by Jackie Ivie
She whispered it against his earlobe and felt him shudder at either the touch or the words.
“Don’t say so, Giselle. I forbid it. It’s enough that I have to live with this torment. How can I ask another to share it? Especially the one I love?”
He sighed deeply. Giselle lifted her head and held his in her hands, making him look at her. There was pain, torment, and love in those unique eyes. Her heart felt each one in turn.
“Listen to me, Navarre. Listen. Did I ask to love you? Non. Will I ever feel the same for Etienne? Non. Will I regret finding out…that you feel the same? Non. It will be all I have for comfort. Don’t you understand?”
“I wish I didn’t, and yet I cannot say that! You are too innocent to answer such questions! And I am a brute for making you. I beg of you, Giselle. Forget this. Forget I said what I did. Forget—Mon Dieu! What am I asking? I can as soon forget what just happened as quit breathing. I am a knave.”
“No, Navarre.”
“Non? What do you call it when I make love to my brother’s wife? There is only one worse sin, Giselle. I’m afraid of what else I’m capable of. And now, we must go. We mustn’t stay here. Not like this. Not…together. Forgive me for bringing you.”
“Do you wish forgiveness for the kiss…too?”
Fresh tears flooded her eyes as she asked it, and Navarre’s eyes appeared moist, too. Giselle couldn’t bear to continue looking, and yet was unable to look away.
“I cannot answer that, ma petit.”
“Why?”
“To know you share this torment is worse than living through it alone. Don’t ask anything more of me. I’m too much of a coward.”
“Well, I won’t forgive it, even if you do ask. It’s all I have. And I’ll dream of it when no one else knows, too. Nobody can take that from me.”
“Oh, Giselle.”
He pulled her close, and she breathed deeply, matching every one of his. The way he said her name affected her as much as his tremors.
“This is madness, my love. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded against him.
“You must help me.”
“How?” Giselle pulled from him.
“Try not to be so desirable.”
Giselle giggled. “How…am I supposed to do that?”
“And never come riding with me again. No matter how many times I may beg you, say no. Don’t be alone with me, either. Ever. Always make certain there’s someone else about.”
“Then you have to make yourself less handsome.”
She’d surprised him. It was on the look on his face and in his voice. “You find me that? Truly?”
“I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”
She was blushing as she said it and had trouble meeting his eyes.
“Oh, Giselle, my love. This is not helping.”
He was hugging her to him again.
“Come. We lose daylight, and I’m not a proficient enough lady’s maid to redo your hair. Forgive me for that, as well. I lost control for a bit there.”
Giselle ginned so widely, she felt her mouth might tear. He wasn’t proficient with hair? That was wonderful. She couldn’t share him with another woman; especially one such as Desiree. It was wonderful too, that he had lost control.
“It is no matter, Navarre.”
Giselle leaned to kiss the tip of his nose before sliding from his lap, and returning to the horse, searching among the deadfall for her pins. She didn’t need an assist. She’d done it before. Yet, everything felt different. As if she’d gained new sensitivity. Her hair felt slick and erotic. His hands about her waist as he reseated her felt like they left marks. And the sensation of the hard saddle against her derriere was almost impossible to withstand. And yet she must.
He handed her the hat. Giselle retied it and then watched him toss a leg over his mount. He had very long legs. Muscled. Strong. Lean. What she wouldn’t give to feel them against hers…
“Don’t look at me like that, Giselle,” he said. “Or I won’t be responsible for my own actions.”
He was teasing, yet he wasn’t, and she couldn’t look away. He bent to retrieve her reins. Giselle watched the material in his jacket move, wondering what it would be like to feel his bare chest pressed against hers, as well.
“They will never believe us innocent, Giselle, if you continue that.”
He was chastising her, but smiling as he did so. Giselle was grateful the sun was setting. She nearly unbalanced herself looking back at the arbor, but it was worth it. The sun’s last rays touched the tips of the dark-green vines. The sight was etched into her memory and her senses. She still smelled Navarre on her, too, and she lowered her head to the ribbons at her chin.
He loves me, and I love him.
She longed to shout it, but it was just another secret the castle would have to hide. It was darker beneath the trees as twilight closed in, and Giselle looked about her. It was good it was dark. That’s where their love belonged. It was evil. Lustful. Sinful.
It was completely dark before her tears started up again.
Giselle was so lost in crying, she thought when they stopped that they were at the gate. She opened her eyes to see Navarre come out of the gloom with a handkerchief in his hand.
“Don’t cry, Giselle. I beg it of you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have given me this.”
She held it to her nose and caught his scent. That added to the void building within her, the one blacker than the night all about them.
Navarre walked around the horse and lifted a hind leg.
“What are you doing?” Giselle mopped at her tears as she asked it.
“Removing a shoe. That way, Swift Night will limp, and our story will be believed.”
Swift Night? Her mount? Giselle almost laughed. And that was a relief . “What story?” she asked.
‘Your horse threw a shoe in the vineyard. We’ve been delayed immensely because of it.”
“You’re very good with stories…Navarre.”
Saying his name even caused a reaction. Giselle fought to stop the shivers.
“Well, I wasn’t always the paragon of duty you see before you, my love. I had to have a story for my mama, didn’t I?”
He must have sensed her lurch of pain as she realized what he meant. He needed a story for being late coming back? Perhaps it was because he was seeing someone like Desiree?
“Giselle, you worry for nothing. I’ve never loved another. Nor wanted to. How could I after my fiancée threw me over for Jean-Claude’s vaunted attractions?”
“Jean-Claude? Your brother? I…don’t understand.” And she was reeling. Giselle bent forward over the pommel to keep her balance.
“My betrothed is a very beautiful woman. Headstrong. Spoiled.”
“What has that to do with it?”
“She’s an only daughter, Giselle. Her pere gives in to her every whim.”
“But a betrothal is binding.”
He shrugged. “So they say. Who am I to question it? Do I look desperate enough to enforce it when she wants life at court and him, not the chateau with me?”
“But…Jean-Claude?”
“Who can understand women? Look about. I have little to offer. She found marriage to me wasn’t to her liking just yet. Jean-Claude is the heir-apparent to the duchy. He could buy her carriages, dresses, and jewels that stun the eye, not ‘pea-sized sapphires’ such as I offered.”
“She couldn’t wed with him, though,” Giselle said. “I don’t understand.”
“Jean-Claude has many attractions to the ladies, Giselle. I, for one, cannot fathom what they are. All I know is Mademoiselle wanted life at Versailles Palace as his mistress more than she wanted me.”
Giselle heard the disgust in his voice, but couldn’t answer. The latest secret was too much to assimilate. Jean-Claude…and Navarre’s betrothed? She preferred being Jean-Claude’s mistress to a wife? What sort of woman was so stupid?
‘There. I’ve
finished. Swift Night will have a strange gait until we get home.”
“He won’t be in pain, will he?”
Giselle stroked the little horse’s mane. Navarre chuckled.
“That must be what makes you so different, Giselle. It makes me long to kiss any unhappiness from your mouth, and to see you smile. You have such a generous spirit. No other woman would care, but the animal’s suffering is your first thought. Je t’aime, ma petit.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, then he turned from her and remounted his horse.
“Just as I love you.”
She wanted to shout it, but that would never do. Ever. They resumed riding. Swift Night did walk oddly, but the castle gate loomed in the darkness within moments. And that meant her ride was over.
All of it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I can’t believe the trials you’ve gone through, Madame. Look at this gown! It will take all day to press out the wrinkles, and your hair! I hope I can get a comb through it,” Gerty continued.
Giselle bit on her tongue and resolved that if anyone said another word, she might scream.
“Giselle, are you certain you won’t dress in your chamber?” Louisa asked.
She refused to answer. She knew Etienne was in her bed, surveying the room like a king. Louisa was being wise, but Giselle was beyond listening. Louisa wanted the duchesse to act with propriety, not to give Gerty more to talk about.
Giselle sighed. She refused to let Etienne watch her dress. It felt like sacrilege.
“Which nightgown would you like warmed, Madame?” Gerty asked. “This one? Or would you like one a bit more…concealing?”
She held up another filmy nightgown decked in lace. In her other hand was the one Giselle wanted. Made of heavy cotton, it was tied at the neckline with a pink ribbon. Giselle didn’t let the maid know the answer.
“See that a supper tray is sent up for the duc and me, Gerty. See to it at once.”
“Very good, Madame.”‘
The maid bowed and handed both gowns to Isabelle, whose inclusion into the wardrobe room made it more stifling. When Isabelle held up the cotton one, Giselle nodded. They knew her too well.
“Thank the Lord you’re finally seeing sense.” Louisa was using her lecturing tone. “The talk has been about nothing but you and Navarre. How can you be so blind? Even if you become a mother, they’ll suspect it’s his child!”
“What…did you just say?” Giselle gasped.
“You heard me.”
She turned and stormed from the room while Giselle narrowed her eyes. There was no point in arguing with her about it. There would never be a child.
“She shouldn’t have said that, Giselle.”
Isabelle helped her into the nightgown as she spoke. Giselle was so grateful for its concealment, she nearly hugged the maid.
“You’d never do anything as evil as they whisper. I told them so.”
“Merci, Isabelle. And could you leave orders that the duc and I are not disturbed?”
The smile that lit her face warmed Giselle, and she needed it. Cold squeezed off her breath almost as she spoke. She was capable of the things being whispered, but she refused to repent and seek God’s forgiveness just yet.
She’d set aside her decision to join a convent for the time being. Navarre’s embrace in the arbor was too enticing. She wasn’t prepared enough. Aspiring nuns didn’t melt into their brother-in-law’s arms and steal kisses when no one was looking.
Giselle wished that was all she was guilty of.
She wanted more. Her entire body was aching with denial, and there was no one she could unburden herself to. If she had to stay from Navarre’s presence forevermore, then she had to have one more kiss. Just one. She’d confess all, if God granted her just one. She wouldn’t ask for more.
Isabelle wouldn’t have believed what her mistress was wishing for as she watched Giselle join Etienne in the bedchamber. Giselle had trouble believing it, herself.
“It’s about time you decided to entertain me,” Etienne said. “Dismiss your woman and come here.”
Giselle ignored his complaints and smiled as Gerty brought in a tray of food. Giselle was wrapped in a thick robe, concealing which nightgown she wore. It was odd, but she watched as Gerty tried to decipher it before she left, following on Isabelle’s heel.
Such a strange household.
“Bring me a little bit of supper, too, Giselle,” Etienne said.
“You’ve already eaten.” She replied and bit into a croissant.
“Then bring me some wine. I’m thirsty. Giselle? Didn’t you hear me?”
It was pleasant to ignore him, and she had Navarre’s love to thank. It was like a warm blanket about her.
“Oh…I don’t think so. You’ve already had too much to drink.”
She glanced at him. His jaw dropped, and she stifled a laugh.
“What has Navarre done to change you so? I’ll wring his neck, I swear it.”
Giselle regarded him from across the room as he slammed his fist into his palm. She was no longer frightened of him. Her heart lightened as she realized it. He didn’t scare her and he couldn’t threaten her. She had Navarre’s love protecting her. She’d never go near Etienne again, and he couldn’t force her.
“Navarre? He took me to see Jacques and Rene,” she informed him. “I also met Desiree, and I’m not impressed by what you consider womanly, Etienne.” His name came out more sarcastically than she intended, and she bit into her roll again.
His mouth opened wider in shock. She enjoyed keeping him off balance.
“You met…Desiree?” He choked on the words.
She turned aside to hide her grin. “Oh. Yes. Since she’s almost as large as her mama, I could see I’ll never appeal to you.”
“Desiree? Large? I don’t believe you.”
“So? That hardly concerns me. She also has another little bastard to add to her brood, a boy child named Bernard. She wouldn’t tell Navarre who fathered the child, but it was probably the same as Rene.”
That was a dangerous thing to say, but Giselle didn’t care. He no longer frightened her.
“Rene’s my child! How dare you question it?” He was almost purple with rage.
She turned to face him. “I dare, because it’s true. I also don’t care how many illegitimate children you support, Etienne. I won’t bed with you. I refuse. If you try and force me, I have two options — I can join a convent near Bordeaux, or I’ll let my papa seek the annulment he so desperately desires. Am I making myself clear?”
He lifted up his arms and made fists as he glared at her. Despite her earlier self-assurance, Giselle found him very intimidating. If she hadn’t been in the arbor with Navarre, she probably would have been a trembling wretch under that gaze. As it was, she barely managed to suppress an unpleasant shiver.
Then he surprised her.
Giselle’s eyes widened as he fell back onto the pillows and laughed aloud. It was her turn to be shocked. She was still speechless when he lifted his head.
“I believe we’ll get along fine after all, Madame la Duchesse,” he said in a low tone.
Giselle was surprised at the look in his eyes. She put her hand to her throat at what looked like…interest? Lust? Her aggressiveness made him desire her? She gulped at the thought.
“Why…if you’ll join me up here, perhaps I can perform after all. Come. I look forward to testing it. Come, Madame.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? You disgust me, and it isn’t your disability that does so. It’s you!”
“Ho. Ho. This is exceptional. Come, Giselle. See sense. You are wanting a man, and I want an heir. Admit it. Whatever happened to you appears to have opened your eyes to carnal pleasure. It will be a pleasure to initiate you. Come. Your anger arouses me more. I’ve never seen such womanliness.”
He lifted the covers beside him as he finished. Giselle grabbed up her rosary and ran for the wardrobe room, bolting the door behind her. He was disgusting. The f
ood in her stomach threatened to erupt at the thought.
Etienne got aroused by her anger? That was revolting. Jean-Claude couldn’t possibly be as bad. And she intended to tell them all the moment it was light.
~
“I can’t imagine why Navarre insists on moving to the Dower House.”
Giselle’s fingers stumbled on the keys of the pianoforte as Aunt Mimi continued her conversation to Esmee. It took two more chords before she recovered sufficiently to blend the notes again.
“It’s been closed up so long it’ll take an age to make it habitable again. It was never as lovely or as imposing as the castle, anyway. I wonder what the boy’s up to. Oh Giselle. You play divinely. I can’t think where you learned such talent, or from whom.”
Giselle glanced up and smiled. “My tutor was a man named…Jacques.”
She waited for either of them to react to the name, but there was none. It seemed Giselle was the only female with knowledge of Etienne’s illegitimate son. That should surprise her. It didn’t.
“He was certainly a master. Are you playing his music?”
“Oui,” she answered.
That seemed to satisfy them, and while she listened for a few more moments, neither woman said a thing. Navarre was moving away from her? Non. He couldn’t be so cruel.
Could he?
Giselle’s fingers slipped again. This time she caught it before any discordant notes. Although the pianoforte had only been invented in 1709, by the year of Giselle’s birth, no noble family was without one. The Chateau Antilli had two. There was an ornate, white one on display in the music room, and an older, carved wooden one that Giselle had been trained on. It wasn’t as elegant, but the notes sounded so sweetly that Jacques exclaimed when he heard them.
Giselle closed her eyes. Reminisced. She’d been about eight, maybe younger when the tutor had first arrived. Louisa had already made certain Giselle knew rudimentary scales, and Jacques had been impressed.
“This instrument is tres belle, Mademoiselle. Forgive my rudeness, I keep forgetting. You are no Mademoiselle, are you? Please continue, Madame Giselle. I’ve never heard such lovely sounds. I’ve been writing down some notes, and I’d love to have you practice them for me.”
He gave her a sheaf of brown paper mottled with black dots. Giselle didn’t recall what happened to the original score, but she memorized it and played it for years afterward. The man had been a musical genius.