagnac. I believe my father wished to discuss a potential alliance between my brother and Mademoiselle de Salvagnac.”

“Oh,” the vicomtesse replied.

It was a very small sound, dampened by mortification. The vicomtesse bent forward to return the chevalier’s bow with a full curtsey of her own, her face as pink as a rose.
My Aunt told us we were to have special guests. My cousines and I were all warned to be on our best behavior!
she remembered with chagrin.

“Thank you for your explanation, Monsieur
,
but I fear it is I who must now ask for your forgiveness…for my unpardonable behavior toward you.”

“You would need to have committed a fault, Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse, to require my forgiveness. I have no cause to reproach you. On the contrary, I feel I must offer my own apology for the awkward manner of our introduction. I have just returned from boarding school in France. My manners and speech appear to have suffered from having been too long with gentlemen of arms for company and exercise. Please be assured that I feel toward you, only the most sincere admiration and respect—sentiments which I have somehow succeeded in…expressing so very badly.”

The gallant and contrite nature of the chevalier’s apology was met with the first genuine smile of warmth from the vicomtesse.

“You are very kind to be so indulgent with me, Monsieur. Again, I thank you. May I inquire, however, as to how you came to find yourself here? This is my uncle’s private library, you see. Which is why I was so startled to see you. No one is allowed in without his permission. Not even me.”

The chevalier gestured in the direction of the room across the hall, lifting a long and thickly sinewed arm to make his point.

“I was shown to the adjoining sitting room by the steward at the behest of Madame de Salvagnac, while my father and brother were received downstairs in a separate salon. The steward said I was to remain where I was until someone came to retrieve me, but I found the door to this library ajar and couldn’t help coming in for a look. I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm you see, though I might not look the part. If such a delightful place is indeed proscribed, then I must consider myself more than fortunate it was you and not someone else who found me here.”

The vicomtesse twisted her hands with anxiety.

“I see, Monsieur. Thank you for your explanation, but I’m afraid we really shouldn’t be discovered here. My uncle might only be annoyed but my aunt will be undeniably vexed with us both.”

“I am your knight to command and shall do as you bid me, Mademoiselle. But if I must now return to my place of exile, I beg my banishment be only from this place and not from your company,” the chevalier pleaded.

The vicomtesse weighed the matter of remaining unchaperoned with the chevalier, against the rigid strictures which governed relations between men and any eligible girl of marriageable age. The proper thing to do was to excuse herself at once and return to the supervised company of her governess. Though it was a solution full of good sense, it seemed the least interesting thing to do, and she was in the mood for a little adventure. The chevalier was a gentleman after all. His word and his actions could be trusted.

“I should be honored if you would keep me company, Monsieur le Vicomte.”

“I am most grateful, Mademoiselle. I thank you for being as gracious and obliging as you are beautiful.”

The vicomtesse’s smile gave Nicolas the hope that they could begin their acquaintance again on more genial terms. He offered the vicomtesse his arm and escorted her to an ornate chaise longue on the far side of the room near the windows, admiring her poise as she lowered herself with grace onto the long seat, despite the considerable encumbrance of her skirts. He placed himself a step behind the chaise in respectful attendance.

“Are you comfortable enough, Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse? Might I bring you another pillow?”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you, Monsieur. And my name is Sérolène. Sérolène Adélaïde Isabelle de Saint-Giresse de La Bouhaire.”

She extended her hand for him to kiss. Nicolas pressed his lips against the soft skin, just above the second line of knuckles, pleased that Sérolène wore no gloves and he could feel the softness of her flesh against his own.

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire.” “You do me too much honor, Monsieur.”

“That would not be possible, Mademoiselle. But perhaps I may do you a small service?”

The chevalier nodded in the direction of Sérolène’s stockinged, shoeless feet. The vicomtesse’s ears and neck pinkened with color. Somewhere in their encounter she had dropped her slippers. The chevalier retrieved them from where they lay near the chair he had been sitting in and returned to the chaise. Kneeling, he held each shoe before the vicomtesse in turn, so she could place her feet into them without his hands having to touch her person, thereby preserving her modesty.