Brocade Series 02 - Giselle (18 page)

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Aunt Mimi said softly. “Gossip
must never cast such a shadow on the Berchald name, you know.”

She worries about gossip with Esmee, a woman who married
so far below her station that she was disowned? She gossips with
her about Navarre and me? How can I bear it?

There would be Mass that night
. And that really would be the end. Giselle had begged
le bon Dieu
for just one more stolen kiss, but it wasn’t to be. Navarre was
leaving her, moving somewhere where she wouldn’t torment him.
She should be grateful.

She breathed deeply, shaking through the sobs she dared not
utter. Dared not even admit. She may understand why, but that didn’t make it easier.

“Navarre will come to supper, won’t he?” Esmee asked. “It
will be rude of him not to when I have planned the settings. Did he
tell you?”

Giselle held her breath and waited for the answer.

“You’ve heard how he raves about Chef Aaron’s meals. He
won’t miss it.”

They didn’t know
. Navarre tired sometimes of heavy sauces. He’d said as much that first day. During their lone supper. At the Minot farmhouse.

“He really should have said something.”

Giselle couldn’t finish playing
. The memory of Navarre’s
words on the day they’d first met, or what had happened since, was too immense. Her hands hammered a discord from the deep octaves
of the keyboard. “Pardon me, ladies,” she said. “I don’t feel well.”

She sensed Esmee’s concern, although Aunt Mimi simply
looked at her blankly. Giselle guessed she was pale, but she wasn’t
crying. That was taking an act of will to accomplish.

“I
must have
overexerted myself yesterday. I…I’ve never ridden before.”

“You will be at supper? I’ve planned—”

“If I am unable to attend, Esmee, you will be the first I
inform.”

Giselle turned swiftly toward
the door. She’d heard Esmee’s gasp at the curtness of her reply, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Caring meant the ocean of ache she was holding back had value. She climbed slowly to the second floor, her legs feeling leaden and sore.
She stopped at the landing, rubbing at her thighs
as she considered her options.

She couldn’t go to her own chambers
. Etienne was still there, and he ignored her request for him to return to his own rooms
that very morning.

Giselle had awakened, feeling suffocated by the robe wrapped
tightly about her. She’d still slept in it, fearing Etienne would somehow
reach her through the locked door to the wardrobe room.
When she peeked out, she saw him sprawled across the bed
again, as if he’d tried to move and failed. Giselle was grateful she had locked the door.

She allowed Isabelle to finish dressing her,
and it was almost
done before the maid and Louisa knocked for entry, anyway. Giselle ignored Louisa’s clicking tongue. The governess must’ve sensed something,
because she didn’t say a word.

Giselle wondered now, where it was safe to go
. There were
only two choices, really: her room or Etienne’s. She shook her head at
her own stupidity. No one would think to look for her in the
duc’s
rooms, and she could lock the connecting door.

She walked in
to the ducal chamber. The room looked much better after being thoroughly cleaned and aired. She looked over
Madame
Dessard’s work. The
floor had been polished until the wood shone, and the rugs scattered
about were pale gray and fluffy. The room was very bright. Once
again she wondered why Aunt Mimi had allowed her room to be so dark and gloomy
. Giselle had no answer, and she really wasn’t searching for
one.

She quickly locked all the doors.

All signs of dust were removed. Even the coverlet on the bed smelled of sunshine, as did the rest of the room. She walked onto the
balcony, looking over the valley as Etienne had done. It was
immense, lushly green, and highly productive — enough so to start a
war.

It seemed Giselle had simply exchanged one jail for another.
The bars of her new prison lay in splendor before her —
Savignen Valley. She gripped the twisted metal of the railing, hard enough
the design that the iron-worker had pounded into it, bit into
her palms. She didn’t feel it. She couldn’t even feel the warmth of
the sun.

The sunlight seemed cold and bleak
. Life was cold and bleak. The future matched. And that was what Savignen
Valley was to her.

Giselle didn’t bother to wipe at the tears blotting her bodice as
coldness seeped into her. This must be her penance, and it was
everything she’d dreaded… and more.

“Giselle?”

It was Navarre’s voice. Calling to her. Now she had to hear him speaking? Her penance was brutal.

“Why
are you out here? And where’s Etienne? You’re crying? Why, Giselle?
”

The hand at her elbow convinced her, and her laughter was
clogged with sniffles. It wasn’t in her mind. It truly was Navarre. Here. In the
duc’s
chambers. With her. Alone.

It seemed God hadn’t deserted her after all.

She turned to face him and buried
her face against the front of his shirt. And she wasn’t ashamed! There would be time enough for that later. Years of it.

But for now
?
She quivered through another breath before she felt the answering
pressure of his arms. Enwrapping her.

“My love
. My darling. Giselle.”

She heard his endearments through a haze
.
She looked up. He looked unwell. Older. His eyes shone
with such emotion, hers flooded with tears again. She fought them. She didn’t want to cry again. She had to be able to see him
and memorize everything about this.

“
Forgive me,
ma petit,
for adding to your guilt.” He
released one arm to wipe away a tear with his finger. Giselle watched
as he glanced at it and then looked away, over her head. She felt his
other arm loosen.

Guilt
?
He thought she cried for guilt? She tightened her arms until
he would be forced to pry her away.

“You must let me go, Giselle
. Please? I can’t stand for this. Don’t you
see?”

She could, because the chest she leaned against shuddered as
he concentrated on the valley in the distance.

“Navarre?”

At her whisper, his arm left her completely. Giselle watched
the small lines around his eyes deepen.

“Navarre, look at me.”

His jaw
tightened, sending a nerve into prominence. But he moved his eyes to hers.

“What would you have of
me?” he asked.

She didn’t know
. She started by tugging at the
back of his shirt until it was free of his breeches. She had to feel
him, and had no idea where that plan of action had come from. Her
fingers reached flesh, moving over muscle, getting scorched
by the contact. And she felt
damp, as if a wellspring erupted within her. She arched her body against him, watching his eyes darken further
although his skin turned pale.

“Giselle, you must stop this!”

His arms reached behind himself to pull her away.

“Kiss me, Navarre.”

Giselle was blushing furiously as she
asked it, but she held on.
His eyebrows rose in disbelief while his eyes went wide.

“Must I…beg it of
you?” Her breath came in ragged gasps.
“Navarre…please?”

He groaned before bending to her,
crushing his
mouth against hers. Giselle’s lips, as if following some unknown
instinct, molded about his. Her thighs pressed against
his, her belly brushing against the strangest lump, and that aroused her still further. Louisa hadn’t told her enough!
Giselle dug her fingers into him as he moved her lips apart, flicking and then
exploring her mouth with his tongue. Her legs gave out and
his hands
encircled her waist if he knew.

Giselle was lifted against him,
her moan surging
through them, making his hands tighten until they almost hurt. And it was
delicious. Sensuous. She teased the roughness of his upper lip with her
tongue, tasting him, and giggling at his reaction. He pulled away
as if stung.

“Mon Die
u,
Giselle, but I am on fire. You don’t know
what you do! You must stop! I must make you—!
We can’t be alone! This can’t happen!
Merde!
”

Giselle
wrapped her legs about his hips, balancing herself so she could
bring her arms forward. She pulled the rest of his shirt free as she
went. The strangeness of his stomach muscles drew her fingers along them, like playing an instrument.

“Giselle, you must stop
! You must!
”

She lurched upward
, supporting herself by leaning on his
shoulders, bringing his mouth toward her breasts. He was forced to
hold her in place, because she kept slipping, and she giggled at the
feel of his arms beneath her. Even through her clothing, she was
singed. Burned. Scorched.

“You
vixen!”

They moved into Etienne’s chamber
. Giselle couldn’t
believe the sensations put into play as he walked. Someone should’ve told her.
Her most private area was ablaze. She was being consumed by it.

The chamber looked even
brighter. Giselle closed
her eyes to the glow of it.

“Giselle
! Open this door at once!”

Navarre stopped at the loud knocking on the connecting door
.
Giselle recognized Louisa’s voice.

“You can’t hide forever
! And it is time to dress for supper. I
can’t imagine what has gotten into you. You can’t hide from your
responsibilities. How many times must I remind you?”

Giselle started to giggle at the lecturing words, and then she
stilled. Navarre bent forward, sliding her to her feet. He held his finger to his lips for
silence. His shirt was unfastened, the ends trailing to his thighs where she’d pulled
it out. She couldn’t stop looking. His thigh muscles were easily discernible through the thin material of his breeches. As was the
outline of something no one had told her of.

Giselle slapped
both hands to her cheeks.

“Giselle
! I know you’re in there. Answer me.”

“
I must go.” Navarre whispered it into her earlobe, and then he
kissed it. And despite the horror of the situation, Giselle shivered at his touch.

“Will I see you at sup?”
She grabbed one of his hands.

“Of
course. I wouldn’t miss it. Until then, my petite love.”

He
brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. Giselle closed
her eyes at the sweetness. The tenderness. The ache that was just beginning. It was agony to know that this was the
last time she could let him kiss her. Even her fingers. She wouldn’t be able to stand
it, otherwise.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone
. It was just as well.
Louisa was still pounding at the door, and it was Mass tonight.

She would have a lot to confess.

Giselle had promised God that she’d have nothing more to do
with Navarre if she was granted just one more kiss— and such a kiss! She touched her lips with fingers that felt like they belonged to
someone else.

“Giselle!”

“I’m coming. Stop that noise immediately.”

She glanced in
a
mirror and stopped, wide-eyed and horrified. She didn’t dare answer the door until she
looked this disheveled because she’d just awakened from a nap, and
not Navarre’s lovemaking.