Sweet Bravado (11 page)

Some of Valentin’s bewilderment communicated itself to Nicole. Could she have been wrong? Did Tessa truly mean nothing to
him?

“But you spoke her name.”

“When did I speak her name?”

“After you… after we… after…”

“After I made, love to you?” Valentin finished with a look of growing wonder on his face. “You mean I spoke her name that
night?”

“Yes.” Nicole answered quietly.

“What else did I say?” Valentin demanded.

“Nothing.” A mere whisper.

“Nothing!” Valentin was incredulous. “You mean these days and nights of torture were caused by nothing more than my speaking
Tessa’s name?” He grabbed the flinching Nicole by the shoulders.

“Nothing more? What
more
was necessary?” Nicole challenged.

“You
are
serious,” Valentin replied, both wonder and laughter struggling to come to the surface. “You’re truly serious.” And with
that he began to laugh.

It was fatal. Nicole felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. She struggled for some dignity. “I do not feel it to be a laughing
matter.”

“I dare say not. Humor is
definitely
not one of your strong points, m’dear.” And he continued to laugh with increasing enjoyment.

Seeking blindly to wound, Nicole lashed out, “I would rather lack a sense of humor than a sense of honor.”

“Honor? Now how does honor enter into your pretty scheme of values, Nicole? I can hardly wait to hear it.”

“Well, I did not mean exactly honor. I meant…”

“Yes, yes, I’m all ears.”

Valentin’s apparent enjoyment of her confusion goaded Nicole to further foolishness. “I meant…‘Manliness.’ “

“Oh?” Valentin stopped laughing abruptly. “Manliness? I don’t quite draw the connection.” He smiled dangerously.

“It was our wedding night.”

“Indeed it was.”

“And it was your lack of…” she hesitated.

“My lack of what?” he prodded.

“It was your blunder, not mine.”

“So I blundered did I? Perhaps we should play out the scene again?” Without warning Valentin dragged her off the divan onto
the Persian rug and flung himself on top of her, crushing her mouth to his in a bruising kiss. Struggling like a tigress,
Nicole freed one arm and swung at his face, but he grabbed the arm and pinned it beneath her with the other one. This demon
lover swept aside all resistance. He would have his way with her, and she was
carried along on a fierce tide of passion. In the deepening shadows of dusk he held her captive and she surrendered.

“Val,” she whispered submissively next to his cheek;

Suddenly he was up and staring down at her insolently. Confused and bewildered, Nicole lay motionless, throbbing in every
nerve.

“Any complaints this time?” he taunted, then walked away to stare moodily out of the window.

Nicole stumbled to her feet, seated herself on the divan, and unconsciously began to smooth her tumbled hair and wrinkled
clothing. She had surrendered, and all he could do was mock her. “I despise you,” she cried in humiliation.

“You don’t mean that,” he taunted again.

“Oh, but I do! Lord, how I loathe you and all the Har-courts! Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”

“Stop this nonsense, Nicole!” Valentin came toward her.

“When will your insufferable pride accept the fact that I don’t want or need you!” She remained vehement.

Stunned, the Viscount hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders with resignation. “Very well, if that’s the way you feel, I shall
oblige you. I have had enough of this temperament.” Without another word he stalked out of the summer house slamming the door
behind him.

Some time later Nicole stirred from the cramped position in which she had sat since her husband had walked out on her. Returning
to the chateau, she saw that the place was a blaze of lights and that the door stood open. Valentin’s curricle was drawn up
in front of the portico and his valet was strapping a valise to it. Trying to control her chaotic thoughts, she crossed to
the entrance just as Valentin, dressed for riding, emerged.

“Val?” she faltered. “Where, where are you going?”

“As you suggested, away… to Vienna.” He pulled her
out of hearing distance of the servants. “That should effectively remove me from your world.”

Merciful heavens, what was he saying? She had to stop him, but he was still speaking.

“After all a
marriage of convenience
such as ours doesn’t necessitate our living together. You may journey to London with my mother. And furthermore your self-righteous
attitude is becoming a bore.”

Nicole’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears. All the things she most feared were falling from his lips, but her
stiff pride refused to allow her to protest.

“Damn you, don’t cry about it,” he hissed. “These are your own wishes, aren’t they?” He paused. “Well, aren’t they?”

“Yes, yes! I can’t wait until you are out of my life for good!” How could she be saying these things? What perversity drove
her?

“That can be easily arranged,” he drawled and sprang into the waiting curricle. Wielding his whip to the horses, they leapt
and plunged ahead spraying stones and gravel as they gathered speed and carried him out of her life.

She watched thunderstruck until Pierre, who had been hovering nearby, placed an envelope into her hand saying, “From his lordship,
my lady.”

In a daze Nicole made her way to her room where she read a list of instructions from the Viscount. The last was the most devastating—he
would not interfere in her life as long as she remained discreet. Oh God, what had she done? Flinging herself across the bed,
she cried until she slept as in a nightmare. Visions of Valentin as he scorned her haunted her tortured sleep.

She awoke to a household buzzing with the fact that his lordship had departed leaving his wife behind. She refused to leave
her room, hoping against hope for the return of her bridegroom, but he did not come.

When Nicole finally left her room, it was under the surreptitious surveillance of the servants who watched the girl wander
aimlessly about the silent chateau.

In the back rooms of the villa rumors were rife about the departed bridegroom and his forsaken bride. Snatches of past conversation
were repeated, exaggerated and expanded during the course of the retelling. The Viscount’s sudden departure; Nicole’s weeping
into the night; her silence for over twenty-four hours; no word from him; no action from her. What could it mean? But the
bride remained oblivious to their speculations.

Late the next afternoon, Nicole wandered into the museum room. The tirades of recrimination and self-pity which had consumed
her were now over, leaving her in a state of numbed apathy. There was only a dull insistent ache around her heart. Absentmindedly
she stared at Uncle Maurice’s treasures. Lifting one object after another and viewing them with unseeing eyes, she let them
slip through her fingers. Silent tears began to course down her face as she retrieved the broken mask from the trunk on the
floor and remembered that happy playful moment with Valentin in this very room. This mask which had once hidden unnamed players’
faces and feelings could not provide her with the same anonymity. She must wear the face of grief before the mocking world.
Her swollen red eyes stared back at her from a gilded mirror on the wall. There was no disguising what had happened to her.

If only she could call back those words and change the consequences of their last scene together. It was a scene that replayed
itself cruelly over and over in her mind. His claim that he had never loved Tessa. His bewilderment at her reaction to his
having spoken Tessa’s name. Perhaps she had made too much of it. But why had he tried to belittle her? Why hadn’t he made
her go to Vienna with him? Did he really want to be free of her? She couldn’t
think about it any more. She must escape her own plaguing thoughts.

Running out of the museum room along the corridor to the terrace doors, she flung them open and fled into the cold winter
air. Heedlessly she raced toward the lake stopping abruptly to stare at its frozen banks. Even here memories assailed her.

“Oh Val,” she cried to the icy wind.

But she couldn’t go on like this, torturing herself. She must take hold of her shattered life. While the brisk breeze cut
across her tear-stained face, causing her to catch her breath in deep gulps, she sighed and began to summon her courage. She
wasn’t defeated yet. She would consult Uncle Maurice. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Perhaps a letter to Val? Determinedly she
strode back to the chateau.

That very day Nicole wrote three notes and dispatched them by messenger to Paris. Anxiously she waited the replies. First
came the reply from the Marquis expressing his concern and the desire to be of service. Next came Madame Lafitte’s assurance
that she would join Nicole at the Marquis’s home as soon as possible. The last was a devastating response from Lady Eleanore
castigating Nicole’s actions. Nicole immediately crushed it in her hand and flung it into the fire. All her resentment toward
Lady Eleanore flared forth again.

A few days later Nicole arrived at the Hotel de Crécy where she was met by a grim Uncle Maurice. She had never seen the old
gentleman look more severe or forbidding and there was no welcoming kiss of the hand or cheek as on previous occasions. He
beckoned her into the drawing room rather curtly as a sense of panic seized her fading spirits. His first remarks did little
to lessen her fears.

“Well, my dear, it seems you and Ardsmore are conturning
the fine Harcourt traditions of scandalous behavior.”

Nicole shrugged, unable to meet his eyes.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” Maurice queried.

“There is nothing to tell.”

“That is not what the gossip mongers‘are whispering. The servant grapevine has already spread tales,” he added vehemently.

“I see,” she said stiffly.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

It had been wrong to come here. The Marquis took sides with the Harcourts and there would be no help from him. It had been
a false step.

“I think you had better be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

Relentlessly the Marquis went on, “Before returning to Vienna, Ardsmore came to Paris to see Tessa Von Hoffman.”

“Oh.” She grew deathly pale and turned abruptly from the Marquis. “It was to be expected.” So there was to be no reconciliation.
She would never forgive him for turning to Tessa. Never!

“I see. Then perhaps you are better prepared for the future you have carved out for yourself than I expected,” he asserted
angrily.

Straightening her back in response to his outburst, Nicole turned to face him. “I ask nothing from anyone. I am quite capable
of handling my own affairs. It was a mistake to come here and I shall leave at once.” She started toward the door, but his
voice arrested her.

“Foolish child! Do you think that I too intend to desert you?” he shouted at her.

Nicole’s lips quivered, but she refused to give in to her
emotions. Noticing her effort, Maurice softened. “Come here.” He opened his arms. “We shall plan the future together if you
will accept the advice of an old man.”

Trembling with relief and exhaustion, Nicole flung herself into his arms. Minutes passed with neither speaking; however, the
interlude of comfort was brief. Distant chimes rang and Nicole questioned, “Are you expecting company?”

He shook his head negatively just as his butler announced Lady Eleanore. She burst into the room, a dignified but determined
figure.

“So, Maurice, you have chosen to support this
malcontent!”

Maurice forced Nicole into a chair before addressing the dowager Viscountess.
“Ma chère
Eleanore, won’t you please be seated while I ring for some refreshments?”

“I do not want refreshments, Maurice! I want an explanation of this fiasco. I should have known this girl would cause a scandal
and follow her mother’s example, and I want to know what she intends to do about this shocking breach of duty.” Lady Eleanore
pointed a quivering finger at Nicole.

“It was your son who walked out on me! Perhaps you had best ask him.” Nicole rose hastily to defend herself.

“I have already received a communiqué from him informing me that I must take you to London with me.”

“You need not bother yourself. I have no intention of returning to London.”

“You what?”

“I am going to remain right here. After all, Paris is my home, and now that I am independently wealthy, there is no reason
why I should go where I am not wanted.”

“If you… if you choose to remain here
unescorted
…”

“Uncle Maurice has graciously consented to be my
chaperon. And Madame Lafitte will be returning quite soon from her sister’s.”

“Maurice, you are not going to support her in this… this act of defiance!”

Forced into the role of mediator, Maurice attempted to control the rising tide of emotions. “Eleanore, I think it best at
present for Nicole to remain here.”

Both women began to speak at once.

“Nicole! Eleanore! Enough! This caterwauling will desist immediately!” he demanded frantically. They grew silent. “That is
better. Now it is quite evident that you and Nicole are no better suited to live together in your present frame of minds than
were Ardsmore and Nicole! This marriage happened too quickly.” He peered hopefully from one woman to the other. “Perhaps in
time…” He saw the warring look on Nicole’s face and added, “But we shall have to wait and see, eh? In the meantime I shall
acquaint Nicole with Parisian society.”

“But everyone will be talking about Valentin and me.”

“She is right,” Lady Eleanore agreed.

“Eleanore, you know better than anyone the time to hold your head highest is at the moment the heat is hottest. Let them gossip.
What can they prove if the Harcourts close ranks? All anyone need know is that Ardsmore is completing his assignment for the
Duke of Wellington in Vienna.”