Page 58 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
Gilles had just deposited the ledgers in the carriage when he spied her not far away, winding through the rows. He quickly made his way to her, heart lifting. A few minutes alone and without her father’s scrutiny would make this late trip to the fields worth it.
Caroline wandered toward the gold sunset, her back to him. Lavender stalks bobbed in the whispering breeze around her. The stems caught in her gossamer skirts, stark white against the blues and violets of the field. Her fingers wove through the soft blossoms as she walked and deftly avoided the fat bees getting their last sips of nectar before darkness set in.
Gilles halted where the small garden around the building met the edge of the field. That little tune she loved to hum in moments of solitude carried back to him over the uniform lines of flowers. She hadn’t realized his presence. His eyes flicked to the stone bench resting under the garden’s lone cedar tree. No need to disturb her meditation. He could watch without interrupting from there, and perhaps slow his ragged breathing brought on from the ethereal sight before him.
He settled down onto the coolness of the bench. Caroline continued her walk in the brilliance of the evening, still oblivious to his gaze. Would that sitting in her presence could always be this tranquil. Those sleepy yellow hills that cradled the Daubins’ lavender fields kept back the turmoil of revolution in the city. The wind eased the intense heat of summer, and the aroma of lavender washed over him, only lending to the peaceful fairy tale. For a moment, he could almost pretend he wasn’t a Jacobin and she aroyaliste. Tonight he was just a man admiring the woman he’d given his heart to.
He closed his eyes.The woman he’d given his heart to. How had he let this happen? If tensions remained high, it could get them both into serious trouble. Though no more murders had occurred in Marseille since the monks’ four days ago, anything could set off the mobs again. One wrong word to the wrong person at the wrong moment, and they’d lose it all. And Caroline clearly wasn’t about to back down from her convictions, no matter the hazard.
His mouth twitched as the image of her determined face filled his mind—the way her eyes sparked with indignation and the feisty set of her jaw. Only his promise not to kiss her had held him back from doing the deed. That and the knowledge she’d probably never speak to him again if he tried.
“Is this one of your tactics?”
Gilles’s eyes fluttered open. Caroline stood at the edge of the field, pulling the skirt of her gaulle dress from the last of the lavender blossoms.
“Tactics?”
“For getting those girls to kiss you. Do you sit with lips ready and waiting for the girl to fall into your lap?” She tilted her face to the sky, mimicking his pose.
Gilles instantly straightened. If only it were that easy. “You have been rather interested in the girls I’ve kissed lately.” His voice wavered.Get a hold of yourself, Gilles. He’d been equally as interested in her former intended. No doubt Caroline held onto her senses better than he managed.
“The girls you’ve kissed lately?” Caroline cocked her head. “How many has that been?”
“I ... no, I haven’t—”
Her eyebrows rose as she meandered toward him. The ends of the azure sash tied at her waist rippled like a wave across a lazy sea. “When was the last time you ‘made a conquest,’ as Émile likes to say?”
“It was ...” Whenwasthe last time? The baker’s daughter, several weeks before Caroline showed up in Marseille? “It’s been months.”
“Months?” Her hand flew to her cheek in mock surprise. “Our brothers would tease you mercilessly for that.”
Gilles gave an unsteady laugh. Yes, they would. But then he doubted they’d ever been overcome by disinterest in every other girl as he had since May.
Caroline paused in front of him, the hem of her skirt brushing against his shoes. The heat of the sunset glowed against the deep brown of her curls. Her short-brimmed hat did little to shield her hair from the breeze, and several ringlets swayed across her brow. She leaned down until her face leveled with his.
Gilles averted his gaze as she studied him, not daring to look at her lips—touched with the barest hint of rouge—for too long. The lavender’s perfume had fogged his brain. She was close enough he could snatch her up in his arms without much effort. Far too close. If he weren’t careful, he’d lose his resolve.
“Do you want to kiss me?” The sauciness in her voice should have made him laugh. She was toying with him. It served him right after all the kissing games he’d played. Caroline had always been inadvertent in her unfairness; she looked irresistible simply by being near him. This display, however, was unmistakable coyness.
He tried to swallow, but his throat had trouble complying. How was he supposed to respond to that? He ran a finger under the cravat he’d tied too snuggly that morning.
She stayed there, face hovering in line with his. Could she be testing his ability to keep his word? Gilles cleared his throat. It still didn’t help him gulp down the dryness. He had to move carefully. Speak carefully.
“I gave you my word, so what does it matter if I wish to or not?” He shifted in his seat. If he slid across the bench and ducked around her to escape, she’d surely laugh. “You do not wish to. You never tire of reminding me.”
“I am not like all those tavern girls you’ve made conquests of.”
“No, I’ve found you very difficult to catch.” Gilles mentally smacked himself. Don’t give in to the blatant flirting. What she was trying to prove or disprove, he couldn’t say. Was she determining whether he was just like his brother and hers? He didn’t know how to meet this challenge.You must learn to recognize which battles you can win and which you must flee. He hated that words of wisdom so often came in Père’s voice.
His collar tightened as her fingers curled around his lapel, sending a roll of thunder through his chest more rattling than any he’d felt during the long, dark storms at sea. He gripped the edge of the bench to keep himself anchored against the firmness of her grasp.
“I will not be caught,monsieur.”
He had little doubt of that. If only she wouldn’t play with him. He should make an excuse. Return to the coach. Break off this dizzying—
In a flash her lips covered his.
Soft.
