Intrigued. Bertrice Small

she told him.

      The comte bowed elegantly to her. “Merci, cherie,” he said.

      “Who gave you leave to call her cherie?” the duke demanded.

      “You may both call me cherie,” Autumn quickly replied in an effort to prevent further argument.

      The two young men glared at each other.

      “Gracious, Mama,” Autumn later said to her mother. “They are so competitive. I almost expected them to get into a duel over me.” Her eyes danced mischievously at the thought.

      “Duels are illegal, Autumn, and the penalty is death for those caught,” her mother warned her. “Do not tease your suitors into breaking the law. It is hardly a way to make your decision.”

      “What decision?” Autumn replied.

      “Why, which of them you will marry,” Jasmine responded.

      “I don’t want to marry either of them, Mama,” the young woman returned. “Etienne is charming and Guy such fun, but I am not in love with either of them. I don’t think I could be.”

      “It is too soon,” her mother said. “You don’t know either of them particularly well yet, but by spring you should.”

      Autumn nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Mama. I must give myself more time to know them better.”

      The Duchess of Glenkirk, in mourning, did not wear a costume to her cousin’s Twelfth Night fête. Instead, she wore a gown of deep violet that M’sieu Reynaud had made for her, along with an exquiste silver and amethyst masque. The gown’s only ornamentation was a collar of silver lace. Her daughter, however, was garbed magnificently in a cloth-of-gold gown with a transparent overgown of gilt sprinkled with tiny gold beads and diamante. The dress was set low on the shoulders to reveal Autumn’s creamy skin and beautiful young bosom. The sleeves were puffed to the elbow, with topaz-studded ribbons, and then fitted below to the wrist. Her shoes were painted gold, and the heels studded with tiny diamonds. Her hair had been affixed into an elegant chignon, sprinkled with gold dust, and dressed with small looped strands of tiny gold beads, yellow diamonds, and topaz. Atop her head sat a delicate gold crown representing the sun, each ray tipped with a yellow diamond. From her ears hung yellow diamonds. About her neck was a chain of small yellow diamonds and rose gold, from which dangled a large, round Golconda diamond cut with so many facets that it flashed fire with every move Autumn made.

      “Ravissante!” her uncle declared when she first came into the Great Hall. “No other woman here tonight will outshine you.”

      “You do not think it a bit too bold?” fretted Madame de Belfort, looking anxiously between Jasmine and her brother.

      “Nonsense!” Madame St. Omer said before anyone else could speak. “It is a daring costume, and when baiting a trap one uses the most delicious cheese available. Bravo, ma petite! You will drive the gentlemen wild tonight!”

      Jasmine laughed. “She certainly will, ’Toinette,” the duchess agreed with her cousin, and then she patted Gaby de Belfort’s plump hand in an effort to comfort her. “Autumn isn’t sixteen, Gaby. To garb her as a jeune fille would be totally inappropriate.”

      Etienne St. Mihiel and Guy d’Auray hurried into the hall, almost knocking each other over in their eagerness to reach Autumn. The duke was dressed in silver, a crescent studded in aquamarines upon his head. His companion was in deep blue and silver, a comet’s tail of gold and silver for his headpiece. Autumn admired both of them equally, although each thought he had gotten the better of the other. As the music started they began to argue over who should dance with her first. It was then a gentleman, garbed as a bandit in a black cloak, a wide-brimmed felt hat with several white plumes, and a black mask, stepped between the duke and the comte, bowed to Autumn, and led her off onto the floor.

      “Who is that?” Jasmine asked.

      “Unless I miss my guess,” Antoinette chuckled, “it is d’Oleron himself. I suspected curiosity would eventually get the better of him.”

      Jasmine watched her daughter with interest, smiling to herself as she remembered her youth.

      “You are bold,” Autumn told her partner as he led her through the intricate steps of the dance.

      “Your costume, cherie, is hardly modest,” he replied. “You glitter and glow like a beacon as you offer yourself to the highest bidder.” He twirled her about gracefully.

      “I have no need for the highest bidder, m’sieu,” Autumn said in a tight voice. “I am an heiress of great worth.”

      Her partner laughed, genuinely amused. “Are you indeed, mam’selle?”

      Autumn stopped in the midst of the dance and stamped her foot at him. “Yes, I am!” she snapped.

      “Do not make a scene, cherie,” he advised as he drew her back into the figure. “You have a temper, but I like a woman with a temper. It shows character. I do not wish to marry some passionless creature.”

      “Marry?” Autumn was astounded by his words. “What do you mean marry, m’sieu?”

      “You have come to France to find a husband, or at least that is the gossip,” he told her, and he laughed again when she blushed. “I am, to the relief of my relations, now in the market for a wife. I think you will do quite nicely, Lady Autumn Rose Leslie.”

      That voice. It was his voice. “You!” she said. “It is you! The gentleman in the forest who said he was a thief.”

      The music stopped, and her partner bowed elegantly. “Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, Marquis d’Auriville, at your service, mademoiselle.” He caught up her hand, and kissed it, but he did not let it go. Instead he led her across the Great Hall into a small alcove.