Adele Ashworth (35 page)

That was boldly exaggerated, she realized, but she could think of nothing else to explain her agitation.

“Really.” Madeleine regarded her frankly from head to knees where they became hidden beneath the tea table, her fingers gently caressing the velvet settee seat, her expression only mildly curious. “So you must have handed it to him on a platter?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Madeleine’s forehead creased delicately. “Your heart. Did you give it to him on a platter?”

She had absolutely no idea what that meant. The French could be so odd with their use of English words. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Madeleine’s rose-painted lips turned up again minutely, and her thick lashes fell mischievously over her fair eyes. “Are you in love with him?”

That question made her queasy. Perspiration made her back sticky and her petticoats cling to her legs, and suddenly she wished she were standing naked on a deserted, tropical island in a rain shower—far away from home, far away from France, far away from everything.

But Madeleine waited patiently, and she supposed she needed to be honest with her about this as well. “No, of course I don’t love him,” she replied with a dry mouth and a suddenly speeding pulse. “What we feel for each other is an acute case of physical attraction that is now moving toward a destructive end.”

She caught just a hint of disbelief on the Frenchwoman’s face, which irritated her.

“Well,” Madeleine concluded, “since you do not love him, you could not have handed him your heart on a platter; therefore, I fail to see how he could have sliced it into pieces.”

Natalie’s mouth dropped open to say something brash, or perhaps to correct the woman’s reasoning, and then she abruptly closed it again. She had no idea how to respond, so it was indeed a relief when Marie-Camille knocked at the door at that moment, then entered pushing a tea cart.

Silently she rolled it toward them, stopping beside the tea table. With swift hands, she placed a tray of breads, sliced tomatoes, and cold breast of duck on the polished mahogany surface, then followed it with a cheese board, a platter of sliced chocolate cake, silverware, small china plates, lace napkins, and two tall glasses of lemonade. That done, she looked expectantly at Madeleine who dismissed her with a nod, and she discreetly took her leave.

“Please,” Madeleine directed with a slight lift of her palm.

Natalie looked at the platter of sliced tomatoes, sliced chocolate cake, sliced duck, thought about sliced hearts, and nearly laughed from the constricting tension within her. Sometimes life was absurd.

Placing her fan to her side, she skipped the preliminaries, reached for a plate, and helped herself to cake. Her thoughtful hostess grinned and did the same.

“So,” Madeleine began after her first small bite, “you do not love him but you seduced him. What did you do next?”

Natalie swallowed the creamy chocolate icing as if it were paper. The Frenchwoman’s manner was becoming quite indelicate, and yet Natalie understood the attempt to help her sort through her frayed emotions.

She shook her head negligibly. “I don’t know. And I didn’t exactly seduce him,” she corrected. “I only just kissed him. He took it from there.”

Madeleine peeked at her from under her lashes. “Men usually have no trouble with that. And yet you let him so you were also responsible.”

Natalie swallowed her third bite of cake and set her plate back on the tea table, her appetite greatly diminished. “Of course it shouldn’t have happened,” she acknowledged in a small, shaky voice. “It was immoral, and I am ruined.”

Madeleine scoffed. “That’s nonsense. You are no longer a virgin. That is all. An intimate experience doesn’t ruin you for anything.”

Natalie felt her bones grow rigid. “It has ruined me for marriage.”

“Only if you allow your indiscretion known to your husband, who would have to be someone other than Jonathan.”

Natalie tilted her head in mystification. “I could never lie to my husband, and the thought of marrying Jonathan is ludicrous.”

Madeleine placed what was left of her cake on the tea table as well, then leaned on one long, graceful arm as she draped the other across her legs, allowing her tapered, manicured fingers to dangle in the air. “There are ways to hide your lack of virginity from a future husband. But before we discuss that, would you please tell me why marriage to Jonathan is ludicrous?”

The woman was so utterly direct. It unruffled her, and yet Madeleine’s candidness had much to do with why she’d chosen to seek her counsel in the first place. Temperately she announced, “Jonathan is too much of a wayward spirit. He’s . . . experienced.”

Madeleine’s features grew broad with amazement. “And this is bad?”

That stumped her. “Of course it’s bad. I cannot trust him because of his promiscuous reputation.” She hesitated, then said sadly, “He has a past.”

Madeleine began swinging her foot gingerly beneath her gown, causing the silk to shimmer from sunlight shining on it through the windows. “Everyone has a past of some kind, Natalie, including you.”

“I don’t have a past.”

“If you marry, and it is not to Jonathan, you will have a past.”

The statement slapped her with a crude, logical truth. Disgrace burned in her anew, and she recoiled from it, raising her fan again and brushing it back and forth in front of her face with the hope of keeping her reaction unnoticeable. “The matter is irrelevant,” she said weakly. “I refuse to marry a man who is likely to keep mistresses, and Jonathan could never be faithful to me.”

Now Madeleine seemed genuinely dazed. “Why don’t you think so?”

That exasperated her. “Because of his experience, Madeleine. Why on earth should he cease his rakish behavior, which he seems to enjoy so much, just because he speaks wedding vows to me or anyone?”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t?”

She had no idea how to answer, and she was starting to tire of the questions. Madeleine obviously noticed, for her expression grew serious once more, and she leaned forward to clarify.

“Natalie, most gentlemen of your class marry because it is expected of them. They need heirs, or property given them through a dowry, as well as the convenient sexual outlet marriage provides. Love is rarely a motivating factor for these men in choosing a wife, and they expect to keep a mistress or two while married. Wives usually know this as well, and if they, too, have no deep love for their husbands, they are many times relieved that their husbands look elsewhere for gratification, especially if they’ve carried several children and their bodies are tired.”

“I’m aware of this, Madeleine—”

“I’m sure that you are, but let me finish.” Her tone grew pensive as she carried on. “Jonathan does not need a wife—not, at least, for a dowry or an heir to inherit an estate. He has freedom now and wealth of his own, and can choose his companionship—or lack of it—at his discretion. If he would go so far as to marry you, he would be doing so because he
chose
to. I can’t think of a reason why he would marry you or anyone if he wanted to continue his libertine tendencies. That would only complicate his life.”

Natalie leaned back heavily, feeling the softness of the chair against her spine as her nerves prickled her skin. “Aside from one teasing moment, he’s never formally suggested marriage,” she mumbled, deflated.

The Frenchwoman silently eyed her in deliberate thought, her fingers rubbing absentmindedly along her seat cushion.

“Natalie, this is rather personal, of course, but consider very carefully what I am asking.” She briefly pressed her lips together. “You have been intimate with Jonathan. During this intimate time did he . . . do anything that would prevent you from carrying his child?”

She felt the sharp stab of a sudden, fearful shock. Never once had the thought of carrying his child crossed her mind. The idea was outrageous. Unthinkable. And very plausible. “I-I’m not sure of this.”

Madeleine nodded negligibly as if drawing conclusions of her own, her gaze never wavering as she continued to study her with assessment. “There are a number of things a man or a woman can do during these intimate moments that can very nearly prevent pregnancy. Since this was your first time with a man, it is unlikely you thought of this. Jonathan, however, probably did. If intimate moments occur without planning, the best thing for a man to do is withdraw himself when he reaches . . . a critical point. I’m sure you now understand when this is.” Very softly, and without a shade of embarrassment, she articulated, “If Jonathan did not do this, he most certainly knew he could be giving you his child. And I am also certain, if he did not intend to marry you, he would never have taken that chance.”

Natalie blinked rapidly, startled and blushing fully from the blunt explanation, ashamed at the thought, and if she considered her feelings honestly, warmed somewhere very deep within. She wiped a shaky palm over her forehead, closing her eyes.

“But he knows I won’t marry him. I told him so directly, before this . . . episode.”

“Maybe he thinks you’ll change your mind.”

She dropped her arm to her lap and raised her lashes again, mouth thinned, voice flat with impatience. “He knows how I feel about this, Madeleine. I cannot trust him to be faithful and I refuse to give my heart to someone I can’t trust. I
told
him this.”

“Men can sometimes be very arrogant.”

At last the Frenchwoman understood. Natalie rolled her eyes and spread her hands wide. “Exactly my thoughts.”

“They can also be rather insistent when they want something very desperately.”

“They—” She stopped short and stared. “I’m sure he didn’t want me that desperately.”

Madeleine smiled wryly and reached again for her plate of cake. “Are you? Why?”

The woman was maddening with her incessant questions. “He could have anyone.”

“And yet he wanted you.”

“I was simply there and available to him.”

Madeleine shifted her gaze to her plate. “Natalie, half the world is populated by women. They are all around him, and Jonathan is a very attractive man. As you just said, he could have any number of them at any time.” She meticulously cut away a bite of chocolate cake with her fork, her finely penciled brows furrowed in deep concentration. “I would suspect he’s been faithful to you since you left England, and consider this: he’s had no reason to be. He’s not married to you now. He owes you nothing and still he’s giving himself to you, and you are pushing him away.”

Lifting her fork halfway to her lips, Madeleine paused, glancing up to add incisively, “I wouldn’t begin to presume what his feelings are for you or how he views your relationship. I would suspect one of three things, however. He does not love you and is merely using your time together for nothing more than physical enjoyment and a summer of pleasure. He loves you but is confused by his feelings and does not yet realize this himself. Or he loves you and knows it but will not tell you because he’s afraid you won’t love him in return and he doesn’t want to witness your rejection of him.”

She placed the cake on her tongue, drew her lips across her fork, and chewed slowly, allowing her bold words to be absorbed.

Natalie watched her in silence, devoid of expression, listening in morbid fascination.

“In my experience,” Madeleine continued after swallowing, “men are deathly afraid of rejection by someone they love, much more so than women, and I think this is because their pride and egos are of such great importance to them. This is also why it is more difficult for men to be honest and express their feelings.” She placed her fork on her plate again and lowered her voice to a cool whisper. “Until you trust Jonathan enough to give him your heart you will likely never know what he feels for you beyond casual friendship. But let me ask you this.” She bit the side of her lip, tilting her head. “Regardless of who you marry, do you expect to be faithful to your husband?”

Natalie could hardly breathe. “Yes,” she managed through a clenched throat.

Madeleine smiled again satisfactorily. “So, since this is something you cannot prove, the intent on your part is all anyone can ask for. Including Jonathan. I’m sure you’d ask neither more nor less of him.” Her pale-blue eyes sparkling, she concluded, “Life and love are full of risks, and think how very dull our world would be if nobody took them. Such risks are really what make daily experiences so enjoyable.”

Natalie sat very still, weighted to the chair, unable to suck in an ounce of air, and she wasn’t sure if that was because of the heat, her constricting corset, or the difficult turn of events changing her relationship with a man she didn’t logically want but couldn’t passionately deny. Pulling her eyes from Madeleine’s, she reached for one of the lemonade glasses with a trembling hand, raised it to her lips, and took three full swallows to moisten her dry mouth.

The circumstances were all wrong, indecent, but Madeleine’s conclusions were fair, even perhaps correct. Everything the woman had said made sense. And it scared her.

Natalie set her lemonade and fan on the tea table, stood awkwardly, and walked on unsteady legs to the windows. She gazed out to the green grass and flowers in the park, the sway of oak trees, watched the scramble of pedestrians on the street below, smelled city dust and traffic drifting in with the breeze, felt late-afternoon sunshine on her face.

“How can I place my trust in someone who might grow bored with me and one day regret the past he gave up?” she whispered. “What if I’m just a . . . diversion for him now?”

“You cannot read his mind, Natalie, nor gaze into the future,” Madeleine returned just as quietly. “Nobody knows what will happen in twenty years. Maybe you’ll be so bored with each other you’ll both have separate homes and many lovers.”

Natalie turned to the woman once more, unable to disguise her expression of indecision and worry.

Madeleine softened. “But it is probably more likely you’ll be content and find yourselves more deeply in love than you can imagine you could be. Frankly, I think the two of you are well suited. As for being Jonathan’s diversion, I sincerely doubt this. I cannot fathom why, with a world of women to discover and seduce, he would choose a beautiful virgin for a summer of play. It’s too much effort and not worth his time. It is, however, worth everything if he can romance you into becoming his willing wife, his friend, and his love. That is his risk.”