“Thank you,” she offered politely, though Meslon’s praise was overdone.
“Moutier… ” Auguste nodded to Luc. “Quite the stir you’ve caused with your return. You’ve been gone a long time. I understand from the Duc de Vannod that you are unchanged in your…er…charm?”
Frédéric laughed at his older brother’s little gibe. Luc surprised her by joining in. He placed his hand on Auguste’s shoulder. “I’d like to say I’m glad to see you, Prost, but I promised the lady I wouldn’t lie.”
That sobered the men. Luc then nudged them out of the way and took her hand. “I’m also going to promise the lady I’ll cause her no trouble.” He leaned in and brought his mouth near her ear. “You deserve far better than these two artless fools. Let me be the man who fulfills your every sexual desire. Day or night.” Pulling back, he bowed and placed a kiss to her knuckle. “I thank you for the lovely stroll, madame. Until later…”
Then walked away.
Suddenly, she was surrounded by more male admirers, realizing that they’d stayed away due to Luc. Intimidated by him. She walked along the path, affixing a false smile to her face as they vied for her attention, regaling her with stories and gossip she barely heard and couldn’t care less about.
She was at a loss.
Trapped in a gilded cage.
Was this truly to be her life? Alone to raise her son, apart from her family? Never to see Sabine again? With no way to tell them she was alive?
She simply couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept that.
Something was pulling the brothers apart. Scouring her memory, she tried to recall all the tiny tidbits she’d learned about Luc while in the employ of his father.
The coldness in Luc’s eyes flashed in her mind. Followed by the memory of the sadness she’d seen in his eyes at her father’s theater. What had caused that sadness? And all the anger that followed?
She had but a few days, to the end of the fête, while Luc was readily available to her, to unravel all this. It could set matters right in her life. And perhaps even in his.
All she had to do was learn his every secret.
Oh, and keep the sinfully gorgeous Lord Seductive out of her bed.
Why don’t you add learning to fly to that list while you’re at it?
Chapter Eight
“You know if you continue to cast glares at the men around her, you’re going to cause Vannod to piss himself.”
Luc ignored the comment Marc murmured in his ear. And his snicker. He was too busy trying not to gawk at Juliette across the room. It took all his concentration and willpower.
He’d been seated at the opposite end of the grand dining room during supper, forced to make idle conversation with the ladies to his left and right—Marie, Comtesse d’Oise, and Anne, Duchesse de Clermont. Their flirtatious commentary and the unnecessary press of their breasts against his arms as the young women leaned into him to speak told him in no uncertain terms he had an open invitation to their boudoirs. Both were eager to be taken. Suggesting he have them at the same time wouldn’t have been met with any objections from either woman. They obviously cared little that their ancient husbands were close by. Not that either the duc or the comte noticed what their wives were doing.
Their focus was on the other women in the room—the duc in particular lavishing his attention on Nicole de Grammont.
Inarguably, both ladies were lovely. While his former self would likely have indulged in what one or both were offering, he’d politely excused himself. His interest was in Juliette. Dieu, this unbreakable pull he had to her had him following her around the countryside.
In a deep green gown with a tantalizing scoop to her décolletage accenting her gorgeous breasts in the most mouthwatering way, she had every man surrounding her riveted, as always, hanging on her every word. Bedazzled by her every smile.
He wasn’t touching her. Wasn’t physically near her. Yet his body was on fire for her. His cock stiff as steel. The pressure in his prick was so great, it was driving him to distraction. He wanted to march across the great salon, through the crowd, past the dancers dancing the menuet, and fist her beautiful hair adorned with small green bows, tilt back her head. And claim her mouth.
Spectators be damned.
Instead, he stood near the wall, affixing his shoulder to it, battling to control his gaze, fearing if he didn’t, he’d start panting for her like a dog. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t make any sense of his reactions lately. He wasn’t acting normally toward women at all.
First, he was obsessed with Isabelle.
Now Juliette.
And Jésus-Christ, he liked this woman. A little more than he should. A little more than he was comfortable with. He liked the easy rapport between them. Liked how she could easily make him smile. And that he could draw smiles from her as well. Loved the intensity of the carnal fire they ignited in each other.
If he’d been uncomfortable about how strongly Isabelle had been affecting him, he’d managed to meet a woman who’d completely eclipsed her—in his thoughts. In his desire. Merde, she’d banished Isabelle to the far fringes of his mind.
She was just as witty. Just as beguiling. A living, breathing siren he couldn’t resist.
And Juliette seemed to have the very same uncanny knack Isabelle had. She was just as attuned to him as Isabelle had been. He hadn’t intended to talk about his final conversation with Jules. It unnerved him that anyone could decipher him with such ease.
Who the hell was this woman?
“Tell me everything you know about her?” Luc caught himself looking at Juliette again before dragging his gaze back to Marc.
“You mean Juliette?” Marc’s lips twitched as he made a poor attempt to feign ignorance.
Luc pushed himself off the wall. “Yes, you know that’s who I mean.” Unsettled by Juliette’s astute perceptions, he wasn’t in the mood for Marc’s ribbing tonight. “What do you know of her background?”
Marc chuckled. “I see we’re going to set the matter of looking for a bride aside for now. Just as well. You have managed to antagonize a number of the men here. You do know that the men make the decision to grant you permission to marry the bride of your choosing, no?”
“Back to Juliette.”
“Ah, yes, all right, Juliette Carre… Well, she arrived several months ago. A friend of Nicole de Grammont. Through Nicole’s introductions, she’s become a darling of all the major salons of Paris. She’s well-read. Well educated in various languages. Came from Venice, I believe.”
“Venice?”
“Yes, Venice,” came a distinctly female voice from his left. He shot his gaze in that direction.
Juliette was standing there. Smiling.
Dieu. She’d caught him discussing her.
“I’m flattered by the interest, my lord.” As she still graced him with that smile that had captivated him from the start, he was moved to one as well. He was going to say something about unwanted formality, when she turned to Marc, who quickly took her hand with a bow of his head and a kiss.
“Madame Carre… Allow me to introduce myself, as my friend here has such terrible manners.”
“She already knows that, Marc,” Luc said, making light of himself. He was rewarded with a delightful laugh from his dark-haired beauty. Lord, he loved the sound of it. Almost as much as the sound she made when she came. “Juliette, this is Marc d’Emery, Marquis de Vigneau.”
“It is a pleasure,” Marc said, fawning over her hand again as he bowed, then kissed it a second time.
And oddly, that irked him.
“I do believe the guests here ought to be rather grateful for your attendance, my lord,” Juliette commented to Marc.
His brows furrowed in confusion. “Grateful for my attendance, madame?”
“Yes.” She leaned into Marc and, sotto voce, said, “Are you not the reason our hostess is sporting such a radiant flush to her cheeks?”
That made Marc grin like a fool. “I am not one to brag, madam
e… Yes. Yes, I am.”
Juliette laughed softly again.
And that irked Luc too. Enough, he mentally chastised. He wasn’t the possessive type. And he didn’t want to be.
Juliette’s beautiful, big dark eyes swept to him. “It’s rather hot in here. I would so enjoy some fresh evening air. Would you be so kind as to escort me for a stroll outdoors?”
A bolt of lust licked up his spine. Oh hell, yes.
Just when he thought he’d have to approach her to coax some time alone with her, she came to him. He was the most fortunate man in the room—not something he could often say in his life. Together, under the night sky with this sensuous, highly responsive woman. The mere thought made his heart hammer.
He offered his arm. “There’s nothing I’d rather do.” Well, there was one thing. And it involved having her naked, bound, with a sheen of sweat covering her lovely body, after he’d rocked her sweet form with several strong orgasms.
She took his arm and murmured parting pleasantries to Marc. Luc escorted her through the grand salon. Just about every pair of male eyes was on them.
Fully aware she’d chosen him over them and their company.
And as Luc walked toward the doors that led to the gardens, a sense of bliss seeped deep into his very marrow, the likes of which he’d never known.
And everything at the moment felt so very right with the world.
*****
You can do this. You can keep him and your desire for this man at bay…
Isabelle had repeated those two sentences at least twenty times since stepping into the darkened gardens with Luc. Her pulse raced. Her nerve endings hummed with awareness. The casual conversation they made as they walked through the gardens was a sharp contrast to the havoc Lord Seductive wreaked inside her.
This isn’t the greatest obstacle that’s ever been placed in your path. But that thought immediately rang hollow. Luc de Moutier was the only man who’d ever stolen her breath away. His effect on her had always been more potent than all other men combined.
The moon slipped in and out from behind the clouds, casting its silver light again and again. God, he looked so good. Smelled so delicious. The scent of his soap drifted to her on the warm wind, tantalizing her heightened senses. She cursed her luck at being placed so far from him in the dining room. She could have attempted to draw more information from him safely seated in a room full of people. Instead, she’d have to do so alone with Luc de Moutier.
In the moonlight.
Her body had already begun to rail against her plan to abstain from him. She wanted to throw her arms around him, bury her face in his neck. And inhale his scent deeply.
You want more than that. You plainly want him—buried deep inside you. Just as before.
He stopped, and she realized that they were a good distance from the château now. In fact, the river that dissected the vicomtesse’s lands flowed directly before them.
Moonbeams sparkled on its surface.
He removed his doublet and placed it on the grass, then sat down beside it and held out his hand. “Come sit with me.” His voice was soft and low and so wickedly appealing. A feral need unfurled in her belly.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, a voice chanted in her head.
She smiled, intent on steering Lord Seductive in a different direction from the carnal one he was silently suggesting. “Let’s continue our walk. Wasn’t the pheasant delicious?” She turned and began walking along the river. “I read a book about a pheasant once. It was rather comical. Do you enjoy reading, Luc?” She stopped and realized that he wasn’t by her side, as would have been the case with any other man if she’d declared a desire to continue to stroll.
She turned around and was astonished that he still sat in the very same spot. Smiling. Looking suspiciously amused. Though it was dark, she was certain she saw his lips twitch.
He patted the spot beside him on his doublet.
That was an unmistakable invitation to sit.
Clearly, he wasn’t moving. He thinks you’re making him “work for it,” as he’d put it. This was a fine time to learn he wasn’t the kind of man she could lead around by the nose as she did with all the others. Every man at the vicomtesse’s château who was trying to bed her would eagerly do whatever she asked.
Except Lord Seductive.
Briefly, she cast a glance at the château in the distance. Nicole was back there. As was Serge, the large servant who normally accompanied them when they traveled. She could run back there now. But she wouldn’t. She’d mute her base needs and focus on the task at hand—getting information from Luc and ultimately reuniting with her sister—if miracles still happened.
She took in a fortifying breath and let it out slowly.
Miss Moth, may I introduce you to Mr. Flame…
She began the walk back to Luc, feeling she was losing ground with every step. Let’s face it. You’re a courtesan who isn’t very wanton. Except when it comes to this man. That unruly wanton he inspired inside her was presently battling against her restraint with a battering ram.
Fighting to be freed.
When she reached him, he offered his hand again. She took it and sat beside him on his doublet. Tiny tingles raced up her arm. Touching him was a luxury all its own.
“You didn’t bring me out here to discus candied fruits and how delicious the champagne and pheasant were. Now that you’ve got me here alone, what are we going to do?” She didn’t miss the suggestion in his tone.
“Talk,” she said, keeping her tone light. Thankful more than ever for the acting skills she learned long ago.
He cocked a brow. “Really? About what?”
“About you. I enjoyed our conversation today and—”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“No,” he repeated. “I don’t want to talk about me.”
Just keep him talking… You can steer the conversation back to him. “Then what would you like to talk about?”
A slow smile formed on his handsome face. He rose onto his knees, and before she realized what he was about, he undid his cravat and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing them onto the grass.
Isabelle blinked. Words evaporated from her mind. Dear God… Every muscle and sinew on his strong shoulders, arms, and chest were bathed in silver light. She allowed her eyes to devour every delectable exposed inch of his form. Her sex clenched hungrily.
He curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her head back. His warm mouth grazed up the side of her neck to her ear. And gave her earlobe a sensual bite.
She lost her breath.
“Juliette,” he murmured. “In case it isn’t abundantly obvious, I’ve been walking around hard for you since the masque. I’m open to a conversation of a more carnal nature—like how many times shall we make you come for me?”
Say something. Quickly.
“Luc, why don’t we get to know each other a little better—”
He brushed his lips back down her neck. Then, finding a sensitive spot he seemed to instinctively know existed, he drew on her neck with a soft sublime suck. She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed down her mew of pleasure.
“Venice!” she said a little too loudly. “Let’s talk about Venice. Earlier, you were asking your friend about my time there. Why don’t you let me tell you about it? Ask me anything. What do you wish to know?” She knew plenty about Venice thanks to members from her father’s acting troupe she was raised around. She could speak about it convincingly.
And she needed something—anything—to distract her from the temptation of Luc de Moutier.
“What I wish to know is whether or not you want me to suck those pretty nipples pressing against your gown.” His mouth moved to her throat. She fisted the grass on either side of her, her breathing becoming rapid and raw.
Her breasts were achy. Her entire body rioted for him. The feel of his mouth against her skin was nothing short of inebriating.
She su
ddenly found herself on her back staring up at him, realizing she’d done so of her own volition. “Damn that wanton,” she whispered.
He pressed his palms down on the grass near her shoulders.
Not touching her.
Not straddling her.
Simply sporting that smoldering smile that was so Luc. And so dangerous to her resolve.
“What did you say?” he asked. Slowly, his tactile gaze moved down her body and back up, and she felt his regard right through her clothing, like a hot caress over her skin. She couldn’t hold back a squirm.
“I…umm…rather…” Moisture pooled between her legs. She squeezed her knees together. The pulsing of her clit was a horrible distraction. You should stop this. Don’t do it. Dear God, she wanted him so badly… Her last amorous encounter with him was more heaven than she ever thought she’d experience.
“What say you, beautiful Juliette? Are you going to surrender yourself to me?”
Say no! But she couldn’t drag the word up her throat. She looked away, trying to muster the willpower she needed. Her clothes felt too confining. Too hot. She wanted to tear them off. She wanted his cool skin against her feverish body more than she wanted to breathe.
“Let me show you the heights we can reach together. Let me bind your wrists…” he said softly.
That was a sobering sentence.
“No!” shot sharply from her lips.
*****
Luc saw some of the sexual abandon dissipate from her eyes, and he cursed his blunder. He was too eager. Too damned desperate for her. He was far better at moderating himself during sex—except when he was with this woman.
She’d grasped his wrists as if to keep him from reaching for his cravat.
“Easy. It’s all right, chère. This is about losing ourselves in some sexual oblivion. I won’t do anything unless you give me leave to do so. I won’t force anything on you.” He pulled a hand off the grass. She squeezed his wrist in protest. “It’s all right…” he repeated, and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, her quick breaths warming his hand. “I’m sorry some piece of merde hurt you. Destroyed your trust. But I’m not like him. I’m not like any man you’ve ever met.” That bit of raw truth slipped out unintentionally.
Three Reckless Wishes Page 11
