Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  “Come, Giselle,” Navarre continued. “Madame Minot is well-known for her culinary skills, and I’m famished.”

  The vehicle swayed again as he got out, and Giselle gripped to the railing until it calmed. Both Minots greeted him warmly, and the sight of his laughing face made her heart flutter strangely. He turned back to her.

  Again, his large hands encircled her waist, although this time, he swung her into his arms and walked to the house. Giselle’s eyes went wide and her breathing quickened. And he held her for the entire eleven steps! She knew the number. She counted each one. She’d never been touched by any man, let alone carried intimately by one! It was incredible. Amazing. Shocking.

  “I couldn’t allow your dress to touch the mud, Giselle.”

  He set her on the porch, explaining although she hadn’t said a word. She was incapable of speech. She was trying to erase the memory of the feel of his chest against her breast, and his arms about her body. The seamstress, Madame Broussard, hadn’t given Giselle enough material to prevent the sensations.

  She couldn’t raise her face and meet his eyes, because she couldn’t stop blushing long enough.

  “You’re very pretty, Madame la Duchesse.”

  Giselle smiled her thanks to the man who was so much thinner than his wife, it looked absurd.

  “She’s more than that, Jacques,” Madame Minot said with a curtsy. “She is tres belle.” She motioned them into the house. “Sometimes I think that man of mine is blind.”

  The table before them seemed to groan under the weight of all the food on it. Navarre led Giselle to a separate table, elegantly covered with fine linen, placed beside a diamond-paned window. Giselle’s widened and she turned her gaze to the view. She was going to dine…intimately with a man?

  Oh my. Heavens! Louisa and Isabelle couldn’t have foreseen this! Perhaps the sight of the grounds outside would calm the heat she felt rising through her chest and into her cheeks, but she doubted it.

  After all, she had Navarre du Berchald as a dining companion.

  The main course was roast pork, as she’d suspected, but Madame Minot glazed hers with a mixture of sweet and sour Giselle couldn’t place. She watched with much interest as Navarre devoured it while she moved pieces of food about her plate.

  He caught her watching him. “You don’t eat very much, do you, Giselle? Is that how you stay so small?”

  “I can’t change my size, Monsieur,’” she answered in what she hoped was a cool tone. “But, as it happens, I’m quite replete.”

  It was true. She’d already sampled the first courses Madame Minot placed before her, and Navarre was right when he praised her culinary skill. Her bouillabaisse stew was exciting to taste, and so were her rolls. Giselle had decided she was tasting nirvana long before the main course was placed before her.

  She waited for his reply, unable to look away even if she wished. Navarre lifted his napkin to lips moistened with glaze, and Giselle was amazed to feel the area behind both of her knees tingle. She couldn’t prevent the widening of her eyes as he lifted one eyebrow at her words and dropped his napkin to the table.

  Such eyes! Such lashes! Merde! She had to cease looking! There was no excuse for such behavior, and it was starting to make a knot form in the base of her throat.

  He lowered his gaze then, freeing her to swallow, but it was more of a gulp. The waning sunlight tipped his lashes with gold. Giselle couldn’t bear to continue looking, yet was unable to move her glance away.

  “You’re right, and I shouldn’t tease, Giselle.” He sighed and looked out the window.

  Oh no! That was worse, if there was such a thing!

  She found it difficult to follow what he was saying. In profile, he was even more handsome. She hadn’t noticed before that his lower lip was so full, but it was obvious now as she watched him speak.

  Oh! This was intolerable.

  “…Antillions aren’t known for their large size, it’s just….” He stopped, as if searching for the right words. “You’ll see when you meet Esmee. She’s almost as tall as I am, but then, we’re known for our height. It’s something every history book refers to….”

  Louisa should’ve told Giselle more about men. Then again, how could anyone have described this Navarre? What would Louisa have used for a reference? The only men Giselle had seen were menservants, the priest, and Papa. Navarre was from another realm entirely.

  There was a faint shading of light brown on his upper lip. It wasn’t a mustache, but perhaps the beginning of one. Giselle wondered if it would be noticeable…when he kissed someone.

  He turned and caught her looking. Whatever he was saying stopped the moment his eyes met hers. Giselle gasped in dismay and dropped her eyes to her lap. The situation was impossible! She had just met this man, and he was her husband’s brother. The Bon Dieu would never forgive the train of thought she’d been pursuing! It was evil. Illicit. Sinful.

  “Perhaps we should be leaving.”

  He rose from his chair and she nodded. She was close to tears and shivering with the effort of stopping them. The peach of her dress blurred as she looked down at it.

  “Have you no wrap, Giselle?”

  She couldn’t answer. He held out his hand. Any words would give her away. She shook her head.

  “It’ll be colder now, but I have blankets. Come, or we’ll be late at the castle.”

  His hand was very warm. Giselle held to it briefly, releasing him the moment she stood, but she couldn’t erase the memory as easily. She was being plagued with the new experiences, and she wasn’t ready! It was worse than intolerable. And he would probably carry her back to his cabriolet! She didn’t know if she could stand it, and he didn’t give her any acclimate herself to it, either.

  “Giselle, please. The horse grows restless.”

  He stood in the mud with his arms out toward her, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate. Her entire body trembled with just the thought…of his touch. The intimacy of his arms about her. She didn’t even dare look at him.

  “I won’t harm you.”

  Giselle raised her eyes and met his gaze. She felt the blood drain from her face, watched dark spots dance before her eyes, and held her breath. She couldn’t faint! Not now. That would be more ignominious than she could imagine.

  Giselle?”

  She caught her lower lips between her teeth and walked forward two steps and into his arms. Navarre lifted her differently this time, cradled against his chest, while her arms wrapped about his neck for security. He smelled wondrous, too. How could she have missed that, earlier? Different from anything she’d experienced before. It was like sunshine on spring meadows, combined with the scent of the outdoor gardens after a rain shower…no. Perhaps it was more like the lingering smell of a warm fire combined with Savignen wine…no. That wasn’t even the smell. She didn’t know what it was.

  He shifted her, as if adjusting her weight. Giselle squeezed her eyes shut. The arm beneath her knees felt like it was touching on bare flesh, and the feel of his hard, warm chest against her side was making her dizzy.

  The walk seemed to take forever, the length to the carriage triple what it had been. Much more than the eleven steps from before. She wasn’t trembling anymore, it had turned to shudders, and her hands gripped to the fabric of his jacket. The feel of the material sent gooseflesh roving her limbs.

  “It’s all right, Giselle. You’re safe. Such a frightened little thing you are.”

  He whispered the words against her ear. Heat touched her neck, instantly warming and tickling, and then something more happened…something insidious and strange. A tingling sparked into being somewhere in her lower belly, and began radiating outward from there. Giselle tightened every limb to halt whatever the sensation was. She had them locked when she felt him place her on the wood of the carriage seat. It took an act of will to release her fingers from his jacket. Giselle moved first one hand to the metal railing, and then the other, grateful for the chill against her palm.

  “
Here, Madame.”

  Monsieur Minot handed up a thick woven blanket, and Giselle watched her hands reach for it, and then somehow wrap it about herself. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Her hands didn’t even feel like her own. Nor did the blanket help much. Her body was too warm. Too aware. Too…alert. Nothing felt cold. Everything about this odd commotion within her felt amazing. Intoxicating. Addictive.

  “You really haven’t ridden before, have you? Forgive me if it frightens you so. I can go slower if you like.” Navarre offered it from his side of the carriage.

  Slower? Oh no! Oh…yes!

  What was she thinking? The experience of driving with Navarre was emblazoned on her senses. She didn’t dare ask him to go slower…and make it last longer.

  “Non. No. I’m fine, Navarre. Tru…ly.”

  She turned to reassure him, but, from her vantage point a few inches above his head, the intent went awry. Her voice dropped. He’d placed his hat back on, and the shadow of the brim fell to his lips. And her heart reacted with a leap.

  She almost slapped a hand there. Oh, heavens! This was impossible! But it couldn’t be all her fault. It was unfair for any man to be so comely. He smiled. Giselle gasped and turned away so quickly, it was probably insulting.

  “It was a pleasure to serve you, Madame la Duchesse.”

  Both Minots stood on her side of the carriage, and she smiled at them numbly. It felt like her mouth had joined the fray, and belonged to someone else, as well.

  “The pleasure was mine,” Giselle replied in a voice that trembled. “You are an extraordinary cook, Madame.”

  The cabriolet swayed as Navarre got in. Giselle started, but didn’t jump that time. The only reaction was the white knuckles on her hands. She was rather proud of that.

  “You must visit again.” Monsieur Minot lifted his hand in farewell.

  “I’ll make certain and bring her.” Navarre flicked the reins. “Until then.”

  No. Oh, no.

  He couldn’t bring her again. She’d refuse. She couldn’t let herself be this close to him ever again. She was a married woman, journeying to her husband. And this Navarre was far too attractive to her. Being near him was creating more than shivers. She couldn’t allow this again. Everything on her body was sending a warning.

  “Look, Giselle,”

  Navarre spoke from beside her, interrupting her thoughts. She started and then looked out at where he was pointing. Savignen Valley. Her dowry.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? I always think so, especially so when dawn is just breaking. You can see that, can’t you? I can understand the comte’s hatred for us better each time I look at it.”

  “You know of his…feelings?” she stammered.

  He chuckled. “All of France knows of his displeasure. He makes no secret of it. He’s even tried to draw Jean-Claude into a duel over it — more than once.”

  “Jean-Claude?”

  Giselle put her nose under the blanket for warmth. It was much colder, and she shivered. She wondered how Navarre could sit there so calmly without even a rug over his legs. He had only his hose and the green satin breeches to keep him warm….

  Oh dear! She had to stop her thoughts!

  “My brother, Jean-Claude, attends to court functions in Versailles. He’s one of the king’s favorite courtiers. Hopefully, you’ll never—”

  He stopped abruptly. Giselle waited, but he was silent. Navarre pulled on the reins, and the horse stopped.

  “See those lights?”

  He pointed again. Giselle forced herself to look beyond how his sleeve defined the strength in the arm before her. But she’d known he was strong. She’d felt it as he carried her.

  Oh dear! She had to concentrate on where he pointed. It wasn’t an easy task.

  “That’s the Chateau Berchand. We’ll be there within the hour. Hold these.”

  He held the reins out for her. Giselle gripped the leather strips in both hands, trembling visibly. Luckily, the horse didn’t move, for Giselle was woefully ignorant of how reins worked.

  She watched Navarre strike flint and light candles in two glass boxes on either side of the carriage. The glow shed some light on the road, demonstrating how dark it had gotten. Giselle would have been petrified with fear if she were alone.

  “Are we late?” She whispered it as the vehicle swayed again with his entrance.

  “Not so much that anyone will worry.”

  He smiled down at her. Time stood still. The newly lit lanterns made it more than obvious. The light glinted on teeth. Of course, he would have the most stunning smile she’d ever seen, too. She would simply have to admit that to herself and then let it go, as well.

  “What of my maid, Isabelle? And…my governess? They’ll worry.”

  He chuckled and took the reins from her hands. ‘They’re behind us. The baggage wagon can’t travel fast enough to overtake us. May I share your cover?”

  Her heart stopped again. Her eyes went to their fullest, and he probably heard the gasp. Share the blanket? Together? Oh…my! She had yet to stifle how it felt when his fingers had touched hers while taking the reins! He kept up a running chatter, as if unaware of her reaction.

  “Madame Minot is a great cook, isn’t she?” he asked. “Not that our own Chef Aaron doesn’t compare. Esmee would have my tongue for denigrating words. Still, I grow tired of lengthy courses rich with sauce. Don’t you?”

  Perhaps he was rambling to put her at ease. It was wasted breath. The feel of his leg against hers, even through her skirts, was stopping her thoughts, and giving her different ones.

  Giselle started praying then, silently and in earnest. She couldn’t ignore the effect this Navarre had on her any longer. It was unwise and unprecedented. She hoped Etienne’ s presence would be equally…stimulating.

  Stimulating?

  Giselle reeled in place. She’d learned that particular word from a novel Louisa had sneaked in for her to read. Now, she knew what it meant. There was a feeling of expectancy, combined with…mercy! Could this be sensual attraction?

  Sensual? Attraction?

  Oh. This was bad. She should banish the thoughts! But…how?

  “I paid the Minots well to provide for your servants,” he continued. “Tell me, Giselle, why is it that you employ a governess? Aren’t you too old for one?”

  “I…I….” She was shaking too much to answer.

  “You’re cold! Here, move closer. I’ll warm you.”

  Oh no! He can’t possibly mean...

  He started the horse moving with one arm, and Giselle was jolted against his side. And then she was held there by his other arm. It wasn’t remotely cold. Her blushes overheated and frightened as she landed into the space beneath his shoulder. She couldn’t stop the urge to snuggle and closed her eyes. It was akin to a dream. And even if it was sinful, it was wonderful, too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Wake up, Giselle. We’re at the gates.”

  She barely resisted the urge to giggle. She wasn’t sleeping. She was existing, letting many wild thoughts fill her mind. One thing was certain. The next time she saw a priest, she’d have something to confess. She wondered what the penance would be.

  Giselle sat up and stretched, although the gown left little room for the move. A stone gatehouse loomed ahead. Although there were two lamps on either side of the road, it was hard to see color, especially against the mass of light that was glowing from the castle yard inside.

  “Am I presentable, Navarre?”

  Giselle touched her curls and wondered how much damage she’d done as she snuggled against his side. The memory made her warm all over, until there wasn’t anything cold. Anywhere. Perhaps that would be all she had to keep her warm in the future. That was a sobering thought.

  He looked down at her, his eyes unfathomable in the shadow of his hat brim. She raised her chin.

  “You mustn’t ask that of me, Giselle. I’ve been trying to control myself all during this trip. I still don’t know how I managed.”
>
  He turned away, and Giselle’s eyes went wide. Her mouth followed. He couldn’t have just said—? He couldn’t possibly mean—? The waist of her new gown wasn’t the only tight part. The bodice was restricting all the feeling hammering through it. Amazement followed surprise as emotion filled her. Razed her. Tossed her senses into the air somewhere so they could burst free. It was brightness. Light. Joy. Heavens!

  Light flooded the courtyard they entered. A mass of servants surrounded the cabriolet on both sides. It would have been frightening, but she was beyond that at the moment. She was doing her best to control the giddiness.

  ‘‘Monsieur Navarre! Finally! You’ve arrived! This then, is Madame la Duchesse?”

  A groom opened the half-door and held out his hand for her. Giselle looked at it warily, ignoring the woman who’d spoken. It was Navarre who answered.

  “Oui, Esmee. I’ve brought Giselle du Berchald. Pardon, my good man. Allow me.”

  Navarre moved the groom aside and reached for her. Giselle hadn’t even felt the sway of the vehicle as he’d left it. This time she leaned for him, and gasped as his hands encircled her waist. The contact sparked. And then it heated. Rapidly.

  Her feet touched ground, but everything else was soaring. She caught his eye for a moment and the push her heart gave stunned and horrified. And thrilled. And then she was facing a carpet stretched out for them. Giselle placed her hand on Navarre’s outstretched arm as Louisa had instructed. Her hand trembled, while the arm beneath her fingers hardened somehow.

  Oh my! Louisa hadn’t said a word about any of this!

  “Madame?” the woman said. “I’m Esmee Denton. The Blue Salon has been prepared for your arrival. Will you follow me?”

  Their sister had a different surname? Giselle pondered it during the walk to the salon, keeping her mind blanked to the arm beneath her fingers. It was impossible! But somehow she must try. Each finger thrilled to every nuance. The fabric of his jacket felt sensual…and the arm beneath! Merde! She’d known Navarre was strong. Now she was getting another sample of just how strong. And it was heavenly.