Brielle looked to her empty cup and held it out to him. “I wish I could have been there, too.”
He poured her more. “She’s teased me about doing the same ever since.”
She looked up and held his gaze. As if she knew she was his every thought. As if she discerned his overwhelming feelings for her. He was having a harder time trying to hide it.
She looked away so wistfully his heart wrenched. “Grandfather has asked me to stay.”
The cider’s sweetness soured. “I thought he might.”
“He’s aging. Lonely. I’m all he has, his last link to my mother. He wants to see me marry and enjoy his grandchildren in the time left to him. He wants thechâteauand all the land on the Loire to be mine—even his Paris townhouse and property should I wish it.”
It was more than he’d expected—and more than she had, clearly.
“All this makes me beholden to him. How can I say no?”
It was all he could do to keep silent and not sway her decision. Their looming separation carved such a hole inside him it defied speech, yet hadn’t this been his intent? To reunite her with her family and let things play out?
She pushed a strand of hair behind one pearl-studded ear. “And the marquis has asked to court me.”
His composure shattered. “The buccaneer?”
She nodded, resigned. “Le marquis de Chevreuse.”
A nobleman, not merely a masked guest. “Do you want to be courted?”
She hesitated. Confusion crossed her face—and a rare exasperation. She held his gaze so entreatingly she seemed to be asking him to make decisions for her. “I feel… perplexed. Taken aback.”
His own perplexity reared its head. He looked away from her to see thecomteemerging from his private barge onto the landing. He raised a hand in greeting, making straight for the orangerie.
Brielle watched his approach, still pensive. “I told him I would give him an answer afterNoël.After I spoke with you.”
“There’s still time to weigh all of this,” he said quietly. “For now, let’s make our being here memorable.”
The next night the Verdigris Salon rattled with dice and the shuffling of cards. A great many guests gathered to enjoy a rainy evening of games as the weather turned chill. Autumn seemed to have fled taking all lightheartedness and beauty with it. In some inexplicable way Brielle felt cheated, confined to a gilded cage that kept her from what she truly wanted.
What was winter like along the Rivanna?
She sat near the flickering hearth, playingjeu de l’oiewith several ladies. She’d never been one for games though whist, trictrac, marelle, piquet and lansquenet played out all around her. Betting began and gold and silver coins crossed half a dozen tables like bon-bons. Oddly, it brought back theRose and Crownand all its dark memories. Though far more refined than a tavern, the sounds and smells seemed the same—ceaseless laughter, chatter, spirits, and tobacco smoke.
Bleu sat at the table nearest her, teaching Grandfather and themarquisand another man how to play Waltes. He’d packed the Mi’kmaq game in his luggage which had become something of a favorite among captain and crew on the voyage here. The decorated ivory dice, cup, and wooden counting sticks seemed more art, returning her to his Canadian heritage—and Sabine Broussard.
Had she made it safely to Acadie?
Paying little attention to her own game, Brielle watched Bleu under lowered lashes, tracing all the beloved contours of him, his profile so striking in the candlelight her stomach swirled. Occasionally he would look up and meet her eyes though he seemed wholly immersed in the game.
Sometimesle marquis de Chevreusewould turn his dark, heavy gaze on her. As the evening wore on his playing seemed more personal. He, at least, seemed intent on impressing her. Grandfather’s back was to her as he helped with counting and scoring, his pleasure palpable that all seemed to be genuinely enjoying the game.
“And the prize, gentlemen?” Madame Bellamy asked from another table as she moved her token forward on the board. “We are playing for a jade broach. And you?”
Bleu paused from rolling dice as Chevreuse shrugged narrow shoulders. “Un baiser?”
A kiss?
Themarquiswinked, his intensity shifting as his gaze slid from Madame Bellamy to Brielle. Her stomach tightened as she returned to her own game and tried to focus to no avail. A quarter of an hour ticked past—nearly midnight—and dice were still rattling, scores tallying.
She’d never been kissed.
And kissing the marquis was not what she wanted. To equate such intimacy with something as trivial as a game prize left herhalf ill. Kisses weren’t made for crowded, smoky, wine-sated rooms but private places. Let him kiss someone else if he won.
