“I hope you are not one of those people, Giselle, because I’d like to steal you for a while so I can show you the house and estate, since it was too late last night to accomplish it.”
Before she could reply, bloody Evan said, with mischief in his face, “We’ll join you, won’t we, Kit?”
“You two rascals willnotjoin me,” Heathbrook shot back. “I’ve spent the past two days never having a moment alone with my fiancée, so now you will let me walk with her about the house and the property while you boys do whatever you please for a while … far away fromus.”
Giselle rose, and he nearly dropped his cup of tea. Today, shewore some filmy white muslin thing that skimmed her curves with loving attention to detail. The fabric was embroidered all over with little flowers, which emphasized that she was fresh and young and absolutely breathtaking.
Apparently completely unaware of her effect on him, she turned to her mother. “Maman, do you wish to go with us?” she asked in French.
“I would rather sit right here,” her mother answered, to Heathbrook’s relief. “Yesterday’s journey was trying. Besides, you don’t need chaperoning if you walk around the estate. But Iwilljoin you when you tour the house. I’d like to see more of it, anyway.”
“Then why don’t you finish your breakfast at a leisurely pace,” Heathbrook said, “and we’ll see you when we’ve finished touring the grounds.” He crooked his arm to Giselle. “Come,ma chérie.The weather is unseasonably warm—a perfect day for a walk.”
He held his breath, hoping she would not find another excuse for preventing their tête-à-tête. But she nodded and came over to place her hand on his arm.
As they left the breakfast room, he said, “You’re up early.”
“So are you.”
“I always am.”
She grimaced. “I noticed. I amnota person who rises with the sun. That is why I require gallons of coffee to be coherent. Given that I have only had two cups, you should adjust your expectations.” She glanced at him. “I cannot promise to be entertaining until at least noon.”
“Then you will fit right in with Society. No one is even up until noon in London.”
“Fortunately, I will not be spending time in Society,” she said stiffly. “Maman and I intend to live a quiet life in our town house, with perhaps the occasional foray into émigré or détenu parties.” She glanced around as they walked down the hall, then lowered her voice. “At least after this is all over, that is.”
“Then I hope it’s not over too soon,” he said unthinkingly. “I enjoy your company.”
“And I enjoy being free,” she countered, her nose high in the air. “After you gain what you want from me, I mean to take full advantage of that freedom.”
The thought of her going off to live her life away from him made him feel suddenly bereft. He led her down the steps. “What has changed, Giselle? Yesterday in the carriage you were friendly and seemed to be enjoying yourself. Today, you’re … different.”
She pulled her hand from his arm and turned around to gaze up at the main house with a despairing look. “I do not belong here, and you know it.”
For some reason, that roused his temper. “Iam the only one who gets to say who belongs here, and you have as much right to be here as anyone else. You are a gentleman’s daughter.”
“I am a tradesman’s stepdaughter and a gentleman’s by-blow. Not to mention that I am French, and only here on a forged passport. Under normal circumstances, I would not even be in this country.”
Her implacable words put him on his guard. “But these are not normal circumstances, are they? In fact, I have never experienced normal circumstances in my life, and from what I can tell, neither have you. So, I am willing to let things be what they are and enjoy them while I can. Can’t you do the same? Think of this as a sort of holiday from your life in London. The interlude in a play, if you will.”
Her clear blue eyes seemed to see right down to his soul, to unveil the tumult that always lay there, the very product of his abnormal circumstances.
Was he a lord of the manor or still a prisoner to the exile that had shaped his life? He hardly knew anymore.
Was he a benevolent brother or another oppressor like Yates? He hardly knew that, either.
Most importantly, was he a friend to Giselle or was he the man who would ruin her? That one, he definitely did not know. Did not want to know. Because it meant examining all his past choices far too thoroughly.
Suddenly, she turned her gaze away. “I have never been one for the theater, my lord.”
It was the first time she’d called him “my lord” in some weeks, and it stung more than anything else she’d said so far.
Then she flashed him one of her enigmatic smiles. “But I do not wish to quarrel with you, especially now that I have the chance toview your lovely estate. Do continue with the tour, sir. You may start by explaining what sort of house this is. It looks very old.”
Still smarting from her words about not belonging here, he skipped over the usual description of Longmead—that it had originally been the royal manor to Saxon kings and had been passed down through royalty until the Elizabethan era.
Instead, he took up the history that began in the 1500s. “This version of the house was bought and built by a customs collector during Queen Elizabeth’s reign. It changed hands a number of times before my ancestor from Normandy was given it for his service to Charles II while the king was in exile in France. My ancestor chose to move his family here and never returned to Normandy. He made his own additions to the house.”