He might as well have kept his shirt off for all that it concealed.
“All right, then! Let’s be on our way, shall we?” she said, spinning away, then quickly marched toward the Vicomtesse d’Appel’s château, her slippers making odd sucking sounds as they stuck to patches of mud along the way. She couldn’t get away quickly enough. That shrewish wanton within her was now shrilling in protest against her departure. “We can enter the château through the kitchen and make our way to our respective rooms from the servants’ stairs.” It took exactly two more heartbeats to realize he wasn’t by her side.
She turned around, one of her long curls smacking against her face and sticking to her cheek. Peeling it away, she saw, to her utter frustration, Luc was still in the same spot, his hands resting on his hips. And he didn’t look as though he was going to move anytime soon.
Chapter Nine
Good Lord. Why on earth is it so difficult for this man to just follow?
Isabelle stalked back over to Luc, exasperated.
“Why are you always running away after sex?” he asked when she was close enough to hear. That question stopped her abruptly, several feet away. He didn’t allow her to think of a response. He continued, “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then come to my rooms with me.” He approached and stopped before her. “Allow me to show you more pleasures. I’ll have dry clothes brought to my chambers and a hot bath to warm you.” He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Then I’ll warm you on a soft bed, with some silk ties.”
Hunger roiled through her in a hot wave.
She took a quick step back, unable to quell the quickening in her pulse.
“I wouldn’t keep asking if I saw complete disinterest in your eyes,” he said. “That’s not what I see. It isn’t that you’re not interested or curious. Because, by your body’s reactions, I see that you are. Who hurt you? It was a man—a member of the aristocracy. Isn’t that so?”
*****
Luc waited. And watched. She didn’t respond. Silently, she simply stared back at him, keeping her secrets.
He pressed on. “What did he do?” They were both drenched and in need of some dry clothing. In need of a bed. But damn it, he wanted to know, hating the notion that anyone would harm this woman in any way—because he knew, down to his marrow, that he was correct. Everything told him so.
Again, she offered no answer.
And for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t respond at all. But then she shook her head. “Not just one.”
That hit him like a blow to the gut.
“Who?” He’d see to it that he paid each one a visit. But her only response was to shake her head again. Damn it.
“Was one of the men Gabriel’s father?”
“No,” she said, quick to defend him. And that uncharacteristic possessive feeling rose back up in him.
“How many men?”
“Two.”
“What happened?” He caressed her soft cheek again, his heart constricted by the tears he saw form in her eyes. “It’s all right. Tell me, chère.”
“What happened is that I learned to be cautious with highborn men. I swore after surviving the clutches of both those men, I would remain in control of my life. No one would govern over me. And no one would ever be allowed to get close enough to me where they could harm Gabriel.”
Anger scorched through his veins with an intensity he hadn’t experienced in a long time—hating it with all his being that anyone would cause this woman distress. Gently, he curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up. “I understand your anger at the people who hurt you.” More than she could ever imagine. He’d harbored rage for so long, it had become lodged in his soul. Taking years to master. “I told you before, I won’t lie to you. I won’t hurt you. I’m not like them. You can trust me,” he urged.
She looked him straight in the eye, her spine stiff, her lovely smile gone. “All words I’ve heard before. I have a son. His welfare is not something I’ll risk. Not for anything or anyone. Not even for my own wants and desires.”
Once again, he marveled at her. His own mother hadn’t been able to protect him. Her spirit had been broken under his father’s tyranny. He’d often volunteered to take the abuse meant for her. Whatever this woman before him had endured, it hadn’t broken her. Her defenses were in place for the sake of her son.
And he couldn’t fault her for that—though he wished she’d tell him more. Trust him more.
In no way had he given up on learning all the many facets that made up Juliette Carre, but he wasn’t about to demand answers. Nor interrogate her. That would only make her run from him or shut him out completely. And that was the opposite of what he wanted.
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against that sensitive spot under her ear. He loved her little gasp. “I’ll earn your trust. And a kiss from your beautiful mouth, Juliette. But for now, let’s get you to your rooms, dry clothes, and that warm bath you crave.”
There were certain people he had no patience for. Juliette wasn’t one of them. She was worth the trouble and the time it would take to gain her trust. To be a confidant. A friend and lover. The more he learned, the more he liked her. She was loving and loyal to her son. Full of endearing little peculiarities. Sensual and so deliciously sensitive to his touch.
Always full of surprises.
Moreover, this woman was an impressive actress. She might have fooled the others, but she hadn’t fooled him.
Because he was certain of one thing.
Juliette Carre was no seasoned courtesan from Venice.
*****
“Surely you jest,” Isabelle said, unable to hold back a soft laugh.
Luc’s amusing take on A Lady’s Dilemma was the reason for her mirth.
The popular novel was frequently discussed at all the salons around the city and published anonymously—as many of them were.
She’d walked all the way back to the outside doors leading to the kitchen, engrossed in the subject of Luc’s favorite novels. And some of his least favorite. She was delighted to learn he was such an avid reader. Together, they strolled through the busy kitchen, their clothing ruined from the rain, as the staff raced about. Yet the rapid movements and chatter around them faded into the background as Luc’s comments on the novel had her laughing again and again.
“No jest. It was awful,” he insisted.
“Oh, come now,” she said. “You can’t tell me you didn’t at least enjoy the merchant and his wife in that book? They offered a delightful bit of comic relief.”
“The cat was my favorite character because he didn’t speak. It was a relief from the tedious dialogue.”
That drew another laugh from her. She was thoroughly enjoying this new side of him she’d just discovered. They’d reached the servants’ staircase and made their way up to the next floor.
“What about the duc? He was gallant and brave. Did you care for him?”
“A fool,” he said.
They stopped at the top of the stairwell, before the door leading to the corridor of the second floor. “Don’t tell me—you liked his horse.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “Because he didn’t speak.” She finished the sentence with him in unison and joined him in a laugh.
She watched as Luc opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. “It’s empty. Which room is yours?”
“Third to your left.”
He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers, then proceeded into the hallway. Holding his hand as she walked with him felt so natural. And right. As though he’d been hers for years.
In a way, she supposed, he had been.
The younger, naïve version of herself had been so in love with him, and though they’d never even spoken back then, being with him now felt wonderfully familiar. When she’d had many dreams of moments like these with him in the past. When everything else in her life was one new obstacle after another.
They stopped in
front of her door. She turned to him and smiled, feeling a little awkward and far too aware of his proximity to her body and her bed beyond the door.
“Thank you for escorting me to my rooms.”
He had the most infectious smile. The moment it appeared and reflected in his eyes, it broadened hers to a happy grin. He really was like a balm at times that seemed to coat all the disquiet and worry she harbored inside. And she relished that.
“Thank you for a delicious evening.” He curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her head back.
She closed her eyes and braced herself for the thrill of his mouth against her skin. A sensation she couldn’t get enough of. He didn’t disappoint. The light brush of his lips up the side of her neck tantalized her nerve endings, sending ripples of pleasure quivering down to her core.
“I’m going to think of you as I lie in bed,” he said in her ear. “I’m going to luxuriate in the memory of your body covered in raindrops, your arms over your head. I’m going to imagine you feverish for me. Ready to take my cock again.” He gave her earlobe one of his sensuous little bites. It snatched her breath away. “…And how good it feels to be inside you.” Her heart was already racing. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands behind her back to keep from reaching for him. Concerned that if she touched him, she might not let go.
“I hope you’ll think of me too, Juliette. I hope you’ll allow yourself to imagine what it would feel like to relinquish complete control to me during sex. To be bound for my pleasure…and yours.” That was the last thing she’d allow herself to imagine.
A loud thud and a cry stopped the heated moment cold.
Isabelle snapped her eyes open and saw a servant down on the ground, folded linens scattered on the floor beside her. She realized instantly the servant had slipped on the wet wood. Water that had come from her soaked gown.
Isabelle dashed from her spot between Luc and her door to the woman on the ground. Falling to her knees, she quickly helped the servant to a sitting position. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, madame. I’m sorry to have concerned you,” she said, distracted. Her gaze darted about at the linens she’d dropped, some of which were now wet. She was about Isabelle’s age, slender. And distressed.
Being familiar with the duties of a servant, she felt instant compassion for the woman’s predicament. She didn’t know how sharp Eléonore d’Appel was with her staff for minor infractions, but something like this would have been harshly dealt with by Charles de Moutier in his household.
“Let me help you up. Then we’ll attend to the linens,” Isabelle said as she stood and reached out a hand to aid her to her feet.
The servant finally dragged her attention from the linens on the floor and met her gaze.
She let out a shriek.
It took Isabelle two heartbeats to change from surprise over her reaction—to recognition.
Her heart dropped to her stomach. This was no ordinary servant. She was a former servant of Luc’s father. One Isabelle had worked with many years ago.
Delphine…
Seated on the floor, her mouth agape, Delphine looked at her as though she was seeing a ghost. “You’re…you’re…al—”
“Allow me to assist.” Luc reached down and pulled Delphine to her feet before Isabelle could stop her words.
Delphine tore her gaze from Isabelle to Luc. She let out another shriek and jumped away from him—bumping into Isabelle.
Luc met Isabelle’s gaze, bewildered over Delphine’s behavior.
“M…my lord, my apologies,” Delphine began her babbling to her former master’s son. “It’s…you.” She snapped her head in Isabelle’s direction. “And…And YOU.”
Isabelle threw her arm around Delphine’s shoulder. “I think she may have hit her head. She seems confused,” she said to Luc. “I’ll attend to her in my rooms. Good night.” Then she whisked Delphine away before she could utter another word.
Matters just became more complicated.
*****
The moment Isabelle closed the door of her antechamber, she pressed a finger to Delphine’s lips to silence her. Though her eyes were wide, she remained quiet as Isabelle listened to the sound of Luc’s footsteps in the corridor diminish to nothing.
When she was sure Luc was gone, she removed her finger and, taking Delphine’s hand, pulled her into her bedchamber, closing that door as well. They were far enough away from the hallway now to have a private conversation without being overheard.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation to have.
There was a very different woman standing before Delphine from the one she’d known years ago.
Isabelle Laurent was now a mother and a courtesan.
Delphine remained transfixed by her, her mouth agape. She reached out tentatively and touched Isabelle’s cheek as if to see if she were real.
“Yes, Delphine, it’s me, Isabelle.” Clutching both her hands, she squeezed them and smiled.
Delphine’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re…you’re alive!” She threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly, then pulled back to gaze at her once more, still in obvious astonishment. “H…How can that be?”
“I know this is all a shock. And the story is rather long and complicated. In short, Leon de Vittry, Baron de Lor—a man who pretended to be a friend to my father and my family for years—harbored a dark madness no one knew existed. He hurt many people. Murdered others. He tried to silence me when I’d discovered what he was about—his twisted plans. He set the servants’ outbuilding I was in at the Moutier château ablaze. I managed to get out. I managed to save Virginie’s baby.” Isabelle’s throat constricted. “But not Virginie.” Those words were painful to utter, even after all these years. Images of that horrific day flashed in her mind—the inferno blazing high in the sky, as Gabriel, but a few weeks old, lay so quietly in her arms as if he too was too terrified, too in shock to cry. “The building was engulfed by fire so quickly. I couldn’t find her in the smoke. I managed to locate Gabriel, and we ran from the building. But I couldn’t go back for his mother. Moments after Gabriel and I got out, the roof collapsed.” Her throat felt as raw now from emotion as it had that day when it was scorched by smoke and heat from the flames.
“You mean the body they found was the village girl who used to come begging for food?” Delphine asked, incredulous.
“Yes. I told her what time I’d be in the outbuilding that day. I always gave her something to eat. She was a widow with a baby and no family.”
“What…What happened to the babe? Why did you not come back and tell us you were all right? Did you tell your sister? They buried the village girl’s body thinking it was you.”
“I knew they would. I simply couldn’t let anyone know I was still alive. That would have placed people in danger, including my family and me. Leon wouldn’t have stopped until I—and everyone who he believed knew the truth about him—was dead. I had to have him think he’d succeeded in killing me. As to Gabriel, that adorable baby boy had absolutely no one. He was, at that moment, as alone in the world as I. I’ve raised him myself. He’s my son.” Her heart swelled at the mere mention of the most important person in her world. “We have a new life, and I have a new identity.”
She’d refused to change the name Virginie had given her son.
It was her way to honor her.
“Oh my…” Delphine yanked a handkerchief out of her bodice and dabbed her tears, then blew her nose. “That’s so very touching…” Another loud blow of her nose. “So, so touching what you did for that babe.” She composed herself after a loud sniffle and a final blow into her handkerchief. “This is all so incredible.” She looked down.
“I know. It is quite a lot to digest.” Oh, there was so much more. But some things didn’t need to be retold.
Delphine’s head shot up as if she’d just recalled something important. “I saw you with Monsieur de Moutier! Isabelle, he was all you ever
spoke of… And you were just…well, rather he was…” Her cheeks reddened. “I mean, you were both…”
Delphine had a habit of babbling when she became excited. Or nervous. And she was more often than not in one state or the other. Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her friend down beside her. “I believe you’re searching for in flagrante delicto,” she supplied. There wasn’t going to be any way around this. Delphine was about to learn just what her new life entailed.
Delphine blinked, staring back at her.
“In an amorous situation,” she said, trying again.
“Oh yes! That!” Her gaze swept over her from head to foot, puzzlement entering her hazel eyes. “And why are you dressed this way, in all this finery? And why is it all wet?”
Delphine had been the only person at the Moutier château who hadn’t laughed at her girlhood affinity for Luc. Or mocked her dream of winning the heart of Charles de Moutier’s youngest son, when at the time, she was nothing more than one of their servants.
As sweet and exuberant as Delphine was, she was also at times forgetful. Isabelle wanted to remind her that once, finery was what she always wore—albeit not in wet ruins like the gown she presently had on, but instead said, “My new identity is Juliette Carre.”
Delphine shot to her feet. “The courtesan?”
Calmly, Isabelle pulled her back down to a sitting position on the bed. “Yes.” Her heart was starting to pound. Her stomach began to tighten back into a knot—the usual feelings that barraged her since the day she fled from the fire. The wonderful lassitude that Luc had inspired was clearly beginning to dissipate. Besides Nicole, this was the first person who knew the old Isabelle.
But this wasn’t Nicole, who was urbane about such matters.
She wasn’t sure of the possible condemnation she was about to receive. She couldn’t help but think of her sister and wonder what Sabine would say about the acts Isabelle was willing to perform for funds.
“You…you…copulate with these men?” Delphine’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper, though they were alone in the room. Her eyes couldn’t be open any wider.
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