Page 49 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
What she missed would be the passion and peace of the last few days. In his embrace, her world had brightened. A new color spectrum from black then gray to ivory to gold had permeated her whole being. She’d lived so long—too long—in the veiled shadows of her marriage, the illness and death of her daughter, then the fear of capture by Vaillancourt. But with her full purpose admitted to Clive and with his encouragement and acceptance of all she was and did, she was more free than she had ever been.
“I will miss your appreciation,” she said with a wink.
“I will not fail to praise you for new skills.”
His risqué words had her laughing, a new phenomenon she enjoyed more and more with him. “Bold man.”
“Your man,” he affirmed in his rough bass voice.
He was hers. No talk of permanence or marriage between them, but still she trusted him. The truth of that was that she had trusted her father, her brother, and Corsini. In response, she gave Clive a broad smile of contentment.
That afternoon, they arrived at the Old Ship. Their trunks and valises, her artwork, were all carried up into the large suite Clive had rented on the top floor to the rear. He had requested it for its proximityto the servants’ stairs. If they needed to leave secretly so that she could meet her contact who would spirit her work here in England or to France, then this would be a discreet escape route.
They settled in, content, if not as well fortified by the hotel’s dubiously talented chef as they had been by her. They occupied themselves with leisurely doings of living. They walked each morning on the beach. Often they were up and out by nine, running on the rocky shore flying a new kite she’d made, eating ices and little cakes from the vendors who sold their wares in their tiny tents. Just as often, however, the two of them lolled in bed, making love until the sun rose higher in the sky. Each time, Clive spared her the worry of pregnancy. She marveled at his control, for she herself had none. Wanting him once, twice, three times a day, she offered herself up to him—and he came to her, for her, loving her with a tenderness that swelled her heart with pride and joy.
The afternoon they had arrived in Brighton, Giselle had written a cryptic note to Lord Ashley telling him where she’d been, why, and with whom. He returned his own short note two days’ hence, telling her he still had no news about the person she would be meeting. Newspapers and those in residence in the hotel restaurant and lobby spoke of nothing but the blockade. Indeed, reports said so many ships sat pointed at each other in that small scrap of ocean that many wondered if the sailors could tell each other fairy tales across the expanse. Both the British and French fleets had so choked up the ocean between the Continent and the British Isles that Giselle thought it silly to even ask Ashley for word of her man. But her duty drove her onward.
It was easy to bide her time and wait for what she hoped would be the end of her trials.
She was at rest and in love.
One week passed, then two.
*
Clive rolled tohis back and checked that Giselle was truly into a deep sleep.
He was growing more irritated by the day. Not in his nature or his habit to be confined to any one place or activity, but this endless wait for Giselle’s contact wore on him.
For her, thank goodness, this period was a lull, a reprieve. He saw it in her twinkling smiles and the way she walked into his arms and gave herself so completely to him, day or night.
He welcomed her each time she came to him. He’d never had that spontaneity or that surrender from his wife. Only from a few women whom he’d paid for their service. But that was the picture of his past, long gone now, wasn’t it? Lust was a commodity for sale. But intimacy came only from a melding of two minds, two hearts. He would sit at breakfast and marvel at their rapport in or out of bed. This bliss was finally his.
Only if he kept her safe, however, would he be able to enjoy it beyond this day, this challenge, this mystery.
He gathered up his banyan. Swirling it over his shoulders, he pulled it over his arms and tied the sash. She still slept soundly, her mouth open, snoring softly. Chuckling, he would not wake her. He padded into the sitting room.
Just this afternoon, he’d heard from Langley again. Last week, his friend had come down to talk with him in person when first he and Giselle arrived in Brighton. Clive had sent him a cryptic note then, describing briefly—and vaguely—where they’d been. Langley had sent word yesterday that Halsey and he would arrive today to meet with Clive. So the two men must have some news. Clive prayed it was positive. He was so very tired of this muddle of indecision.
He strode to the bureau and poured himself a glass of water, then took it to a chair. In the hall, two people—men—whispered. Not softlyenough, he observed with a snort.
They would not be the two men he had hired to watch the hotel and follow Giselle and him when they were out an about. His two men were on duty around the clock outside the Old Ship.
But the two in the hall were much too loud for this hour of the night. What were the staff doing walking the halls before dawn? Wasn’t it too early to be setting fires in the guest rooms?
True, there’d been an unseasonal chill in the July night air recently. Nonetheless, he was comfortably warm in his skin and the loose fall of his satin robe. He felt no need for fires to be set.
What were they doing out there? Were they cleaning the carpet?
He doubted they were delivering meals at this hour of the morning. Curiosity spurred him to seek out his pocket watch, which he’d left on the bureau in their bedroom.
No sooner had he picked it up and noted the time of ten past five did he still…and listen.
The hair on his neck rose.
A key slid into the lock of their hallway door.
He took a step forward to hear better.
