Her heart was wholly taken.
“A kiss?” Madame Bellamy eyed Chevreuse shrewdly. “From which lady,monsieur le marquis?” When he didn’t answer she continued, “NotMademoiselleFarrow, surely, since you must first get past herange gardien.”
Low laugher filled the room and Brielle had to smile.
So, they thought Bleu her guardian angel?
As for the ladiesjeu de l’oie, Madame Bellamy soon won the broach and they disbanded for refreshments before returning to watch Waltes. The unusual game continued tensely, Bleu and the marquis so focused it seemed they weren’t aware they were surrounded. As the wooden platter of dice came down a final time with enough force to rattle and rearrange them, Bleu leaned back in his chair as thecomtedeclared the winner.
“Monsieur Galant,vous avez triomphé!”
A titter erupted from the ladies. Brielle clapped, unsurprised yet pleased Bleu had won and by doing so removed her from the unwelcome attentions of another man. Themarquis’ssmile was thin as Bleu rose from the table without a word and went to a sideboard where he poured champagne into an engraved glass before a footman could do so.
“Will you not claim your prize, Monsieur Galant?” Chevreuse asked, his words more taunt as his gaze returned to Brielle.
“A kiss is not a trifling thing given as some offhand, haphazard prize.” Bleu turned back around and faced him. “It is from the heart. Sacred. To be expressed in secret.”
For a telling second his eyes met Brielle’s and her heart held still.
Had he ever kissed a woman? Might she be the very first?
Madame Janvier looked at him admiringly. “For all yourférocité, Monsieur Galant, you are a trueromantiqueat heart.”
Another round of games began. Bleu sat down with Grandfather to play chess while Chevreuse joined several other gentlemen at piquet. Hiding a yawn behind her extended fan, Brielle went to a near window, wishing an end to the evening. She took a deep breath, her pulse hardly settling. Bleu’s heartfelt words wooed her as only he could do. They were of the same mind about intimate matters as well as the mundane.
At last the clock struck two and the company traded the salon for the terrace, walking toward the landing where their transport waited. Soon winter would force them to their carriages and river traffic would dwindle.
Brielle walked with the ladies to the river, torches illuminating their path. Uncomfortably aware of the marquis, she stood by the water gate as their guests boarded the boats to depart.
“I wish,Mademoiselle, to show youChâteau d’Ussé,” Chevreuse told her. “Especially my renowned grottoes given your penchant for gardens.”
She managed to smile, not wanting to encourage him nor be rude. Though Grandfather had told her Chevreuse wanted to court her he hadn’t shared his own feelings about the matter. Nor had she expressed hers. So much about French etiquette eluded her—courting customs foremost.
“Say you’ll come upriver so that I can give you a tour,” he told her.
He was standing so close she took a sudden step back. The last boat had departed, all but Chevreuse’s at the end of the landing, a poleman snoring in the bow. Alarm jarred her at being alone with him. Grandfather had been here a moment ago but now no one else stood in the shadows but the two of them. Surely it wasn’t sensible to tarry with so inebriated and enamored a man—
“Ah, a private moment at last. You’ve been such a temptation to me all evening—your lovely gown, the enchanting way you talk with your hands and move about a room.” His fingers encircled her wrist like a bracelet. “You play the flirt even if you don’t mean to…”
He continued murmuring, his impassioned French eluding her. She caught only the barest, most alarming words.Temptation. Coquette. Desire.His wine-soured breath made her recoil.
“Pardon,monsieur…” She started toward thechâteau, trying to pull free. “I must return to the housenow.”
“Not until we are finished here.” He pulled her against him with both hands, the buttons of his frock coat pressing into her bodice and the soft, exposed skin above it. “Say you’ll come upriver—”
His slurred words ended as he was knocked backwards with such force Brielle felt the blow. Her arm felt wrenched from its socket as themarquislet her go. He stumbled only to be hit again as Bleu shoved him further from Brielle and off the landing. The river’s splash wet her skirts as she whirled and faced Bleu, the hard lines of his face terrifying by torch light. She’d never seen him so livid.
The poleman, now wide awake, held out an oar to themarquiswho flailed about like a drowning river rat. With a last, dismissive glance, Bleu took her arm as gently as the marquis had been harsh and escorted her from the landing and back to thechâteau.
She wanted to kiss him then and there.
30
The next morning, Brielle came downstairs to find a black-coated gentlemen leaving Grandfather’s study. He passed without a glance at her, following a footman to the main entrance. Finding the study door closed, she knocked lightly.
“Entrez.”
Bleu stood with Grandfather by the hearth. Rarely did she venture here, preferring the salon with her mother’s portrait or the library or her own suite. Rain spackled the windowpanes, ushering in a deeper chill that seemed to announce winter was at hand—andNoël. Though she wanted to see how the French celebrated Christmas, she most wanted Christmas along the Rivanna River. An Acadian celebration.
