Chapter 15
A taste? This was more than a taste. Giselle wanted to protest, but she could not.
She was too far gone, too enraptured with what he was doing to her, how he was touching her.
He smelled like clove cologne and the outdoors.
He tasted like cinnamon—no soap in the tooth powder for him.
And his finger delving slowly inside her . . .
Was pure magic. She had never believed in magic.
Until now. “Ohh, Heath . . . yes . . . that is so . . . yes . . .” It felt so amazing.
“You can’t imagine what you do to me, mon petit chou,” he said hoarsely.
“I can . . . because . . . I feel your . . . verge hard against . . . my leg.”
He gave a throaty chuckle. “There’s no hiding things from you, is there?”
“Non . . . never.” She began pushing her mont de Vénus against his hand . . . his magical fingers, which were rubbing and plucking her as expertly as a musician with his guitar. Music thrummed in her ears, her body, her very soul.
“You are mine,” he whispered.
“For now . . .” she gasped.
He did not answer that, merely increasing the tempo of his caresses. “Come for me, sweet Giselle. Let me watch you fall apart in my hands.”
That was a good way . . . to describe what she felt . . . as if she were . . . falling apart . . . shattering . . . dissolving into air . . .
The scream erupted unbidden from her throat, and he cut it off with his mouth. She collapsed against the wall as her body quaked and trembled in his arms. His kiss turned more leisurely, tender and sweet and knowing, if a kiss could ever be knowing.
He whispered against her lips, “That, ma chérie, is ‘the little death.’ ”
Then I should like to die again, please.
No, she dared not say that. He would happily bring her to such peaks of enjoyment again, only this time probably in his bed.
And she knew enough to realize what that would involve.
Maman had told her all the ways of a man, thank God, so she knew that despite his caresses she was still chaste .
. . or as chaste as a woman could be after experiencing la petite mort.
But she would not stay that way for long if he kept doing these things.
She broke the kiss and pushed him back so she could restore her skirts to the proper position. She was just about to begin a serious conversation with him when a voice behind him made her heart plummet.
“What are you doing to her?” Zack cried.
Oh, no.
“Damn it, Zack!” Heath cursed, then whirled to face his brother. “How long have you been standing there?”
The boy looked truly perplexed. “I just came down from upstairs. I-I heard a scream, so I hurried down, and you were . . . were . . .” He squared his shoulders. “Well, I couldn’t see, so I don’t know what you were doing, but Miss Bernard screamed, so you must have hurt her!”
“I did not hurt her, for God’s sake,” Heath snapped.
Thinking quickly, Giselle slipped from between Heath and the wall. “No, no, that is not what happened, my dear boy. I saw a spider on my gown, and I screamed. Your brother was only trying to help me get the spider off.”
Zack still looked confused. “I-I thought you liked bugs.”
“Except for spiders. I do not like spiders.” That was actually true.
“Oh,” Zack said. “I understand. I don’t like spiders, either.”
“Fine,” Heath muttered. “We agree that we all dislike spiders. Glad we sorted that out. Now, feel free to leave whenever you like, lad.”
“But . . .”
“Zack, would you mind accompanying me back to the house?” Giselle put in, sparing a frown for Heath. “I shall not feel perfectly safe until I can change my clothes and be certain there is no spider lurking in them. And I cannot find my way alone.”
“We’ll all go,” Heath said, his eyes glittering at her.
“I think you should stay and determine if there are any more spiders here.”
“And kill them!” Zack said.
“Yes, exactly.” She leaned up to whisper, “He will keep believing that you hurt me unless I speak to him alone. And someone has to make sure he does not say anything to your brothers.”
Heath conceded that with a glance. “You’re right as usual, Giselle. I’ll check for spiders.”
“That’s a good idea,” Zack said. “I like to lean on the rails sometimes, and if a spider crawled on me, I might fall off.”
That arrested both Heath and Giselle. Heath stared hard at his brother. “On the rails? Do you mean, the rails around the observation deck?”
Zack nodded. “It’s my special place. I can see all of Longmead from up there.”
Giselle’s heart dropped.
“You mustn’t do that anymore, lad, do you hear?
” Heath said, alarm plainly evident in his tone.
“The observation deck isn’t stone; it’s wood.
It might have supported you when you were younger, but it’s not sturdy enough now that you’re big.
” He gripped Zack’s shoulders. “Besides, that wood hasn’t been maintained for years.
And if you fell through it from that height . . .”
Heath shuddered, and Giselle shuddered along with him.
“Promise me you won’t lean on the rails anymore, or even walk on the observation deck,” Heath said earnestly. “You can view Longmead from the stone entrance to the deck. There’s no need to risk your life.”
“But—”
“Promise me, Zack!”
The boy turned sullen. “I promise.”
Heath let out a breath. “Good. Now, why don’t you take Miss Bernard back to the house while I . . . er . . . search for spiders.”
The last view of Heath she had was of him sweeping a stick around a corner of the first-floor room. She stifled a chuckle. He clearly did not like that task.
But she’d had to get away from him.
Her amusement abruptly faded. When it came to Heath, she had no spine. She had spent too many years in Verdun dreamily imagining what it would be like to have him actually desire her, and now that it had happened, she could not get enough.
Noticing how Zack trudged sullenly beside her, she realized he was still smarting from how Heath had spoken to him. “You know that your brother just wants to keep you safe, do you not?”
Thrusting out his lower lip, Zack said, “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” she said quickly, “and it was very brave of you to try and protect me. But Heath was not hurting me, I swear. Just like he was not doubting your ability to navigate the deck. He was merely trying to be sure you understood the gravity of the circumstances.”
He gazed at her. “You talk funny.”
She smiled. “Because I am French. We do not speak like the English, even when we speak English.”
He digested that. “Well, I’m glad you don’t like spiders. But you’re a girl, and you’re not supposed to. Evan and Kit tease me because I don’t like them.”
“Evan and Kit tease you a lot, do they?”
He shrugged. “They think they know everything because they’re older than me.”
“Older brothers tend to think that.”
“Do you have a brother?” Zack asked.
“No. But my mother does, and he was always trying to tell her what to do. And me.”
“Because you and her are ladies.”
And he was a tyrant. “Do you think gentlemen should always tell ladies what to do?”
Zack frowned, clearly considering the idea. “Cousin Yates said no. He said ladies should make their own decisions, even if the law didn’t think so.”
“Then I applaud your cousin Yates.” She bent to whisper, “But do not tell your brother Heath. About me applauding his cousin, I mean.”
“Has Heath really been trying all this time to get us back?” Zack asked.
“Yes. I swear.”
“Then Cousin Yates should have told us.”
“He should have. That is true.”
They walked a while in silence.
Then Zack gave a great sigh. “So, I can’t go up onto the deck of the tower anymore?”
“It is very dangerous, Zack,” she said. “How would your mother feel if you were to join her in heaven before she wanted you there?”
“She would understand,” he protested. “She used to take me up to look out from there. She liked the view. And being up there . . . makes me remember her better.”
The poor lad. He probably missed his mother even more than his brothers did. He had been so young at her death, only eight years old.
“So, why not just look through the stone entrance?”
“Because you can’t see everything. I like to circle the tower and look out over Longmead to make sure things are all right. For that, you have to be on the deck—the stone entrance doesn’t give you a view of the whole estate.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “But if you fell . . . Good Lord. Heath is right—it is too dangerous.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “The next time you want to go up in the tower, come find me, and I shall go with you. Then I can keep you safe, and you can tell me all about your mother.”
Zack nodded, looking very serious. “I’ll do that.”
That evening the footman Heathbrook had left in Bath returned. His spy had reported that despite wearing a greatcoat over his livery and having been armed with Giselle’s sketch, he had not been able to find Jones’s lodgings.
Jones was wily—Heathbrook would give him that. It wasn’t as if Bath was that large. How many places could a man like that hide himself? Heathbrook would have to accompany Giselle and her mother one of the days they went into Bath, so he could look for the fellow himself.
But over the next few days, Heathbrook scarcely saw Giselle.
Between her accompanying her mother to Bath for the hot springs— with two footmen to keep them safe—his making plans for the Harvest Ball with the local matrons, and the estate matters he’d been unable to handle in London, there was no time for more than a few words with Giselle here and there.
They were always at dinner together, but so were her mother and the boys, the latter of whom dominated the conversation . . . and fought to gain Giselle’s attention. He couldn’t blame them. Who wouldn’t want the gift of her laughter and smiles?