The Countess Misbehaves. Nan Ryan

at Armand and, without sound, mouthed the words, “Bring me that parasol!”

      “Not a chance,” Armand replied in a firm, loud voice. He grinned devilishly and added, “Come and get it, Countess.”

      Taken aback and instantly irritated, Madeleine said, loudly enough to be heard by him as well as by passersby, “Sir, I command you to return my personal property.”

      Ignoring her queenly command, Armand’s devilish smile remained solidly in place. “You may have your little umbrella anytime you want it. All you have to do is take the few short steps to me.” His smile grew even broader. “Or, you could stop by my stateroom late this evening and we’ll…”

      “Shhh!” Madeleine hissed and hurried toward him, looking furiously around, afraid someone had heard. Reaching him, she stepped up close and said angrily, “How dare you make such a suggestion for all to hear! Your behavior is inexcusable! You would lead our fellow passengers to believe that I might actually come to your stateroom when you know very well I would never do such a disgraceful thing!”

      Continuing to twirl the yellow silk parasol above his dark head, Armand said, “Calm down, Countess. I’m quite sure everyone knows you would never consort with the likes of me.”

      “I should certainly hope so,” she replied haughtily.

      Armand smiled easily, handed her the parasol and then reached out to push a windblown lock of red-gold hair off her forehead. “It’s getting awfully blustery, Lady Madeleine. You might consider retiring to your stateroom.”

      “You might consider not telling me what to do, Mr. de Chevalier.”

      “You might consider listening when someone gives you a bit of sound advice.”

      “You might consider that I neither need nor want any advice from you.”

      “You might consider occasionally behaving like the lady you’re supposed to be, my lady.”

      Madeleine’s red face grew redder. A strong gust of wind assaulted her just as she started to speak. It caught the umbrella and again tore it from her hands. She anxiously looked at Armand and pointed to the fluttering parasol. Armand didn’t move a muscle.

      He smiled and said, “You might consider fetching it yourself, Countess.”

      Anger and frustration flashing out of her emerald eyes, she said, “You might consider leaping overboard and ridding this vessel of its vermin!”

      She stepped around Armand and took a few tentative steps toward the parasol. Then stopped abruptly. She wasn’t about to chase after anything. Let it go. And let him go.

      She spun on her heel and majestically marched over to the railing. Muttering under her breath, wondering if he was still there, she soon hazarded a glance over her shoulder.

      Strong west winds pressed the fabric of his slate-gray trousers against his long legs and lifted locks of his jet-black hair. As Armand started toward her she hastily turned back around. He walked up beside her and, without saying a word, put a leather-shod foot on the lower rung of the railing. He swung up onto the wooden railing, straddling it.

      Staring, she said, “You fool, what are you doing?”

      “I’ve decided you are right, Lady Madeleine. I should just go ahead and leap overboard.”

      He threw his other leg over and came to his feet, balanced precariously on the decorative molding outside of the railing.

      Her heart in her throat and her eyes wide with fear, Madeleine impulsively threw her protective arms around his lean thighs and shouted, “No! Don’t do it. I was only teasing.”

      “You don’t want me to jump? You want me to live?”

      “No! Yes! Please, Mr. de Chevalier, come back inside before you fall to your death.”

      “Would you care?”

      “Of course, I would care. Stop scaring me.”

      “Okay,” he said as he agilely turned and jumped down onto the deck. He stood facing her. “Were you really afraid? Did you think you might lose me?”

      His safety now ensured, Madeleine felt her anger quickly returning. She was furious that he had frightened her. And annoyed that he knew that she was frightened.

      “Mr. de Chevalier, you might consider joining the children down in their play lounge. Your childish stunts clearly reveal that you have the intellect of a backward ten-year-old.”

      Four

      Later that morning, Lady Madeleine was alone at the ship’s railing, gazing expectantly out over the churning blue waters. A couple of hours had passed since she had spotted the ancient lighthouse rising majestically from the very last island of the Florida Keys. She had experienced a great rush of excitement when the huge ship had rounded that final spit of land and headed northward into the Gulf of Mexico. Now the Keys had been left far behind and no land was visible.

      The winds, she suddenly realized, had risen dramatically since she’d first come out on deck that morning. She now had to cling tenaciously to the railing to keep her balance. And she noted that the waves had grown much higher, so high they were actually lifting and tossing the heavy vessel. Her breath caught when, all at once, deep swells rose beneath the huge craft and it swung and rolled violently.

      Madeleine became curious, and increasingly anxious, when the ship’s crewmen began rushing about, hurrying to obey shouted commands from the stern-faced first officer. There was a sudden burst of activity as passengers hurried onto the decks. She heard a gentleman shouting to his companion as they passed that a West Indian cyclone was upon them.

      Alarmed, Madeleine started toward her stateroom when the ship took a frenzied swing. As she struggled against the rising winds, she overheard two crewman speaking softly. One claimed the ship was taking on water.

      Seconds later, the captain appeared on the promenade deck. Calm, collected, he walked briskly among the passengers speaking quietly, yet with clarity. “Passengers should return to their state-rooms,” he instructed. “No need to rush, no reason to panic,” he said, although he was more worried than anyone would ever know. Not only were there not enough lifeboats, they were painfully short of life preservers. And the waterproof integrity of those pitiful few vests on board was in doubt. “Return to your staterooms and secure the portholes,” he repeated again and again. On encountering her, the captain said reassuringly, “Merely a safety precaution, Lady Madeleine.”

      She smiled and nodded, but she knew better. A full-fledged hurricane was racing toward them.

      Struggling against the worsening winds and dodging scrambling passengers as they fled to their cabins, Madeleine finally reached the door of her stateroom. She banged on the solid wood and Lucinda yanked the door open and anxiously drew her mistress inside.

      There the two women huddled together in growing fear as the S. S. Starlight pitched and rolled in the punishing winds as if it were a child’s toy. The roar was deafening as mountainous seas and fearsome gales assaulted the mighty vessel.

      While the fierce storm raged, sending the huge ship into fits of savage rocking and lurching, the Starlight’s crew and many of the male passengers—including Armand de Chevalier with his suit jacket cast aside and his shirtsleeves rolled up—toiled tirelessly at three bucket brigades to reduce the flooding in the engine room.

      Soaked to the skin, striving to stay on their feet, the contingent labored manfully to keep five hundred tons of boilers and engines afloat in the angry, storm-tossed Gulf of Mexico. But it was a losing battle. Soon it became evident. The S. S. Starlight was irreparably breached. The huge ocean liner was going down.

      The ship now badly listing, a terrified Lady Madeleine and Lucinda rushed back outside. Terror-stricken passengers ran about on the slippery, slanting decks shouting, “Where are we to go? What are we to do?”

      Families