40. Heart’s Blood

Chapter forty

Heart's Blood

G yles hung back in the anteroom all through dinner, but when the guests returned to the ballroom, he was immediately at Louisa's shoulder. Earlier, when he had asked for the dance, she had been unsure of his identity, but he could tell, by the lift of her chin, that she knew him now.

"I was not aware you were invited to this masquerade, Monsieur Pebble."

"That's the delightful thing about masks—invitations can't always be verified." He held out his hand.

She hesitated for a moment and then placed her gloved hand in his.

Gyles might not have been a consummate cosmopolitan, but his mother's tutelage had ensured that he was a competent dancer. They danced in silence. But even though there were no words between them, each reconnection of their fingers and interlacement of their arms became more and more charged like a lowering sky before a coming lightning storm. Gyles' blood began to pulse, both with the exertion of moving through the room and the excitement of feeling Louisa's fingertips against his arm and palm.

The lady herself was not immune to the sensations. The longer the dance went on, the higher her colour rose. Finally, it seemed that she could stand it no more. She stepped out of the set and began to fan herself with her hand. "Mr. Pebble, I am overheated. Perhaps we might go outside to get some air."

Gyles offered her his arm. They exited the music room, passed through the adjoining salon, and found a stair leading outside. "It is freezing out there," said Gyles. "Milady will be cold."

"I don't care," said Louisa, walking abruptly to the opening and pushing her way into the dark chill. Gyles set his lips into a firm line and then followed her, removing the hooded domino as he walked. "Here." He pulled it gently over her head, the billowing garment covering her exposed shoulders and neckline. A rose caught on it and, coming unpinned from her curls, fell to the ground. She accepted the domino without comment and kept walking.

Gyles bent down to pick up the fallen rose—the favour that he had given to her and that she had chosen to wear. He gripped it tightly between thumb and forefinger and followed her down the path. Where was she going? Those silken dance slippers would not get far on outdoor terrain.

Gyles looked past her and saw the lights of the glass house ahead. Heated even at night, it would be a refuge from the January air. Louisa hurried ahead of him along the gravel path, blending in with the night in the hooded domino and the jet-studded loo mask.

A servant opened the door of the greenhouse for Louisa and left it ajar for Gyles who was not far behind. Apparently, Josephine and her guests were used to visiting the greenhouse at all hours. The eerie glow of a few scattered torches and heating braziers illuminated the building. Louisa walked until she came to the very rosebush that Gyles had plundered earlier that day. Red as sunset. Red as rubies. Red as heart's blood.

Louisa turned around to face her pursuer. Beneath her mask, Gyles saw her violet eyes, illuminated by the distant torches and glowing with luminous intensity. "Why are you here, Gyles?"

He pulled off the mask that covered the top half of his face and tossed it on the ground. "I came to warn you about your cousin."

"You already did that this morning."

"Yes, but now I have proof that he is filled with ill-intent. I overheard him meeting with Monsieur Dupont from your bank. He has been investigating your finances, with an eye to marrying a rich bride."

"He needs the money?"

"He's bankrupt. Apparently, the title Napoleon gave him did not come with much of a stipend."

Louisa began to laugh. "You act as if I should be shocked. My fortune has been a prime consideration for every man who's ever looked at me. I would be more shocked if the Comte Dammartin did not want my money. Why else would he pursue me?"

Gyles stared at her, dismayed by her dismissal of her own worth. Her fortune was nothing compared with herself. He took a step closer.

"Why are you here, Gyles?" Her voice, so cuttingly sardonic a moment before, took on a tone of confusion as he continued to approach .

"Because where you are, there I must be too, to serve you in whatever capacity I can."

Her flawless face crinkled into a frown. "Because you are a collector of kind deeds, of chivalrous gestures, and hospitable endeavours." Her voice was bitter now. He could almost smell the salt water imprisoned at the back of her throat.

"No." He was close enough to touch her now, but he refrained from reaching out. "Because I cannot bear to be separated from you." He held out the rose that had fallen from her hair. "Heart's blood, Louisa. That's what I call this one. And heart's blood is what you are to me."

Slowly, Louisa reached out her hand to take the flower, but rather than letting go, Gyles enveloped her fingers in his own. Her gloved hand did not pull back, and slowly, ever so slowly, his calloused thumb began to trace a path across her knuckles.

"Take off your mask, Louisa. Please." He held his breath, trying to keep from alarming her, hoping that she would understand the meaning of his words.

She raised her left hand and pulled back the hood of the domino. For a few seconds, her fingers struggled with the strings tied behind her curls. "I can't do it on my own," she said at last. "It's too tight."

He pressed the rose into her right hand and then released it. "Let me help." Lifting his hands to the nape of her neck, he began to loosen the knotted string buried in her honey-gold curls. His wrists flanked the sides of her neck, and their pulses began to beat in unison.

After a moment's effort, the black mask, studded with jet beads, fluttered forlornly to the ground.

"Why are you here, Gyles?" breathed Louisa, for the third time.

"For this," said Gyles. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.