turned and ran from her room, down the stairs, outside and around the house to the stables.
"Ancin, have Empress saddled," she ordered.
Ancin shot a glance at her morning dress and her uncovered hair but said nothing. Instead of directing one of the stable hands, he fetched the saddle himself as Madelaine watched him impatiently.
Ancin led her mare from the stall and helped her into the saddle, frowning when he saw she wore house slippers instead of riding boots. "You do be careful," he told her.
"I'm sick and tired of being careful," she said over her shoulder as Empress trotted off.
The March day was overcast, promising rain. She rode along an avenue between rows of live oaks whose branches were draped with long moss, turned between two of the huge trunked trees and made her way along a path leading toward the bayou. As she neared the water, a blue heron flapped up with a squawk of protest, long legged and ungainly until he was airborne, then a graceful flyer. Something splashed in the bayou water—perhaps the frog the heron had been waiting to spear with his long sharp bill.
Madelaine took a deep breath of the damp air that hinted of decaying vegetation. Today he'd be there, he had to be there. She longed for his touch, to feel his lips on hers, to experience the wild rush of fire in her body when he held her. She closed her eyes as Empress trotted along the bank of the bayou. Philippe, oh, Philippe, I love you so ...
She rode through the tupelo trees, beginning to green with spring, around the thick growth of willows and on to where a solitary camphor tree spread out its heavy branches. Past the camphor tree and—but there he was! Madelaine let out her breath and spurred her mare.
"Philippe!" she cried.
He turned and took off his hat and she gasped to see red hair glowing in the grey morning. John Kellogg waited for her, not Philippe Roulleaux.
Madelaine reined in Empress so abruptly the mare reared onto her hind legs. Madelaine controlled her, patting the horse's neck in apology. "What are you doing here?" she demanded of John Kellogg.
"I've been hoping you'd come this way by chance," he said.
"I don't believe you."
He smiled one sidedly. "You'd be right not to. I confess I've been watching you ride this way. I tried to call on you at your plantation house but your brother told me you didn't care to see me again. I wanted to hear it from you."
She stared at him. "You came to see me?"
He nodded.
"Guy forbids me to encourage an Americain ," she said bluntly, not forgiving him for being here instead of Philippe.
"I can hardly help being what I am."
She saw his wry grin and felt a tug of response. She couldn't resist John Kellogg's smile. "I don't always agree with my brother," she told him.
"Good. May I help you down?" He dismounted and advanced toward her.
Madelaine slid from Empress' back before he could reach her.
"This doesn't mean I'll see you again," she warned, walking away from him to a pond where the flat green leaves of water lilies lay like stepping stones to the far side. "There's swamp all through here," she said. "Quicksand. You took a chance when you came this way."
"I felt lucky today."
"Do you have a girl of your own? An Americain girl?"
He turned from her to gaze at the pond. "Not anymore," he said.
"But you did once?"
He nodded, still not glancing her way. "She died of yellow fever," he said. "We meant to marry.”
"I'm sorry."
He moved toward her suddenly, grasping her shoulders before she could back away. "I can't stop thinking of you," he said. "I don't mean to frighten you but my heart tells me you're the only woman I can ever love."
Madelaine stood still, stunned by the intensity of his words, his bright gaze fixing her in place. His hands were warm through the thin muslin of her gown.
"I—I don't. . ." she began.
"You don't need to say anything. I had to tell you. I wanted to court you properly, to come calling, but your brother made it clear I wasn't
"Ancin, have Empress saddled," she ordered.
Ancin shot a glance at her morning dress and her uncovered hair but said nothing. Instead of directing one of the stable hands, he fetched the saddle himself as Madelaine watched him impatiently.
Ancin led her mare from the stall and helped her into the saddle, frowning when he saw she wore house slippers instead of riding boots. "You do be careful," he told her.
"I'm sick and tired of being careful," she said over her shoulder as Empress trotted off.
The March day was overcast, promising rain. She rode along an avenue between rows of live oaks whose branches were draped with long moss, turned between two of the huge trunked trees and made her way along a path leading toward the bayou. As she neared the water, a blue heron flapped up with a squawk of protest, long legged and ungainly until he was airborne, then a graceful flyer. Something splashed in the bayou water—perhaps the frog the heron had been waiting to spear with his long sharp bill.
Madelaine took a deep breath of the damp air that hinted of decaying vegetation. Today he'd be there, he had to be there. She longed for his touch, to feel his lips on hers, to experience the wild rush of fire in her body when he held her. She closed her eyes as Empress trotted along the bank of the bayou. Philippe, oh, Philippe, I love you so ...
She rode through the tupelo trees, beginning to green with spring, around the thick growth of willows and on to where a solitary camphor tree spread out its heavy branches. Past the camphor tree and—but there he was! Madelaine let out her breath and spurred her mare.
"Philippe!" she cried.
He turned and took off his hat and she gasped to see red hair glowing in the grey morning. John Kellogg waited for her, not Philippe Roulleaux.
Madelaine reined in Empress so abruptly the mare reared onto her hind legs. Madelaine controlled her, patting the horse's neck in apology. "What are you doing here?" she demanded of John Kellogg.
"I've been hoping you'd come this way by chance," he said.
"I don't believe you."
He smiled one sidedly. "You'd be right not to. I confess I've been watching you ride this way. I tried to call on you at your plantation house but your brother told me you didn't care to see me again. I wanted to hear it from you."
She stared at him. "You came to see me?"
He nodded.
"Guy forbids me to encourage an Americain ," she said bluntly, not forgiving him for being here instead of Philippe.
"I can hardly help being what I am."
She saw his wry grin and felt a tug of response. She couldn't resist John Kellogg's smile. "I don't always agree with my brother," she told him.
"Good. May I help you down?" He dismounted and advanced toward her.
Madelaine slid from Empress' back before he could reach her.
"This doesn't mean I'll see you again," she warned, walking away from him to a pond where the flat green leaves of water lilies lay like stepping stones to the far side. "There's swamp all through here," she said. "Quicksand. You took a chance when you came this way."
"I felt lucky today."
"Do you have a girl of your own? An Americain girl?"
He turned from her to gaze at the pond. "Not anymore," he said.
"But you did once?"
He nodded, still not glancing her way. "She died of yellow fever," he said. "We meant to marry.”
"I'm sorry."
He moved toward her suddenly, grasping her shoulders before she could back away. "I can't stop thinking of you," he said. "I don't mean to frighten you but my heart tells me you're the only woman I can ever love."
Madelaine stood still, stunned by the intensity of his words, his bright gaze fixing her in place. His hands were warm through the thin muslin of her gown.
"I—I don't. . ." she began.
"You don't need to say anything. I had to tell you. I wanted to court you properly, to come calling, but your brother made it clear I wasn't
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