Isabelle hugged Albert’s thin frame and then settled onto the sofa beside him. “I should have known by the laughter that awoke me this fine morning you must be involved somehow,” she said with a smile. “What brings you by today?”
“Just stopping by to talk horses with your father, darling. I have a new broodmare I’m trying to convince him to breed to Le Vent. The old stickler won’t breed anything that isn’t proven, and without the running of the races while the war is waging, I have no way to do so! Would you be a dear and tell your father to make an exception?”
Isabelle giggled and looked at her father. He simply shrugged his shoulders and lifted a glass of wine.
“Papa! Wine before nine in the morning?” Isabelle asked, raising an accusatory brow.
“It’s a celebration, darling! I’m celebrating... uh, the return of a friend!” he said as he lifted his glass in a toast.
“He’s always celebrating something,” Alexis whispered to Albert, shaking her head.
“So, what news from town, Albert?” Isabelle asked, taking a freshly baked croissant from the serving tray.
“Well, let’s see. The war still wages on and is creeping closer to home. Many of my relatives have had to flee south as their farms have become dangerous battle grounds. Very sad. I’m told the death toll on the Western Front climbs by unimaginable numbers by the day. It’s really quite sad, all those young men.”
Isabelle’s gaze dropped to the ground as she cringed, thinking about what poor Pierre had gone through. Alexis noticed her flinch in pain and leaned over and took her hand.
“Oh dear, dear, dear. How thoughtless of me, Isabelle. I’m so sorry for your loss of Pierre. We were all so saddened to hear it.”
“Thank you, Albert,” Isabelle whispered.
“Enough talk of war and battles, my friend. Tell us of some happy news!” her father chimed in, taking a large sip of wine.
“Well, will you all be attending the masquerade ball next weekend at the home of Monsieur and Madame Cosgrove? They just purchased an estate here and have come in from Ireland for the summer. They want to meet everyone in town and I hear it is going to be quite the spectacle! They wanted to throw a party to introduce their daughter to society here and an old-fashioned masquerade is just what the doctor ordered to cheer up our little town!”
“A masquerade?” Alexis shrieked. “I simply adore masquerades! I’ve only been to one! Papa, can we go? Please, Papa?”
Alexis squeezed Isabelle’s hand and looked to her for support. It didn’t take much to get her nodding in agreement since she absolutely loved to dance. A dance in town would allow her to see all her old friends and would be just the thing after her return to the farm. “Yes, Papa. Can we?”
Henri sucked on his cheek and scrunched up his face while he thought, but Isabelle knew her father well enough. The act was simply a ruse — he would never have the heart to tell them they couldn’t go. Just as she expected, the facade wore off in a moment and he beamed at the two of them. “Of course you can go! I suppose a night of dancing could do us all some good! Albert, it seems we will be seeing you there.”
“I have to write to Aunt Brigitte and tell her right away! She’ll be so excited our little town is having a masquerade!” Alexis bounced on the couch with excitement.
“If you hurry, I can drop your letter in the post today. I’m heading through town,” Albert said. Alexis wasted no time and sprung up, racing off to pen the letter.
After breakfast, Isabelle headed out toward the stables. This time she walked into the barn with her chin up confidently. She heard the sounds of a pitchfork sifting through the straw and even though a shiver of fear snaked up her spine, she headed in that direction. If she was going to put right Auguste’s certain view of her as a stumbling idiot, she needed to face this head on. As she came marching around the corner toward the sound, she glimpsed Auguste shoveling straw beneath the loft in the hay room. Her march slowed to a crawl and her stiffened jaw went slack at the sight of him as she skidded to a stop.
The sun peaked through the open barn door, shining a ray of light onto his glistening, sweaty skin. The reflection of the sun set the drops of sweat covering his shirtless body on fire. Her eyes roved over his impeccable, tan physique, taking it all in. Each time he pushed the pitchfork into the pile she saw his impressive shoulders and back muscles tense and strain under the weight. His biceps flexed and practically popped out of his skin as he tossed the straw into the wheelbarrow. The rock of a stomach she had felt on the horse ride was rippled, like an artist had taken a chisel and carved out lines into stone. His chest was wide and the definition of his muscles looked like those of the Greek Gods and war heroes she’d seen paintings of in her art books.
With her racing pulse increasing by the second, she stood in awe of him while he worked. It felt as if someone had stuffed a rag in her mouth as she struggled to swallow. Auguste suddenly spun around, and his ice-blue eyes met hers. Unable to move, she just stood there, mouth agape, staring back at him. He stood in front of her for a few moments and she struggled to form words, her mouth opening and closing like a fish she’d pulled out of the pond. Holding her gaze with his own, he set the pitchfork down and walked toward her.
“Good morning, Isabelle.”
All the blood in her body raced to her face and it burned from the heat she knew had flushed her an unnatural shade of crimson. Still unable to form words with her gaping mouth, she held her breath while he started to approach. Each step he took toward her increased the speed of her hammering heart. Even though she knew she should move or say something, those eyes put her into a trance.
Auguste walked directly up to her and stopped a foot away. Her breath caught in her chest as she held his gaze, unable to blink or pull them away. When he leaned forward into her space, her eyes widened; she couldn’t believe this was happening. They didn’t even know each other and kissing a stranger was not something she would normally do, but her body wouldn’t let her resist. The undeniable tension between them crackled and she surrendered, welcoming the release that would come with his kiss. As the inches between them grew closer, Isabelle took one last breath as he leaned in toward her. Closing her eyes, she waited for the warmth of his full lips to press down on hers.
Much to her surprise instead of coming in for a kiss, he leaned right past her. When she felt his cheek brush hers, her eyes popped open and her waiting mouth snapped shut. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him slide his shirt off the shelf directly behind her only to stand back up and stare down at her horrified face.
Standing motionless in front of him, she begged her mouth to respond with a hello, or her hand to respond with a slap. But nothing. She stood there in silence and watched those perfect lips tug upward into a half smile. His eyes sparkled with pure enjoyment. Judging by the cocky look on his face, he was aware of the effect of his shirtless upper body. A surge of instant rage at this predicament yanked her out of her paralysis.
“Good morning to you,” she snapped, and took a healthy step back until she smacked into the shelf behind her. “Didn’t my father tell you that the farm hands are supposed to wear shirts all the time? Your lack of modesty practically traumatized me,” she lied as she straightened her dress and tried her best to recover.
“Apologies,” he said.
Isabelle huffed and spun on her heel, disappearing into the barn, feeling his eyes burn through her while she stormed away. So much for redeeming myself. She cringed against the memory of the encounter, a mixture of embarrassment and anger driving her feet faster as she fled.
AUGUSTE WATCHED ISABELLE storm out of the hay barn and smiled as her little blue dress swooshed back and forth with the beat of her hurried steps. When she disappeared around the corner, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember anything he’d wanted more in his life than how much he’d wanted to kiss her. The fact she’d looked ready, even eager, to return his desire still had his stomach flipping cartwheels.
&nbs
p; It had happened so fast. When he’d realized he shouldn’t be shirtless in front of her and had headed over to retrieve it, the desire in her eyes had ensnared him and pulled him in, like she’d tossed an imaginary rope around him. All he’d wanted had been to sweep her up in his arms, kiss her and never let her go. And judging from the sweet lips that had parted in anticipation, she’d seemed willing to oblige his internal desire. But when he’d stood in front of her, staring down, lost in her sparkling emerald eyes, he’d snapped back to reality and remembered who he was and why he was there, shaking the notion of a torrid kiss from his head and continuing his mission to grab his shirt.
He was the traitor to two countries with danger lurking behind him. He was the man who’d slain her fiancé and still had the man’s note tucked beneath his mattress. He was the man who could never have a normal life with a woman like her. The reality had crushed down on him with the weight of a thousand horses, so instead of capturing those lips that had parted in anticipation, he’d brushed past her and grabbed the shirt. It had been agony inhaling the lavender in her hair and knowing how close he’d come to learning if those lips indeed tasted like the berries they were colored to match.
Auguste stared out the door where he had last seen her perfect silhouette and felt the pain of the realization that someone like him could never have true love. He couldn’t tell Isabelle who he was or where he came from and without honesty, he could never know real love. He didn’t belong in France. He couldn’t return to Germany. He couldn’t reveal his true identity. An insurmountable hole grew within the depths of his soul. It became painfully clear in that moment that he’d started this life alone and he was destined to end it that way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“ISABELLE, ARE YOU FEELING all right?” Alexis asked, peering in through the doorway to Isabelle’s room.
“I’m fine, Alexis,” Isabelle said on a sigh as she rolled over under the covers, holding the book she’d borrowed from Alexis’ room.
“It’s beautiful outside and you’re hiding out in bed again. I’ve never known you to skip riding on a day like today unless you’re ill. And honestly, you don’t skip them even then.”
Isabelle peeked out from beneath her tower of blankets and looked out the window, wishing she could go out to the barn and ride. After what had happened a few days ago, she’d decided she would never see Auguste again even if it meant she never left this room. She was too embarrassed. Luckily he’d gone to town yesterday, so she’d snuck out to the barn for a quick ride before his return.
She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what had happened. Why didn’t he kiss me? Is it all in my head? She’d been certain he’d wanted to kiss her, but at the last minute he hadn’t, which had left her standing there, exploding with a desire she’d been ashamed to harbor for a veritable stranger. Though such brashness was something her aunt would encourage, running around kissing men she barely knew did not coincide with her values, and it made his brazen rejection sting all the deeper. Apparently, he thought it fun to toy with her and she decided she would never forgive him.
As her anger toward him bubbled up again, it mixed with the guilt of moving on from Pierre. How could she even consider kissing another man? Every time she’d tried to piece her life back together again over the last few months, it had appeared, plaguing her. After a winter in mourning, she’d started to live again and had let her aunt and Alexis parade her around to parties. At first it had felt awkward and forced and she’d wanted to return to her room and cry, but her grief had finally subsided and soon she’d started to feel like herself again, ready to move on. But now, lusting over the new stable hand felt like twisting a knife into her memories of Pierre.
He would want me to be happy, she told herself, chasing away the recurrent guilt each time it overwhelmed her. Each time she laughed, or when she met new people at the parties with her aunt and Alexis, it chanted in her mind on a constant loop. Being happy felt like it diminished her grief, but living the rest of her life mourning her best friend wouldn’t be what he would have wanted. And she didn’t want to, either. Nine months had passed since her world had flipped upside down, and it was time for her to get on with her life.
But at the moment, Auguste was doing anything but making her happy. She scowled, remembering how he’d made her feel again. Infuriated, embarrassed, humiliated... yes, yes, and yes. But he certainly wasn’t making her feel happy.
“I’m fine, Alexis, really. I just decided I needed to take a break from riding for a while. That’s all.”
“Well, that’s too bad, Isabelle. Albert just showed up with his broodmare to force Papa to take a look at her to see if she is of quality breeding for Le Vent. Papa agreed to race her against Chantal to see how she could keep up to the second fastest horse in France. But if you’re not feeling up to it...” Alexis arched a challenging brow.
Isabelle yanked back the covers and sat straight up. “Papa is racing Chantal today? But if Chantal is racing, I need to be riding her! She goes the fastest for me and everyone knows it!”
Alexis smiled and turned before walking out of the room. “You’d better get out of bed then, if you want to be the one riding her.”
Isabelle scampered out of bed and looked out the window. Sure enough she saw a beautiful chestnut mare with four white socks and a long white blaze being led up and down the drive. Her father, Albert, and Raulf, all watched with intent as they assessed her movement and conformation. Having learned what to look for from her father, she watched for a moment, impressed with the build of the mare, until she saw Auguste appear from the barn. She dropped to the floor, hiding from the window, and then closed her eyes and shook her head. There had to be a way for her to get over her unbearably strong reactions to seeing him. No man had ever had this effect on her before and she’d never been one to hide from a challenge.
Refusing to spend her life hiding away inside, Isabelle put on her riding habit, battled against her anxiety and headed out to the barn. She pressed her lips into a thin, white line to keep from talking to herself, and stiffened her back, pressing on through the nerves. When she reached the barn, Chantal and the new mare were already tacked up and being hand walked to warm-up before the race. Chantal looked fit and ready, and Isabelle could tell she would run well today.
“Isabelle, darling! Wonderful to see you!” Albert called when she came into sight.
“Good morning, Albert! Good morning, Papa! Hello, Raulf!” she called as she approached. Auguste stepped out from behind the chestnut mare and her confidence faltered beneath his stare. Swallowing hard, she pushed forward. “Hello, Auguste,” she said coolly.
“Good morning, Isabelle,” he said in his deep, smooth voice. Just the sound of it made her heart skip, and she cursed herself for her uncontrollable emotions.
“Perfect timing!” her father said. “I was just about to send for you to come see this beautiful mare Albert brought over.”
“Are you here to watch the races, darling?” Albert asked, slipping his arm around her.
“Absolutely not, Albert. I’m here to run them.”
All four men turned to stare at her and she turned her attention to the steeplechase field.
“Is that so?” Albert asked, raising a bushy brow.
“It is,” she responded with the confidence she’d been lacking as of late.
“Well, I think Raulf is going to ride my mare, and I believe we were just trying to convince Auguste to ride Chantal,” Albert kept on. “He can apparently go fast but he has never done a steeplechase and jumped that high before.”
“Well, I have,” Isabelle stated, turning the intensity of her stare directly at Auguste. “I would be happy to take his place. We don’t want him ruining Chantal’s chances of running well, now do we?”
Auguste raised his eyebrows, and she matched them with her own, feeling vindicated to finally hold her ground. The bumbling, insecure woman he’d met disappeared, and in her place stood the woman she’d always been. Confident. Co
mposed. Capable. He smiled and dipped his head in a nod to her brazenness.
“Why don’t we let the boys run the race and you can cheer Chantal on, dear?” Albert asked, squeezing the arm wrapped around her shoulder and pecking her on the head. His traditional upbringing would never allow him to consider a woman capable of running a steeplechase, even though her father had apprised the man of her skill many times.
“Well, if the boys are scared to race a little girl...” She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Hey, now!” Raulf laughed and turned to face her. “Auguste and I are more than happy to take you on! Auguste will run Albert’s mare the first race and I will run her the second race. That is if it’s all right with your father?”
Henri laughed and threw his arms up in the air. “Then it shall be! Two short sprints... you two against my beautiful little girl!”
Isabelle thought she saw a flash of fear in Auguste’s eyes. Finally, he was on her turf now. She and Chantal had run this course many times and some of the best steeplechase coaches in the world had trained her. As a woman, she wasn’t allowed to compete, but she loved to run for fun at home.
The grooms from Albert’s stable brought the two horses over. Isabelle gave Chantal a pet on her nose and then swung up into the saddle with Raulf’s help. Chantal pranced in circles, feeling the excitement of the race looming. Auguste climbed on the chestnut mare and she jigged and reared, but he calmed her down, whispering something in her ear as he stroked her neck. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she was impressed with how well he handled the unruly mare.
The two grooms led Isabelle and Auguste to the starting line. The horses danced with excitement as the grooms lined them up. Isabelle glanced over to her left just as Auguste looked over at her. She smiled when their eyes locked, confirming her suspicion. The strong, unshakeable man indeed had fear in his eyes.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked.
A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story) Page 10
