Intrigued (11 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: Intrigued
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“Oh, Mama! I like the gentlemen well enough. I just can’t seem to find one I like enough that I don’t want to lose him. In all my life I have only met one man who intrigued me enough that I wanted to know him better, but he was unsuitable,” Autumn told her mother.
Now Jasmine was fascinated. She had never before heard her daughter mention any gentleman who attracted her. “Who is this gentleman,
ma bébé
and where did you meet him?” she gently inquired.
“I met him here in the forest one day,” Autumn explained. “I expect he was a poacher, though he denied it. I have no idea what his name is, or who he is. He said he was a thief, and when I asked him what he stole, Mama, he said the oddest thing. He said he stole
hearts.”
Jasmine laughed softly. “I think I should certainly be fascinated by such a gentleman, Autumn,” she told her daughter. “A man that clever is unlikely to have been either a thief or a poacher. I wonder who he was. Well, if he is a gentleman, you shall undoubtedly see him, for your Uncle Philippe has invited every family of stature and wealth in the entire region for a great party he is giving on Twelfth Night. In the meantime you shall have to make do with St. Mihiel. You could practice flirting with him,
ma petite.”
“Mama! Girls today do not put on such affectations,” Autumn said. “Perhaps when you were young, but no longer.”
“When I was young,” her mother replied, “girls were not allowed the privilege of choosing their husbands for love, and most today are not either. In my day,
ma petite,
your parents chose your husband, and that was the end of it. You wed their choice, and lived with it. Perhaps if you cannot make up your mind, Autumn, I should simply choose the man I think the best mate for you, and we’ll be done with it. You haven’t the faintest idea of what girls do today, but I will wager flirting is still very much part of courtship.”
“I think it’s silly,” Autumn said frankly.
“You will catch more gentlemen with honey,
ma petite,
than you will with sour wine,” Jasmine advised.
On Christmas Day they were joined by Guy Claude d’Auray, the Comte de Montroi, a charming young man with dancing blue eyes and light brown hair filled with golden highlights. He made Autumn laugh, and he quite obviously irritated Etienne St. Mihiel. She was finally beginning to enjoy herself. She had never had young men pay her such attention, for she had lived a very protected life at Glenkirk. It had been a life that had suited her quite well. It was fun, however, to have Etienne and Guy paying her court, vying for her complete attention, arguing over who would dance with her next. One day she found herself giggling and tapping the arm of one of her swains teasingly with her feather fan.
“You are flirting,
ma fille,”
her mother murmured softly.
“Mon Dieu,
I am!” Autumn said, surprised. But then she turned her concentration back to her duke and her count.
“Only one more to come,” Antoinette St. Omer said softly, watching Autumn as she danced with the duke.
“If
he comes,” the comte remarked dryly. “You know how independent Sebastian is, and he has an abhorrence of virgins besides.”
“Well, he had best get over
that
if d’Auriville is to have an heir one day,” Madame St. Omer replied sharply. “Proper brides are virgins, Philippe. I do not know where Sebastian d’Oleron gets such odd notions. He is hardly in the first flush of youth and will soon be too old to sire an heir. Such a charming man, but so stubborn.”
The Comte de Saville’s Twelfth Night fête was to feature dancing and a midnight banquet. The guests were to come in costume, and there would be a masque performed by a troupe of traveling players invited for the occasion.
“I am coming as the sun,” Autumn announced to her swains.
“Then I shall come as the moon,” Etienne said quickly, and he grinned smugly at the Comte de Montroi.
Guy d’Auray was not in the least put out. “I shall come as a comet who circles the sun,” he told them.
Autumn clapped her hands together. “Oh, Guy! How clever you are to have thought of such a guise, and so quickly,” she told him.
The comte bowed elegantly to her.
“Merci, cherie,”
he said.
“Who gave you leave to call her
cherie?”
the duke demanded.
“You may both call me
cherie,”
Autumn quickly replied in an effort to prevent further argument.
The two young men glared at each other.
“Gracious, Mama,” Autumn later said to her mother. “They are so competitive. I almost expected them to get into a duel over me.” Her eyes danced mischievously at the thought.
“Duels are illegal, Autumn, and the penalty is death for those caught,” her mother warned her. “Do not tease your suitors into breaking the law. It is hardly a way to make your decision.”
“What decision?” Autumn replied.
“Why, which of them you will marry,” Jasmine responded.
“I don’t want to marry either of them, Mama,” the young woman returned. “Etienne is charming and Guy such fun, but I am not in love with either of them. I don’t think I could be.”
“It is too soon,” her mother said. “You don’t know either of them particularly well yet, but by spring you should.”
Autumn nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Mama. I must give myself more time to know them better.”
The Duchess of Glenkirk, in mourning, did not wear a costume to her cousin’s Twelfth Night fête. Instead, she wore a gown of deep violet that M’sieu Reynaud had made for her, along with an exquiste silver and amethyst masque. The gown’s only ornamentation was a collar of silver lace. Her daughter, however, was garbed magnificently in a cloth-of-gold gown with a transparent overgown of gilt sprinkled with tiny gold beads and diamante. The dress was set low on the shoulders to reveal Autumn’s creamy skin and beautiful young bosom. The sleeves were puffed to the elbow, with topaz-studded ribbons, and then fitted below to the wrist. Her shoes were painted gold, and the heels studded with tiny diamonds. Her hair had been affixed into an elegant chignon, sprinkled with gold dust, and dressed with small looped strands of tiny gold beads, yellow diamonds, and topaz. Atop her head sat a delicate gold crown representing the sun, each ray tipped with a yellow diamond. From her ears hung yellow diamonds. About her neck was a chain of small yellow diamonds and rose gold, from which dangled a large, round Golconda diamond cut with so many facets that it flashed fire with every move Autumn made.
“Ravissante!”
her uncle declared when she first came into the Great Hall. “No other woman here tonight will outshine you.”
“You do not think it a bit too bold?” fretted Madame de Belfort, looking anxiously between Jasmine and her brother.
“Nonsense!” Madame St. Omer said before anyone else could speak. “It is a daring costume, and when baiting a trap one uses the most delicious cheese available. Bravo,
ma petite!
You will drive the gentlemen wild tonight!”
Jasmine laughed. “She certainly will, ’Toinette,” the duchess agreed with her cousin, and then she patted Gaby de Belfort’s plump hand in an effort to comfort her. “Autumn isn’t sixteen, Gaby. To garb her as a
jeune fille
would be totally inappropriate.”
Etienne St. Mihiel and Guy d’Auray hurried into the hall, almost knocking each other over in their eagerness to reach Autumn. The duke was dressed in silver, a crescent studded in aquamarines upon his head. His companion was in deep blue and silver, a comet’s tail of gold and silver for his headpiece. Autumn admired both of them equally, although each thought he had gotten the better of the other. As the music started they began to argue over who should dance with her first. It was then a gentleman, garbed as a bandit in a black cloak, a wide-brimmed felt hat with several white plumes, and a black mask, stepped between the duke and the comte, bowed to Autumn, and led her off onto the floor.
“Who is that?” Jasmine asked.
“Unless I miss my guess,” Antoinette chuckled, “it is d’Oleron himself. I suspected curiosity would eventually get the better of him.”
Jasmine watched her daughter with interest, smiling to herself as she remembered her youth.
“You are bold,” Autumn told her partner as he led her through the intricate steps of the dance.
“Your costume,
cherie,
is hardly modest,” he replied. “You glitter and glow like a beacon as you offer yourself to the highest bidder.” He twirled her about gracefully.
“I have no need for the highest bidder, m’sieu,” Autumn said in a tight voice. “I am an heiress of great worth.”
Her partner laughed, genuinely amused. “Are you indeed, mam’selle?”
Autumn stopped in the midst of the dance and stamped her foot at him. “Yes, I am!” she snapped.
“Do not make a scene,
cherie,”
he advised as he drew her back into the figure. “You have a temper, but I like a woman with a temper. It shows character. I do not wish to marry some passionless creature.”
“Marry?”
Autumn was astounded by his words. “What do you mean
marry,
m’sieu?”
“You have come to France to find a husband, or at least that is the gossip,” he told her, and he laughed again when she blushed. “I am, to the relief of my relations, now in the market for a wife. I think you will do quite nicely, Lady Autumn Rose Leslie.”
That voice. It was
his
voice.
“You!”
she said. “It is you! The gentleman in the forest who said he was a thief.”
The music stopped, and her partner bowed elegantly. “Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, Marquis d’Auriville, at your service, mademoiselle.” He caught up her hand, and kissed it, but he did not let it go. Instead he led her across the Great Hall into a small alcove.
“I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth!” Autumn said angrily. “I should rather die a virgin!”
“There is no chance of your dying a virgin,
cherie,
but you surely cannot prefer those two bumbling suitors who dog your every move.”
“Etienne is a duke and you are only a marquis,” Autumn said. “As for Guy d’Auray, he amuses me. I don’t even know you.”
“You will,” he told her confidently. “Now as for St. Mihiel, he may be a duke, but my blood is far bluer than his.” He backed her against the stone wall of the alcove. “Have you ever been kissed?” he asked her curiously. One of his arms stretched out to confine her, while the fingers of his other hand brushed against her full mouth. “Your lips are like rose petals,” he said softly.
Breathe!
her inner voice said.
Breathe dammit!
She could hear her heart thumping madly in her ears. Had she ever been kissed? No! She most certainly had not, but she was most certainly going to be. The roving hand tipped her face up to his, and his lips touched hers tenderly. Autumn sighed deeply, unable to help herself.
He drew away. “It is better if you close your eyes,
cherie,”
he suggested gently. “Let us try again now.” His mouth took possession of hers even as her eyes closed slowly.
She soared. It was wonderful. It was everything she had always imagined a kiss should be. It was even more! And he had absolutely no right to be taking such liberties. Autumn raised her foot and stamped her diamond-studded high heel into his boot. “How dare you, monsigneur!” When he leapt back, swearing softly, she slapped him; then, pushing past his satin-clad bulk, she hurried back into the main part of the hall.
Sacré bleu,
but his foot hurt where she had assaulted him! When he got his footwear off it was likely to be black and blue. What a wildcat! There was no doubt in his mind now that this was the girl he wanted to make his wife. When he had seen her that day in the forest he had known it, but he had bided his time. There were several things he had had to do before he could court a respectable young girl like Autumn. His mistress, Marianne Boucher, had to be pensioned off, and their daughter put with the nuns to be educated. He had made arrangements to pay the child’s school fees, and when she was ready to marry one day, he would dower her if he approved of the match. He knew Marianne would see he did, for she was a practical woman. He had bought her a house in the town of Tours, near their daughter’s convent. She would be comfortable. More important, she understood her time in his life had come to an end. He would now marry and raise a family.
Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, limping slightly, made his way across the Great Hall to where his host stood, undoing his mask as he came. He bowed to the comte. “Philippe. I thank you for inviting me tonight.” He bowed. Then he turned to the three older women. “Mesdames.” He bowed again.
“Allow me to introduce my cousin, the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk,” Philippe said.
The marquis took Jasmine’s hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. “I can see, madame, where your daughter gets her beauty. I would like to call upon you when you return to Belle Fleurs. Do not promise your daughter to another until we have spoken.”
Madame de Belfort gasped audibly. Madame St. Omer smiled archly.

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