Forever His(107)

Etienne uttered a gasp and suddenly seemed to develop a breathing problem, not to mention difficulty keeping his mouth from hanging open.

Celine had to bite back a Wow! of her own. Lady Rosalind was everything she had been told and more. She stepped gracefully through the door in a slim swirl of topaz velvet, her white-blond hair neatly plaited, her eyes a luminous color that could only be called gold. Celine was willing to bet her last centime that those ruby lips had never once muttered a defiant word. Or chattered.

She was young, no older than Etienne. She was smiling at them with genuine warmth. She was petite. She was perfect.

She was Lady R.

Of course Gaston would love her. He wouldn’t be able to help falling in love with her.

“My greetings to you both,” Rosalind said in a mild voice that suited all her other perfections. “My servants tell me that you are friends of Lady Avril?”

Celine had memorized a speech. A very calm, reasonable speech. A persuasive speech.

Instead she blurted out one sentence.

“I’ve come here to ask you for a favor.”





Chapter 21


Threatening clouds hung low in the late afternoon sky as thunder rumbled in the distance. The coming downpour was naught as yet but a cool, silver silence, heavy in the air. The day’s waning light lanced through the gloom now and again, illuminating the trees with sudden brilliance, cutting long shadows along the forest floor.

Gaston was certain that he must have felt this worried and uneasy before, at some time in his life. At the moment, however, he could not remember when that might have been.

The entire day had near passed, and his wandering wife had not yet returned. He felt like a loaded crossbow: taut and dangerous and ready to explode at the slightest touch. But all he could do was wait. His boot heels had probably been worn down from his pacing. He had been doing little else the entire day, from the moment he had awakened to find Celine’s folded note propped on his chest.

God’s teeth, he could throttle her for taking such a chance with her life. Disappearing without word of where she was going. Concealing her trail so that he could not follow.

“I am certain she is unhurt, milord,” Remy said. The lad sat beside the fire, his dark head bent as he sharpened his knife with a whetstone. He was the youngest of Gaston’s guardsmen, little older than Etienne. “If they had encountered trouble, Etienne would have—”

“Shh.” Gaston held up a gloved hand to cut him off. Beneath Remy’s voice and the scrape of the whetstone, he thought he heard the distant rhythm of hoofbeats. He turned to look along the path, and the sound grew louder and separated itself from the thunder. Riders were approaching, from the south.

At a damned leisurely pace.

Within moments, Celine and Etienne appeared through the trees at the far edge of the clearing. As they drew near, Gaston could see that both looked flushed and tired, but unhurt.

He folded his arms over his chest to still the anger and relief that vibrated through his every muscle. “Bonjour,” he said, his tone dangerously mild. “I trust the two of you enjoyed a pleasant day meandering about the land?”

“Milord, we had planned to return sooner,” Etienne said quickly, “but milady’s horse came up lame and—”

“What excellent news,” Gaston drawled, glancing at the mare’s injured foreleg. “That will no doubt speed the remainder of our journey.”

Celine reined her limping horse to a halt and started to dismount. “Before you get angry, let me expl—”

“I fear you are too late, milady. I am several hours past angry.” He walked over before she was completely out of the saddle and lifted her to the ground. “Not only has your foolishness cost us time that we could not spare, but now it has cost us a horse as well. A fine day’s work, ma dame.” He glanced at Remy and Etienne. “Gather our supplies. I would speak with my wife alone. Ride ahead and we will catch up to you anon.”

“Aye, milord.” The young men hurried to carry out his orders.

“Gaston,” Celine whispered, “I don’t think that’s a good—”

“Remy, take milady’s horse as well.” Gaston fastened his hand around Celine’s arm and led her over to the fire. “We will trade the mare for another at the first opportunity. For now, my wife will ride with me.”

“Gaston.” Her voice was a high squeak this time. “That’s really not a good—”

“Silence.” He pointed to the rock that Remy had just vacated. “Sit.”

She clenched her teeth and did as he bade—with a flashing, indignant glare. Ignoring the unladylike words she started muttering, he turned his attention to helping gather the supplies and securing them to the horses. He tied Celine’s belongings to her lame mount, except for the bundle containing her pink pouch, which he fastened securely to Pharaon’s saddle.