Sweet Piracy (16 page)

Behind them Felicity shone with the yellow glow of candles. The glassed-in belvedere above the ballroom, reflecting the light in the huge chamber below, cast beams into the night like a beacon. It was a beacon which might be needed. On the far horizon the lightning Theo had spied earlier flickered, followed by the distant boom of thunder.

“Mam’zelle, you are sublime tonight, a vision too beauteous for human eyes,” M’sieur Philippe breathed, moving so close the ruffles on his shirt front brushed her arm.

She stepped away, trying a light laugh. “Surely not?”

“I assure you it is true. I hardly dare to gaze upon such wondrous fairness.”

His warm, moist breath on the back of her neck sent the first hint of alarm along her nerves. “You exaggerate, as always.”

“It is not possible to exaggerate such — such—?”

“Feminine pulchritude?” Caroline supplied.

“You are pleased to toy with me. I do not mind, knowing you must turn to me in the end. Why do you torture me by making me wait? Come into my arms now, this moment.”

A sharp retort rose to her lips, but she checked it. He stood between her and the door, and it would be undignified to grapple with him.

She took a steadying breath. “You have indicated before that you think I am enamored of you. What have I ever done to give you such an impression?”

“Nothing whatever,
ma chère
. You have been discretion itself. My knowledge came from another source.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Catching her elbow, he followed her arm to her hand which he raised to his lips. “One who knows your heart told me of your attraction to me. May I say I have never been so gratified in my life as the moment I learned of it.”

“My dear sir,” she began in protest.

“Nay, I will not permit you to be embarrassed by your love,” he said, drawing her nearer.

As his lips moved on her fingers, Caroline snatched her hand away in disgust. “Have done, sir!” she cried, using her other hand to hold him at arm’s length. “I demand to know who has told you such an absurd tale!”

“She said you might, in your pride, deny it. You see me, all understanding. Cast aside all pretense, my beloved, and let us be happy.”

“Stop it!” she said as he possessed himself of her hand once more. “I do not love you, I don’t care who said so! What I feel at this moment comes closer to purest dislike.”

“Do not say so. You are distraught, my heart.” His arms as they closed about her were surprisingly strong. She felt the hardness of his shirt studs against her breast, and then his face came down toward hers, blocking out the light. She twisted and turned, avoiding his lips which slid wetly over her cheek.

“Let me go!” she panted, striking at him with her fists, but the blows made no impression on the padded satin of his coat.

Abruptly she was free. There was a flurry of movement, the sound of a blow, and the tutor went flying into the wall of the summerhouse. The sill of the low wall at one of the window openings caught him behind the knees. Unable to stop himself, he crashed through and, with a yelp, went somersaulting down the slope.

A sound between a laugh and a sob caught in Caroline’s throat. Her knees were suddenly weak. She put out a hand for support to one latticed wall.

“Are you all right?” The tone was abrupt, unceremonious. Rochefort was not even winded by his exertion.

“I — yes, I’m perfectly all right,” she managed after a moment.

“I trust my intervention was not unwelcome.”

“No,” she said fervently. “No, it was not unwelcome! I must thank you for it.”

“It seems your night to be rescued.”

Was there a hint of humor in that last comment? She could not tell. “Yes,” she said briefly, and waited for him to explain how he had come to be so fortunately to hand.

He did not oblige her. “When you are sufficiently composed, I will escort you back inside.”

“Yes,” she answered, aware of a stab of unreasoning disappointment. “Madame will wonder what has become of me.”

M’sieur Philippe did not return to the ballroom, the only eventuality for which Caroline found cause to be grateful the rest of the evening. Fletcher had marked her departure with one man and her reappearance with another and was inclined to be sullen. The fact that she refused to satisfy his suspicious queries did not improve his disposition. He had the temerity to communicate his displeasure to Madame in the course of a conversation between them while Caroline took the floor with Anatole. Not unnaturally, that lady’s curiosity was aroused.

Fletcher, looking a bit shamefaced, was just moving off when Anatole returned Caroline to his mother’s side. Madame waited only until both men were out of hearing before commencing her attack. “So! I understand you have been seen in the garden in the company of two different men. I have overlooked the freedom with which you have disported yourself on the dance floor tonight, Mam’zelle, but this I will not tolerate. I think you know such flirtations in the dark are unbecoming in a female of my household. I demand that you explain your conduct!”

“I must ask you to hold me excused,” Caroline answered as she caught sight of Estelle and Hippolyte making their way through the press of people toward them. “There is not time to tell you just now. The matter is rather personal.”

“What is personal?” Estelle, catching the last, asked in saucy gaiety.

“M’sieur Masterson seems to feel Caroline has caused some sort of altercation between two gentlemen in the garden,” her mother replied.

“No!” Estelle sounded intrigued. “Which two men?”

“Please,” Caroline said, but she was ignored.

“She was seen leaving the ballroom with our M’sieur Philippe and returning in some haste with the Marquis. She refuses to explain, therefore she must be in some way at fault. Do you not agree?”

Estelle said nothing. A worried frown drew her brows together. She met Caroline’s eyes, then looked quickly away.

“Don’t you agree, Estelle?”

Estelle glanced at her mother. “What? No. No, I don’t see that Mam’zelle must be at fault. There are dozens of other explanations; hundreds, even.”

“It is always the same,” Madame lamented to no one in particular, though Hippolyte moved restively as her accusing gaze touched him. “Never am I supported by my own blood. They take another view purely to annoy me, I know they do.”

There might have been more if Rochefort had not chosen that moment to present himself, soliciting Amélie for the supper dance she had promised to him.

Supper was a tedious affair. Dancing had given everyone such an appetite that they crowded about the food-laden tables. The selection brought to Caroline by Fletcher was uninspired, a poor representation of the marvelous variety of exotic dishes available. It did not matter, she could not swallow a morsel. She sipped a glass of champagne to ease her tight throat and played with her fork. Though Caroline suspected him of using it as an excuse to avoid conversation, Fletcher seemed to feel no lack of appetite. He ate his way steadily through three separate platefuls, then asked Caroline if she intended to eat the slice of turkey breast left on her plate.

The champagne on an empty stomach gave Caroline a headache. It was, all in all, a relief when Madame declared after supper that they had had enough frivolity for one evening.

During the last hour the distant storm had drawn nearer. Standing beneath the portico waiting for their carriage to be brought round, they could see the flare of lightning reflected in the river and feel the jar of thunder through the floor beneath their feet. The rising wind fluttered the light skirts of their evening gowns and tugged at the ends of their shawls, while the air seemed charged with energy. Nothing Rochefort could say would dissuade Madame, however. She insisted on leaving.

As the Marquis had predicted, the rain caught them halfway home. The dash up the steps of Beau Repos left them all damp, disheveled, and completely out of sorts, a condition Caroline credited with saving her from the summons from Madame she had expected.

According to Colossus, the tutor had arrived home hours before and was tucked up dry in his bed.

6

DESPITE THE LATENESS of the hour, Caroline could not sleep. Her mind was filled with images of the things that had taken place during the evening. They haunted her, returning again and again no matter how hard she tried to shut them out. At last she gave up the battle and lay staring into the dark, listening to the steadily falling rain, trying to sort out her feelings. It was not an easy task. She had run the gamut from excitement through anger and resentment to fear. Poor Fletcher. He could not understand her. Small wonder; she could not understand herself. She found it difficult to forgive him for pouring out his grievance to Madame; still she could not hold a grudge. Her behavior must have seemed incomprehensible to a man who had every right to believe she was not indifferent to him. She had received him when he came to call, had made herself agreeable. Unless she was willfully blind, she must have seen the trend he was taking when he singled her out with his weekly visits. The trouble was, she
had
been blind. She had accepted his faithful attendance without a thought for the construction he might put upon it. That he could feel he had some claim upon her affections had never crossed her mind. Oh, she had toyed with the idea of marriage as an alliance of the only two English-speaking residents of the district. In truth, she suspected that was her greatest attraction for Fletcher. She had always known she must refuse such a cold-blooded arrangement. It was not in her character to do otherwise.

With M’sieur Philippe the situation was entirely different. Try as she might, she could find no reason to accuse herself of encouraging him. She had her suspicions as to the cause of his sudden passion. If she could prove them, she was certain she could put an even more effective end to his persecution of her than had been brought about already.

At the memory of the tutor’s undignified descent from the summerhouse, Caroline chuckled. He had been well served for going about pouncing on ladies in the dark. She wondered if his satin breeches had survived such Turkish treatment. If only she had been rescued by anyone other than Rochefort. What must he think of her! Not that it mattered, she told herself, flouncing over in bed and giving her pillow a fierce thump. She was by no means certain that the honorable Marquis would not have behaved in exactly the same manner given the chance.

What did he want of her? Since he had remained single this long, it was doubtful he intended to alter his state for the sake of an English governess. How did he see her? As fair prey, a female alone in the world for all practical purposes, without prospects, without protectors? Perhaps he thought she would be honored to grace his bed without benefit of clergy? No, more than likely he was indulging in nothing more than a mild flirtation to enliven his stay in the country. He had chosen her to receive his attentions because he considered her of an age and position to expect nothing more. Of the two possibilities, she could not have said at that moment which she found less appealing.

Toward morning the storm returned in all its fury. Thunder rolled around the house and lightning flashed continuously. The rain marched across the cypress shingles overhead in windblown sheets, drowning all other sound.

Caroline raised herself on her elbow to listen. The constant, keening wind had almost the sound of a hurricane, though she knew it was too early in the season. On impulse, she threw back the covers and slid out of bed. Sleep was made doubly impossible in this weather. She might as well get up.

By the time she had dressed in a gown of light blue cambric, the rain had begun to slacken. Giving a last pat to the low chignon on the nape of her neck, she let herself out of her room and started along the hall.

A sound, like the slamming of a door, drew her up short. She stood still, protecting her candle flame from draughts with her cupped hand. Who could be abroad at this hour, on such a day? M’sieur Delacroix would not even think to venture out to inspect the damage done by the storm until the rain had stopped.

After a moment she moved on. She must have been mistaken. Perhaps there was a jalousie blind loose. These had been closed over the windows the night before by the servants. Or the morning might be more advanced than she thought due to the darkening effect of the rain clouds. If the servants were stirring, there might soon be a cup of coffee to be had. That was a welcome thought.