“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?
And in the few instances when he and Giselle were actually alone, he hadn’t known what to say to her. Because he knew that what heshouldsay was an apology. He’d gone too far in the tower that day. If not for Zack, would he even have stopped? Or would he have taken her like some witless fool, too caught up in the pleasures of her to halt his unwise actions?
By God, what was he to do about Giselle?
Every day that passed, he wanted her more. Her kindnesses to his brothers warmed his heart, her enthusiastic enjoyment of the treasures of Longmead’s gallery touched his soul, and her winsome smiles and teasing remarks made him wish to carry her up the stairs to his bed where he could—
Bloody hell. He was losing his mind.
By the night of the Harvest Ball, he was all at sixes and sevens. Nor did it help when she swept down the stairs in the most beautiful harvest gown he’d ever seen. Of saffron-colored silk with dark brown trim, it skimmed her lovely form so perfectly he couldhardly think of anything but letting his hands roam the paths the fabric took along her fatal curves.
Fatal to him, at any rate. Because he dared not behave in anything but the most circumspect way toward her at the ball. The female guests would be watching for any misstep on his part, and the male ones would be looking for any excuse to whisk her away from him and give her comfort.
God, it was going to be a long night.
“You look like autumn itself,” he said, forcing a smile as she reached him. “I can’t wait to show you off.”
Her face darkened and she glanced over to where her mother stood nearby, then leaned up to whisper, “Do not get too caught up in the ruse, sir. Remember this is not real.”
“It feels real,” he murmured. “And I will make itlookas real as possible, too, especially when we lead out the dancing with a waltz.”
She shot him an arch smile. “At least you keepsomeof your promises.”
“Certain promises are made to be broken, sweeting.”