Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  “Sorry?”

  He pulled her down onto his lap, and wrapped his arms about her, holding her close. Secure. Protected. And Giselle sobbed even harder. She buried her face in his shirt front and wept bitterly.

  “You have to stop this before you take ill again, my love. Then I’ll blame myself for it. I’ll have to send your notes back unopened and be a terror to my servants. You must think of them if nothing else. No? Then think of me out here without even a dry shirt!”

  Giselle giggled. Perhaps that was the reaction he’d wanted. She moved away from his chest so she could see him. “I love you, Navarre.”

  “I know.” He smiled, putting small lines about his eyes. “I know it just as l know the sun will rise tomorrow and the next day. It’s what keeps me sane, I think. No, I lie. The only thing I know for certain,” he leaned back until he was against the back rest, “is how right this feels.”

  His voice ended, and the arms around her tightened until she felt certain the boning in her corset would be imprinted on her skin. She didn’t stop him, though. She relished the sensation of his strength.

  “You must go back now, Giselle. You’ll be missed.” His grip eased, but he didn’t release her. “And you must take care never to come here again.”

  “Don’t make me do that. Please? When can I come? Where, then?”

  “You know the answer to that, Giselle…just as I do.”

  The haunted look was back in his eyes, and hers filled with tears again. Stupid, useless tears! He was right. She did know the answer. They were caught in a painful trap, and these avowals of love did nothing but make the wound cut deeper. She realized then exactly what love was. It was up to her. She’d do anything to take the look of pain from his eyes.

  But none of that made it any easier.

  Giselle shuddered once more, gulped, and forced her emotions down, although her belly rebelled. She fought that, too. She refused to be ill. She stood shakily, and he let her go. And then she walked from him, focusing on the fountain while she waited for her tears to dry.

  “Oh. I appear to have dirtied your gown, Giselle. I hope you can think of an explanation the others will accept.”

  She swiveled back to him. She wondered how he knew. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring at the ground between his feet again.

  “I toured the stables today, Navarre. That’s enough of an excuse.”

  She spoke impersonally. Of stables. As if this weren’t the last time they dared to be alone together. And it wasn’t anger separating them this time. It was duty. And honor. And integrity.

  She could learn to hate those words.

  “The groom was a competent guide?”

  Giselle backed from him, unable to bear listening any further. She was supposed to stop crying, not start up again. A hedge stopped her, and she realized she didn’t know the way out. She didn’t dare ask Navarre to show her. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. If she remained with him much longer, she was afraid she’d be on her hands and knees begging him to do as Etienne wanted.

  “Jean-Claude…didn’t think so.”

  Giselle tried to smile, hoping it sounded in her voice. When he stood abruptly and stared, she knew she’d failed.

  “Jean-Claude?”

  Giselle put her arms out to stop his approach, but he lunged toward her. She couldn’t bear anymore. It wasn’t humanly possible. Giselle turned to run away, but the hedge at her nose stopped her.

  “Jean-Claude toured the stables with you? He’s here? He can’t be here!”

  She opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. If she spoke at all, he’d hear the grief she was stanching. It was too raw. Too visceral.

  “Answer me, Giselle!”

  He had reached her. She felt him right behind her. She nodded.

  “When did he arrive? Why wasn’t I informed? Doesn’t Esmee realize what might happen if I’m not there?”

  Giselle took a deep breath and turned, tensing for the effect of his eyes. She wasn’t disappointed. Confusion, anger, surprise, and pain showed so clearly she could almost touch them. If she was grieving, so was he, just in a different fashion.

  “Jean-Claude is evil,” he continued speaking. “Truly. He’s twisted. He doesn’t have any thought to right or wrong. He thinks only of himself. He’s dangerous! Dieu! Someone should have told me!”

  “Perhaps you should read your missives before you return them.” Her words were garbled. Indistinct.

  He glared at her for a moment, and then grasped her to him, cradling her in arms that felt wonderful. It was horrid, wicked and wrong, but Giselle couldn’t lie to herself any longer. She breathed deeply of his chest where it was pressed against her cheek, and thanked the Bon Dieu for such a gift.

  “Oh, Giselle. This is bad. I can’t stay away now. It’s not safe. But it will be difficult! Do you understand? One hint of how we feel for each other and Jean-Claude has a weapon.”

  “A weapon? I’d say he has several already. He’s very handsome and he’s very charming. And he uses both as weapons.”

  Navarre pulled away and glared down at her.

  “I can’t believe you just said that, Giselle. I can’t. Of all women, you should know how I detest—”

  “I was teasing, Navarre.”

  Giselle giggled, and then sniffed. It was better than her tears.

  “Teasing? Oh. Well, it’s not amusing.”

  He set her from him, and looked at her for long moments before he shook his head.

  “Go now. Tell Esmee not to expect me for sup, but I’ll be back in residence tonight. I promise.”

  “Do I have to tell her?”

  “She bothers you, my love? Very well, but I can’t think it would be easier to tell Etienne. He’ll know you were with me.”

  “Do I have to speak of it?”

  “Have your companion do it, then. But for now, you must go.”

  “Very well. But…Navarre?”

  “Oui?”

  “I don’t know how I got here. Or the way out.”

  “You’re lost…and yet you found my hiding place? Le Bon Dieu works in strange ways. Come, Giselle. Take my hand. I’ll show you.”

  He offered her heaven. She stepped back.

  “Oh. You’re right. Follow me, then. But stay close.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Giselle struggled with the linens and untangled her legs from her nightgown. Still, she felt suffocated by heat. There was no other word to describe it, and she didn’t know what to try next. One window was already open from the last time she’d awakened.

  Navarre wasn’t the subject of her dreams, either. Etienne was. Giselle sat for a moment to reflect on the last one. She’d dreamed of Etienne laughing. Crying. Drinking. And then he’d been struggling. The last was the worst. She shuddered. He’d been screaming for help.

  The heat sensation came again, growing to roasting level as she dwelled on Etienne’s screams. Giselle pulled the cloying cotton from her legs. There was nothing for it. The night was stiflingly hot, and her dreams were filled with Etienne. She might as well check on him. And if that didn’t work, she’d change into one of her filmy nightgowns.

  The feeling of heat intensified as she unlocked the connecting door to Etienne’s chambers. Giselle looked over her shoulder. It felt like there was someone with her, but that was ridiculous. The entire thing was.

  Etienne hadn’t come down for supper. He hadn’t been missed. Supper had never been so stilted. Aunt Mimi and Jean-Claude did most of the talking, while Margot had sat looking like she’d seen a ghost.

  A ghost?

  Giselle clutched a hand to her throat. That’s where she’d felt this heat before – the tower. With Esmee.

  “Stop, Giselle. You’re frightening yourself.”

  She said it aloud as she stepped into the duc’s chambers, almost expecting to meet up with the long-dead Duchesse Bertina. Or worse. A drunken Etienne. Entering his room was worse than stupid. His covers were messily tossed about, and Giselle
almost turned away. It appeared like he was having the same kind of night that she was, nothing more.

  He wasn’t there, though. That was odd…

  The window casement was shut tightly, and Giselle knew he’d never leave the room unaided. She didn’t know where he kept his wheeled chair, but, the moment she started searching for it, all the warmth vanished.

  Giselle rubbed her hands together to ward off the sudden chill. It was ridiculous, temperature didn’t change that rapidly. She was being silly, but why was the chair missing, then? She knew how rarely he used it. He wouldn’t get up and roll about the halls at night…would he?

  Warmth returned the moment she had that thought. She no longer ignored it. Somehow, she knew exactly where he was, and that he was in mortal danger!

  “Help! Someone help! Navarre! Esmee!”

  Giselle’s screams went ignored until she yanked on Etienne’s servant bell. The valet answered quickly. She stupidly noticed that he didn’t favor Gerty much.

  “Summon Monsieur Navarre! Go now! Get help! Etienne has fallen from the second-wing tower! Go! Don’t stand there staring, go!”

  She shoved him toward the door, his mouth open.

  “What is it, Giselle?”

  Esmee was the first to reach the ducal chambers. Giselle grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the main foyer. “Etienne’s in danger. Where is Navarre? Navarre!” She saw him run into the hall below them. “Thank the Bon Dieu! I’ve been so worried.”

  She rushed down the steps to him, remembering at the last moment not to go into his embrace. That would have been disastrous with all the observers about. Light flared about them as torches were lit.

  “What’s all the noise about?”

  Jean-Claude asked it, as he walked into the gathering as if the family normally assembled in their sleepwear in the middle of the night. Giselle also noticed that he came from the hall that led to the haunted tower. And that was the opposite of his own apartments. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Etienne’s missing, and I know where he is,” she announced loudly. “Esmee! Remember when you showed me the haunted tower where someone removed some rock? Well? Don’t stand there looking at me like I lost my mind! Go save him!”

  “How do you know it’s not already too late?”

  Jean-Claude reached for his snuff can as he spoke. Giselle couldn’t believe it. If she had doubted Navarre’s character appraisal of the man earlier, she was more that naïve. She was criminally negligent.

  “The tower’s been tampered with?” Navarre asked. “Esmee, why didn’t you tell me? Quick, send a man around to check at the base of it. And Jean-Claude. Don’t leave. Stay with the women while I go.”

  He almost knocked down Louisa as he turned, and Giselle could have hugged her when she saw the dressing gown she carried. She’d been running through the halls in her nightgown. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t ashamed. Etienne’s survival was all that mattered.

  Giselle waited until Navarre disappeared from the hall, three men running at his heels before she turned back to face Jean-Claude. He finished inhaling his snuff and brushed the remnants off his jacket as if he’d asked her the time of day and not how she knew. He smiled down at her.

  Giselle raised her chin. She’d thought him the most stunning male she’d ever seen. She wasn’t far off. He was what she’d been warned of by Isabelle and the fat priest for years. She knew exactly what she was looking at now. He was described in any number of Scriptures. She just hadn’t believed that such evil would come packaged so magnificently.

  She’d been a fool.

  “It’s not too late, Jean-Claude.”

  Warmth enfolded her as she spoke. She had no need to fear him with the Duchesse Bertina helping her. Giselle didn’t even question it.

  “How can you know that, my dearest little duchesse? You’ve been sleeping.”

  Jean-Claude’s eyes slid insolently down her frame and back up again. Giselle was grateful for the robe’s concealment. She hugged the neckline against her. She didn’t have to be experienced to know what he left unsaid.

  “You leave her alone, Jean-Claude.”

  Esmee spoke up before Giselle could, championing her. Perhaps she’d misjudged Esmee.

  “I’m not speaking to you, Esmee, my dear. I’m speaking to the petite duchesse. Someone should ask her how it is that her husband lies dead from a fall, and she’s the only one with knowledge of it, shouldn’t they?”

  “Etienne hasn’t fallen yet.” Giselle answered with so much authority, she wasn’t surprised to see Esmee’s mouth gape open. “And I’m not the only one with knowledge, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  There was an audible gasp about her, and Giselle watched Jean-Claude stiffen. His purplish-blue eyes became calculating and cold. Giselle would be trembling at the intent in them if it weren’t for the cocoon of warmth wrapped about her.

  “He hasn’t fallen, you say? Hmm. I find that difficult to believe.”

  “I don’t care what you believe, Monsieur. He hasn’t fallen. You were premature.”

  Louisa pressed against Giselle’s arm. And then a servant entered the hall and started shouting.

  “Merde! Bring a torch and some rope! Be quick!”

  There was a collective gasp as activity burst about them. Giselle didn’t move her gaze from Jean-Claude. She watched him watching the servants. There was disbelief on his face and she knew exactly what he was thinking. It was a powerful feeling.

  “Go see what’s happening, Louisa.”

  Giselle sent her off without taking her eyes from Jean-Claude. If he hadn’t still worn his face-paint, she could have known for certain, but he seemed to have paled.

  “The duc is dangling from the tower! They’re attempting a rescue!”

  Louisa was back with the message. That time Giselle was certain. Beneath his mask, Jean-Claude had definitely whitened.

  “Dear God, Jean-Claude,” Esmee said. “How can you stand there and pretend to us? To me?”

  Giselle refused to look away. She stared at him unblinkingly. Jean-Claude had been in the castle less than a day, and he already tried to kill Etienne. Her mouth was dry and she knew she was in shock, and yet nothing broke through the warmth and security surrounding her. Strengthening her. Protecting her.

  “What is it? What has happened?”

  Marguerite, Madame du Berchald, walked into the foyer to ask it. Nobody answered.

  “My maid told me Etienne has had an accident. Is this true, Esmee? And Jean-Claude? What are you doing out of your chambers?” Her voice sharpened on the last bit of her query.

  He‘s been busy trying to kill his brother, Giselle answered in her thoughts.

  Madame du Berchald had claimed illness kept her from joining them for supper earlier — but she looked perfectly healthy as she stood before Jean-Claude.

  “I asked you a question!” she hissed.

  “So you did. And perhaps I’ll answer it, Maman. Perhaps not. But the one thing I won’t do is stand about in the hall like a peasant.”

  “We’ll retire to the Red Salon. See that wine is brought.” Esmee said.

  Giselle took her eyes from Jean-Claude in order to inspect her mother-in-law while Esmee directed the household. Marguerite didn’t look as old as she should, but perhaps that was the paint she also wore. Although she was smaller than Esmee, she still overshadowed Giselle, and her dressing gown was more splendid in design than any ball gown.

  “I can’t take my eyes off you for a moment, can I?”

  Giselle heard the whispered words to Jean-Claude as they took what seemed to be their assigned places in the Red Salon.

  “Moi? The word you received was inaccurate, Mother. Etienne has experienced an accident…and according to the duchesse,” Jean-Claude said, “he didn’t fall. She still hasn’t explained her knowledge of it, have you, Giselle?”

  “Giselle!” Their mother turned to Giselle. “We meet under horrid circumstances, non? I wasn’t feeling well earlier, child. Pr
ay forgive me, and explain. What is this Jean-Claude speaks of?”

  The warmth in her voice didn’t reach her eyes. Giselle realized Marguerite was acting. She wished there was another explanation, but knew she was right. And Giselle was getting as jaded as everyone else.

  “There’s never a good time for attempting murder, Madame,” Giselle answered coolly.

  Louisa gasped beside her.

  “There should be no listeners to this sort of conversation, Madame la Duchesse.” Marguerite’s voice carried a note of reproof. “Perhaps you could see we aren’t disturbed?”

  She was speaking to Louisa, and Giselle’s eyes narrowed.

  “Forgive me, but Louisa is my companion. She stays. I awakened abruptly to the certain knowledge — call it a dream, if you like — that my husband was in danger. I knew it for a certainty when I went to check. I can’t tell you how faint I am at this moment. Why…if Louisa weren’t at my side, anything might happen.”

  Giselle sat on her chair and placed a hand to her forehead while she feigned a near collapse.

  “A companion? You’re too young for such a thing. Even I have no need of one.”

  “You didn’t have my upbringing.” Louisa’s hand squeezed Giselle’s shoulder. She knew that was an indication that she wanted to leave. “Perhaps you’ve already met my father, the Comte d’Antillion?” Giselle asked.

  “Everyone knows the Comte d’Antillion and his hatred for us. I fail to see—”

  “Us? Madame. Please. I have been a Berchald since the age of six. Louisa, could you check the rescue? I can’t sit, speaking idly, while my husband’s in danger.”

  Louisa passed the footman with the wine on her way out. He set down the tray and left while not a word was said.

  “You expect me to believe that the comte turned his feelings against his own daughter?” Marguerite asked.

  Jean-Claude uncorked the bottle and downed his goblet twice before turning back to them. Giselle kept her eyes on him the entire time.

  “I can’t see why you wouldn’t believe me,” she replied sweetly. “You must know how easily a parent can ignore one child’s well-being…over another’s.”