41. Flight

Chapter forty-one

Flight

L ouisa had witnessed many kisses in life and in art that had made the activity seem tawdry or even lascivious. She had repulsed a few such kisses from men like the Earl of Yarmouth that had filled her with disgust and chagrin. But this kiss had nothing crude about it. Respectfully, determinedly, Gyles' lips met her own with a firm pressure that began to shift and grow and burn as the swirling heat of the greenhouse enveloped them both. His arms came around her like cradling vines. Her own hands lifted involuntarily, like sunflowers to the warmth of the sun, until they caressed his face and buried themselves in his chestnut hair.

Gyles gave a sigh and deepened the kiss, and Louisa responded in kind. Never had she thought that a kiss could be like this—a joining of herself, body and soul, to one who truly cared about her, and her alone. Never had she thought that an embrace could be so pure—the tender caresses of a man who found her infinitely more meaningful than a beautiful face or a bountiful fortune.

But how do you know that? Parents, uncle, suitors, servants—they've all abandoned you before. How can you ever believe that another person truly cares for you more than they care for their own interests?

Bewildered by the questions that raced through her mind, she began to pull away.

"Louisa," said Gyles, his voice a low growl. His muscled arms refused to let her go, and she felt him drawing her closer into the circle of his quiet strength. "Stop thinking. Tell that voice in your head to be quiet."

"But what if that voice is true?" she whispered.

"It isn't," said Gyles with the calm assurance of a man who could dig in the rockiest soil and still bring forth beauty. "If it tells you I don't love you, then it's a liar and a cheat. If it tells you that I'll ever leave you, then it's as false as Spanish coin."

"You love me?" Her heart flipped over inside her chest.

"I wouldn't have traipsed across the Channel in a scratchy wig and toe-murdering shoes for any other reason."

"Gyles!" she protested but got no further, for the kiss her doubts had interrupted had begun again in earnest.

Later, after they had found a bench, and shared more confidences, and kissed again, Louisa's practical self began to surface. "What now, Gyles? What do we do? I'm afraid Alphonse might make Paris too hot to hold us once he finds out I won't have him. And Empress Josephine too—she wanted us to make a match of it. She still has Napoleon's ear, and I have no official papers allowing me to stay. We could end up locked away in some old Bourbon prison, or worse. "

"Then let's leave France. Tonight. Without any fanfare or farewell."

"Where would we go?"

"I may not have a grand mansion like Malmaison, but I live quite comfortably in Derbyshire. My mother can chaperone us until the banns are read."

"I won't be able to marry you without my uncle's permission until I come of age in April."

"Then I'll be your footman for a few more months, but I can't promise I won't steal a kiss while I'm serving you dinner."

"Oh Gyles," said Louisa reprovingly, lured by the mention of such a thing into stealing her own kiss at that very moment. "Mmm. Then it's decided. I'll have Cosette pack my things. Tell Jacques that we leave Malmaison tonight."

"Yes, milady," said Gyles with a grin, pulling his forelock as a proper footman would. He stood up from the bench and helped her to her feet.

"I'm afraid I must get used to no longer ordering you about," she said with chagrin.

"I don't think that's a habit you will ever break," teased Gyles. He took her hand and kissed it. "But as long as you punctuate your commands with a kiss, I'll take them under consideration."

It was fortunate that Louisa had brought her own carriage and driver to Malmaison and, thus, was not dependent on Alphonse for means to depart. In the room above the stables, Jacques Martin was snoring loudly when Gyles rousted him from his bed. He sputtered awake as Gyles gave him a firm nudge .

"Harness the horses," murmured Gyles. "And do it quietly. We don't want to attract attention."

Jacques grunted in response and followed Gyles down the stairs as soon as he found his coat and breeches. For such a large man, he was surprisingly light on his feet and deft with his hands. Gyles heard barely a jingle of the harness as the driver coaxed the first horse into the carriage traces. But right as Jacques led the second horse out of its stall, a loud squawk filled the air. The horses began to stamp nervously until Jacques soothed them with a hand on each of their foreheads.

"What was that?" whispered Gyles. "Surely not a stallion?"

Jacques began to laugh softly. "A demon, Monsieur Pebble."

There was no time to elucidate that mystery. Gyles left Jacques to his work and returned to the house to change his clothing. It would preserve Louisa's reputation far better if he could continue to travel in the guise of a footman. And if he could avoid making sheep's eyes at Louisa—as Cosette had claimed he did—then no one would know that his brass-buttoned livery hid a heart that was wholly in thrall to its mistress.

He no longer had a mask to shield his face, so he spent some time skirting the busy servants who might recognize him. Eventually, he was able to slip undetected belowstairs as strains of music were still pouring from the ballroom. Once he had discarded his eveningwear and changed back into the garb of a footman, he mounted the stairs to the second floor to see how Louisa was getting on.

" Eh bien! There you are, Monsieur Pebble," said Cosette, peeking her head out from the bedroom door as if she had been waiting for him. "She says she will bring nothing, that she already has everything she needs." Cosette arched a disapproving eyebrow .

"And what do you say?"

"That if she becomes seasick on the packet to England, she will want another dress to wear! A woman needs more than love, I say. She needs a fresh shift and an extra walking dress."

Gyles poked his head into the bedroom and saw that Louisa had already changed into a more serviceable gown—a dark blue carriage dress that would draw far less attention than her fiery ballgown—and a pair of half boots. "Pack just the smallest trunk," he said, "for you and Cosette, and I will carry it down after you are safely outside."

"Ah, you are giving me orders now I see." It was the sort of thing the Louisa of two months ago might have said, but her eyes had such an expression of tenderness, that Gyles could see she took no affront.

"Hurry, darling," he urged, and stepped back into the corridor to keep watch. From the open door, he heard Cosette gasp and giggle, "Oh la la!"

Let her giggle—her meddling had been invaluable in bringing him together with Louisa, and for that he was grateful.

Within minutes, Louisa and Cosette exited the room, both wearing dark cloaks over their travelling dresses. Gyles nodded to them that the corridor was all clear, and they hurried down the stairs. The newly packed trunk lay just inside the door. Gyles hefted it onto his shoulder and peered out into the corridor again. A pair of footmen were striding down the hall. He closed the door and waited. Whereas Louisa and Cosette might plead a nocturnal walk in the gardens if they were questioned, the trunk he bore on his shoulders was an unmistakable sign of flight. Two minutes later, he cracked the door open an inch. The corridor was empty .

With the guests engaged in the ballroom, he decided that the main staircase was safer than the servants' stair. He went downstairs and out the doors that led to the path. The way to the stables veered off in the other direction from the gardens. With the great glass house behind him, he hurried through the dark and cold back to the stables where the others were waiting.