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?"