girl's
defense. She was really still so young and naive. She simply didn't
realize the consequences of some of her impulsive actions.
How smooth and sensuous that little arm felt! Here was a
skin that invited caresses. In spite of himself, he couldn't help
thinking that the rest of her body must be like that, too. If she had
been any other woman but his ward, he would have permitted the desire
he felt for her to continue to mount unchecked, anticipating with
delight the moment when he could at last share it with her in a
paroxysm of delight in each other's arms; but quickly he quenched his
thoughts with the cold water of reality. Why let a passion that could
never be slaked go on building up within him?
Deliberately he reminded himself how soft and small that
same arm was… how fragile and vulnerable. Even as he
released it he noted how a red ring still marked the spot where he had
held her so tightly. Above all, he didn't want to see her
hurt— not by anyone, not even himself. He must try to be more
patient with her, less emotional. He couldn't bear it when those
disturbing gray eyes of hers looked at him with such contempt. Sadly he
recognized that with each passing day his little ward's opinion of him
mattered far more than he cared to admit even to himself.
Chapter Eight
Much
to the chagrin of her unhappy charges, Mlle. Arthemise
Baudier was a martial-looking matron who took her post very seriously.
A tall, angular woman with bulging eyes, beak nose, and firmly set jaw,
the middle-aged spinster had long since resigned herself to being a
governess for life, so she practiced her profession with the utmost
zeal.
After a long talk behind closed doors with the head of the
Chausson household, Mlle. Baudier had sallied forth with an
uncompromising resolve to obey to the letter Vidal's instructions
concerning the education of his wards. Actually, she was so
over-zealous that even Vidal had to tone her down a bit on several
occasions.
There was the time he had asked Mlle. Baudier to send for
the dressmaker to make the girls some new gowns and had suggested
discreetly that she see to it that the necklines not be cut too low.
The conscientious governess had immediately ordered chin-high yokes of
white lawn added to all the girls' dresses. The shrieks of protest had
so filled the house that Vidal had rushed up the stairs two at a time
to see what was happening.
"She's trying to suffocate us in mosquito netting!" wailed
Monique indignantly. She stood in the center of the room, draped in
white lawn and green-striped cotton, amid a sea of multicolored bolts
of cloth, while Celeste stood beside her draped in flowered muslin,
looking equally woebegone.
Vidal was utterly bewildered to find himself suddenly
confronted by a tangled maze of female flip-pantries instead of a
sinister adversary waiting to meet his half-drawn sword. He listened
awkwardly to the reason for the young girls' noisy rebellion, flushing
all the while beneath his smooth olive complexion as he tried to
straighten out the problem as quickly as possible so he could be gone
from that confusing world of muslins and lace that he had so
unwittingly invaded.
"But you said to cover them up more, senor," the governess
explained defensively, while the poor dressmaker, in peril of
swallowing her mouthful of pins, continued to stare in dismay at
Vidal's tall, imposing figure standing there before her with his hand
still on his sword hilt.
From the expression on the girls' tear-streaked faces,
they gave the impression that their virtue had been about to be
violated instead of protected.
"I… I only meant a… an extra ruffle
or two perhaps," he faltered. "I don't know how to explain…
but I'm sure you can think of something appropriate that will meet with
my cousins' approval and yet not be too… too
provocative…" He searched for the right phrases, while the
women gaped at him in silence, offering little assistance. "Something
stylish, you understand… yet
defense. She was really still so young and naive. She simply didn't
realize the consequences of some of her impulsive actions.
How smooth and sensuous that little arm felt! Here was a
skin that invited caresses. In spite of himself, he couldn't help
thinking that the rest of her body must be like that, too. If she had
been any other woman but his ward, he would have permitted the desire
he felt for her to continue to mount unchecked, anticipating with
delight the moment when he could at last share it with her in a
paroxysm of delight in each other's arms; but quickly he quenched his
thoughts with the cold water of reality. Why let a passion that could
never be slaked go on building up within him?
Deliberately he reminded himself how soft and small that
same arm was… how fragile and vulnerable. Even as he
released it he noted how a red ring still marked the spot where he had
held her so tightly. Above all, he didn't want to see her
hurt— not by anyone, not even himself. He must try to be more
patient with her, less emotional. He couldn't bear it when those
disturbing gray eyes of hers looked at him with such contempt. Sadly he
recognized that with each passing day his little ward's opinion of him
mattered far more than he cared to admit even to himself.
Chapter Eight
Much
to the chagrin of her unhappy charges, Mlle. Arthemise
Baudier was a martial-looking matron who took her post very seriously.
A tall, angular woman with bulging eyes, beak nose, and firmly set jaw,
the middle-aged spinster had long since resigned herself to being a
governess for life, so she practiced her profession with the utmost
zeal.
After a long talk behind closed doors with the head of the
Chausson household, Mlle. Baudier had sallied forth with an
uncompromising resolve to obey to the letter Vidal's instructions
concerning the education of his wards. Actually, she was so
over-zealous that even Vidal had to tone her down a bit on several
occasions.
There was the time he had asked Mlle. Baudier to send for
the dressmaker to make the girls some new gowns and had suggested
discreetly that she see to it that the necklines not be cut too low.
The conscientious governess had immediately ordered chin-high yokes of
white lawn added to all the girls' dresses. The shrieks of protest had
so filled the house that Vidal had rushed up the stairs two at a time
to see what was happening.
"She's trying to suffocate us in mosquito netting!" wailed
Monique indignantly. She stood in the center of the room, draped in
white lawn and green-striped cotton, amid a sea of multicolored bolts
of cloth, while Celeste stood beside her draped in flowered muslin,
looking equally woebegone.
Vidal was utterly bewildered to find himself suddenly
confronted by a tangled maze of female flip-pantries instead of a
sinister adversary waiting to meet his half-drawn sword. He listened
awkwardly to the reason for the young girls' noisy rebellion, flushing
all the while beneath his smooth olive complexion as he tried to
straighten out the problem as quickly as possible so he could be gone
from that confusing world of muslins and lace that he had so
unwittingly invaded.
"But you said to cover them up more, senor," the governess
explained defensively, while the poor dressmaker, in peril of
swallowing her mouthful of pins, continued to stare in dismay at
Vidal's tall, imposing figure standing there before her with his hand
still on his sword hilt.
From the expression on the girls' tear-streaked faces,
they gave the impression that their virtue had been about to be
violated instead of protected.
"I… I only meant a… an extra ruffle
or two perhaps," he faltered. "I don't know how to explain…
but I'm sure you can think of something appropriate that will meet with
my cousins' approval and yet not be too… too
provocative…" He searched for the right phrases, while the
women gaped at him in silence, offering little assistance. "Something
stylish, you understand… yet
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