Tonight or Never

  "You do realize that Chloe is barely speaking to me. What must she think of me?"

  The countess waved aside her concerns. "She will get over it; Chloe never holds a grudge. In that regard she is like her grandmere." She looked at the Zambeau pointedly.

  Zu-Zu pouted. "You have never truly forgiven me for that one time with Maurice."

  "I do not wish to discuss that subject."

  "Oh, but let us finally get it out in the open, my dear Simone. What can it matter after all these years?"

  As usual, whenever this topic came up between them, the countess's temper began to rise. Zu-Zu could always tell because her friend's movements became choppy, her speech brisk.

  "I have told you I will not discuss it!"

  "Yes, we will." Zu-Zu put down her cup. "Why have you not married Maurice? Do you not love him?"

  "Of course I love him! That has nothing to do with it!"

  "Is it because of what you think happened between us all those years ago?"

  "Non." The countess took a deep breath. "I have forgiven him for that."

  "How very noble of you, Simone; especially since there was nothing to forgive him for!"

  The countess looked at her incredulously. "Do you expect me to believe that? Zu-Zu, you slept with everyone! Why not Maurice? He was at your chateau that night."

  Zu-Zu slammed her palm down on the table; tea sloshed over the sides of the cups onto the lace tablecloth. "I did not sleep with everyone!"

  The countess made a scoffing sound.

  "All right… I slept with almost everyone—but not with Maurice."

  "If what you say is true, then why not?"

  "I wanted to, make no mistake—he was and is a very handsome, charming man. He would not."

  This was surprising. In his younger years, Maurice had a reputation as a bon vivant, a gourmand of fine women. "But why?"

  "He loved you, Simone." Zu-Zu sighed deeply. "He has always loved you."

  The countess was struck dumb. Maurice, faithful? Back then?

  Zu-Zu sat back in her seat. "I never could really understand it."

  "You mean he never…"

  "Absolutely not."

  The countess was silent as she digested this bit of information.

  "So if it wasn't because of that night, then why haven't you married him, Simone?"

  "Oh, well, it keeps a man on his toes, does it not? They so enjoy the chase; I think it is more enticing to them to be kept waiting."

  "For twenty years?"

  "I do not wish to discuss this." The countess sulked.

  "Very well." Zu-Zu sighed. "As far as John is concerned, I still think you should give it up. He is simply not interested, darling, and Chloe doesn't seem to want to play the possessive wife."

  The countess thought it over. Perhaps she should let nature take its course.

  "Simone?"

  "Yes?" she answered distractedly.

  The Zambeau fanned herself in an altogether laconic manner, the edges of her lips twitching. "Do you think Jean-Jacques is too young for me?"

  Her friend gazed at her incredulously. "Zu-Zu!"

  Relaxing in his usual place in the delightful conservatory, Maurice Chavaneau was beginning to think the choice spot was the mecca of hidden motives at Chacun à Son Goût.

  He smiled obscurely.

  "How on earth did you get it from her?"

  Chloe had just handed John the model ship. They were relaxing in their private suite before dinner. She smiled smugly.

  "I made a little wager with her concerning the outcome of the race."

  A small smile played about John's sensual lips. "You wagered on me, Chloe-cricket? Even after you saw the black?"

  "Of course!"

  He shook his head, laughing. "It was a good thing Schnapps was in the road, then… or was that planned to throw the sheik off his stride?" His raised his eyebrow.

  Chloe laughed. "I hadn't thought of it, to tell you the truth; but I was determined to pry the model off of her head. She was very reluctant to offer up the prize."

  John pulled her onto his lap. "And how did you get her to do it?" He nuzzled her cheek.

  "That was easy. You know that ugly little horse you have on your old bureau? The metal one with the yellow paste eyes? Well, she said she thought the piece would look stunning in her hair, especially during a race. I agreed, naturally."

  He stilled of a sudden. "You didn't wager that, did you?" he asked faintly.

  "Yes." She turned on his lap, noting his curious silence. "What is it? You weren't fond of it, were you?"

  "It was my mother's," he said quietly.

  Chloe felt instant remorse. "Oh, John, I had no idea!"

  "Those are not paste eyes, sweet; they're yellow diamonds."

  Chloe stared at him, stunned. "You had that horse all those years you were trying to survive… when you were starving? And it was real! Why didn't you sell it? At least you would have had something to live on."

  "I was just a boy; I was afraid if I showed it to someone they would steal it from me or else cheat me out of it." He hesitated. "That's not the true reason I kept it."

  "Why then?"

  "It was all I had left of… of who I was. Long ago, my father had given it to my mother and it was the one thing she would not give up. She held it clutched tight to her when she died, still calling his name." A small line appeared in his brow. "Even after what he had done to us, she still… she forgave him." He took a deep breath. "I never understood it."

  Chloe cupped his cheek, her eyes filling up. He had never understood it, yet he had still kept the small horse. It was no mystery to Chloe.

  John had kept the figurine because he loved his mother.

  "I'm so sorry, John; I had no idea. Well, it's a good thing you won the race." She tried to smile at him.

  His focus returned to her. "I would never have given it up in either case. Even if I had to offer her a hundred times the value of the piece."

  Chloe felt even worse. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I only wanted to get your ship back."

  John suddenly realized how upset she was.

  He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "I know that—don't worry about it, Chloe. It was a very nice gesture on your part and I thank you for it."

  Chloe's palms captured his handsome face, bringing it to her for another kiss. "I'll just be more careful in future with what I wager."

  "That is very wise," he murmured, capturing her mouth.

  It wasn't until a few hours later that Chloe realized that he had saved the horse the same way he had saved her carrot.

  A few nights later, John and Chloe decided to resume their vigil for the Black Rose.

  Enough time had gone by since the last rescue; the man would have rested up and been ready to face the new French army with yet another bold plan of liberating the condemned.

  They had taken their places by the side of the house, concealed and ready to wait the night, when John noticed that Chloe had forgotten her cloak.

  "Go and get it, Chloe; the nights are still chilly."

  "It's not too bad," she stated, not wanting to miss a moment of the excitement, should any occur.

  "It is very damp and we just might be here all night. There's no telling if he'll show tonight. I don't want you catching a chill. Now go."

  Chloe put her hands on her hips. "You can't just order me about!"

  He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow.

  "Really, John, you are becoming insufferable."

  He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the night. "Thank you, madam."

  "What if I miss something?"

  He snorted in exasperation. "What are you going to miss in five minutes? The play of moonlight on the drive?"

  "Very funny, my lord. You do promise if something happens, you'll wait for me?"

  "Yes, I will wait for you. Now go up and get it."

  Reluctantly, Chloe left, entering the house through a side door. Taking a back stairway, she quickly
raced to her room, retrieving the garment.

  Throwing it about her shoulders, she decided it would be faster if she took the west wing, for there was a servant stairway that led very close to the spot from where they were watching the drive.

  She quickly skipped down the darkened hallway heading to the west wing.

  Thankfully, due to the late hour, it was very quiet; most of the guests were already sleeping. While the cloak covered her unconventional outfit, she didn't want to be forced to explain her presence at such an hour alone in this corridor. Lord knew what kind of rumors that would inspire. First they would wonder why she wasn't with her new husband; then they would wonder who she was going to visit.

  The chances of running into someone were quite slim, so she was very surprised when a door suddenly opened and a man stepped into the hall, gently closing the door behind him.

  The top button of his breeches was undone and the front of his white silk shirt hung open, revealing a tan, muscular chest. Long, jet-black hair draped to his shoulders in a silken slide. He was devastatingly handsome.

  Who was he?

  Surely she would have remembered someone who looked like him among the guests?

  It was obvious that he was just returning to his room from an assignation. Chloe glanced at the door he had exited, trying to recall who was in that particular room.

  Ah, yes, the lovely widow, Lady Courtney. No wonder the man had been so engaged.

  As she came abreast of him, he straightened from closing the door, obviously just as surprised as she was to see someone in the hall.

  His eyes were robin's egg blue.

  Even in the darkened hallway, they glittered palely in contrast to his jet hair. Staring at those eyes, Chloe almost walked into him. Odd, but they looked familiar somehow.

  "Excuse me." Chloe spoke first. "I didn't see you standing there."

  "Think nothing of it, madam," a deep, smooth voice responded.

  Now that she was abreast of him, she could see him quite clearly, and he was a stunning male. Sinful almost.

  She briefly wondered who he had come with, then shrugged as she resumed her way down the hall. John was waiting for her and she didn't want to miss seeing the Black Rose!

  The man passed by her and continued strolling down the hallway.

  A sexy, slow smile inched across his enigmatic face.

  She had not even recognized him…

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

  It was a tired husband and wife that trudged back up the stairs later that night.

  They had waited almost the entire night and the Black Rose had not shown himself.

  Around four-thirty, John had called a halt to the vigil, saying he didn't think he would be coming. It was too close to dawn and the man would not risk discovery in daylight.

  Chloe was disappointed he hadn't appeared, but glad to be seeing the right side of her bed. She could barely keep her eyes open, and the dampness of evening had seeped right into her bones. John had been right about the cloak; she was glad she had retrieved it.

  They both undressed rather quickly, scurrying under the warm covers to cuddle together in the predawn hours.

  Chloe fell asleep almost instantly. John, despite being as tired as his wife, could not seem to drop off.

  He rolled over on his pillow for the umpteenth time. Finally turning on his side, he watched Chloe as she slept next to him.

  In the dim, predawn light, he could just make out her sweet features.

  She was lying on her side, facing him. One of her hands was resting next to her face, palm up, fingers curled, in an innocent, childlike picture of repose.

  He smiled faintly to himself. He had seen her sleeping like this for almost her entire life. It struck him then that he had known Chloe that long. Almost half of his life and nearly all of hers. He knew her moods, her likes, her dislikes, her sense of humor, her outlook, her opinions, her sense of justice, and since their marriage, he knew much more. He knew her intimately as a man knows a woman. Her passions. Her abandon. Her touch. Her feel. The taste of her. The scent of her. How she quivered inside when he entered her…

  He sights fell to her lips. Those full, soft lips that he so—

  What was going on inside her?

  He watched her silently.

  She was holding something back from him.

  John wasn't sure when the idea had first entered his head, but since it had, he couldn't seem to get rid of it. It had been bothering him—a nagging, below-the-surface irritation that wouldn't go away.

  In fact, it was getting louder and louder.

  Gently, so as not to wake her, he brushed his mouth across those sweet, lush lips. Lips that knew how to deliver heaven.

  Then he eased out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleep.

  Donning his green robe, he padded barefoot across the room. Silently, he opened the French doors to the balcony and walked outside.

  The sun was just coming up on the eastern horizon. Its rays spread across the orchards and gardens of Chacun a Son Goût, bathing the surrounding treetops and the forests beyond in soft gold light. Everything was so still and peaceful.

  Waiting to awaken.

  A shiver went down his spine.

  He felt so much a part of everything around him that he wondered if he too…

  He shook off the odd perception, watching a small rabbit hop across the lawn, its reddish ears twitching.

  A Chloe-rabbit.

  He smiled tenderly, his thoughts turning inward once more.

  They had come out on this balcony that one night. He had set her on this ledge and made love to her. The moonlight had bathed her in silver just as the golden sunlight bathed him now.

  And he had realized how much he wanted this life, this estate, this—

  Contemplatively, he ran his finger along the edge of the stone wall where she had sat looking down at him, watching him in that Chloe-cat way of hers. He imagined he could still feel her heat infusing the cold stone even now.

  What was she holding back from him?

  He didn't know, but whatever it was, Lord John Sexton decided he wanted it.

  "I am disappointed in you."

  Seven handsome Cyndreac heads bowed in shame.

  "But we have tried everything, Marquis Chavaneau!" As usual, Adrien spoke for the group. "Nothing seems to be working."

  "Oui!" Jean-Jacques stepped in, coming to their collective defense. "She is not interested in an escapade with us."

  Maurice threw his arms up in the air, looking at the ceiling for divine help. "Of course she is not interested! The idea was to make John think she is interested! And you call yourselves Frenchmen!"

  The seven curly heads dropped down again.

  "What else can we do?" Jean-Claude asked the older and wiser man. It was rumored that the marquis was quite knowledgeable in the ways of amour.

  Maurice sighed. "You must make John jealous! Arrange for him to catch you with his wife in a compromising situation!"

  "That would not be right to Chloe," Jean-Jules said solemnly. "What if he blames her?"

  The marquis began shaking his head and muttering in French under his breath. "The youth of today know nothing! What would your father think of you, hmm? Not to be able to make one Englishman jealous over his woman!"

  The seven heads sank lower.

  "Perhaps we could take her into the maze?" Jean-Claude ventured.

  "Yes! And then we could remove our shirts as if—"

  "Mon Dieu! All of you? He'll take out a pistol and murder the lot of you on the spot!"

  The Cyndreacs turned deathly pale. They all swallowed at once.

  It was all Maurice could do not to laugh out loud. The frisky pups were about to get their tails clipped and they didn't even know it.

  Maurice shook his head back and forth, sorrowfully. "Non, non, I see now it will not work—best we forget this idea for now."

  They sat straight up in their chairs. "But we wish to help you!"

&n
bsp; "Yes, you were great friends with our papa."

  "The countess has always been very kind to us."

  "We will think of a way to entice Chloe—"

  Maurice put up his hands to stop the sincere outpouring. "I see there is much you need to learn, my boys, on the mysterious subject of romance."

  "We live for romance!" they all shouted.

  "Good. That is good. A Frenchman should live for romance. However… there are some nuances you need to learn. Ordinarily your father would have taught you; unfortunately that cannot happen." Maurice let that thought sink in.

  Adrien rubbed his ear. "What you say is true; we could use some guidance."

  Maurice nodded.

  "Marquis, in light of the relationship our families have always enjoyed… would you be willing to teach us?"

  "Moi?" Maurice asked, feigning surprise.

  "Oui, you are very knowledgeable, and Papa always trusted you."

  "Hmm." Maurice pretended he was thinking it over. The brothers leaned closer to him, eagerly awaiting his answer, their faces alight with hope.

  "Yes, I believe I will."

  Identical grins lit up their faces.

  "With some conditions, of course," Maurice added shrewdly.

  "Conditions? What conditions, Marquis?" Jean-Paul gave him a worried look.

  "Tonight, the countess is staging an elaborate 'end of party' ball in the hopes that the ton will get the message that the house party is over and move on. I will be leaving sometime at the end of the ball to return to my estate in Somerset."

  Adrien was puzzled. "Does the countess know this?"

  "Not yet," Maurice replied mysteriously. "That is not your concern, however. If you wish my guidance then you must be willing to listen to me as you would have your father—for I will accept no less."

  They were all silent at that pronouncement.

  "You may enjoy the ball, naturally, but you will follow me to Somerset directly after. There you will be instructed in proper deportment for men such as yourselves."

  That did not sit so well with the young counts. They were used to their freedom. Indeed, they had run with it.

  "How do you ever expect to catch a worthy bride if you continue this way? What have you to offer?"

  They hadn't thought of that.