strength and reason ebbed, replaced by a throbbing hunger for Sandhurst.
Finally his lips moved to burn her throat, then her ear, and he was whispering, "This is ridiculous. I promise to forgive you if you've changed your mind."
Micheline very nearly yielded, but somehow managed to cling to her position and murmur, "You'll thank me in our marriage bed."
With a heavy sigh Andrew released her and took a step backward. "Perhaps—if I live that long."
* * *
Two mornings later Micheline rose early to prepare for their journey to Hampton Court. She was filled with excitement and also a measure of trepidation. King Henry, Anne Boleyn, and the English court were unknown quantities. What if they disliked her because she was French, or because of something she might say amiss? Andrew might contend that he wished little contact with the royal court, but the fact remained that he was an marquess and would someday be a duke—and, God willing, she would be his wife, with English titles of her own.
Little Mary, her maid, made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in skill. The girl prepared a lavishly scented bath and washed Micheline's hair so thoroughly that she had to be told, gently, that it was clean enough. Helping her mistress dress, Mary's exuberant compliments were morale-boosting, for she rhapsodized endlessly about the utter perfection of every color, ribbon, and jewel that Micheline had chosen.
The decisions had been difficult. Finally, the night before, she had brought Sandhurst in to elicit his opinion, and had been vastly relieved when he confirmed her own first choice. The gown Micheline donned now for her first introduction to the English king was made of soft spring-green velvet, parted in front to show a petticoat of pale yellow silk. The sleeves were puffed and slashed to reveal more yellow silk, and tied at intervals with gold and yellow ribbons. The square-cut bodice accentuated the high curves of her breasts and was embroidered with golden thread and set with emeralds, while a delicate girdle of filigreed gold rode just above her hips.
Mary helped to dress Micheline's gleaming hair, parting it in the center and smoothing it into a golden crispinette sprinkled with emeralds. In contrast to the other colors were her iris-blue eyes, which seemed more vivid than ever in her state of excitement.
She had just added two thin gold necklaces and turned to assess her reflection in the mirror, when there was a knock at the door.
"It's nearly time to leave," Micheline said nervously "That must be Andrew."
Mary opened the door to admit Lord Sandhurst, then made a speedy exit when he silently inclined his head. Across the room Micheline stood in a ray of sunlight, looking utterly lovely and charmingly skittish all at once.
"I am terrified!" she announced.
Sandhurst went to her and lightly caressed her flushed cheeks with the back of his hand. "Don't be silly. You look dazzling, and I am convinced you'll be a huge success. My only worry is that the king will fall madly in love with you and decide he would rather wed you than Anne!"
"I fear I would have to refuse him," she replied primly, smiling at the thought of such a scenario. "And then, to keep our heads, you and I would have to run away and live secretly, as commoners. We could take the name of Selkirk!"
"You would rather be Mistress Selkirk than the queen of England?"
"Even the idea of a choice is laughable, my lord," Micheline answered, "for no queen on earth has you."
She gave him one of her radiant smiles, which seemed to outshine the sun, and his heart swelled with love. "How fortunate I am," he whispered.
"Once again, we are of one mind."
Andrew kissed her tenderly, marveling at the rich emotions that flowed between their bodies.
"I brought you a gift," he murmured at length. "Be a good girl and turn around."
Although Micheline would have preferred to go on kissing him, she obeyed. In the mirror she saw his tanned fingers clasp a beautiful necklace of diamonds and emeralds around the base of her throat.
"But it's magnificent!" she protested, thinking that she didn't deserve anything so grand and costly.
"It was my mother's. As the future Duchess of Aylesbury, all of her jewelry will be yours, Michelle."
"I shouldn't wear this until we are married!"
"These edicts of yours about what cannot happen until we are married are becoming tedious," Sandhurst said dryly. "This particular necklace was left in my care, and I am making it a betrothal gift to