“I need to see this through,” was all he was prepared to say. Admit it. You want to meet the only woman, other than Juliette, who could see into your soul.
And still want you.
Or at least he thought so. Yet, Juliette was nowhere to be found. Damn it, what more could he do to earn her trust?
“Maybe going to the Duchesse d’Allain’s salon will do you some good,” Marc said. “You can perhaps broach the subject of wedding one of their two daughters. Sophie is still available—eager to impart her knowledge of footwear. And there is also Bernadette.” He grinned.
“Forget that. We are focused on the author of The Princesses’ Adventures. We will not stop until we find out who she is.”
He wouldn’t rest until he found Isabelle.
*****
“All right, darling. You’ve been preoccupied since your return. Will you go see him or not?” Nicole asked from her seat on the settee in Isabelle’s private rooms.
Squeals of laughter and the occasional bark echoed in the courtyard, drifting up to Isabelle’s antechamber on the second floor as, with a smile, she watched her son play with Montague. Perfectly matched with boundless energy, Gabriel and their beloved pet wouldn’t tire any time soon.
She turned to Nicole. Her friend’s green and yellow taffeta gown was perfectly arranged about her legs. As usual, the epitome of elegance and beauty.
Stepping away from the window, Isabelle approached Nicole, glancing briefly at the crackling fire in the hearth. Three notes were presently burning within its lambent flames. They’d been awaiting her upon her return from the Vicomtesse d’Appel’s château. One had arrived only this very morning. Notes that were anonymously written. And becoming uglier with each one.
Calling her a filthy whore.
Another accusing her of possessing the dark powers of an evil succubus, casting spells on men, distorting their minds with the carnal cravings she incited.
She’d no idea whose disdain she’d garnered, but someone—since the handwriting appeared to be the same in all the notes she’d received thus far—despised her. The majordomo, Joseph, had been the one to receive the missives. She intended to get to the bottom of this by questioning him at length.
The horrible notes simply had to stop.
Shoving away thoughts of the missives, she focused on Nicole’s question. Her dear friend was asking about Luc, a subject that was equally troubling.
In a different way.
She’d spent every waking hour since her return with Gabriel and Montague, playing, reading, regaling him with stories, especially his favorites, but the subject of Luc intruded repeatedly. Her precious little mite was constantly asking about his friend Luc and if he’d visit soon. And was she sure he wasn’t visiting today?
It didn’t just disappoint Gabriel when she’d answered that it wasn’t likely he would.
She felt bereft too.
Even though she’d made Luc promise not to come to her home. Even though she had a standing—powerfully tempting—invitation to visit him at his hôtel. Anytime.
“I wish to see him,” she admitted to Nicole. “But it means…well, he’d like me to…” She glanced at Delphine, who was in her bedchamber a short distance away, placing her gown in the armoire. Delphine had turned up at her door two days after Isabelle had arrived home from her sojourn, having quit her employment with the Vicomtesse d’Appel and asking to work for her. Isabelle was delighted to make her her personal maid. Delighted to have her friend, someone she knew and trusted, back in her life.
And she also knew Delphine well enough to know she was presently eavesdropping.
Nicole gave her a small smile. “Ah, I believe I understand. It means he wishes you to explore his particular sexual practices with him when you are with him next. No?”
A sudden clunk from the bedchamber grabbed Nicole’s and Isabelle’s attentions. Delphine had dropped a pair of shoes. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks red.
Isabelle hadn’t offered details of her encounters with Luc. Nor had she broken Luc’s confidence by relaying the information he’d disclosed about his past. Not to either Nicole or Delphine. Unlike with other men, what she shared with Luc felt…special. Private.
Cherished.
But Luc’s penchant for erotic bondage was widespread knowledge.
“Delphine, I know you are listening,” Isabelle called out to her friend. “You might as well come into this room where you can hear better.”
Delphine placed the shoes into the armoire and scurried into the antechamber. “Well, if you insist…” She curtsied to Isabelle, and to Nicole added, “Madame, thank you again for allowing me to work here.”
Nicole gave her a nod, then turned to Isabelle again. “Do I have it right, then, about his wishes for your next amorous encounter? Is that the reason you are reluctant to see him?”
“It isn’t just that, though that is part of it.”
“Then what more does he want?”
“He has read my journals—Isabelle Laurent’s journals.” A small squeak of surprise came from the corner of the room where Delphine stood. Isabelle continued, ignoring her little outburst. “I don’t know which journals. For all I know, Luc has read them all. I’ve kept many through the years. I left some at home, and others I began while in Charles de Moutier’s employ—though I am convinced Leon stole those.”
Nicole furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What do your journals have to do with any of this?”
“You wrote about your feelings for him!” Delphine blurted out excitedly. Both Nicole and Isabelle cast her a glance.
“Pardon me…” Delphine slapped her fingers over her mouth to silence her lips.
“Yes, that is true, Delphine. I wrote about my feelings and desires for him, all my observations of him—my every intimate thought I had of Luc de Moutier over the years,” Isabelle concurred, a little embarrassed that he’d been privy to every private amorous thought she’d had of him. Though she couldn’t recall every entry she’d written, given how long ago it was, she knew that some of those journal entries had been vastly carnal in nature. She’d been as ravenous for him back then as she was now.
Perhaps even more so now that she knew just how good his touch felt.
How good it felt to be with him.
“And when last we parted, he told me that I reminded him of Isabelle Laurent. He is already suspicious that my real name isn’t Juliette Carre. I’m not sure I’m ready to entrust him with the truth.”
It was a relentless battle.
The thought of seeing Sabine, seeing her little girl, only intensified the pull.
The urge to divulge everything to Luc was escalating.
Yet, all she had to do was look at her son’s face, and she retreated well behind defenses. Afraid to take the risk.
Nicole rose and approached. She slipped an arm around her shoulder. “And what of the sexual wishes he has? Are you inclined to trust him in that regard?”
A bolt of raw heat lanced into her belly at the mere mention. She tried to tamp down the reaction. “I am not certain…though perhaps I am more inclined to trust him in his proclivity with bondage than I am to offer my real name.” Especially if she took one of Nicole’s trusted large male servants with her as added protection.
Delphine let out a joyful squeak with a clap.
Isabelle and Nicole cast her yet another glance. She dissolved her smile, dropped her arms to her sides, and became suddenly fascinated with an errant thread on her apron.
“I take it that you have an opinion on the matter, Delphine?” Isabelle asked.
“Well, I do, actually…”
“And are you going to share it with me?”
“Of course! I think you should trust him. You should allow yourself to enjoy every aspect of him. There aren’t many men like the Marquis de Fontenay, and you have dreamed of this man most of your life. He was all you talked about at the Moutier château. He was what you’ve wished for.”
That word “wish” made her flinch, as always.
“I’m not that person anymore. I don’t wish for things. I create my own future, and Gabriel’s too—with determination. And an abundance of caution.” Her reckless, impetuous days were behind her.
Long ago, she’d wished for three things—and they’d leveled her world.
She’d wished to leave the farm her family had been forced to move to after losing their theater and town house in Paris—and that set an unfortunate series of events in motion that took her away from those she loved to this day.
She’d wished to live in the Moutier home, and that almost got her killed by Leon.
She’d wished to be irresistible to men, wanting to catch Luc’s eye. And that too went horribly awry. She’d caught the eye of a man like Roch.
“Darling, I understand your reservations in trusting men of the aristocracy. And I know that what Roch put you through must have been horrible…”
Isabelle nodded. “Once he convinced me that I could trust him and learned my real name, he used it as leverage against me to force me to ‘marry’ him. To make me stay. Threatening that he would make certain Leon de Vittry and his men learned I was still alive. I was subjected to daily lashes of his vicious tongue. To his volatile moods, especially when he was well into his cups. All of which only came to light after our sham of a marriage ceremony. And as desperately as I wish to see my beautiful sister, have her back in my life as well as her little girl, Isabelle, I must think of Gabriel. I managed to shield him from Roch, but I swore I’d never, ever allow myself to be in such a vulnerable position again. Or permit anyone to have leverage over me the way Roch did. Offering my identity to Luc—or any man in a position of privilege and power—puts my son’s future at risk. I thought I could trust Leon. I thought I could trust Roch. I have made errors in the past. I cannot make one now.”
It terrified her to the marrow. Could she really jeopardize everything and reveal all? And what if Luc refused to help her reach Sabine? He would then have information and leverage over her to use any way he wished.
Nicole dropped her arm, nodded in understanding, and sat back down. “And so Luc de Moutier has not earned your trust.”
“It is complicated. He is complicated.” And beautiful. Intelligent. Intense. Disarming and always surprising.
He was also battered, yet somehow he didn’t break. And that, dear God, that weakened her resolve—along with everything else about him. When he made himself vulnerable to her about painful events in his past, when he held her, kissed her body, made her laugh, discussed and debated his take on novels and poetry. It was in those moments—rather, in just about every moment she’d spent with him, he managed to cleave away at her resistance. “It isn’t just a matter of trust. He makes me feel…”
“Love?” Nicole offered.
Isabelle sat down. “I don’t know.” Liar! “Gabriel is my priority. I cannot afford to be in love with any man. He is not my prince, and I most certainly am not his princess,” she said, referring to her books. She tried to ignore the instant stab of pain she felt in her chest. When she saw him next, which was inevitable, what would she do?
How much of her book and her journals had he read by now? He was an avid reader with a keen mind.
Had he been able to decipher from his readings that Isabelle had authored The Princesses’ Adventures volumes?
She hoped not.
*****
God save him from curious virgins.
The smile Luc had affixed to his face was becoming more and more difficult to maintain. The Duchesse d’Allain’s youngest daughter, Bernadette, was a little too flirtatious.
Standing a little too damn close.
Here he thought he’d have to spend his time tactfully avoiding the Duc’s eldest daughter, Sophie. But Sophie had set her sights on another. Luc had been relieved to learn that the marriage contract between her father and the family of Robert de Travers, heir to a dukedom, was presently underway.
Discreetly, as Luc commented on his take on The Princesses’ Adventures novels to the grouping of four before him, he inched away from Bernadette, moving closer to the elderly Comte d’Ailly beside him. There was no bloody way he was going to do a thing that would give Bernadette’s father an excuse to haul him to the altar. The grand salon was filled with aristos and literati alike. The intellectual elite were clustered in groups about the room, discussing literature and politics. Grammarians in several of the groupings enthusiastically debated words and phrases.
He’d arrived an hour ago and had already circulated through half the room. It wasn’t difficult to find groups that were discussing The Princesses’ Adventures. Having devoured both volumes in the series, he now understood their popularity and appeal. They were as engaging and riveting as Isabelle’s journals. He’d reread—yet again—every single entry in her journals. And he was absolutely certain that Isabelle was still alive—somewhere—and the author of the popular books.
“Who do you suppose wrote these books?” Luc asked casually. “If I had to wager a guess, I think a woman wrote them. What do you think, Comte d’Ailly?”
“I think that’s something everyone would like to know,” the older gentleman responded. “The novels have caused quite a stir. There’s been much speculation about the author, but no one really knows. If I had to venture a guess, I think the author is likely a woman too.”
“I don’t believe women should write books,” Bernadette interjected. “I think they should marry, bear heirs, and serve their husbands well.” She beamed at him.
Dieu…
“Respectfully, I disagree,” the Comtesse de Gigot said. She and her daughter, Béatrix, had been the very women who’d encouraged Luc to read The Princesses’ Adventure novels in the first place at the Vicomtesse d’Appel’s salon. And they were presently both frowning at Bernadette. “I don’t see a problem with women writing and publishing their work.”
“Neither do I, Comtesse,” Luc agreed wholeheartedly, hoping his position would irk Bernadette, if not discourage her overt attention. “Do you think the author of these novels is a woman, madame?”
“I do,” the comtesse concurred.
“As do I,” Béatrix said. “Most men use their names, especially if they were to author such a popular set of books. Women tend to publish anonymously.”
“And do you believe the author to be a foreigner, as the publisher suggests?” Luc’s question was to the group as a whole.
But it was the comtesse who responded promptly. “Oh, not at all. I think she’s French.”
He liked her answer. In fact, he was rather fond of the Comtesse de Gigot and her charming daughter. He was glad these knowledgeable women agreed with him on both scores.
He’d sent his secretary, Pascal, out on a mission with a sizable purse to bribe anyone he had to in order to learn which Parisian printer was printing the books. Money was no object, because every fiber inside him told him that Isabelle was hiding somewhere in France.
He glanced over at Marc. He was at the opposite side of the room, in obvious discussion with a number of ladies and lords. He hoped to hell he was having more success finding out information on the enigmatic author.
There was a slight stir at the entrance of the grand salon that caught the corner of his eye. Dragging his attention there.
Standing with Nicole de Grammont between the tall white-and-gold double doors, dressed in a gown of light blue, with matching ribbons in her hair of dark cascading curls, was Juliette. A radiant smile on her face, adorable dimples and all.
Breathtaking to behold.
She’d sucked the air from the room. And his lungs.
His heart began to thud in his chest. His throat. Reverberating throughout his body, down to the tip of his cock.
Dieu. This woman had the power to shake the very ground under his feet just by entering a room.
The two women stepped down into the sunken salon and were instantly enveloped by a group of men. Luc rooted his feet to t
he floor so that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself by marching across the room, knocking the others out of the way, and hauling her into his arms, bellowing, Mine! like some sort of madman.
He’d listened for any rumors that she’d taken a new lover since they’d parted. He’d cursed his decision to leave matters between them the way he had, and he intended to rectify the situation.
He’d actually come today wanting to see both women, Juliette and Nicole—for different reasons. Nicole was a woman many confided in. If anyone could uncover the name of the author of The Princesses’ Adventures, Nicole de Grammont could.
Her help would be invaluable.
As to Juliette, well, he simply wanted her. Not just physically, though Lord knows he was famished for her. If what the two aristos had done to her made it impossible for her to surrender to him the way he wanted, so be it. He’d forgo his sexual practices.
Only for her.
Especially if it meant she’d be back in his life.
*****
“He’s looking at you,” Nicole discreetly whispered in Isabelle’s ear. “He has the look of a man who wants to devour you.”
The information was unnecessary. Isabelle could feel the heat of Luc’s gaze on her from the moment she’d entered the salon. She smiled at something the gentleman before her said, though she’d no idea what. And she couldn’t recall his name. Her eyes were drawn to only one man in the room. The man was tall and well muscled, with a slight smile on his handsome face.
Beautiful and beckoning.
Her Lord Seductive—on every level. Emotionally and physically.
He didn’t seem to even realize just how many women in the room were casting longing looks his way. She’d only just arrived and could see several. Including the young blonde-haired woman standing beside him.
Yet, he only had eyes for her.
A younger version of herself would have fainted to the floor if he’d looked at her like this back then. As it was, her knees felt weakened by the intensity with which those intoxicating light green eyes gazed at her. She was so relieved. He’s here…
He inspired an array of emotions.
Three Reckless Wishes (Fiery Tales Book 10) Page 19
