The Countess Misbehaves

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?”