Page 2 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“Why do you not kiss her yourself, if you think her worth it?” Gilles asked.
Émile’s eyes glinted. “I think you have the better chance.”
“Of course I do. Women love darkly handsome mariners more than they like pale university students.” Émile’s complexion and hair were lighter than mostMarseillais, even though the rest of the Daubin family looked like they fit in the Mediterranean port city.
“You hardly have the appearance of a sailor anymore,” Émile said. “Two years in an office changes a man.”
Gilles did not like to think on the changes. Every time his father returned, he pointed out how soft Gilles was becoming.
“Are you going to make an effort? Or shall I go find your brother to do the job properly?”
“Does she need to be kissed so badly?” Émile was being strangely persistent.
His friend snorted. “Every woman needs to be kissed. Especially this one, by the looks of her.”
But they did not all wish to, Gilles had found. He paused in the doorway, face to face with Émile. “And what happens if I fail?” He could not afford to hand over twenty-fivelivres.
“You must keep me company at a welcoming dinner for my sister next week.” Émile wrinkled his nose, looking like Gilles’s six-year-old niece rather than a twenty-three-year-old university student.
“The married one?”
Émile’s look of disgust deepened. “I wish it were. No, the unmarried one.”
“Do you dread the dinner or the arrival of your sister?” Though he’d never met Marie-Caroline Daubin, Gilles had heard much groaning over Émile’s backward-thinking sister, who was Maxence’s age.
“Both equally.” Émile’s voice lowered. “We shouldn’t be hosting extravagant dinners with the country in such a state. It’s unpatriotic nonsense, and if it would not offend my mother, I would not attend.” Then his devilish grin returned. “Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.
Gilles hesitated only a moment before grasping it. Émile thumped him on the shoulder. “Allez, mon ami. Go catch your lady or face the terror of dinner.”
With a final glance at the window, through which he could see the cloudless sky beginning to fade into evening, Gilles stole from the room. This was idiocy. A high-class young lady would not be willing to kiss him. Even though social hierarchy was a thing of history, many still held to their status like a boy clinging to the rigging on his first journey across a ship’s yard.
He would not push the matter. If she were a flirt, he’d take the easy prize. But he’d rather face Émile’s feudal-minded sister than be caught by Monsieur Daubin in his own office trying to coax a reluctant patron into a moment of amusement.
Gilles crept slowly up to the office door, keeping his shoes quiet against the floor. For a moment he longed for the encouragement of the reviving Mediterranean air, rather than the heaviness within thesavonnerie.
Be Maxence.His brother rarely lost these games. Gilles pulled himself up to his full height, but even straightened he could not compare to his brother’s much taller stature.
The young woman, garbed in a brilliant indigo riding habit, stood before the large desk on the far side of the room with her back to the door. A few long, brown curls hung from her coiffure and curved around her neck to rest atop her shoulder. A little tune tripped through the office, and it took him several moments of listening to her humming before he recognized it.Sur le pont d’Avignon, an old song about dancing on the bridge in Avignon.
Gilles cleared his throat, cutting off the humming, and nodded a bow when she turned. “Might I assist you,mademoiselle?” He lifted his head and caught a pair of piercing, dark eyes. Her hands rested on his employer’s desk as though she owned it.
“I am only waiting,merci.”
“May I fetch something for you while you wait?” Gilles took a few casual steps into the room. She held her head high, lips pressed together as she studied him. He let a warm smile swell gradually across his mouth.
“I think not, but I thank you all the same,” she finally said.
“Perhaps I can keep you company while you wait for Monsieur Daubin.” He stopped beside her at the desk.
Her eyes traveled from his tousled hair to his worn shoes, then back to his face. For a moment his resolve wavered. No doubt she had already dismissed him as an insolent employee. Her brow arched, almost as if she saw through his pleasant words. “I am not the sort who needs constant attention. I assure you, I will be perfectly at ease on my own.”
Gilles leaned back against the edge of the desk, not daring to peek at the doorway to see if Émile was watching. “I am Monsieur Daubin’s head clerk. He did not tell me he had an appointment this evening. Let alone one with such a beautiful customer.” He set his hands against the wood, just far enough away from her white-gloved fingers that their nearness might have been an accident. Would Émile settle for a kiss on the hand? He hadn’t specified, though usually their games only counted kissing the lips.
Gilles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. If he ever found the chance, he would enjoy kissing those full, soft-looking lips.
Themademoiselletook a marked step to the side, but her fingers trailed along the desk as they swept away from him. Was she toying with him?
“What business do you have with themonsieur?” he managed. “Perhaps I can help.”
