“Brilliant!” Gilles yelled and Alastair flinched as his ears rang. “What the hell were you doing in China?”
“I traveled with the East India Company and spent a good deal of time in China learning about the tea trade.” Alastair hissed and jumped, his back stung angrily. “I said no touching!” He shrieked.
“Sorry!” Mirabelle bit her lip. “How long did it take?” She asked.
“Days.” Alastair mumbled.
“Isn't it supposed to be painful?” She was examining his arm closely and her hand hovered.
“No touching, Mirabelle.” He reminded. She grumbled. “Some areas weren't bad but some were excruciating.” He admitted.
“How did you bear it?” She looked up at him in awe.
“Opium.” Why stop now? They wanted to see. Alastair thought. Gilles swore violently and fell into a chair.
“Jesus, Alastair!” Lucien whispered as he took a seat.
“May I dress now?” Alastair looked around the room. Everyone but Mirabelle nodded, she shrugged. She seemed disappointed that she couldn't continue to study him. Instead her mind turned to a new line of questioning.
“What was it like?” She asked as she settled next to Lucien.
“Opium?” Alastair pulled his shirt over his head and began tucking it in. “Nauseating, calming, painful, indescribably glorious, disorienting…” He flicked at the buttons on his sleeves. “It's cloying but the after effects are minimal as long as you don't become dependent.” He turned as he buttoned his waistcoat. Four pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief. He shook his head as he crossed to the mirror and tied his cravat. Everyone remained silent as he pulled his coat on and buttoned it. He retuned to the table and sat between Lucien and Gilles, across from Giselle. Somehow, she seemed least effected.
“Well, China sounds like it was fun. How was India?” Mirabelle broke the silence.
“Bloody terrible country.” Alastair said as he picked up his scotch. Lucien chuckled.
“And did you bring back any souvenirs from India that we should know about?” Gilles asked sarcastically. Alastair let his head tilt as he considered his brother’s reaction.
“I did tell you earlier that there are many things that you don't know about me, Gilles. It is not my responsibility to make you comfortable with something you chose to see or learn despite my objections. I am no different than I was before I took my shirt off. I would argue that you are the one that has changed and I tried to prevent that from happening.” Gilles sighed as he rose and went to the sideboard to refill his drink.
“Well? Did you bring back something…” Mirabelle gestured towards Alastair's body. He smiled wryly.
“I was convinced I had malaria but it was merely a violent fever that lasted for nine days.”
“That's nice!” Mirabelle teased. “Did you try anything interesting while you were there?” Gilles shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
“Cannabis and hashish are very widely used in India.” Alastair explained.
“And?” Mirabelle prodded.
“Neither are as addictive as opium but not nearly as lovely.”
“Find something else to talk about, Mirabelle.” Gilles warned. She crossed her arms and pouted.
“You all make me feel positively boring. I've never even been to Cornwall.” Mirabelle complained. Lucien reclined and reached for a curl that had slipped loose and twirled it around his finger.
“I think you're fascinating.” He said softly. She turned to him and stared for a moment. Then, she stretched and made a very obvious attempt at a yawn.
“Goodness! I'm exhausted, think I'll go to bed now.” Mirabelle pushed her chair back and looked at Lucien suggestively. He cleared his throat.
“I've had a long day as well. I'll see you all tomorrow morning.” He bowed and the two of them nearly ran from the room. Gilles shook his head and returned to the couch and fell back upon it. He rested his crossed feet on the arm and nursed his scotch. Giselle stood and crossed the room. She leaned down and kissed Gilles’ cheek.
“I think I'll go up as well.” She said softly. Gilles took her hand and squeezed it briefly. Alastair tried not to feel jealous of the affection they shared for each other. Giselle was almost through the door when she turned and looked at Alastair, her eyes were full of promise and expectation. Every part of his body responded, he had to grip the arms of the chair to keep from going after her. He waited until she turned and left and he trusted his feet not to carry him in her direction before he stood and moved to a chair by the couch. He sat and reclined as he stared at Gilles.
“Go back to London tomorrow. There's no reason for you to stay and you're not happy.” Alastair could see Gilles considering. He shook his head and sighed.
“Lucifer is an impressive fellow but I doubt two days has been enough. Lucien needs him longer.”
“Take the coach. Giselle and I can ride back, I'll go on Lucifer.” Alastair offered. Gilles frowned.
“You know how he is, he won't let you ride him. You'll kill yourself before you get to London.” Gilles sipped his scotch and Alastair chuckled.
“I'm sure we can manage. If not, I'll ride a mare and he can follow us back. And I've learned that I'm practically indestructible. If I’ve survived the worst that I can do, I can survive a horse.” He smiled softly as he stared into his scotch. Gilles sat up.
“Maybe. Alastair, all the things you've done… the tattoos, the opium and hashish and whatever else, was it because I didn't do enough to make up for father not being there?” His voice wavered and Alastair felt a pain in his chest. He shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at Gilles.
“All the times you risked your life in France, was that because father was gone?” Alastair asked softly. Gilles shook his head. “It's who you are. Most of the things I’ve done, I would have done if father hadn't died. I did them because I needed to know. There were times that I was more reckless because I felt generally useless and the curiosity wasn't enough but it wasn't because of you. If anything, it was you that pulled me back at the darkest moments.” Alastair paused to sip his drink. He could see that Gilles was about to ask for details. Alastair shook his head in warning and Gilles settled. “After father died, you grew up so quickly. You were just a boy but you lived for me, Mirabelle and Maman. Everything you did was for us. When you came back from school, you were so much older than your peers and ready to take responsibility for us all. I was relieved when you went to France. I knew it was dangerous but in a way, there was less pressure on you.”
“I couldn't have gone if you weren't here to watch over everyone in my absence.” Gilles said as he stood and went to refill his drink. When he sat down his gaze was direct, searching. “I've been worried about you lately. Mirabelle and Lucien as well. The Mothers are distracted with the babies but I'm sure they have noticed too. You've been restless since the war ended. I'm afraid that once this last traitor is found we’ll lose you again, that you’ll let your need to know everything take you from us. This thing with you and Giselle makes me worry even more. If it doesn't go well, I'm afraid you'll be hurt and restless and you’ll go even farther.”
Alastair was surprised. He had felt restless and was worried about what he would do once he was no longer needed at the War Office. He didn't realize the family had noticed.
“Aldous warned me about this, that I needed a challenge or else I'd slowly destroy myself or wander aimlessly. After you recommended me for the War Office, he began following me. I was studying pugilism and he found me fighting in a match.” Gilles cursed and rubbed his face in exasperation. Alastair gave him a moment. “I was quite successful, I only lost two fights.”
“Alastair, I would never worry about your proficiency in anything, I just worry about what you're doing to yourself. I worry about the damage that you've already done.” Gilles’ voice was low and he searched Alastair's face for understanding, awareness. Alastair felt his lips curve.
; “I am able to look at myself in the mirror and when I die, my skin will decay just as well as yours.” Alastair said. Gilles’ brows pulled together for a moment before they relaxed.
“Maman can never know.” His voice was severe. Alastair nodded in agreement.
“Go home to your wife, Gilles. I think I can get a horse back to London.” Alastair stood and finished his drink. Gilles looked content to remain.
“Very well, I'll leave early tomorrow.” He sighed. “And you expect to return to Town in two weeks?” Alastair looked across the room, calculating.
“I want to see what my investigators can turn up before Giselle and I start going about. I foresee her wanting to get back to London sooner to start working but I'm hoping I can keep her here for the full two weeks. I believe it will be easier for me to engage her emotionally without the distractions of London and this traitor.” Alastair said. Gilles nodded.
“I'll see what I can learn and let you know how the ton is reacting to Giselle’s return.” Gilles sipped his scotch and Alastair turned to leave. “Alastair, Lucien was right when he said that you need to know a woman in order to make her happy. But don't forget to let her know you as well.” Gilles smiled warmly and Alastair nodded.
“I will keep that in mind. Thank you.” With that, he exited the room.
Chapter 17
Alastair smelled Giselle as soon as he pushed the door to his room open. A few lit candles cast a soft, warm glow. He shut the door behind him silently and let his eyes move through the room. His body tightened when he spotted a peignoir, nightgown and slippers discarded on the floor. He stepped forward and looked to the bed. Alastair's heart stilled for a moment when his eyes found Giselle.
She looked small and vulnerable, asleep in the middle of his bed. Long, shimmering black curls spilled across the pillows as the blankets molded around her curves. Her skin was luminescent against the sheets. Alastair stepped closer and felt tempted to touch the long lashes that rested against her cheeks and to press his lips to hers. He waited for the wave of possessiveness that crashed through him to recede. He couldn't recall wanting anything so badly in his life. Not just physically, he wanted to claim every part of her, in every way.
Alastair turned and busied himself with tidying after Giselle as he waited for his emotions to settle. He placed her slippers together next to the chair and reached for her nightgown. For some mad reason, he lifted the cool silk to his face and inhaled. Her scent washed through him and he had to clench his jaw to keep from reacting. After a deep breath, Alastair held it up and attempted to find a logical way to fold it. There were few seams and no real angles. He tried holding it by the straps and where the straps met the bodice but the stupid thing refused to cooperate, sliding against itself and slipping though his fingers. Finally, Alastair settled on draping the infuriating garment over the arm of the chair. He picked up the peignoir and was relieved to see that it had actual shoulders. His relief was quickly dashed when he tried to pull the sleeves together and the thing slid and separated. He quickly decided that it could hang next to the gown and considered his own clothing.
Removing all of his clothes was dangerous, he needed a barrier between them. Alastair unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it. He folded it and draped it over the back of the chair. He quickly did away with his waistcoat and cravat before sitting to remove his shoes and stockings. He stood and approached the bed. When he sat, Giselle's eyes fluttered and her smile made Alastair dizzy. She started to sit up and he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Stay there.” His voice was harsh, gravelly and deep. She blinked and settled back against the pillows. He turned and stretched across the bed, resting his head on his hand, his face close to hers. “I want to talk first.” He said softly as he reached for one of her curls.
“What do you want to talk about?” Giselle asked. Alastair could feel her breath against his neck, he suppressed a shiver as his cock became heavy and hard.
“You.” He replied as he wound her hair around his finger and raised it to his face to brush against his lips. Giselle sighed.
“We've talked so much about me the last few days.” She complained. Alastair chuckled.
“And yet you know so much about me and I know very little about you aside from your time in France with my brother.” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat as she began unbuttoning his shirt at the collar.
“What do you want to know?” She whispered. Alastair cast about, searching for anything that would reveal something personal. He considered what she knew of him.
“What was your favorite thing to do as a child?” He closed his eyes as her hand slid between the halves of his shirt to gently brush his skin. She remembered his sensitivity and was being cautious. He saw her lips curve and he held his breath as heat flared where her fingers touched him.
“Papa used to push me on the swing. I'd beg him to push until my toes almost touched the leaves of the tree and my stomach would flip. Once I was sure I was as high as I could get, I would jump from the seat and fly through the air. Maman used to get so upset but I always did it. I tried to fly as far as I could and papa would laugh as he pulled me into his arms when I ran to him.” Alastair laughed softly as he threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging Giselle's scalp. She moaned softly and his groin tightened.
“You've always been reckless, then.” His lips were so close to hers, he could feel them curve. “Why don't you like tea?” He whispered. He felt her lips twist.
“It's not very English of me, is it?” She replied. Alastair shook his head.
“You're not very English.” He almost laughed. That he would be drawn to someone so French, so unpredictable…
“It's just so weak and bland!” Giselle complained. “Then, you add milk and it becomes watery. You add sugar or honey and that's the only good part about the tea. I like coffee, especially if it's rich and strong. Wine is perfectly suitable in the evening.” She declared. Her voice became soft. “I'm afraid that to serve the country I love, I had to lose touch with it.”
“Nonsense.” Alastair replied as his hands stroked her back. She shifted and arched, pressing closer. He focused on his thoughts and breathing. “I believe one’s intentions and actions are what defines them, not the beverages they drink.” He was certain she could feel his erection pressing against her through the blanket. He cleared his throat and tried to think. “You like wine and coffee. What else? Do you drink chocolate?” It was such an inane question. Giselle gasped and the hairs on his arms stood.
“I'm mad for chocolate!” Alastair felt her fists grip his shirt and pull. “To drink… to eat… The smell of it! It is my absolute favorite!” She sighed as she smiled dreamily. Alastair made a note to get his hands on a lot of chocolate, quickly. He pressed on before he became too distracted.
“I knew your father very well.” He whispered. Giselle looked up, surprised and delighted. “I knew he had a little girl that he adored. I imagine he bought you hundreds of poppets.” Her brows pulled together and she shook her head.
“I never understood what little girls found so entertaining about dolls.”
“I believe they appeal to a girl’s innate instinct to nurture.” Alastair returned. He felt himself tense as the conversation turned.
“I suppose, but why should a girl play at being an adult, a mother, when she should be enjoying her childhood?” Giselle argued. Alastair couldn't stop himself from asking his next question.
“Do you want to have a child, to be a mother?” His voice was mostly steady. Giselle looked very serious for a moment before she giggled.
“Is that an offer, Alastair?” She laughed as she looked into his eyes. His heartbeat became painfully slow and filled his ears. In his mind, Alastair saw Giselle sleeping with his baby next to her. Warmth flooded him and his eyes watered. It was so beautiful and he wanted it to be real. He was about to say “Yes!” when she smiled and swatted his shoulder. “Relax! I was only teasing!” She sobered and pursed h
er lips as she thought. “If things had been different, if I was different, I think I would want a few children.” She shut her eyes and breathed deeply before she opened them and smiled. Alastair considered probing but didn't want to say anything that would give his intentions away. Instead, he took her chin and lifted her lips to his. He brushed her lips briefly before lifting his head.
“What do you enjoy doing, when you aren't Le Fantôme Noir?” He asked softly, as he searched her eyes he felt like he was sinking. She bit her lip as she considered.
“I've spent so much of the last two years carefully making my way back and before that I was so focused on our work, I can't remember a time when I could do anything I wanted. This time at Winthorpe will be the first time I've been idle since I left for France.” She became still for a moment, perhaps considering the novelty of relaxing. “I used to steal books if I came across one I could take with me.” She confessed. “I feel so terribly guilty but that's what I missed most about having a normal life.” Giselle looked up at Alastair shyly. He laughed softly.
“You've killed so many men and yet it's the books you feel guilty about?” She was confounding. Her face became serious.
“You know as well as I do, the men I killed were not good or honorable. Many of them were treacherous, greedy and dangerous. Books are good and you don't know who you're stealing from when you take a book. A book doesn't belong to one person, it belongs to every person that reads it’s words. When I took a book, I took it from an endless chain of people that would never see it.” Giselle explained. Alastair was speechless. The sentiment was so eloquent, so poetic, he couldn't help but be effected. Books had always been vital to him, at times more so than food. To know that this frenetic, tiny vixen was so passionate about books moved him deeply. He stroked her cheek in wonder as he stared down at her.
“Is there anything else?” What else could he give her? Aside from chocolate, all of his books and his soul? She smiled wistfully.
“I wish I had been more patient with my piano lessons as a child. They seemed so tedious then. Now, I find myself so captivated by those that can make music. I've had so little time for it but whenever I hear music, it moves me. I would give up many things to be able to play an instrument well.” She whispered. Alastair felt his lips curve and Giselle raised an eyebrow.
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