brimming with a mixture of emotions, not the least of which was a pleasant sense of anticipation.
"Well!" Aimée exclaimed, trying to decide what approach to take. "This should be an exciting experience for you!"
"Sitting still while someone paints me?"
"It's a change certainly." Unable to help herself. Aimée added, "And the company of M'sieur Selkirk should prove highly diverting! Is he not shockingly attractive?"
The sound of her friend's mischievous laughter made Micheline blush. "Aimée, you should be ashamed of yourself. You're married to the handsomest man at court! As for me, I have no interest in Andrew Selkirk or any other man, and well you know it."
"Don't forget the Marquess of Sandhurst," Aimée said recklessly, then immediately regretted the jab. If Micheline became angry, it would only make her more stubborn.
The younger girl turned away to hide her flaming cheeks. "I'll be late. Au revoir."
* * *
The king's second antechamber, located in the old keep, had recently been decorated with frescoes and stuccoes by the Italian artist Primaticcio, who was currently at work on the magnificent Francois I gallery.
At this hour the king was downstairs at his council meeting, so the huge square room was quiet. Micheline entered hesitantly, her eyes immediately finding Andrew Selkirk. He sat at a table that was covered with sheets of heavy paper, an inkhorn, and several white swan's quills. Sunlight poured through the massive windows, lightly gilding the Englishman's hair as he bent over one of the papers, appearing to write.
"Bonjour, m'sieur," Micheline said softly.
He looked up in surprise, then gave her a smile so disarming that her heart skipped. "It's good to see you, madame! You look lovely."
For a moment Micheline forgot to speak. She stood rooted to the spot, watching as he rose and came toward her. Andrew wore a doublet and breeches of unembellished moss-green velvet slashed to reveal hints of white linen, and fine leather boots. She realized that she should walk forward to meet him, but then it was too late. When he lifted her hand and kissed it with warm, firm lips, she had to resist the impulse to flee. Why did this man, who was little more than a stranger, have such an effect on her?
"You are well?" he was asking gently.
"Oh—yes! Of course!"
"Good." He smiled again, which made Micheline dizzy, and continued to hold her hand. The pressure of his fingers was light, but his hand felt very strong. "You look a trifle pale... and I thought I felt you tremble, but it must have been my imagination."
Her face was suddenly hot. Did he know? "I am fine, m'sieur."
"Ah, yes, I see the color in your cheeks now. I hope you didn't think me rude, but I asked only because sitting for a portrait can be surprisingly tiring. One of my subjects complained so loudly that I had to learn to paint while she talked, since she found it impossible to remain still." Andrew gestured with one hand for her to precede him across the chamber. "I hope you'll be comfortable in this chair. If you are not, make a fuss and we'll find a better one."
Micheline found her nerves melting again under the spell of his easy charm. The chair he indicated was positioned so that the sun was at her back, warm and soothing.
"This will be fine," she assured him.
Sandhurst walked over to his table and stared at her for a moment, then returned to adjust the angle of the chair. "The light is very important," he explained. "It must be just right, so we can work only in the early morning and late afternoon."
"Oh." Suddenly Micheline realized that she had uttered nothing but inanities since entering the room. Casting about for a topic she might raise, she heard herself ask, "Who was the lady you painted who was unable to remain both still and silent?"
Sandhurst blinked. All this was much easier when he held the reins of the conversation. "She was only twelve years old at the time, but still qualifies as a lady, if only by title. My subject was Lady Cecily Weston...." He paused, then threw caution to the wind. "Sister to the Marquess of Sandhurst."
"Oh!" Micheline said again. She took a deep breath, but no more words came out. Andrew Selkirk must know the Marquess of Sandhurst! Part of her wanted to ask a dozen questions, but stronger still was her apprehension about the possible answers. In truth, she simply didn't want to think about her future husband yet.