Nan Ryan - The Countess Misbehaves

“I know what that is on your upper arm!” Madeleine hotly accused. Armand de Chevalier smiled, said nothing. “How dare you wear my garter for all the world to see!” she raged.

“Now, Maddie, no one but you and I know that it’s your garter.”

Unconvinced, she charged, “You are bent on ruining my life simply because I…because we…”

“Made memorable love in a summer’s storm?” He softly finished her sentence.

“Shhh!” she hissed. “Give that garter back to me!”

“Can’t do that,” he said, lifting then lowering his wide shoulders. “It’s my good luck charm. Besides, it’s all I have of you.”

“It’s all you’ll ever have of me, de Chevalier!”

“Ah, you’re wrong there, Maddie,” he said with irritating cockiness. “You know you are.” A sudden warmth radiated from his eyes when he added, “One day we’ll be together again.”

Countess Madeleine Cavendish swallowed with difficulty. Then she narrowed her eyes and promised him in a soft, acid-laced voice, “You’re the one who’s wrong, Creole. That day will never come!”

“Yes, it will, chérie.” He smiled seductively and predicted, “Perhaps sooner than you think.”

Nan Ryan “writes beautifully. Her style, plotting and characterizations are skillfully developed.”

—Wichita Falls Times Record

WANTING YOU

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For

Katonna Smothermon

A super talented lady, a beautiful woman, an excellent mother and a treasured friend.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Liverpool, England

August 1856

She knew he was trouble the first time she saw him.

And the first time the Countess of Ballarat saw Armand de Chevalier, was as she boarded White Star’s luxury liner, the S. S. Starlight, for the long voyage to America.

The Countess, known to most as Lady Madeleine Cavendish, lifted her skirts, stepped onto the ship’s long gangway, and then paused to look up. She immediately spotted a tall, strikingly handsome, raven-haired man lounging against the ship’s railing and boldly giving her the once-over.

He smiled disarmingly at her. But the wise noblewoman did not return his smile. Instead, she quickly looked away. She had no wish to encourage him in any manner. She knew his kind well. Too well. She had married just such a man when she was a young, impulsive girl and it had been a disaster.

Lady Madeleine’s delicate jaw hardened at the unpleasant recollection. She had fallen deeply in love with him and the passion between them had raged white hot. In his arms, she had experienced incredible ecstasy, but it had lasted only for a very brief time. They had barely returned from the Italian honeymoon before her bridegroom—a charming commoner her mother had warned her not to wed—began behaving as if he had no wife. He began drinking heavily and gambled away great sums of money. Money that was hers, not his. Worse, he was soon seeking diversion in the arms of other women, humiliating her. It was a nightmare of a kind she was determined never to experience again.

After three miserably unhappy years as the neglected wife, Madeleine Cavendish had been widowed at age twenty-one when her wayward husband was killed in a drunken brawl over another woman.

Now as she ascended the ship’s gangway, Lady Madeleine impatiently shook her bonneted head to clear her mind of those events. The action turned her thoughts to the present.

Was the dark, dangerous-looking man still at the ship’s railing? When she reached the huge vessel’s polished teak deck, she couldn’t restrain herself from casting a quick glance in his direction.

He was, to her genuine surprise, still there. Still staring. And still smiling at her in a disturbingly affable way that enforced her earlier impression that he was indeed trouble. Uncharacteristically flustered, Lady Madeleine made a misstep and almost fell. In an instant, the tall, jet-haired admirer was at her side, steadying her.

The startled Countess abruptly experienced an unwanted rush of excitement when the dark stranger’s powerful right arm went around her waist and he pressed her close against his side. Awed by the granite hardness of his lean male frame, she suddenly felt very small and vulnerable.

Lady Madeleine looked up with intent to thank him, but his flashing midnight eyes arrested her so completely she could not speak. She said nothing. Snared by his hot gaze, she felt her heart begin to pound alarmingly and she knew that she must, on this long journey to America, stay as far away from this sinfully handsome man as possible.

After a long, awkward moment, she finally recovered. “Let me go!” she ordered in a most imperial tone.

She was totally caught off guard when he immediately released her. Struggling to regain her balance and her dignity, the Countess was shocked and highly incensed that this tall stranger offered no further assistance. Instead he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, laughing.

He was laughing at her, the rude cad!

Nonplussed, she opened her mouth to hurl stinging oaths at him, but closed it before saying a word. To censure someone with such abominably bad manners and such a twisted sense of humor would be a waste of her precious time. He wasn’t worth the effort.

She lifted her noble chin, looked daggers at him, turned about and haughtily flounced away.

Continuing to laugh, an amused Armand de Chevalier watched the angry woman storm off down the crowded promenade deck. Armand liked what he saw. Very much. He decided then and there that he would get to know the lady better during the crossing. He had no idea who she was, but he knew that she possessed a remarkable beauty and fiery spirit.

His kind of woman.

Their face-to-face meeting had been brief, but her image was indelibly etched into his memory. She was, he surmised, about five-six or five-seven. He stood six-two in his stocking feet and the top of her head reached the level of his mouth. Her hair, dressed elaborately atop her head and partially concealed beneath a fussy hat, was an intriguing shade of red-gold. He could all too easily envision it spilling down around her bare shoulders.

A muscle danced in Armand’s tanned jaw and his chest grew tight at the pleasant fantasy.

She was such an uncommon beauty. Her pale skin was as flawless as fine alabaster and her large eyes were a deep emerald green. Her mouth, even tightened in anger as it had been when her face was close to his, was full-lipped and decidedly tempting.