She took it and managed a smile. “How do you English put it? ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’”
And off they went.
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 makingGisellelie, 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.