loved nothing more than riding. On horseback they could reach Calais more quickly, and since the weather was fine, what was the point of a coach?
Once they were out of Paris, Andrew watched as she galloped ahead. She wore a ladylike habit of hyacinth-blue velvet, and her curls were protected from the wind by a pearl-studded gold crispinette and a velvet cap, but Micheline's manner was that of a free-spirited young girl.
"What a wonderful day!" she exclaimed, laughing as she looked back over a shoulder. "Don't dawdle, you two! We've a long way to go!"
Even from a distance he could see the sparkle in her eyes. "Dear God, I hope she won't feel obliged to change once she learns she's to be a marchioness," he murmured.
"What's that?" Culpepper asked, his own gaze riveted on Micheline.
"I said, hurry up! Have you no shame? Do you want to be left in the dust by a female?"
Sandhurst was laughing now himself, and urging his steed forward. The sun struck sparks on his hair as he drew alongside Micheline and reached out to briefly catch her hand.
"I am the happiest lady in France!" she proclaimed, beaming at the man she loved.
He arched a brow. "I only hope you will express corresponding sentiments when you are in England."
Micheline laughed. "How could I not? I shall be Madame Selkirk then!"
Behind them Jeremy Culpepper rolled his eyes and wondered if he'd ever see this coil unsnarled....
* * *
It had been dark for an hour when the three travelers stopped at a quiet auberge called the Levrette, near the village of Poix. The place appeared clean, which was a change from most inns, and the food smelled appetizing.
First, they ate in the common room. There was a rich potage served on pewter dishes covered with thick chunks of bread. Micheline ate as heartily as the men, enjoying the mixture of veal, beef, mutton, bacon, and vegetables. They drank strong sour wine from pewter cups, then Sandhurst bade the innkeeper show them their rooms. By then Micheline was glad to escape, for the stares of the other male guests, including two ruddy-cheeked monks, were making her nervous.
"Your chambers are at the end of the corridor, on the right." The innkeeper, carrying tankards of wine and ale to other guests, motioned vaguely with his bald head. "They're the only two I have that adjoin."
Sandhurst glanced back at Jeremy. "Go and see to the horses, won't you, Playfair?"
"But—" Color flared in his cheeks. "As you wish, master!"
Upstairs, Micheline followed right behind Andrew into the first room and put down her bag of possessions on the grander of two beds. When the straw tick made a crunching sound, she tried not to wince.
"A far cry from Fontainebleau," she said, smiling bravely, "but it won't matter as long as you're next to me."
Sandhurst crossed the chamber and opened a connecting door. "I appreciate the thought, but you'll be sleeping in here." Picking up her belongings, he disappeared through the doorway.
Surprise then embarrassment washed over her. Slowly Micheline followed her betrothed into a smaller room with a clean and serviceable bed for one.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
The sight of Micheline's flushed cheeks was nearly too much for him.
"Last night was a mistake that I don't intend to repeat until we're married," he explained evenly. "It would be best if we didn't bind ourselves together with words—or acts—of love until... you are absolutely certain that you have made the right choice."
Her iris-blue eyes were wide with confusion. "I have already made my choice! I want you!"
"You may have second thoughts after we arrive in London."
The sight of his sculpted profile, accentuated by the firelight, filled her with longing that was heightened by his cool demeanor.
"What's wrong with you? Are you afraid that I'll meet the Marquess of Sandhurst and be led astray?" Micheline approached him and declared, "I don't want Lord Sandhurst! As far as I'm concerned, he can take his title and his wealth and go to the devil!"
Andrew flinched slightly. When her small hands clasped his own, their eyes met and he opened his mouth. Whether he'd meant to speak or to kiss her, Micheline wasn't sure, for a moment later he was turning away.
"Sleep well, fondling. We have a long day ahead of us if we're to reach Calais by nightfall."
* * *
Micheline enjoyed the next day's ride, over countryside that was different from what she was used to. They passed through valleys that were already beginning to turn green. Farms and