by Jackie Ivie
“We can get workmen on it, can’t we, Navarre?”
Giselle watched Navarre’s eyes narrow before he turned to look down the table at Esmee. Giselle was reeling in place at the look he gave her.
“What…needs…work?”
He pronounced each word carefully, and Esmee shrank against her chair.
“The tower that Etienne fell from,” she replied finally.
“See to it, then.”
He turned away from her, and she sighed in relief. Then Navarre grabbed his wine glass and glared at Giselle over the rim. Her eyes widened as his fingers turned white on the stem. She didn’t realize what she did to him. Hadn’t he already said as much? She didn’t hear the sound, but the stem fell to the table, separated from the goblet. Several dark drops of blood immediately followed.
Giselle’s hand went to her mouth as she realized Navarre didn’t appear to have even felt it.
“Navarre! You have hurt yourself!”
Marguerite’s cry brought a footman from the wall, cloth in hand. Still, Navarre glowered at Giselle. His nostrils widened. She knew she was turning white.
“Merci.” He spat the word at the footman and wrapped his own hand without breaking his gaze at her. Giselle knew the others were staring. She needed to invent some story to such a show of anger. But what? She could say she’d suggested a bride for him?
No, that would never do. She had to avoid that subject for fear Etienne would hear of it and start thinking. He could have Navarre married off easily…just as soon as Giselle conceived.
She couldn’t believe her train of thought!
“Navarre.”
Marguerite pushed back her chair before the footman could assist her and walked toward them. Navarre must have been aware of it, but he refused to relinquish Giselle’s gaze. He forestalled his mother by flinging his napkin to the table, shoving back his chair, and with one last glare at Giselle, striding from the room. Relief swept through the rest of the diners while Giselle clasped her hands in her lap and concentrated on controlling their shaking.
“Do all my sons react so to you, Giselle?” Marguerite smiled.
Giselle swallowed to gain time. “Oui,” she replied, “although Etienne takes a bit longer to run from me.”
Everyone laughed, including several of the servants. Giselle knew Gerty would be upset at missing this latest tidbit of gossip.
“I think Giselle spoke too soon, didn’t you?” Esmee asked.
“About what?” Marguerite asked.
“Navarre has been acting a bit strangely. Giselle and I talked of it earlier, didn’t we?”
They were looking at her. She was frozen in place.
“We think Navarre may finally have another interest beside Chateau Berchand duties. Isn’t that right?”
“I—” Giselle began, but no sound came out.
“We think he might be in love,” Esmee continued. “Isn’t that exciting?”
“With whom?” Aunt Mimi asked it from behind Marguerite.
“Did he say, Giselle?” Esmee asked. “That’s what you were speaking of, wasn’t it? Come. Confess. Who is it?”
“I—”
This time there was a bit of sound, but her words stopped anyway. What could she possibly reply? Yes. He was most certainly in love. With me.
“Would you ladies excuse me as well? It’s been a very tiring day. I should have dined with Etienne, I think.”
Giselle was feeling a reaction so intense, she feared she might be ill. She couldn’t possibly sit calmly discussing the possibility of Navarre having another lady. She simply wasn’t up to the task. Giselle walked from the room without assistance and ignored any looks the servants might be giving her, too. This was all her fault, and while she was sorry, she was exhilarated as well.
Teasing him had been very gratifying, even if she couldn’t tell anyone of it. It had been immensely warming, too. She’d never seen such blatant sensual desire. She could hardly wait until he came to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was difficult to climb to her room with the shivers racing her legs. Giselle was grateful that Louisa, Isabelle, and Gerty were still eating below-stairs. She needed the solitude.
Locking the bolts took some time, as did lighting the candles from the one she carried. When she finished and blew it out, she saw Navarre’s bulk detach itself from her drapes.
“Navarre! You’ll be seen!” Her hand went to her throat.
“I don’t care, Giselle.”
She backed from him, until a dresser stopped her. Jars rattled on the dresser’s surface when she bumped into it.
“Navarre.”
Her hands slapped against his chest as he reached her. It didn’t stop him. Punishing lips secured hers and pushed her until her back met the wall behind her.
“You intoxicate me, Giselle. You make my blood boil. You make my control break and my senses sharpen until nothing else matters. I’ve never had a woman before, and I can’t believe it! I crave it. Shake with it. I’m on fire for you, and yet you toy with me!”
“Navarre, no! Wait! Not like this!”
He ignored her plea and lifted her to the dresser top, splitting her legs with his hips, shoving her skirts aside to put velvet clothed thighs against hers. His mouth twisted, drawing her glance.
“Non?”
His head dropped. Giselle whimpered as he tongued her neck and finished by nibbling her ear. His hands had moved to her waist, to hold her and then yank her to him, shoving her right against him. The hard part of him rubbed against her moisture, hard and ready, even covered by velvet. And the contact tormented. Teased. Titillated.
“Non?”
The touch of his tongue against her throat gave her chills. Tremors.
“You want me to stop, Giselle? Truly? Then say so. Don’t just react to a man teased beyond his limits. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
He shoved again at her, brushing velvet against her apex and she was ready to scream it.
“Well, my love? Do you want me to stop? To leave you to the loneliness of yon bed? You must tell me now…while I still possess the power to go.”
Giselle lurched upward, sealing her lips to his. A groan surged through them. She restlessly pawed his hair loose, barely able to breathe through the kiss.
“Is that a yes?”
“Oh yes, Navarre. Yes!”
She fumbled with the knot of his jabot for a moment, before he tossed her hands away.
“You tease me with visions of nakedness and now torment with slowness? Non. I think not.”
He lifted her. Giselle wrapped her legs about him and clung. And then the linens of the mattress met her back. And then he pushed back from her. His eyes drilled into hers, causing such a roar in her ears that she almost missed the knocking of the maids.
“You answering that?” he asked.
She shook her head. He grinned.
“You’d better shed that dress before I get there, then.”
His jacket spilled from the chair he tossed it to. His shirt followed.
“Your dress, Giselle?”
“Navarre, I….”
Her voice stopped at his motion of untying his breeches. Giselle had to look away. She couldn’t watch. She could scarcely make her hands function.
“I still frighten you?”
His chuckle brushed her earlobe, and she concentrated on that, rather than the movement of his fingers on her dress hooks.
“You really aren’t wearing anything else. What a vixen you’re turning out to be.”
His whisper ended with the firm pressure of what had to be his lips against her back, and she squealed as it tickled.
The dress did rip when it got caught at her waist. Giselle didn’t care. All she wanted was Navarre. Holding to her as he explored. Imprinting his ownership everywhere he touched. He kissed the small bruises on her thighs and licked her inner knee until she screamed at him to stop.
And then he yanked her to the edge of the mattress, using th
e pedestal to join them. And it wasn’t shock filling her moans. It was gratification. Satiation. Ecstasy. And all of it orchestrated by him.
“Giselle! Love! Giselle! Love!”
The words became a string of them, placed into existence to match his rhythm. Every thrust. Every time he pulled her toward him and then pushed away. The bed joined in again, rocking and swaying to each movement as Giselle cried with bliss again and again. And this time when he tightened everything and yelled his pleasure to the ceiling, she watched. Glorying in each palsied surge. Each twinge. Every heavy breath. Imprinting it on her memory. Stored. Saved.
The man was beautiful. Everything about this was the most heavenly of experiences. She was so lucky. She loved him.
~
“Aunt Mimi, may I ask you something?”
“Why…anything, Giselle. I so rarely see you out anymore. Not that I would wish things any different. I must tell you how pleased I am to hear about you and…Etienne.”
She blushed and Giselle almost did, too. Her blush wouldn’t be from shyness, especially after what Navarre and she had done every night for over a week. Giselle closed her eyes for a moment and held her breath and reminisced. It was paradise to be in his arms, loving her with every quiver of his body. Exploring every inch of his. And what might happen next. She caught herself impatiently waiting for sunset anymore.
She opened her eyes again. Such thoughts weren’t going to accomplish her goal, and she’d been lax with her promise already.
“I’m worried about Esmee.” Giselle sat below Aunt Mimi on an embroidered footstool and whispered her secret.
“Esmee? I didn’t think you had time to worry about anything except…oh. My. I shouldn’t bring it up, but I can’t help it. It’s just wonderful how you young people have taken to each other. I can hardly wait for the news.” She blushed again.
“Yes, well…,” Giselle cleared her throat. All that aside, I don’t think Esmee deserves to be shut up in Chateau Berchand. She’s still so young, don’t you think?”
Aunt Mimi looked at Giselle over the rim of her hoop. “Esmee made her own soup, dear. Now she will just have to swallow it.”
And after saying that, she set her thin lips and bent her gaze back to her stitching. Giselle watched as she placed several delicate threads.
“But I’m so happy, Aunt Mimi, it almost makes me cry to see Esmee so miserable. Don’t you think she deserves a husband of her own? And maybe…a family?”
Now, she was as red as Mimi. This was ridiculous.
“If she is, it’s her own fault. Esmee is ineligible, my dear. Unacceptable. There isn’t a man in France who would offer for her now. I told her that when Etienne welcomed her back into the family fold, I did.”
She finished her row of stitches. Giselle waited while she turned the piece over and slit the thread with a sewing knife.
“What if I knew someone acceptable?”
Mimi put down her hoop with a trembling hand, but she still wore her bland expression.
“Giselle, you worry over a trifle. Esmee can spend her days being of assistance to you in running your household, or she can join a convent. She knows that.”
“But I know someone. Don’t you want to see Esmee happily wed?”
“There is no one, Giselle. Esmee is happy enough as she is, I assure you.”
“What of children, Aunt Mimi? Doesn’t she deserve to be a mother?”
“She’s much too old, Giselle. You’re almost too old to contemplate a first child, but given the circumstances, I’m sure the Lord will overlook your age. You don’t know how dangerous it is to attempt birth at Esmee’s age.”
“What if I had been asked to approach her, Aunt Mimi? What if the groom was totally acceptable and declared his intentions to her. Couldn’t we overlook the past, then?”
“Another bourgeois? I refuse to contemplate it. I already told you, Giselle dear, there are no acceptable suitors.”
“Isn’t the mayor acceptable? He comes from a long line of—”
“Ambross has declared himself for Esmee?”
“Oui,” Giselle lied.
“That’s startling. Hmm. I suppose, if it’s Ambross, I have no objections. Have Etienne make the arrangements.”
Oh no. That was the one thing she couldn’t do.
Giselle almost blurted it out. She’d already tried speaking with Etienne just this morning. It was still a mortifying memory.
“You heard me correctly, Etienne,” she’d told him. “Monsieur Ambross and you must approach him. I suppose Navarre can do it, if you’re unable.”
She shouldn’t have added the last, but she was tired of his arguing. Not only must she abide his presence in her bed every morning, but he looked at her now as if she were crazed.
“I believe Navarre does enough of my duties already, don’t you agree?”
Giselle had eyed him over the rim of her cup and tried to ignore the furious beating of her heart. She was accepting Navarre into her bed in order to save Etienne’s life. He’d begged her for that very thing, hadn’t he?
“We can have a small dinner party, Etienne, with just the local elite attending. If you come down to it, wouldn’t that start tongues wagging?”
“Oui, and if I were to do so, Jean-Claude will have his opportunity. That would be worse than stupid, and I think not. Navarre can set it up. I grow tired of this whole affair.”
‘I’m sorry.”
The harshness of the morning light made his features appear more angular than ever. He looked thinner, too, but she hadn’t noticed that before.
“Are you getting enough rest, Etienne?” she asked.
“With all the howling you two do? I’m surprised anyone in the castle can sleep.”
Giselle’s jaw had dropped. She didn’t even feel the burn from her spilled coffee. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? Surely you should look in a mirror occasionally, Madame la Duchesse.”
Giselle had opened and shut her mouth and then shut it again. He was right. No matter how beautiful, amazing, wondrous, or loving. They were still wicked for what happened. But did that mean they were to cease enjoying it? Is that what Etienne wanted now?
Giselle had turned her back on him and gone to her wardrobe room. She loved Navarre. And that was the only thing that mattered.
Giselle looked now across to Aunt Mimi, tossing off recollection of her morning argument with Etienne. She didn’t want to face her conscience. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Etienne doesn’t feel…up to…interviews of that sort, Aunt Mimi.”
“Then have Navarre arrange it. It matters little at this point. Esmee a bride? I can’t believe it.”
“Na…varre can’t arrange it.”
Despite every hold she had on herself, Giselle stumbled over his name. Aunt Mimi didn’t notice, though.
“Why not? He handles everything else.”
“But Jean-Claude is next in line. If Etienne can’t handle the arrangements, shouldn’t it fall to Jean-Claude?”
“Jean-Claude?” Aunt Mimi paled.
“Unless you do it,” Giselle added quickly. “As the matriarch, you can arrange it, non?”
“Me? Arrange a marriage? I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. I feel faint. Could you have my maid bring me a cordial?”
“I’ll help you.” Giselle longed to shake her. “It can’t be too difficult. We simply send for Mayor Ambross and accept his offer when it comes, non?”
“Do what you will, Giselle. Call me when the man arrives. I can’t think! It’s too much to ask.”
She was shaking as she stood. Giselle didn’t know if it was due to her age or the upcoming interview.
~
Ambross looked like a man summoned to his own funeral. Giselle prayed Esmee was right about him. He had to offer for her. Giselle had to get him to. Oh, she wished Navarre was here!
“I wish to thank you for your invitation, Madame du Berchald.”
He bowed over Aunt Mimi’s hand. She bl
ushed at the contact. He’d already done the same to Giselle, and she felt him trembling when he touched her. Giselle waved the manservant from the room and waited for Ambross to sit down.
She was helping arrange her sister-in-law’s marriage — she had matured a lot in the last season.
“Monsieur, you’re probably wondering why Aunt Mimi and I wished to see you,” Giselle said.
He gulped and nodded. Esmee waited nervously at the top of the stairs. When Giselle had told her they’d summoned Ambross, she’d almost cried in gratitude.
“We’ve heard of your attachment to my sister, Esmee. Haven’t we, Aunt Mimi?”
She nodded, and Ambross whitened beneath all his fat. What have I done? Giselle wondered.
“Esmee?” He choked and dabbed his lip with a handkerchief.
“Oui. If we’re not mistaken, she would welcome your suit, Monsieur”
“Welcome?”
“The Berchalds are prepared to offer the sum of two hundred louis d’ors as Esmee’s dowry.” Giselle knew little about money, but that sounded about right. Francois’ bride had come with a thousand, and land, too.
“Did you say two hundred?” His eyes gleamed in the folds of his face.
It’s always the money! Giselle thought in disgust. From Savignen Valley to this amount, it‘s all men think of when gaining a bride!
“A fortune,” he breathed.
Jean-Claude burst into the room, and Giselle almost cried out like Aunt Mimi did.
“I didn’t realize you had returned, Jean-Claude,” Giselle said.
Hard violet-blue eyes glared at her. Despite her intention to be brave, Giselle felt the chill in her belly.
“Evidently…just in time.”
Giselle looked past his shoulder and saw Esmee’s face. She looked uncertain and worried.
“Aunt Mimi just finished the betrothal of Esmee to Mayor Ambross,” Giselle said. “Didn’t she, Monsieur?”
Giselle ignored Jean-Claude and looked to Ambross, although it was one of the most difficult things she ever did.
“Aunt Mimi?”
Giselle felt the shivers caused by Jean-Claude’s whisper. She couldn’t imagine how Aunt Mimi was taking it. Giselle knew then she’d been right. Aunt Mimi did have the authority to arrange a marriage!