Of One Heart

chapter 21





London, England

April 4, 1533



"You're teasing me... aren't you?" Micheline whispered after a long moment of silence.

"You know I would not jest about something like this." Sandhurst took both her hands in his and found them cold as ice. "I know it's a shock, but I think that once you adjust to the idea, you'll find it quite agreeable."

"Agreeable?" she repeated weakly. "Should I rejoice that you have lied to me since the moment we met? Did everyone know? Were you all laughing at me behind my back?"

Closing his eyes for an instant, he sighed. "No one has laughed at you, fondling, and no one at Fontainebleau knew my true identity except Jeremy. I gather that St. Briac found out toward the end, but—"

"This must be a bad dream!" Micheline exclaimed suddenly, pulling her hands free. "A few minutes ago I was so happy! I felt as if I were coming home, that London was embracing me, because I was with you and this was the place where we would make our life together. Now I learn that I don't know you at all! You're a stranger who has deceived me!"

"Of course you know me!" Sandhurst protested. "The only difference is my surname. Michelle, I love you. Isn't that what counts?"

Tears glistened in her beautiful eyes. "How can I believe you? How can I believe anything you say, ever again?"

He raked a hand through his hair in desperation. "This isn't the place to discuss all of this, and there's a great deal that must be said. Let's go inside. You can see your rooms and freshen up, then we'll sit down and I'll try to explain how all this came about." Sandhurst gave her an engagingly hopeful smile, but Micheline dropped her eyes.

"D'accord," she sighed. "I don't seem to have any choice, do I?"

They walked side by side up the neat gravel pathways that led from the garden to a handsome arched doorway. Sandhurst was alarmed by Micheline's demeanor, for she stayed far away from him and would not even look in his direction.

Inside the great hall, with its carved paneling and beamed ceiling, an old woman and man waited to greet their master. The affection that shone in their eyes bolstered Andrew's spirits.

"Michelle, I'd like you to meet Throgmorton, my head steward, and Mistress Goodwyn, who runs Weston House for me." Smiling at the two servants, he explained, "This is Madame Micheline Tevoulere. She will be staying with us." He wanted to introduce her as his future wife, but couldn't be certain himself if that was still the case.

Mistress Goodwyn, a small, white-haired, rosy-cheeked woman, came forward first to embrace Andrew. Since she had been lady's maid to the Duchess of Aylesbury in her youth and had watched this boy come into the world, it was impossible for her to keep a respectful distance.

"Welcome home, my lord!" She gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek. "I've been worried about you!"

"I appreciate that, Nan. As you can see, I am quite well." He turned then to clasp Throgmorton's outstretched hand. The old man, who had been a page in the last duke's household, was stooped now and nearly bald, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

"We've missed you, my lord," he intoned, then allowed a warm smile to stretch over his wrinkled face. "It's good to see you home safe."

The two head servants exchanged greetings with their guest, who had been watching the previous scene with interest.

"Madame Tevoulere will need a lady's maid, Nan," Sandhurst remarked. "I was thinking of Mary. She seems a sweet girl."

"That's true, my lord, but she's had no training as a lady's maid—"

"I don't mind," Micheline interjected in her perfect, lightly accented English. "I'm not used to having my very own maid, either, so we can learn together."

Mistress Goodwyn pursed her lips. "I'll tell the girl, then. She'll be over the moon, I'll warrant!"

"Would you show Madame Tevoulere to the rose room?"

Then he looked to Throgmorton. "Bartholomew's outside. Why don't you ask him to take her belongings upstairs."

"Aye, my lord." They both nodded.

Micheline followed the old woman up a broad wooden staircase with splendidly carved newel posts, handrails, and balustrade. It was quite unlike the curving stone staircases in France.

"What a magnificent house!" Micheline said to fill the silence.

"Oh, Weston House isn't much compared to Sandhurst Manor, or Aylesbury Castle for that matter, but it's much cozier. Lord Sandhurst bought it himself, you know, with his own earnings from the horses he breeds in Gloucestershire." Reaching the top step, Mistress Goodwyn turned back to look at the young Frenchwoman. "I've served the aristocracy all my life, madame, and Lord Sandhurst is the finest nobleman I've ever known."

"It would seem that he is fortunate to have you."

"Lord Andrew's a love. Even as a child he was a love. And so handsome! If only the duke weren't so mean-spirited... and if the duchess hadn't died, Lord Sandhurst would be a happy man today, just as he was happy as a child." Mistress Goodwyn led Micheline down the corridor, still talking. "That's not to say that he's unhappy, but these troubles with his father have cast a shadow over his life. I've always said that all Lord Andrew needs is the true love of a good woman, but he's slow to trust." She opened a paneled door and stepped aside so that Micheline could enter first.

Micheline could find no response to the housekeeper's speech, so instead, she turned her attention to her spacious, charming room. The gardens and the distant river could be viewed through tall sparkling windows, a few of their diamond panes stained blue and rose. There was an enormous bed with carved ionic posts, and the counterpane, curtains, and valance to the tester were all embroidered in rose and ivory. Pretty pale pink dried rosebuds were scattered among the fresh herbs on the floor.

"It's simply lovely," Micheline murmured.

"A lady's room," nodded Mistress Goodwyn. "It's usually used only when Lady Cicely comes to visit, which isn't often enough to suit me!" Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the visitor from France. "Are you here long?"

Micheline flushed. "I'm not certain, Mistress Goodwyn."

"Well, it's good to have a lady in the house!" she approved. "Would you like a bath?"

"Oui. I mean yes. That would be delightful."

"Is there anything else I can do to assist you, madame?"

"It would please me if you would call me Micheline."

The housekeeper blinked in surprise, then nodded. "As you wish—Micheline." Mistress Goodwyn began to wonder exactly who this girl might be, and why she was here.

* * *

Downstairs Sandhurst was served a frosty tankard of ale and seated himself in the winter parlor to consider what to say to Micheline. Jeremy had gone home, so at least he wasn't there to remind him of the coil he'd managed to ensnarl himself in. The more Andrew thought about it, the more dismal he felt. Why should Micheline ever trust him again? Especially in light of what she'd told him about her philandering husband, he could certainly see her point.

Perhaps a half hour had passed, during which he'd observed serving girls carrying buckets of steaming water upstairs for Micheline's bath, when Throgmorton appeared in the doorway.

"Lady Dangerfield is here to see you, my lord."

Before Sandhurst could tell him to send her away, Iris brushed past the steward and ran to kneel at Andrew's side.

Lifting his brows helplessly, he murmured, "That will be all, Throgmorton."

"Yes, my lord."

Iris was burying her face in his lap, rejoicing in the sensation of the hard muscles of his thighs against her cheek. "Oh, my darling, you are home at last! I have come almost daily, praying that you would have returned, and now my prayers have been answered!"

"I wasn't aware that you were on such intimate terms with God." His tone was dry.

She raised her head and regarded him through narrowed green eyes. "Are you not happy to see me? You left London without a word, which was exceedingly rude of you, but I have overlooked your bad manners. For nearly two months I haven't known if you were alive or dead. I've been frantic!"

"How is Timothy?" he wondered.

"What?"

"Timothy Dangerfield. Your husband." He reached for his tankard of ale, purposely avoiding her eyes.

"Why do you speak of him at such a moment?" She flung herself upward, rubbing her face against his soft doublet. "Have you not missed me, my lord? Have you not hungered for me as I hunger for you?"

"Iris... you are married to another man, and from what I heard in February, Timothy was growing weary of your infidelity. Perhaps it would be prudent for you to turn your attention to your marriage."

"I don't want Timothy!" Now she was sitting in his lap, nuzzling his cheek and ear. "I want you!"

Sandhurst sighed. "There's no point in living in a fantasy world, Iris, which is exactly what you've been doing for the better part of four years. You are another man's wife."

She drew back and stared him. "That never bothered you before! When did you acquire scruples, my lord?"

He had to smile at that. "I don't know that I have, but I have changed in some way. You see, I am in love for the first time in my life, and I hope to make that lady my wife."

Shock struck a blow at Iris's heart, followed immediately by a barrier of disbelief. "What nonsense!" she cried. "You? In love? How ridiculous! Next you'll tell me it's that French whore people are saying the duke is forcing you to marry!"

His brows came together. "That's enough, Iris." He reached up to lift her off his lap. "You'd better leave."

"No! You must listen to me! You are talking such foolishness only because you have been away so many weeks! After you're used to being home again, you'll want things the way they were!" She snuggled against him, searching for his lips and finding them, her arms twined like thin bands of steel around his neck as she pressed her open mouth to his.

Sandhurst's eyes were open as he moved to separate their bodies, but the first thing he saw was Micheline stepping into the doorway. She wore an enchanting gown of yellow silk and her brandy-hued curls arranged over her shoulders. In the first instant she had been smiling tentatively, but then horror transformed her expression. Before Andrew could push Iris away and speak to her, she fled.

* * *

"Damn!"

Iris wondered at his curse. She, too, had seen the girl in the doorway and suddenly felt more curious than amorous. "Was that your lady love?" she inquired archly.

This time Sandhurst wasn't polite. He lifted her up roughly and set her away from him. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"I hope that the rumors I've been hearing aren't true! Don't tell me that you've given in to your father and mean to marry a stranger. I thought that you were a man!"

"Iris, I am asking you to leave." Muscles clenched in his jaw as he stood up. "If you must badger someone, go home and badger your husband. He's earned that honor, and perhaps it will cause him to believe you really care."

With that, Sandhurst strode out of the room, but his outrage ebbed halfway up the staircase. Now he would be dealing with Micheline rather than Iris, and this would be delicate work.

Arriving at her door, he knocked but there was no answer. "Michelle? Are you there?"

Her only response was a muffled sob. Sighing, he opened the door and beheld the woman he loved sitting on the rose and ivory counterpane, weeping as if she might die.

"Please... leave me alone."

He took a deep breath and crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. "I realize that what you saw downstairs just now looked rather incriminating, but I assure you that there is a logical explanation."

Micheline raised her tear-stained face and stared at him angrily. "Oh, yes, I know how adept you men are at explaining such things! I've been all through this before, but the only difference is that my eyes are open now! I won't be made a fool of a second time—and I won't smile docilely while you make a mockery of my honest emotions!"

"For God's sake, Micheline, I am not Bernard Tevoulere!"

"No, that's true. At least he told the truth about his name and his background, and he managed to refrain from engaging in passionate embraces with other women when he was in the same house with me!" Her voice was bitter.

"Christ!" Sandhurst didn't know where to even begin attempting to explain. It had been complicated enough before that scene with Iris, but now...

"Do you know, after talking to your Mistress Goodwyn a while ago, I was feeling quite prepared to listen to your story with an open mind," Micheline was reflecting. "That was what I went downstairs to tell you. Rather pathetic, isn't it? I suppose I must be one of those people who never learn! However, I don't need to be hit over the head to realize the truth. It's very clear now."

"And what is that?" he asked, sensing that he wouldn't like the answer.

"Well, I can't stay here. Obviously you have been playing some sort of game ever since the day you arrived in France. It wasn't enough to arrange a marriage with a stranger; you had to make me fall in love as well! I was right the first time, when I made up my mind to avoid love at all costs. I was right when I told Aimée that it brings more pain than pleasure. You've managed to make my worst nightmare a reality, Andrew!"

"Now, that's enough!" Sandhurst gripped her slim shoulders with strong hands. "You are wrong, Micheline! Why don't you give more credit to your instincts? You trusted me from the moment our eyes first met at Fontainebleau, and you were right!"

She turned her face away, tears dripping onto his fingers. "Let me go."

"Not until you've listened to what I have to say." He sighed harshly. "Won't you look at me, fondling?"

"No," she whispered. "You'll cast some sort of spell on me with your eyes."

Andrew almost laughed at that. "Have it your way." He reached up to brush the back of his forefinger over her wet cheeks. "Please, do not cry."

The sensation of his tanned finger caressing her face filled Micheline with a bittersweet yearning. "I thought you had something to say, my lord."

"So I do, but I wish you wouldn't call me 'my lord.' " She did not answer, and kept her face averted, so Sandhurst plunged onward. "First I should tell you about Iris, or rather Lady Dangerfield. She is part of my past, and that is where I want her—in the past. I never loved her. Michelle, she is nothing compared to you! Perhaps her feelings were stronger than mine and that was what you saw today. I told her that I was in love for the first time in my life and that I mean to be married. When you walked in Iris was... endeavoring to change my mind, but I put her from me immediately!"

Micheline looked at him briefly and arched an eyebrow. "What a coincidence that I just happened to come in at the very instant her lips touched yours—before you pushed her away, of course."

Casting a beseeching gaze heavenward, Sandhurst tried again. "If I were lying, don't you think I could have hatched a better story than this? God's bones, it's so feeble, it has to be the truth!"

There was such desperate honesty in his voice that Micheline's heart was swayed. "Assuming, for the moment, that I did believe you, what about this lady? How long has this friendship between you endured?"

"Oh, perhaps four years, but—"

"How could you be such a beast!" she cried, her violet-blue eyes flashing. "That poor girl! How must she feel, if she has loved you for four long years and suddenly you turn up with a new choice for your wife!"

Sandhurst blinked. Was there no possible escape from this coil? "Iris couldn't have become my wife in any case, Michelle! She's married to another man!"

Her mouth dropped open. "Is there not a person of moral character alive in this world? You speak of your adultery as if it will excuse all your other sins!"

His patience, worn to shreds, tore at that moment. "Enough of this! Am I going to be held accountable for every mistake I ever made up to the night we met? Listen to me, Micheline. My behavior in the past has been far from saintly. However, three nights ago in Paris you wept and begged me to understand why you said certain things and acted the way you did during our weeks at Fontainebleau. Because I love you, I listened to your story with not just an open mind but an open heart as well. I'm asking you now to put aside the pain Bernard caused you and judge me as an individual. I want to tell you what brought me to Fontainebleau, and I ask you to remember that if I had not come under another name, we would not have met at all, for I would never have married a stranger."

Her sensuous lower lip trembled. "I suppose you will tell me next that your strict code of ethics would have prevented you from taking part in an arranged marriage."

"Unfair! Curb your tongue for a few minutes and attend me."

In spite of herself, Micheline felt a shiver of excitement, which was heightened by the sparkle she glimpsed fleetingly in his eyes. "As you command, my lord."

Sandhurst rose to pace the sunlit room. "I'll not claim that my life had been tragic, but I have had my own reasons to distrust love. I never agonized over it. It simply never occurred to me that I could fall in love, and, frankly, I didn't care to. My mother died five years ago, but even when she was alive and I was young, there was no warmth between my parents. As for the duke, few people could surpass his talent for appearing singularly unlovable. And there are other family members who have helped to spur my desire for independence. I went away to Oxford at sixteen and have lived on my own ever since."

"What about the sister you painted who couldn't sit still?" Micheline wondered.

"Cicely?" He looked back, his features softening. "She's my one regret in this estrangement from my father. But this isn't the time for all the details of my family relations. First things first." Andrew wandered back across the room and paused next to the bed. "I never gave this much thought until lately, but I suppose that the walls I erected between myself and my father carried over into other areas. That's why my relationship with Lady Dangerfield was so convenient. It met certain of my needs, and yet I never had to open my heart...."

"What made you seek this arranged marriage with me?" Micheline asked softly, puzzled.

"I didn't! The duke—my father—arrived here one day in February and announced the bloody thing to me! He and the king had made all the plans, and if I didn't go through with it, all the family estates and wealth would pass to my illegitimate twit of a half brother, Rupert Topping."

"But I was told that you had a weakness for Frenchwomen!"

Sandhurst smiled dryly. "I know. St. Briac mentioned that. Quite amusing. I, on the other hand, was told that someone in the French court wanted to get rid of you and had asked King Henry to find you an English husband. Since he is looking for French help with the pope regarding his divorce, he was happy to oblige. Enter my father, who had been nagging me to marry and provide him with an heir. I was caught like a rabbit in a trap."

"I don't understand! Why were we told different stories?"

"Who knows?" He shrugged. "My instincts tell me that Anne d'Heilly was behind the plan. Francois's unrequited desire for you was beginning to worry her. However, it hardly seems important now. Once the thing was agreed upon, it took on a life of its own."

Sandhurst paused, staring out the window. "At that point I felt trapped but was determined to wriggle free. I decided to tell my father to go to the devil and take King Henry with him. I didn't care if I lost the family wealth... until Jeremy reminded me that Rupert would have everything that rightfully would have gone to my children. He had a point. Odds were that I probably would marry one day, and I did want children. I couldn't agree to marry a stranger for that reason alone, though, so Jeremy and I hit on a compromise."

It all fell into place in Micheline's mind then. "You decided to go to France and have a look at me," she supplied.

Andrew laughed softly. "It seemed a great adventure at the time, and it was a perfect counter-strategy against my father." He dropped down beside her on the bed and lifted one of Micheline's delicate hands. "To be honest, I never expected anything to come of it. I half hoped I'd find you repulsive so that I would feel completely justified in spitting in the duke's face... and theoretically in the king's as well."

She felt the corners of her mouth turning up. "It didn't quite work out the way you planned, did it?"

"Oh, Michelle." Sandhurst closed his eyes for a moment as a warm rush of emotion swept over him. "I think I was lost when I first saw you on the staircase at Fontainebleau. I didn't even know who you were! I was standing with Anne d'Heilly. I asked her your name, and when she replied, I was stunned. Of course, I wasn't thinking in terms of love then. What drove me mad for so long was your seeming indifference! Every time you pushed me away and declared that you were betrothed to the Marquess of Sandhurst, I burned with jealousy."

"For yourself?" she murmured, swallowing irrepressible laughter.

"That's what Jeremy kept saying. He'd shout. 'But that's you!" ' Andrew chuckled at the memory. "I didn't care. All I knew was that you were rejecting me for a stranger. It drove me mad, and I was determined that if I couldn't win you on my own merit, there would be no wedding."

All of Micheline's outraged anger seemed to be melting away, but enough doubt lingered to prompt her to wonder, "Andrew, how can you be certain that your feelings for me are rooted in love rather than in the challenge of winning me?"

"I'm not a boy; I'm a grown man. I may not have been well acquainted with love in the past, but I am wise enough to recognize it now." Leaning forward, his mouth grazed her cheek. "In any case, I could ask the same of you. You thought you loved Tevoulere, but in Paris you told me that you never knew the meaning of the word until you met me. How do I know that you are not merely infatuated?"

"Point taken." She smiled. "I suppose the time has come for both of us to abandon logic and listen to our hearts."

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Let us say that... I understand."

"Can we forget about the past"—Andrew kissed her parted lips gently—"and make a fresh beginning?"

"Yes, Lord Sandhurst, I think we can."

His arms encircled her body with tantalizing slowness, until they were embracing. Micheline moaned with a mixture of relief and desire as their mouths came together. The past few hours she had felt like a ship cut loose from its mooring, but now she was home again.

"Madame?" A knock sounded at the door.

Sighing in frustration, Sandhurst got up to answer it. "Yes, Throgmorton, what is it?"

"Oh, excuse me, my lord, I didn't know you were here!" The old man actually appeared to blush. "It's just that—dinner is served... and Master Topping has arrived. He's already taken a place at the table."