Sweet Bravado (4 page)

“Ma foi,
I too feel the happiness. It is a weight lifted,
n’est-ce pas?”

“Now, what shall we do first?”

Madame Lafitte turned from the window. “Me, I shall rest. But you, I think, already have a visitor. It is the brother of your
betrothed.”

“Perry? What perfect timing.” Blowing Madame Lafitte a kiss, she hurried from the room.

Perry persuaded Nicole to go riding with him even though it was a cold blustery day, and they rode along the Champs Elysées
toward the Tuileries Gardens. The brisk November weather had driven most people indoors and the park and gardens were nearly
empty. Nicole stared at the palace that had once housed Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette and still later the Emperor Napoleon.
Today, however, British uniforms were guarding the building deserted by the French nobility.

It had been a difficult time for Nicole in this country, mad for Napoleon Bonaparte and his war against England. Her half-English
nationality had plagued her often enough during those years at St. Agnes’s private school for girls where she was sometimes
referred to as “the English spy.” But her earlier childhood in England had not been much better with the constant moving about
and bitter quarreling between her parents. Even later as a young woman, her mother’s self-pity and complaints against fate
and the Harcourts had played havoc with Nicole’s peace of mind. Would she ever find contentment, Nicole wondered—especially
at the hands of a “Harcourt”?

“Cousin Nicole,” Perry chided. “I have been trying to attract your attention for the last five minutes.”

“I am sorry, Perry. What is it?”

“I wondered if you wished to take a brief stroll through the gardens.”

“Yes, I would like that very much.” As they alighted from their carriage Nicole noted, “We seem to be the only adventuresome
souls about today. Oh look, there are still a few valiant roses holding on.”

“You ain’t going to turn sentimental on me, are you?” Perry teased. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Heavens no.” She bent to smell the roses.

“I say, look who’s coming. If this don’t beat all.”

Nicole looked up to see Perry slapping a tall, slim gentleman on the back.

“Well, well, Perry. What brings you to Paris at this time of the year?” The gentleman regarded Perry with a touch of humor
in his fine grey eyes.

“Come to see my brother get hitched, naturally.”

“So the rumors are true.”

“Cousin Nicole, please forgive my manners. This is Gordon Danforth, a friend of Val’s.”

“I am honored, ma’am.” Mr. Danforth bowed and removed his hat from his head. The wind whipped at his neat brown hair.

“This is Val’s future bride, Gordon, Miss Harcourt.”

“Then I am twice honored.”

“I am happy to meet you, Mr. Danforth. Are you in Paris for long?” She surveyed the rather austere looking young man before
her, guessing his age to be somewhere around thirty.

“That is difficult to say, ma’am. I am with the diplomatic corps and orders can change overnight.” He smiled warmly. “And
may I offer my best wishes.”

“Why yes, of course,” she smiled but with some constraint.

“Where are you staying, Perry?” Danforth turned to her escort.

“Oh, around. I have a friend across the river,” Perry answered vaguely. “But most days you can find me at the Hotel Belmontaine
where Nicole and my mother are staying.”

“If I may, Miss Harcourt, I shall give myself the pleasure
of calling one afternoon this week to pay my respects to you and Lady Ardsmore.”

“I am sure Lady Ardsmore will be as delighted as I to receive you,” Nicole replied courteously.

“Then I shall see you both soon.” He tipped his hat once more before moving on.

“Perry!” Nicole stormed as they turned back to their carriage. “I thought you understood that matters have not been completely
settled between your brother and me.”

“Oh, sure, I understand.”

“Then why did you blurt out about the marriage?”

“But Nicole, all the wedding preparations are going on and besides,” he hesitated then plunged on, “I don’t see you gainsaying
Val. I never knew a woman yet who could.”

“Oh really!” She froze with indignation.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” Perry begged. When Nicole did not answer he added, “You and Val are going to make a smashing
couple. I know it.” He clasped her hand.

“Do—do you really think so, Perry?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure I do. Wait until you meet him. Val is terrific, even if I say so myself. I can’t wait until he sets eyes on you. Is
he in for a surprise!”

That evening Nicole and Madame Lafitte had an early supper followed by a cozy chat before the fire in the drawing room.

“It is like old times, Fifi. Just you and me.”

“Oui,
only it can never be the same again. I think I am developing a permanent headache.”

“Oh Fifi.” Nicole laughed and hugged her.

“You laugh, but it is true. Each evening I crawl into
bed shaking with tension. I worry about you,
mon petit chou.”

“Fifi, why? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“This is what I pray each night.”

“Dear, dear, Fifi, do not fret so.” She paused, regarding her friend. “Come, I have an idea. Tonight I shall tuck you in.”

“Non, non, chérie
?”

“Mais oui,
I insist. You shall have a cup of chocolate before retiring, as we used to do. And I shall borrow a few drops of Lady Eleanore’s
laudanum to ensure you a good night’s rest.”

“But it is I who must see to you.”

“You always have, but tonight you shall let me indulge you. Please Fifi.”

“You are a sweet child, Nicole.”

“And you are my dear friend. Come along, Fifi. I shall order the chocolate.”

With a helpless little gesture, Madame Lafitte gave in to Nicole.

Some time later Nicole left her old friend drowsing comfortably in bed. Once in her own room, Nicole dismissed her maid and
changed into her night clothes. Then she sat before her dressing table administering the required hundred strokes to her lustrous
black hair before retiring for the night.

The tranquility of the evening was suddenly interrupted by a muffled pounding at the front door. There followed an incoherent
clamor of voices and then a hasty knocking at Nicole’s bedroom door. She opened it to be confronted by a much agitated-servant
in nightdress informing her that his lordship, Viscount Ardsmore, had arrived and was insisting upon an audience with the
mistress immediately. The shock of this news nearly overcame Nicole.
She turned pale with fright but answered the servant with as much calm as she could muster.

“Please inform his lordship that I have retired for the evening and will be happy to receive him tomorrow morning at his convenience.”

Within moments a roar from below assailed her startled ears. “At my convenience, is it? Now is my convenience!” The words
were followed by a pounding on the stairs, and suddenly he appeared in her doorway. VALENTIN. His unruly blond hair was tumbling
over his forehead and his eyes were blazing with cold blue fire.

Nicole stood frozen in the center of the room, her violet eyes dark stains of fear and her mouth trembling with unspoken words.
She clutched at the wrapper covering her quivering body as the sight of Valentin blazed itself into her consciousness. He
was more awesome in reality than her dreams could ever imagine. His powerful figure loomed arrogantly before her, seeming
to fill the room with his vibrant presence as an undisguised masculinity comprised of a lithe animal grace and reckless daring
assaulted her reeling senses. The chiseled angles of his lean face were thrown into prominence by the flickering candlelight,
and his firm mouth was curved in a derisive grin.

Valentin remained standing in the doorway, surveying the quaking Nicole with insolent disdain. His cape and Hessians were
dirty and mud-spattered. His whole attire gave evidence of much hard travel and wear, and yet he looked every inch the magnificent
god of war that he was. At last he stepped forward and swept Nicole an elegant bow.

“Lord Ardsmore, special aide to the Duke of Wellington, at your service, mademoiselle.”

“You cannot come in here,” Nicole whispered trying to gather her scattered wits.

“It would seem I already
am
in here, ma’am.”

“Why do you intrude yourself at such an untimely hour, sir?”

“Because I am just now arrived, ma’am.”

“Could you not wait till the morning?” Nicole was beginning to recover from the shock of his unexpected arrival.

Valentin raised his eyebrows in mock question and replied with ill-concealed anger, “But I was given to understand that you
insisted
upon my presence, ma’am.”

“Not so… so…”

“Yes?”

“So unexpectedly. This is quite improper.”

“But what did you expect from a‘fortune-hunting rake’, my dear?” Nicole’s former rash words were flung in her face with quiet
contempt. “If I understand my mother correctly, it seems your tender French sensibilities have been distressed by the mercenary
proclivities of your English relations.”

“You forget that I am half English myself, sir.”

“The better half, I hope.”

“What do you mean by that?” Nicole was stung into anger by thoughts of insult to her mother.

“I merely refer to the conflict of loyalties that might arise considering the recent hostilities between our countries.”

“I do not believe you, and I wish you to leave my room at once,” Nicole demanded haughtily, her eyes blazing with indignation.

Valentin regarded her coolly before replying. “A little firebrand, eh? Nothing I like better than a show of spirit.” He started
toward Nicole.

She backed from him thrusting out a hand as if to ward him off, but he flung off his cape and grabbed for the outstretched
hand and pulled her toward him.

“What are you doing?” Nicole was having difficulty breathing.

“Getting acquainted, my dear, as you so charmingly requested of my mother.”

“This is neither the time nor the place.” Nicole could barely speak.

“I beg to differ. This is the
only
time and the
only
place for acquaintance such as I intend to make of you.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“You would not dare!”

“Oh, but I would dare. What better way have I to settle matters and ensure our forthcoming nuptials? I mean to force your
hand, my dear.”

“I would never marry you then, you beast,” she gasped in horror; her bright eyes had turned the color of crushed violets and
glistened with unshed tears.

He lessened his hold on Nicole, studying her upturned face as if really seeing her for the first time. The beauty of her delicately
molded features flushed by the intensity of strong emotions arrested his attention. Her soft, full lips were parted slightly
as she breathed in shallow gasps. Valentin stared into her fear-darkened eyes, noting their violet depths, and felt his purpose
falter. Her wrapper had fallen open revealing an expanse of heaving ivory bosom. His eyes traveled the length of her white-clad
form and back to her face. She did not flinch from his gaze, but stood before him stiff with pride despite her inner fears.
His expression softened as he released his hold, then took the wrapper with both hands and closed it around her, taking her
hand and placing it at her breast to hold it closed.

“You must, forgive me, my dear… if you can find it in you. I had mistaken the situation. I shall wait on you in the morning,
with all the propriety and remorse your
person requires.” He smiled tenderly and turned to retrieve his cape.

Unconsciously, Nicole began rubbing the wrist that he had held in his steel grip, too much overcome by his sudden shift in
behavior to think what to say. Her fear had dissolved in that one sweet smile.” He came toward her again and took the wrist
she was rubbing and examined the angry red marks on it. “It seems I have hurt you.” He raised the wrist and placed a lingering
kiss on the bruised flesh. Nicole watched him wonderingly, her eyes soft and tender.

“It is nothing.”

“Will you forgive me?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” Nicole replied. He lifted a lock of her unbound hair, kissed it and left the room, leaving a bewildered and bewitched
Nicole.

True to his word, the Viscount appeared promptly at ten the next morning, all propriety and contrition. Nicole was stricken
with indecision wondering how she should conduct herself after his appalling performance of the night before. His behavior
had been scandalous in the extreme, and yet tender too. Nevertheless Valentin was actually here, seeking to woo her despite
the strong overtones of seduction and conquest. She decided to conduct the interview with Madame Lafitte in obvious attendance.

The ladies entered the drawing room together. Nicole caught her breath sharply at the disturbing sight of Valentin’s elegantly
clad form standing straight and confident before the fireplace. That the Viscount also caught his breath at the sight of Nicole
she did not discern. He appeared awesomely powerful and self-assured to her inexperienced eyes. The Viscount came forward
with great dignity and bowed solemnly over her hand.

“Your servant, ma’am.” As he bowed, he bestowed a
disarming smile upon the chaperone and immediately won himself an ally. Madame Lafitte discreetly betook herself to a corner
and seated herself unobtrusively.

“I trust you enjoyed an untroubled rest after last night’s unfortunate episode.” The Viscount was not one to dodge an issue.
Nicole’s face colored. Valentin was studying her with a look of apparent concern on his handsome face.

“I slept very well, thank you, my lord. May I offer you some refreshments? A glass of wine, perhaps?” She wished desperately
to divert him from the subject of last night.

“Not at the moment.”

“Shall I ring for…”

“Forget the amenities, Cousin Nicole. I have a few comments to make regarding last night.” He sounded stern, as if he were
about to read her a lecture. “First, I must offer my profound apologies for behavior unbecoming a gentleman and more importantly,
for subjecting you, my future wife, to such indignities.”