Page 73 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
He led her a few steps down the hall and opened the door to a room done in mahogany and blues.
She strolled about the large bed and waggled her brows at him in approval, then turned for the boudoir, in the center of which stood a large brass tub. His dressing room connected to hers, but she shut the door on that and went to put her arms around his waist. “I feel at home already.”
“Good!” His tone was jovial, and she was surprised, as she thought they might take the moment to test the measurements of the giant four-poster bed. “One more room.”
Then he pressed a panel in the wall and a door opened.
“A secret room?” She beamed at him as he led her through the door to a room filled with light. “I do like surprises and puzzles and—”
There, placed on the far wall, stood her easel from her hotel room in in Brighton. Beside it stood a comfortable-looking chair, wooden, sturdy. A long table held pots of brushes. A wooden pen holder held pens and pencils. Her bits of graphite that she’d held so dearly stood inside a china dish.
Against the wall, tablets, sketchbooks, and canvases leaned in orderly rows.
She walked among the piles and stacks, noting that she would examine them later. For now, she filled with admiration for the man who stood smiling at her.
“You gathered them all up and brought them here.”
“Not at first. I had them brought to me at Lady Tracy’s house. I had the staff place them in my bedroom. They were my talisman, to touch, to feel, to absorb the essence of you, to allow me some sanity, some proof that you would recover. And I told myself youwouldrecover. You were, you are, my dearest love, and I could not lose you.”
She marveled at him, at her good fortune to find him, have him for her own. “You will never lose me. I am yours.”
She went to him, and he caught her close, his own emotions shaking his torso.
She pushed away and, with his hands in hers, walked him backward into his bedroom. With a kiss, a sigh, a tender invitation, her clothes drifted to the floor and his followed.
Later, she rubbed her nose on his and told him, “That was much more comfortable than the coach.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Giselle raised herarms as Terese helped her slide her new gown down over her body. She swayed a bit, still recovering her strength. Still getting used to wearing the elbow-length gloves to cover her scars from the Frenchman’s attack.
Terese grinned at her. “A vision in pink and lavender. The silk flows like water.”
Giselle inhaled, ready to see it. She’d chosen the colors because those were the ones she wore the first day Clive and she had truly met. It was her wedding day, and she was dressing in a guest bedroom in her finery while Clive dressed in his master suite. It was the last time they would ever be apart.
Happy beyond her expectations, she fingered the silk of her skirt. “You’ll do up my laces?”
Giselle had done the same service for Terese yesterday when Clive’s sister married Langley in her own salon in Park Street. The newlyweds had waited to leave on their honeymoon to witness Clive and Giselle’s marriage today.
Terese got to work on Giselle’s ties. But in the glass, Giselle could see her soon-to-be sister-in-law knit her brows.
“There!” Terese cupped Giselle’s shoulders and beamed at her. “You are so lovely. Clive is so happy. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“What bothersyou, Terese?”
“I hope you will both be gloriously good to each other.”
Giselle’s heart paused. “Why would you think we won’t be?”
Terese tried to shake away her fears, but failed. “Perhaps I project my own fears on to you.”
“What are they?” Giselle took Terese’s hands in hers. From Clive, she had heard that Terese’s first marriage was a happy one. So Terese’s experience was not what bothered her. Giselle had come to know Langley—not well, perhaps. But enough to be able to conclude he was an ethical, kind-hearted man who loved his eight-year-old son, his four brothers, and their families too. More than that, he was besotted with Terese. “Anyone can see Langley adores you. Tell me what worries you.”
“My brother is a man of honor and dedication to his country, his estate, his daughter, and you. He will not appreciate that I tell you this. He is a man brought up like so many others of his rank, preferring his personal matters remain private.”
“I have understood that.”
“I wonder if he has revealed to you the depth of his despair over the failure of his first marriage.”
