Page 11 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
And he truly looked as though he was. That he should be so bold—and so out of character as to wish to make her acquainted with his wife—took Giselle’s breath. Her heart shriveled like a child’s deprived of candy.
“Terese, my dear, allow me to present Madame Laurant. Madame, Lady Winterton, my sister.”
The news sang through Giselle’s bones, so much so that she had her hand out to the woman. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady.”
The marquis was grinning. “Madam Laurant has been so gracious as to help Bella construct a kite.”
“How exciting,” said the lady, winking at Bella.
“We had a mishap yesterday on the beach, and the kite Madame Laurant had made flew away.”
“I see.” She frowned, her soft gray eyes so like her brother’s. “What kind of mishap?”
“Bella rushed to hold it and lost the lead. She fell into the sea just as a wave came for us all, and it was Madame Laurant who saved our Bella.”
“Well!” The lady gazed at Giselle with fresh delight, that too so true and genuine like her brother’s. “Thank you, madam. Our Bella can be impulsive, and I’m glad you were quick to act.”
“As was I, my lady. I know how children of this age cannot understand the fullness of what they do.”
Terese, or rather Lady Winterton, tipped her head. “You have a child of your own, madame?”
“Non. I did…but she is gone.”
The woman reached out to take Giselle’s hand. “I am so sorry. To lose a child is heartbreaking.”
Giselle preferred not to talk about this. “It is. Very.” She looked up into the face of the marquis. His expression had melted to compassion for her loss. Flustered, she said, “You both have much to discuss, so if you prefer, we can postpone our kite making until later.”
“No, Clive,” the lady objected, and touched his wrist. “I will settle myself in my room. Unpack. Order a service of tea and sandwiches. Terrible food in that inn, you know. Adieu, Madame Laurant. Thank you for saving our little girl. She is the light of our lives.”
“I was happy to help, Lady Winterton.” Giselle smiled as his given name resounded in her head.Clive. Gentle Clive is simply a man, not a lofty marquis. Clive, friendly, kind, and chivalrous.Giselle liked the color of his name. Gold, like him.
Lady Winterton twiddled her fingers at the three of them. “Do not rush, Clive. I need an hour or so to myself.”
With that, she was off, and the marquis was left standing there gazing down at Giselle.
“Shall we continue with the kite?” he asked in a mellow tone. “I’d like to see it through. Bella would, too.”
They both glanced over at the array of joined sticks that Bella had made.
Giselle, free of her fear that Terese was his wife and bemused by the mess Bella had made, beamed at this man whom she enjoyed more with each passing moment. “Well, goodness. Look at that. Hmmm. Bella, that’s an intriguing shape.”Like a garden worm.
He chuckled at her words and at the jumbled thing his daughter had made. Then he shocked her and took her hand in his. “Look at me. You were pleased to hear that Terese is my sister.”
The surprise of his touch matched the jolt of his words. But she loved being held by him. “Did I reveal so much?” she ventured, and knew once her words were out, she should not have been so bold.
“You show me almost everything you are,” he said beneath his breath. “I have no idea why that is.”
Alarmed, she admitted to herself that she knew why. But to him, her answer was, “No, nor I.”
“But I beg you not to change.”
A man and woman entered the room.
Giselle went quite still. “Oh, sir, that is not wise.”
“Tell me why.”
She rolled a shoulder and tried to free her hand from his. He would not let her go. “I am French.”
