Geoffrey stood back from the bed, giving the doctor access. Dr. Benoit examined her head. “The wound is healed sufficiently for you to wash your hair, if you wish. You may take light exercise. A stroll in the garden and around the hotel, but do not overdo it. When you feel fatigued, rest. You are on no account to travel. Injuries such as you received must be treated with caution.” He bowed. “I will see you again in two days.” Turning to her husband he said, “Call for me immediately if she faints, or becomes weaker.”
Each day she felt stronger, but Geoffrey refused to make love to her until the doctor proclaimed her well enough to travel. “I am not going to risk injuring you, my love.”
He called her “my love” a great deal and she never tired of hearing it. “Have it your way, but do not be surprised at the results.”
Giving her a wicked grin, he didn’t even pretend not to understand her. “I shan’t.”
The next day, Riddle returned accompanied by four soldiers and a message from Sir Charles instructing Geoffrey to remain with his wife until she was well enough to travel. The older man also apologized for not having the forethought of providing them with an escort when their horse threw a shoe.
A week later, the doctor said she was well enough to travel. Which was a very good thing. She was tired of being treated like an invalid.
* * *
Geoff was determined that he and Elizabeth would have a romantic evening after which he’d do his damnedest to keep their lovemaking slow. The thought struck him that this was the first time he had used that term for mating. Yet it was apt, and he should have recognized it before.
He arranged for them to dine in the garden. He had wanted candles, but the sun was still high and wouldn’t set until nine o’clock or so.
Going to her bedchamber, he knocked on the door before opening it. Elizabeth was as exquisite as usual in a pale pink evening gown trimmed with blond lace showing her bosom to perfection. Yet, what surprised him was that instead of her pale golden curls being styled in an elaborate design, they tumbled down her back, controlled only by a thin ribbon. “Do not think I am complaining, but is your head still hurting?”
“No.” She grinned. “I merely thought you might like it this way.”
Strolling forward he reached out, running his hand over the silken mass. “You were right. I love your hair almost as much as I love you.”
Elizabeth chuckled and slid her hands over his chest and shoulders, until her fingers tangled with his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you. I am never going to get tired of saying that.” He’d thought it, love, would never happen to him. Pulling her against him, he sought her mouth. “I love your kisses and the way your body fits to mine.”
“I love the way you touch me.” Her eyes twinkled alluringly. “Perhaps we could dine in here again.”
“That is a tempting offer, but I think you will enjoy what I have planned.” He placed her hand on his arm. “Come, my love.”
Geoff led her to the garden where the table was set and waited.
Her face lit with joy. “It is beautiful! Oh, Geoffrey, what a wonderful idea.”
“I hoped you would think so.” He motioned and their butler carried out a tray with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. Handing one to her, he said, “To your recovery.”
“To our life together,” she said, taking a sip of wine.
“To our very long life together.” Once they arrived in Paris, he’d make sure she was never in danger again.
After dining, they strolled the rest of the gardens, and kissed, not caring who saw them. Elizabeth was finally his in every way. To think it took almost losing her . . . How stupid he had been.
Later, it seemed they both held back, wanting their lovemaking to last, and when they finally came, it was together and better than it had ever been.
* * *
Their assemblage reached Sir Charles’s party the day before it rode into Paris with King Louis XVIII. Much to their relief, the crowds, though huge, were cheering the return of their monarch. Immediately, plans were made for grand dinners and balls to celebrate the occasion.
Geoff and Elizabeth wasted no time finding their house, a grand old building, not far from the British embassy. In an amazingly short period, Elizabeth made the house seem like home, and they planned their own entertainment. It was not until several days later that he discovered, after speaking with the agent, that his father actually owned the house.
“It has been in your family for three generations, my lord,” the agent said. “Your great-grandfather wished to have a Paris residence. Your grandparents and parents also resided here.”
“I’m surprised it wasn’t requisitioned.” So many people had lost their houses.
“The servants protected it, and it was rented to a merchant who did business with Napoleon. Once he lost, the man had no reason to remain in the house.”
“Were you responsible for that?”
