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Authors: The Bookseller's Daughter
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repeated firmly, “Marie-Laure and not Marianne. And you don’t have to call me ‘Monsieur Joseph’ when we’re alone together. ‘Joseph’ is fine.”
“But I might forget myself and call you, uh…‘Joseph’ when others are around.” What a soft, liquid sound it had when you said it slowly.
“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “now that we’re lovers, it might be effective if once in a while you forgot yourself in public and did simply call me Joseph.”
“Now that we’re what ?”Her voice rose a full octave; so much for soft, liquid sounds.
“In effect, I mean.” His eyes danced with pleasure above his smile. He looked like Gilles, she thought, describing a new and wonderful medical procedure.
“Because now that they’ve noticed you, the only way to keep my father and Hubert out of your bed is to convince them that you’re regularly in my bed.
“But we can do that easily enough,” he continued. “We’ll just have my valet bring you to my room every night.”
He rattled the door, producing a muffled expletive from the other side. “In fact the rogue’s spying on us right now, through the keyhole.
“Don’t strain your eyes, Baptiste,” he called.
“And anyway,” he added quickly, “I promise you won’t have to worry about what happens between us. Because, as my father has already rather crudely informed you, I do not take advantage of servants.”
After all, he assured himself, it was the best way to keep his father and brother away from her. And he certainly did owe her his protection; the nightly charade he’d proposed was nothing more than a simple expedient for maintaining her safety. It had nothing to do with what he might want.
All right, not quite nothing. All right, so he wanted to see her again. Well, what of it? He’d promised not to touch her. He wouldn’t touch her. They’d simply talk, as they had in Montpellier. Of course, he’d be more polite than he’d been in Montpellier. And he’d call her by name, “Marie-Laure” instead of “Mademoiselle.”
Marie-Laure. He could taste the deep velvet tone of its final syllable.
“Well anyway,” he said, “you’re welcome to visit, Marie-Laure, if you also think it’s a good idea.”
“It probably is. A good idea, I mean,” she stammered.
She began again slowly. “Yes, Joseph, I think it would be a very good idea—just to be on the safe side. Thank you.” She gave a little nod and smiled gratefully.
My God , he thought, it’s hot in this stuffy little room.
But would it be such a good idea, she asked herself, to spend every night in his presence? Especially when he was proving so witty and sympathetic.
Every ounce of her common sense said no.
Spend every night behind closed doors with an aristocrat? Have you gone quite mad, Marie-Laure? Her common sense tended to speak in Gilles’s voice.
But if I don’t, I’ll be at the mercy of two other aristocrats. This in her own firm inner voice. Two rather disgusting aristocrats , her inner voice added.
And at least this one had promised not to touch me. (No matter how much I might want him to…)
Her common sense was unconvinced.
Her inner voice tried a new argument. After all, it’s not a question of what I might want. It’s for my safety. It’s in the service of keeping my job.
Her common sense shrugged and left her to her own devices.
Well, she could always change her mind. Later, when she was free of his distracting presence. She’d think it over carefully when he was gone, for surely he’d be leaving in a moment.
Though in fact he didn’t seem to be making any motion toward opening the door. In fact, he looked rather awkward, as though he didn’t quite know how to end this interview.
“And so,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Sleep well.”
“Yes,” Marie-Laure answered, “and you too.”
He didn’t move. Should I thank him again , she wondered. Another curtsy, perhaps? Some additional word or gesture was
“But I might forget myself and call you, uh…‘Joseph’ when others are around.” What a soft, liquid sound it had when you said it slowly.
“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “now that we’re lovers, it might be effective if once in a while you forgot yourself in public and did simply call me Joseph.”
“Now that we’re what ?”Her voice rose a full octave; so much for soft, liquid sounds.
“In effect, I mean.” His eyes danced with pleasure above his smile. He looked like Gilles, she thought, describing a new and wonderful medical procedure.
“Because now that they’ve noticed you, the only way to keep my father and Hubert out of your bed is to convince them that you’re regularly in my bed.
“But we can do that easily enough,” he continued. “We’ll just have my valet bring you to my room every night.”
He rattled the door, producing a muffled expletive from the other side. “In fact the rogue’s spying on us right now, through the keyhole.
“Don’t strain your eyes, Baptiste,” he called.
“And anyway,” he added quickly, “I promise you won’t have to worry about what happens between us. Because, as my father has already rather crudely informed you, I do not take advantage of servants.”
After all, he assured himself, it was the best way to keep his father and brother away from her. And he certainly did owe her his protection; the nightly charade he’d proposed was nothing more than a simple expedient for maintaining her safety. It had nothing to do with what he might want.
All right, not quite nothing. All right, so he wanted to see her again. Well, what of it? He’d promised not to touch her. He wouldn’t touch her. They’d simply talk, as they had in Montpellier. Of course, he’d be more polite than he’d been in Montpellier. And he’d call her by name, “Marie-Laure” instead of “Mademoiselle.”
Marie-Laure. He could taste the deep velvet tone of its final syllable.
“Well anyway,” he said, “you’re welcome to visit, Marie-Laure, if you also think it’s a good idea.”
“It probably is. A good idea, I mean,” she stammered.
She began again slowly. “Yes, Joseph, I think it would be a very good idea—just to be on the safe side. Thank you.” She gave a little nod and smiled gratefully.
My God , he thought, it’s hot in this stuffy little room.
But would it be such a good idea, she asked herself, to spend every night in his presence? Especially when he was proving so witty and sympathetic.
Every ounce of her common sense said no.
Spend every night behind closed doors with an aristocrat? Have you gone quite mad, Marie-Laure? Her common sense tended to speak in Gilles’s voice.
But if I don’t, I’ll be at the mercy of two other aristocrats. This in her own firm inner voice. Two rather disgusting aristocrats , her inner voice added.
And at least this one had promised not to touch me. (No matter how much I might want him to…)
Her common sense was unconvinced.
Her inner voice tried a new argument. After all, it’s not a question of what I might want. It’s for my safety. It’s in the service of keeping my job.
Her common sense shrugged and left her to her own devices.
Well, she could always change her mind. Later, when she was free of his distracting presence. She’d think it over carefully when he was gone, for surely he’d be leaving in a moment.
Though in fact he didn’t seem to be making any motion toward opening the door. In fact, he looked rather awkward, as though he didn’t quite know how to end this interview.
“And so,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Sleep well.”
“Yes,” Marie-Laure answered, “and you too.”
He didn’t move. Should I thank him again , she wondered. Another curtsy, perhaps? Some additional word or gesture was
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