Chapter 7
In the end, Giselle and her mother had agreed to give Heath time to figure out how best to handle Vaughan Jones. Heath had said he needed to learn more about the man from other détenus, and she knew that was probably wise.
She only hoped he was doing it as diligently as he was trying to regain his brothers. She had seen him nearly every day for some social occasion or another, and at every one, he had insisted on introducing her to the guests as his fiancée.
Although he had warned her to expect such a thing, it had reinforced her impression that she was but a cog in the wheel of his machinations. Especially since whenever she had seen him, he had been most formal with her.
When he was not squiring her and her mother to some affair, he had been meeting with his attorney. That left no time for cozy dinners or walks in the neighborhood or any of the things courting couples usually did.
Nowhere was that more evident than in how he avoided spending time alone with her. At balls he only asked her to partner him in country dances. No waltzes for her, to be sure. That might put them too close.
Maman had approved, of course. He was behaving as an earl—and a gentleman—was supposed to behave. Giselle wanted to approve, but sometimes, when she remembered how sensuously he had kissed her in the park . . .
You must stop thinking about that!
Lord knew she had done it much too often in the past week.
She thought of it at night. She thought of it in the day.
She tried to remember each touch of his hand, each caress of his mouth and tongue, the sweet, shocking pressure of his palm against her breast as he kneaded it, and the thrilling way he had thumbed her hard nipple through her gown until she thought she might melt into—
“Are you well, my dear?” Maman asked now, jerking her from her wicked thoughts and back to the market they were walking in. “Your face is flushed.”
“It is merely overly warm in here.” She forced a smile. “And of course I am well. I am shopping for bulbs and plants, my most favorite thing, no?”
Her mother shook her head. “I do not understand you. You would rather grub about in the dirt than look at reticules and bonnets.”
“I have all the reticules and bonnets I need. But Heath needs a better garden, and I mean to help him build one.” She would much rather make herself useful to him that way than by letting him seduce her with kisses and caresses.
She would. She really would. A pity it got harder and harder to convince herself of that every day.
Until she remembered how he had used her for his own purposes, disregarding the feelings of her and his brothers. Clearly, he wanted her only for a while. That was not worth losing her innocence for. Or risking finding herself with child and not yet married, like her mother.
Trying to keep her mind off that lowering thought, she peered into a basket of bulbs. “What do you think, Maman? Shall I buy the lily or the white tulip bulbs?”
“The tulip, of course. It is more suitable to his rank. And lilies are much too pungent.”
“I like the scent of lilies,” Giselle protested.
“Hmph. Well, here comes your fiancé now. We shall see if he agrees with me about the tulips or with you about the lilies.”
Giselle blinked at her mother, then glanced over to see Heath strolling between the tables of the market, looking as mouthwatering as ever in his dapper morning coat, tight trousers, and top hat.
He was followed closely by one of his footmen, making her think this was more than just a chance meeting.
“Maman!” she hissed. “What is he doing here?”
Her mother shot her a quizzical look. “I invited him to join us. You’ve been so cold to him, I had to do something to keep his interest.” She leaned on her cane. “I thought you liked him.”
Giselle sighed. Maman had gone from disapproving of Heath to being delighted at the prospect of her daughter marrying such an important fellow.
More and more each day, Giselle had a hard time keeping quiet about the true nature of her agreement with the earl.
Her mother would be so disappointed when Giselle jilted him.
“Of course I like him,” Giselle said. “I accepted his proposal of marriage, did I not?”
“Then stop acting otherwise.” Maman sniffed some lily water the bulb seller had put out to tempt customers to buy, then shook her head. “Such an awful scent. How can you stand it?”
Giselle thrust out her chin. “It cheers me.”
“All the same, you should buy whichever flower he prefers,” her mother said under her breath, “even if it does not cheer you.”
Giselle sighed. Some things never changed. Maman was always pressing her to change who she was for any eligible gentleman who might marry her. Too bad Maman did not know that Heath would never marry her.
“There are my ladies!” Heath cried in French as he approached. “I got your mother’s note about meeting you at the garden market, but I wasn’t sure exactly why you were shopping here.”
“I am looking for bulbs for your garden.” Giselle glared at her mother. “It was meant to be a surprise for your birthday.”
“Bah,” her mother said. “Surprises are for children. His lordship is a grown man. He would want a say in what you buy for his garden.”
He gazed at Giselle, seemingly bemused. “How did you know tomorrow is my birthday?”
“Renham told us.” Giselle cocked her head. “And since we will only have a few months where you are older than I, I mean to enjoy them. Preferably by planting flower bulbs in your garden.”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Putting down roots, are you?”
She stared at him. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” he said coolly. “That’s what fiancées do.”
Real fiancées, anyway. Which she was not.
Her mother cleared her throat. “We were trying to decide between white tulips and lilies. I think tulips are best, but my daughter wants lilies. Which do you prefer, my lord?”
Glancing between the two women’s expectant expressions, he said, “I prefer hyacinths, to be honest.”
“Ooh, hyacinths!” Giselle exclaimed, all her irritation with him temporarily forgotten. “I do love hyacinths. We must have those, to be sure.”
Her mother shook her head and mumbled, “Such a vulgar shade of purple.”
“A vulgar purple for your vulgar daughter,” Giselle snapped.
“You couldn’t be vulgar if you tried, ma chérie,” Heath murmured in English.
It was the sweetest thing he’d said to her in days, and she could not help smiling at him for it. She liked him better when he was his usual seductive self, even if it did not mean anything.
He turned to her mother. “Madame Bernard, with your permission, I will have Wallace here accompany you back to my carriage. I’ll happily take you both home as soon as she and I find what she’s looking for, but I wouldn’t wish to tax you too much by forcing you to follow us around the market.”
Maman nodded regally. “Thank you, young man. That is very considerate.” Wallace bowed to her and offered her his arm, which she took at once, letting him lead her toward the entrance of the market.
Heath then smiled at Giselle. “Come, let’s hunt up these hyacinth bulbs.”
As they strolled through the market, he said in English, “I have a few things to tell you. First, I sent a footman to Bath to see if he could find Vaughan Jones, but he was unable to discover lodgings for the fellow under either name. Jones may be laying low now that you and your mother are gone. My footman will keep looking for him, however.”
“Thank you, Heath. I am not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed he has vanished.”
“You should be resolved not to worry about it,” he said firmly.
“Some time ago, Scovell introduced me to a fellow named Sir Lucius Fitzgerald, who happens to be the undersecretary to the war minister. As soon as Sir Lucius returns to town for the Lord Mayor’s Show, I’ll see what I can find out from him about getting you and your mother new documents.
And whether he’s ever heard of Vaughan Jones.
” He gazed earnestly at her. “I am on the case, Giselle, trust me.”
She released a long breath. “I had begun to think you might have forgotten.” Or that he had been so annoyed with her reaction the day they had last kissed that he had deliberately not done what she asked.
He scowled at her. “I wouldn’t forget such a thing. I know it’s important to you. And you are very important to me.”
“As your faux fiancée, you mean,” she said, as much to remind herself of it as him.
He hesitated a moment before returning to the cool formality she’d had to endure for the last week. “Exactly.”
She sighed. She did not like him like this, but she had to protect her heart. He was quite capable of wounding it.
As they continued on, he said, “I also asked several détenus about him, but no one could tell me anything of use. They didn’t even know where he was from.
Fortunately, plenty of other détenus will be at that party we’re attending for the Lord Mayor’s Show, so I can ask some of them.
Someone has to know something about the fellow. ”
“We can only hope,” she said.
Scanning the tables as they walked, she stopped before the one with hyacinth bulbs. “Are these all the ones you have?” she asked the seller.
“Yes, miss,” the man said. “They’re very popular.”
“Then I shall take them all. How much is that?”
The seller gave her a reasonable price. But when she opened her reticule, Heath said, “Stop that. I’ll buy them.”
“Do not be absurd. You cannot buy your own birthday present.”
“You don’t need to do this,” he murmured in French, a trace of irritation in his tone. “No one will know if I pay. And they’re for my garden, after all.”
She took out the requisite number of coins and placed them on the table. “Do not be silly,” she said in English. “It is done. Happy birthday, my lord. I only regret it is such a paltry gift.” She smiled. “Besides, with your permission, I will be the one planting them.”