“I’d rather you never went in the sea again,” Alex said frankly.

She gave him a look. “Do you mean that?”

“I do. But I know how much it means to you. If you want to swim again, I won’t forbid it. I only ask that, in future, you never venture into the sea unless I’m there.”

Her brows lifted. “You intend to go in with me?”

“Ah. As to that…no. I shall remain firmly on the shore.”

“With a spyglass.”

His mouth curled into a smile. “If the occasion calls for it.”

She laughed. A soft, husky sound that warmed him to his heart.

“We’re not far from the sea,” he said. “Indeed, the clerk at the front desk informed me that we’re but ten miles from Cannes. The beaches there are quite beautiful. Perhaps, when we’ve finished our business in Grasse…”

She stared at him, her laughter fading. “You’d take me there? To swim in the sea?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Oh, Alex.” Her eyes shone soft as velvet. “I—”

“Vous êtes arrive, monsieur,” the coachman said. The carriage slowed to a halt in front of a modest building of cream-colored stone. It was set halfway up a hill, with an iron fence about it, and a small courtyard leading to an entryway flanked by palm trees. The same stately palm trees that lined many of the streets in town.

Laura’s words were left unfinished.

Alex didn’t press her. They hadn’t the privacy for it.

He leapt out of the carriage to hand her down. She was wearing a dress he’d bought her in Paris. A beribboned affair of striped grenadine, with an overskirt of fine French muslin, and a silk sash at her waist. The matching leghorn hat—a dainty scrap of femininity—was pinned to her ebony hair, a white ostrich plume curving gently along its edge.

He’d have liked to have had more time with her in Paris. A chance to purchase her a whole new wardrobe. Something better than a few dresses pilfered from another lady’s order—gowns Alex had had to bribe the modiste to part with.

His wife shouldn’t have to wear last season’s fashions. He wanted her to have the best. Not just of clothing and millinery, but of everything.

He wanted to be the best for her.

A better man, at least, than when he’d commenced this mercenary enterprise with George.

The coachman called out again in rapid French.

“What did he say?” Laura asked.

“He wants to know if he should wait for us.” Alex addressed the coachman. “Revenez dans une heure.” He tucked Laura’s arm through his. “I told him to come back in an hour.”

She gazed up at the façade of the building as they walked across the courtyard. “It looks empty.”