"I'm sorry." Micheline gazed at him sadly and it seemed that she could see his soul in the depths of his eyes. She wanted to put out her hand and caress his arm, feel the warmth of his skin. All afternoon she had been beset by sudden waves of happiness. Never in her life had she known such pleasure as she felt in Andrew's company, especially now that they were isolated from the rest of the world. Sipping her wine, Micheline found it astonishingly easy to shut out all the warning voices in her mind.
For his part, Sandhurst was making an effort to listen to his own conscience, but this situation sorely tried his powers of resistance. She sat within touching distance, guileless yet sensual, sipping her wine as if they had lived together for a lifetime. Firelight played over her hair, which spilled in long, loose curls over her shoulders but did not obscure the creamy curves of her breasts above the bodice of her gown. Farther down, green velvet tapered in to accentuate Micheline's waist. Sandhurst's eyes wandered to her trim ankles and slim feet while he imagined the rest.
She looked over with a dreamy smile. "This is nice, isn't it? I'm rather glad the queen didn't come. This cottage is a welcome change from the crowds and space of the chateau."
With an effort he forced himself to remember the issues at hand. Suddenly he sighed harshly and said, "Perhaps I'm slow, but I still don't understand why you are so determined to marry the Marquess of Sandhurst. Is there a reason why you don't want to love your husband?"
Micheline blinked as if he'd offended her. "I don't see why you had to bring that up now!"
"What better time?" he shot back, suddenly determined to erect barriers between them.
"I don't believe there is any right time for questions such as yours, m'sieur!" Eyes flashing, she sat up straight in her chair. "Why should I tell you things that even my dearest friends do not demand to know?"
His own gaze softened. "I think you know the answer to that, Micheline."
She felt like sobbing. There was something between her and Andrew Selkirk, but whatever it was, it had no future. For this one day she would have liked to enjoy their relationship for its own sake. Why did he insist on asking questions that she could not answer? It was impossible for her to tell anyone about Bernard's infidelities; her heartache and humiliation were still too acute. Staring at the fire, Micheline felt an abrupt surge of anger. This man had no right to demand that she bare her soul to him, and she had no obligation to tell him the truth..
"D'accord," Micheline said heatedly. "If you must know, the reason I cannot marry for love is because I cannot forget my dear husband Bernard. I shall love him through eternity, and thus it is impossible for me to give my heart to another man."
Sandhurst's brows flew up. "Really! Are you certain?"
Somehow, she managed to meet his intent gaze. "Absolutely."
"That's very touching, Micheline, but I don't believe it."
"That is very unfortunate, m'sieur!" she exclaimed. "And now it is my turn to ask you a question!"
"I can't wait," Sandhurst said dryly.
"You told me the other night that you painted the sister of the Marquess of Sandhurst. Please tell me what you know about him."
"Surely you don't expect me to sing the praises of my rival!"
"You and I are supposed to be friends, aren't we? I wasn't aware that you were competing for my hand in marriage."
He had to admire her nerve. Smiling, he murmured, "Now you know my secret."
"Do not tease me! I would appreciate it if you would simply be kind enough to answer my question!"
Color stained her cheeks and her eyes sparkled in a way that Sandhurst found frankly arousing. So much passion was hidden within Micheline that even she was not aware of.
"You ought to find out these things for yourself before you pledge your heart, fondling," he said gently, "but I can tell you that Lord Sandhurst is not an ogre. He's not old and fat and boring, if that's what's worrying you. As for his positive qualities... I'm not really qualified to list them."
Micheline watched in frustration as Andrew rose to check the pigeons. Helplessly her eyes wandered over his lean hips below the white shirt that was tucked carelessly into his breeches.
"They're almost ready," he announced, turning to find