Page 13 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
“No?” He gave her a pure, sweet smile.
She stiffened. “What will your wife say?”
“Nothing. She died two years ago.”
Her mouth opened.
“I am free, madame, to court you honorably. Did you think I would do so otherwise?”
“No, I see who you are. All of you. Noble and wise. How can I do that? I do not know you. I do not.”
“Nor do I know all of you, my dear. But you stir me. I gaze at you and find new vistas I wish to explore.”
“You mustn’t. I am a widow, sir. Alone in your country. My family—my husband and daughter, my brother, my sister and parents—are gone. Life has not been easy and I…I have few affections left.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed an angel’s kiss to her fingertips. “Allow me to help you find your lost affections. I confess I have a few of my own I must reclaim.”
His words swept her along as if she took to the sky with him.
“Let us finish these two kites. Then go out into the air and send them up where we will wish we, too, could fly with gay abandon.”
Oh, he had a subtle art with words that warmed her blood with hot, red longing. “Yes. I want that.”
“Good.” He tucked her hand between both of his. “I am in earnest, dear madame. We will declare we aid each other in some kind of rehabilitation. To find great joy is a treasure to which few devote themselves. Let us do it, shall we?”
Chapter Six
“She is lovely.”Terese raised her teacup to her smiling lips.
Clive cast her a withering look as he buttoned his frockcoat.
“It’s been two years since Christine died. You’ve mourned her death.”
He shook his head. More like he’d mourned his failures with her.
“So many ladies are eager to become your new wife.”
“I’m not looking for a new one.” He fumbled with his cravat, grousing to himself that he should have brought his valet with him to Brighton.
She gave him a broad grin. “It appears you don’t have to.”
“Terese,” he pleaded with her, “stop.” Madame Laurant was indeed the only one who appealed to him. All of her drew him. Her fresh face, her delicate form, her large, almond-shaped blue eyes as she took him in and caressed him with a yearning he wagered she did not perceive. They had flown kites with Bella for more than an hour—and he could have sworn his heart flew up to frolic with the two little red birds.
Bella had marveled and chuckled, then worn herself out. She was abed, napping from her carefree morning in the sun. He did not have to nap. The memory of that hour still lived within him. It would, he knew, for days or more to come.
When have you known unfettered delight like that with a woman?
Not even when he had courted his wife had he thought he could grab such simple pleasures. No kite flying then. Only quiet picnics. Boring balls. And walks among gardens where conversations were stilted and filled with gossip of theton.
His sister was still talking, and he stared at her.
“You have not heard a thing I said, have you?” Terese feigned horror.
“I do apologize.”
She flicked a hand and laughed. “Clive, I’d like to see you happy with a woman. Truly happy.”
He gave Terese a sidelong glance. He should be careful with his heart and with Madame Laurant’s. “You are assuming a lot from a five-minute introduction.”
