Chapter 4
Heathbrook couldn’t believe he’d actually kissed Giselle again.
What had he been thinking? Here he’d been telling himself he would behave better, and the first chance he’d had, he’d taken the woman in his arms. But who could blame him?
Even watching her tell her mother about their faux engagement now was fascinating.
She talked with her hands as so many French did, but her hands were fluid and evocative, making him imagine what it might be like to have those hands caressing and stroking his—
God rot him. He could never have such pleasures with her, not without marrying her, and he’d already decided that was unthinkable.
There was too much at stake if she uncovered his secrets and couldn’t keep quiet about them.
Gaining custody of his brothers would be hard enough as it was without that.
And if anyone could tempt him to repeat past mistakes, it was Giselle. He’d already had his future upended once, thanks to his faulty instincts where women were concerned—he didn’t need it upended again. It had taken him years to recover last time. He wouldn’t survive it a second time.
Besides, just watching and listening as Giselle told her mother about their engagement in a fast spate of French was stirring his temper, which he was supposed to be keeping in good regulation.
He tried not to let on that he understood every word of the conversation .
. . even the uncomplimentary ones. But it was becoming difficult, since her mother didn’t seem pleased about the situation.
“You can’t marry him,” her mother was saying. “He is a debaucher. You told me so yourself.”
“No, Maman,” Giselle said, casting him a furtive glance. “I said he was a libertine. He enjoys flirting. That’s all.”
“Flirting.” Her mother sniffed. “Until it becomes debauching. You are exactly the sort of sweetmeat a man like him wants to gobble up.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Even now, watching how she used her hands so elegantly as she talked mesmerized him.
“He is an honorable gentleman,” Giselle said firmly. “He would not debauch me against my will. Or any woman, for that matter.”
Heathbrook fought a smile. At least Giselle didn’t think him all bad.
“Besides,” Giselle went on, “he is willing to help us get legitimate papers, so we do not have to worry about staying in England.”
“We had to worry about staying here?” her mother cried. “You said it was a simple misunderstanding. That he would tell us how to clear it up.” She got a mutinous look on her face. “And now you must marry him, I suppose, to gain his aid.”
He bristled. He’d had enough of this nonsense.
Time for him to give up his language advantage, damn it.
And he would have loved to hold on to it longer.
“Giselle is marrying me because I became enamored of her in Verdun,” he said in fluent French.
“But I was sent away to another camp before we could act upon it.”
Her mother gaped at him, understandably.
Unless they dealt with the French routinely, few Englishmen were fluent in the language.
Even many détenus had never learned French.
And Giselle looked positively embarrassed to realize he’d understood their conversation.
He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad, but how many insults to one’s character could a man endure?
“You speak more than ‘a little’ French, my lord,” Madame Bernard said accusingly.
He nodded. “My father’s family came from Normandy.
Forgive me for not making that clear before.
” Think fast, old man. The woman will not let me near her daughter if she smells a rat.
“The truth is, now that Giselle is in England, we have renewed our friendship. I’ve been .
. . er . . . seeing her from time to time at her half sister’s house.
Courting her. I asked her for her hand today, and she accepted.
Only then did she tell me about this matter of your papers. ”
Damn. Lying to the mother of a woman he’d coaxed into becoming his faux fiancée must surely be a sin. Ah, well, he had so many sins on his account by now, what was one more?
“Is this true?” Madame Bernard asked Giselle.
Giselle was glowering at him. “Yes, Maman.”
Now, he was making Giselle lie, too. That was hardly fair to her. The least he could do was make their story sound convincing enough that she didn’t have to.
He walked over to take Giselle’s hand. What a delicate hand she had. It roused in him a sudden fierce urge to protect her, even from her mother. “Do we have your blessing, Madame Bernard? I wouldn’t wish to wed her without it.”
“I don’t know,” the older woman said unsteadily. “It seems quick.”
“We knew each other for over seven years in Verdun,” he reminded her. “That’s not quick.”
“I suppose.” Madame Bernard’s assessing gaze flitted from him to Giselle’s blushing cheeks and then to their joined hands. “But I do hope you intend a long engagement, so I may become better acquainted with you, my lord.”
“Of course.” That suited his purposes perfectly. And probably Giselle’s, too.
Besides, his foolish choice of a fiancée in his youth had nearly destroyed his life. When it came to marriage, one should never fall victim to romantic notions. Hasty engagements paired with unrealistic ideas of love in marriage would always lead to disaster where a lord of the realm was concerned.
“This is not some nobody you are wedding, you realize,” Madame Bernard said. “She’s the granddaughter of a count.”
Heathbrook fought to hide his surprise. He’d had no idea. “Then she and I are well matched, wouldn’t you say?”
“We shall see.” Madame Bernard turned to her daughter. “I’m ready to leave, Giselle. I am very tired.”
“Of course, Maman,” Giselle said. “But first . . .” Slipping her hand from his, she hurried to her large reticule, which leaned upon a sofa cushion, and rooted around in it until she found what she was looking for.
Then she approached him with a sheaf of papers. “You will probably need these, my . . . Heath.”
“If you say so, my Giselle.” Although it was better that Giselle call him Heath than call him “my lord,” he flashed her a chastening glance as he took the papers. She would have to be more convincing than this if she was to deceive everyone about their engagement.
Still, he hated to admit it, but the sound of “Heath” on her lips did something unexpected to his pulse. For all their shortcomings, his parents had been in love with each other. The nickname “Heath” had held a wealth of affection when his mother spoke it to his father.
He looked down at what Giselle had handed him and realized it was the forged passports of her and her mother. He would indeed need those.
Then he rang for Renham, who came so quickly, Heathbrook was almost certain he’d been listening at the door. “Have the ladies’ carriage brought around.”
Renham neared him to whisper, “They came in a hackney, my lord.”
So, they could afford gowns, but not an equipage of their own? That was good to know. “Then call for my carriage. I’ll accompany the ladies home.”
“There’s no need for that,” Giselle said hastily.
“Nonsense. I’m not going to let my fiancée and her mother ride unaccompanied about London. It’s too dangerous.”
“But you have places to go, do you not, sir?” Giselle said, casting a meaningful glance at the papers in his hand.
He sighed. “Very true, my dear.” Of course she would want this taken care of as soon as possible. And he couldn’t really blame her.
When he turned to Renham, the butler looked as if he were choking on his tongue. “Er . . . um . . . fiancée, my lord?”
“Yes. Miss Bernard and I are newly engaged. I hope you will wish us joy.”
Fortunately, Renham had the good sense to mask his shock. “Certainly, sir! Congratulations!”
“Thank you. Now, will you see to it that the ladies are accompanied home in my carriage? Send one of the footmen. I’ll take the phaeton.”
“At once, my lord.” With a bow, he hurried out into the hall.
“I’ll walk you out,” he told the ladies in French. “Renham will make sure you get home safely.”
“How very kind of you, Lord Heathbrook,” Madame Bernard said, even taking his arm when he offered it to help her down the front steps. “I hope you will join us for dinner tomorrow evening.”
“Maman!” Giselle said from behind them. “I am sure his lordship has plenty of other important matters to attend to.”
“None that I can think of,” he said, relieved that Giselle’s mother was going along with his plans, albeit unwittingly. “In fact, if you wouldn’t mind, madame, I’d like to take Giselle riding in Hyde Park beforehand, say, around three in the afternoon? With your permission, of course.”
“I do not know how to ride, sir,” Giselle interjected before her mother could answer. “I never learned.”
“Why not?”
“City lady, remember? I walked everywhere or took Papa’s carriage.”
They reached the bottom of the steps just as his carriage pulled up in front of them.
He halted to look at Giselle as the footman put down the step.
“Then perhaps I can teach you sometime.” When Giselle looked alarmed by that, he added, “But not tomorrow. Hyde Park isn’t the place for riding lessons.
So, perhaps we can drive in my phaeton instead. ”
“As long as you do not drive recklessly and Giselle takes her maid,” Madame Bernard answered, “I suppose that would be fine. Don’t you think, Giselle?”
“Yes, Maman.”
“Unless your maid wishes to ride on the back of my open phaeton and see to my horses, I think my tiger will do, don’t you, Madame Bernard?” he said firmly.
She observed him coolly, then said, “Very well.”
Thank God. He was not going to let Giselle’s mother push him around, not when Giselle was old enough to do as she pleased.
Indeed, most people would consider her an unmarriageable spinster, but then most people were fools about women.
He was not. He could see the advantages of taking a wife closer to his own age.