Chapter Two
Giselle Laurant took his arm and strolled beside her rescuer, rejoicing at his quick humor, transfixed by his readiness to save his daughter but also to save her life.
Up close, he was so devastating. So handsome.
His hair was unusual, a light brown with platinum streaks of sunlight.
His coloring against the bronze of his skin summoned an appreciation for his undaunted strength and his generosity.
Had she seen him before? Where and when could that have been?
She let him lead her up the wooden stairs to the street. Focusing on her relief that the child and she were safe, she smiled that he was so pleased his daughter was unharmed. She knew men who did not bother with the welfare of their daughters…or of their wives, for that matter.
She inhaled, pleased at his graciousness to offer the assurance of his arm, as well as the modesty of his waistcoat. Her newest gown was ruined, but then, she’d have another made. What was a bit of muslin to the value of a child’s life? Or even, yes, my own.
That caused her to smile more broadly at this man. He had not only rushed to save her life, but made haste to preserve her propriety. So then, a lady’s good name was important to him. Another rare but vital quality of any true gentlemen.
And did her other man observe them? She scanned the beach, her heart quickening for just a few beats.
She spied no one else, thank goodness. Her guard did not arise this early in the morning.
When she did detect him at his duty, that was usually after noon, when more filled the streets, when he could come upon her easily in a crowd—and stick more closely to her. If only I did not need him at all…
She rubbed her arm. The need for this man was accidental—and she appreciated his protection.
Still, being alone, out in the wide world, protected in her work, was a welcome treat she had so rarely tasted.
She could feel normal. And at the moment, she had this unique opportunity to appear like any other woman who walked along the street beside a handsome man.
Well, yes, she was soaked with seawater, wrapped in his waistcoat, but allowing herself the pleasure of his escort.
How often had she enjoyed the opportunity to admire an attractive man and to murmur her thanks for his rescue and his generosity?
“Mademoiselle? You grin but you shiver. Shall we walk faster?” He stepped closer, his smile warm with satisfaction that matched her own.
“Let’s try!” She nodded, then hurried beside him, frozen and shivering, her gown clinging to her like a second skin.
But the sun seared her gown and heated her body.
Beside his towering from, holding on to his muscular bicep, she could not take her eyes from him.
She felt no fear. Thought of no trauma. Nor of her work.
Only this rare, marvelous creature. Dapper, broad shouldered, with lean hips, he strode with an easy swagger.
His coloring gave him a carefree air. His light-brown hair streaked with the rays of the sun made her think of carousels and games of bowls.
His pale eyes that shone brightly from his handsome, tanned face seemed more silver than gray.
A vision, tall, sleek, easy on the eyes, he took the world as if he owned it all.
He certainly had captured her imagination.
She drew in a huge breath and shook away her fascination.
He was no one to her and should remain so.
She’d fished his young daughter from the sudden fury of the Channel.
He would be grateful. That was normal. Furthermore, she was no one to him—and must remain so.
She had work to do, and now would return to it.
Dallying with a man like a flirtatious chit would only preoccupy her. She had no time for that.
“Are you here in Brighton on holiday?” He led her up the second flight of wooden steps from the beach to the Grand Parade. In his embrace, his daughter nestled beneath his chin. She was calm, smiling, recovered from the near disaster she seemed to have never comprehended.
“Ah, oui. Yes.” He would hear her French accent, if he had not already. She did not try to hide it. That took so much effort. She failed at any disguise, having tried it in France, and had had to flee here to survive. “A few weeks. The sea air draws me.”
“Annabelle and I as well.” They took the steps gingerly. “Tough to climb, eh?” he said as both of them had trouble navigating in sopping-wet clothes.
At the top, they sidestepped carriages and pedestrians, then headed straight across the wide road to the entrance to the hotel.
Her time with him ran short. She should rejoice, but once he was gone, she’d feel his lack.
He was a man to be treasured. A man one would miss.
A man who should be valued. She had known no men like him.
For that reason alone, she had to be free of him.
Inside the reception hall, she stopped to thank him for his kindness to her and began to shrug from his waistcoat. “I’m afraid it is quite ruined.”
“No matter.” He jostled his little girl in his arms and put up a palm. “You need the warmth. Please. Do wear it to your room.”
His warning had her blinking. Then she looked down. She was quite indecent, her body defined by the revealing muslin. “I see. Merci beaucoup,” she murmured as she wrapped the waistcoat more firmly around her torso.
“We must hurry to ensure none of us catches a chill from this. What room are you in? I can escort you.”
“Please, do not bother with me. Your daughter needs you.” Do I sound like a trained parrot? She turned to the child, sorry to end the little girl’s acquaintance so soon. “Goodbye, my dear. Sir? I thank you for everything.”
He looked bereft. “Please, allow me to—”
She patted her hip, looking for her little purse, but all she had was that thin, wet muslin clinging to her. Alarmed, she threw up her hands. “Ah, non!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I…I just realize I have lost my little reticule in the sea. My coins and my key, they are gone!”
“I’m sure the hotel manager will give you another key. As for your reticule, change quickly and we can both return to search the beach.”
“Non, non. Merci beaucoup, monsieur.” Oh, now she was so undone she was reverting completely to her native language. Many English hated French. She would hate it if suddenly he were one of them and changed his attitude toward her. “I can find it.”
“Sir!” He hailed a man who had just finished with another guest. “This lady has lost her key. Please, a substitute! We had a mishap on the beach and, as you can see, she is freezing and needs to get into her room quickly.”
“Your name, my lady?” The receptionist ran his gaze down her disheveled form.
“Madame Laurant, monsieur. Room 122.”
Raising a finger, the fellow was spurred to action by the immediacy of need. He scurried behind his formal wall and returned with a large iron key. “Is there anything else I can do for you? A hot bath, perhaps?”
“Oui, later. In an hour, peut-être? I must find my little purse and money. Merci beaucoup.” Then she turned to her dashing stranger and bade him, “Au revoir, monsieur. I remain ever thankful for your help.”
Her rescuer stepped with her toward the grand staircase. “Madame Laurant! S’il vous pla?t. Do allow me to introduce myself and my daughter.”
Oh, that she did not want! She could waste no time with endearing men. “Monsieur…”
“I am Carlisle. Lord Carlisle of Richmond and London and a few other places.”
The name…the name sang in her head. Why?
“And this is my daughter, Annabelle Davenport. She likes kites, as well you know. Birds, flowers, too, eh, my chick?” He tickled the girl’s tummy, and she curled up in a giggle. “We call her Bella.”
“Belle,” she corrected her father with a bright-eyed smirk.
Giselle had to give in to such charm. Few had offered it to her in the past decade. She craved it and so she relented. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur. And Belle’s.”
They took the stairs and, of course, he was such a gentleman that he took hold of Giselle’s elbow. He was persistent.
Her room was second from the stairs, and in an instant, they stood before her door. She inserted her key and let the door fall open. “Thank you once more, Lord Carlisle. Goodbye, Belle. No more running to the sea without your papa, promise me.”
“Promise.” The little girl nodded her golden head, her arms still clinging to her father’s neck.
Lord Carlisle was not so easily dismissed. He smiled down at Giselle as if he held a marvelous secret that lit his electric-gray eyes. “We are next door.”
“How wonderful,” she said with less relish than he had announced it. She wished no proximity to lead to any more friendliness.
“Please, will you allow me to invite you and your husband to dinner?”
“Non. I take my meals alone.”
“Monsieur Laurant is not with you?”
“Monsieur passed away many years ago, my lord. Many thanks for your generosity. Now, if you don’t mind, I must change my clothes.”
“Of course.” He took a respectful step back. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. Anything at all.”
“Thank you. I will.” But you can’t.