Chapter Eleven
Giselle hired a maid to help her dress for the Ashleys’ and Ramseys’ ball.
Servants were not people she had dealt with regularly in years.
In many ways, she preferred living simply and on her own.
But formal attire required attention to the front, the back, the darn corset and strings, and the drape of the décolleté and the hem.
Mon Dieu. What a fuss! But the new royal-purple silk from the modiste in the Lanes was a glorious choice of fabric, color, and—she could say—drama, too.
“Just this, madam.” The young maid was good, belying her few years at her work. “Your corsage is…um…”
“The modiste,” Giselle replied to the maid eyeing the daring cut of the bodice a fraction of an inch above the line of her nipples, “wishes me to catch a man.”
The girl blinked at her with dark eyes filled with concern.
“I make a joke, Mary. I asked the woman to improve the line of the bodice, but she took me to mean lower it.” Giselle sighed, smiling at the girl in their reflection in the mirror. “We have both done our best.”
“The purple is like heaven, madam.” The maid stepped back to admire the full ensemble. “I understand there are many gentlemen invited tonight. Dukes and such. Maybe even the regent. You will attract them all.”
If Carlisle—Clive—were in attendance, Giselle would want only him. Tonight, she felt safe, protected. She was not going out, only down the main stairs to the ballroom. She could enjoy the wine, the music, and a bit of freedom from worry.
“You are kind, Mary.” She picked up her fan of delicate ivory sticks and slid the ribbon of it on her wrist. “I know my hostesses and their husbands, so I will be in good company.”
The maid virtually danced toward the door, while her eyes widened in humor. “I will tidy your rooms, madam. Please do ring for me to help you undress. I will be happy to help you.”
“I will, Mary. Merci beaucoup.” Giselle stepped through the door into the hall.
As the girl closed the door behind her, Giselle told her blood to stop singing in her ears.
This was to be a prestigious ball, so had said the Brighton Gazette this morning.
It was a formal event where only the best people—the titled, the rich and famous—came to socialize.
She had nothing to fear from any of them.
If her beak-nosed shadow were among them, she had poorly misjudged his class, income, and purpose.
But then, she had not seen him today, and she could conclude he had returned to his lair.
Perhaps he was deterred by the appearance of her new bodyguard, or simply dropped his interest in her.
Which was a good thing, since she itched to be done with her drawings of Brighton.
She’d worked on what estimates she had collected and remained indoors working.
She’d not even gone up to the Downs to view Brighton’s topography from that advantage.
She flicked open her fan like a coquette. Tonight, she would have fun.
*
The music of the orchestra floated out to her as she rounded the grand staircase and headed for the Old Ship’s ballroom.
The Ashleys and the Ramseys stood at the entrance greeting guests.
Most ladies came with an escort. Giselle had none, but then, she was comfortable with her lack of protocol, given she was with old, dear friends.
“Ah, here is our Giselle.” Kane, the Earl of Ashley, heralded her arrival as Gus kissed both her cheeks. “I am thrilled to see you again, mon cherie.”
“As am I to see you looking so well,” she told him.
They would make it sound as if the five of them were not yet friends.
The walls could have ears. She had learned that so well in Blois, when Vaillancourt had put his people into her household staff to report on her to him.
“I think our Augustine has smoothed your brows. You appear to have fewer worries.”
“Flattery gets you in the door, Giselle,” Amber welcomed her.
“I have more silver hair, Giselle!” Lord Ramsey was a dark, beautiful man fit for a lady’s most erotic dreams.
Giselle laughed with all four of them. But to Amber she lifted a brow. “You really must do something to make Godfrey more at ease.”
“I have tried,” Amber said as she rolled her green eyes. “The man is ever vigilant. I have no time to read or draw. He is constantly taking me riding or walking.”
“She feeds me too well, Giselle,” Ramsey added. “I must fence and box to stay fit.”
“What he does,” his wife joked, “is play with the children so often that they don’t recognize their nannies.”
He swept an arm around his wife’s waist. “They know you, my darling. That’s all they’ll ever need.”
“Which is why”—Amber bent as if to share a secret—“we will soon welcome a third child to our family.”
“Oh, that is wonderful! Congratulations!” Giselle said. They had a boy and girl. To have another child was a blessing.
And I am envious.
She cleared her throat. “I wonder if Madame LeBrun has arrived.”
“She has.” Gus pointed toward the far corner. “She asked for you.”
“I will go to her.”
Ashley and Ramsey gave her small bows.
Ashley said, “We will dance, Giselle.”
“As ever before,” Ramsey added.
“I look forward to it, but your toes do not!” she said, and with that, she tipped her head toward the corner where she could find her friend, élisabeth.
Giselle sailed over and greeted the lady with a smile. Standing talking with her was Terese, Lady Winterton, Clive’s pretty sister. “Good evening, Giselle. Delightful to see you again.”
Her words were honest. Giselle and Terese had enjoyed each other’s company each time they met. Dinner the other evening included.
“A large crowd, isn’t it?” Is Clive here?
“Quite a crush,” Terese agreed. “I’ve not seen such a gathering in years. But then, I do not attend balls as a regular rule.”
“I prefer afternoon events myself,” Giselle admitted. “Garden parties are more my favorite.”
“And you, Madame Le Brun?” Terese asked élisabeth.
“The afternoon is for conversation and the evening is for family and laughter.”
“I do agree,” came the resilient baritone of a tall, warm presence beside Giselle. Clive held three glasses of pale white wine, which he handed round to the women.
“Oh, take mine, please, monsieur le marquis,” begged élisabeth. “Do not fetch another. I came to the party to be personable. I remain for only a few minutes.”
Terese shook her head. “Absolutely, you must remain. The prince regent has accepted the invitation. Everyone is abuzz.”
Beside her, Giselle felt the solidity of Clive, whose shoulder touched hers in an intimacy that rocked her.
She looked up into his perfect gray eyes and traced his lips with her gaze.
She took a sip of her wine and licked her lower lip.
How she wanted the taste of him on her tongue.
The feel of him beneath her fingertips. The intensity of his fascination with her proven, inside her.
She had not wanted any man as she did this charming one.
Oh, she was besotted!
She tore her attentions to more proper thoughts. “Stay, élisabeth. Everyone must see the prince at his leisure.”
The lady smothered a laugh. “I am used to the vanities of the powerful. He thinks himself handsome, I suppose.”
“Always,” Clive confirmed.
“Come, madame,” Terese said to élisabeth, “I’d like to introduce you to a mutual friend of ours.”
The two ladies drifted away toward Lord Langley, who had eyes only for Terese.
“They have gone so that we can talk,” Clive said, his large presence hovering over Giselle, his hand to hers. “I missed seeing you on the beach this morning. I went out alone. Bella had a nightmare and a cough.”
“Oh! Is she well?”
“Better. The spring air, we have learned, aggravates her throat. But she recovers.”
“And you?” she asked, dissolving into a haze of desire with the way he looked at her. “You are well?”
“I am now, to see you. I was up for hours and slept late. Did you not go walking this morning?”
“I went as dawn broke.”
“Is that as refreshing as later, when the sun kisses the surf and sand and rocks?”
She rolled a shoulder, smiling. “You know my preference.”
“Of course I do. I saw you that first day we met. To look at you was to understand all you enjoy.”
His words were as mellow as his expression—and she watched how his full mouth formed words. The man had lips a woman would savor. Firm and plush, wide with a smile now.
“What is it?” he asked her, nigh unto a whisper. “You conquer me with a look.”
She dragged her eyes up over his flesh, his straight aquiline nose, the wide arch of his brows, the almond shape of his gray, long-lashed eyes. “You are the devastating one, sir. Perfection for a portrait.”
Somehow, someway, he took her elbow, his fingers gliding to her waist. He was all light and humor—and her every breath yearned for his nearness. “I’d give the earth for one of you.”
Complimented, she wished to be the only woman he ever wanted. “A high price for a painting that I could never let you pay.”
He stepped so near, she inhaled his bergamot cologne and his abject devotion to his promise. “I would. Let me.”
His whispered words swept through her like an elixir. Her mind was filled with a golden vision of what it would be like to be loved by this man. Deft yet ravishing, he would consume her…and she would let him.
Let him. Match him. Enjoy him.
She cast around for sanity and something to proclaim to him. “I have not known such praise…or such an invitation to rapture.”
He toyed with a frown, beneath which stood a scorching-hot smile. “With me, you would know it all.”
He meant capable of love.
Torn between having him and rejecting all he offered, she fought with herself to deter him. “I tried years ago to do a self-portrait. It was a disaster. I honor others by never attempting their portrait, either. One must know one’s limitations and stick to one’s skills.”