Three Reckless Wishes (Fiery Tales Book 10)

by Lila DiPasqua

  It was obvious by his expression that he expected her to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “I read The Princesses’ Adventures volumes. Both of them.”

  Her heart leaped to her throat and immediately began to pound. Slow, hard thuds. She didn’t like the unexpected turn in their conversation. “Oh? Did you enjoy them?” She managed to keep her tone light.

  “I did. Very much. I found them fascinating, and I learned something by reading them.”

  Her every instinct spiked with alarm, yet she managed to keep her tone cool. “And what was that?”

  “That my sister-in-law Sabine’s twin, Isabelle Laurent, wrote them.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  He cupped her cheek and gently stroked his thumb across her lips. “I know this because, as I’ve mentioned to you before, I’ve read Isabelle’s journals. I know her writing style. Her voice. I know her desire to write princess adventure stories. I know she’s alive. Would you like to know what else I learned?”

  No! she screamed in her head.

  Because now things were complicated.

  Now telling him the truth of who she was put people’s lives in the balance. Including her son’s quality of life and future.

  Now there was possibly a carriage waiting for her outside to make sure she was complying with the wishes of a madwoman.

  It took a moment for her to summon her voice. She forced a smile, when she’d never had to fabricate one for him before. “Didn’t you say she is dead and buried on your property? Forgive me, but this sounds a little far-fetched.”

  A half smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. But it never reached his eyes. And that unnerved her further still. “I would agree. It definitely sounds far-fetched. Ludicrous. And even unlikely too. Except…”

  “Except what?”

  He released her cheek, his gaze dropping down her body. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against her left side, then her right knee. “These little scars confirm that you are Isabelle Laurent.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isabelle leapt off the bed. “You’re mad!”

  Luc watched as she scanned the floor. The instant she spotted her chemise among the clothing strewn about the room, she raced to it, scooped it up, and threw it on.

  Covering her beautiful form from his sight.

  She was visibly shaken, and it was clear her intent was to bolt from the room. She dropped her gorgeous derriere onto the end of his bed and began yanking on her stocking.

  Luc rose from his spot on the side of the bed and approached, then lowered himself onto his haunches before her. He brushed her hands away and helped pull the stocking up above her knee. Grasping the red ribbon off the floor that had held it in place, he then secured it around her thigh, in the very spot he had affixed his scarf earlier. Wishing that that was what he was doing once more rather than helping her dress so she could flee.

  “Isabelle—”

  “Don’t call me that!” She tried to stand, but he managed to stop her with some gentle pressure on her shoulders. He hated that her breaths had escalated due to distress—instead of sexual excitement.

  “If you wish to leave, so be it. I won’t force you to stay.” He placed her bare foot on his thigh and picked up the other stocking from the floor. There was a hint of tears in her eyes. And it gutted him. “But let us at least be truthful with each other.” He slipped the stocking over her foot and up her leg.

  “You don’t know what you are talking about. You don’t,” she insisted.

  “I know what Leon tried to do to you. I know that it must have been terrifying to be locked in a burning building, facing such a horrifying death. Flames closing in on you. Perhaps you were even with Gabriel at the time. That I do not know.” She averted her face. Wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t say anything. She was gripping the edge of his bed so fiercely, her knuckles were white.

  “I understand that your late husband was abhorrent. And I understand why, having survived all that you have, you wouldn’t trust easily. Or at all. I do understand what it’s like to be betrayed so deeply by those who should be trustworthy, you don’t wish to bother. Or try. Or risk trusting again… Or even feeling.” He wanted to use her real name once more but didn’t want to upset her again.

  At least she was still there. And listening.

  “I’ve come to know Isabelle intimately well. She isn’t the sort of woman one easily forgets. You are fiercely loyal and protective—and you’ve sacrificed much to protect those you love—your son, your sister, and the rest of your family. Haven’t you? Vittry was the reason for this whole ruse of pretending to be dead. Wasn’t he?”

  She bit her lip but said nothing.

  He continued. “I know you. I know all your likes and dislikes. I know you are witty—the journals are full of charming stories. I know what an enormously talented storyteller and writer you are. How sensual you are. How responsive you are to my touch. You are a loving mother—the sort envied by all sons. And I believe, especially after today, that part of you trusts me and that whatever the reason you are unable to tell me the whole truth has something to do with the son you love so much.”

  That caused a tear to slip down her cheek. She quickly swiped it away.

  “Sabine and my brother looked for you. I helped them look for you too, chérie. And since I read those journals, I have wanted you.” He stopped short of mentioning her emotions for him in her journals. He’d no clue how to discuss such feelings.

  Another tear slipped down her cheek and again she swiped it away. Only this time, she shot him a look with pain and anger in her dark eyes.

  “What did you want? Sex from some ingénue scribbling fanciful notions in a journal? That woman from those journals is dead. You need to understand that.”

  He picked up the other red ribbon from the floor and tied it around her stocking. “No,” he countered. “Her circumstances are different. But the heart and soul of that woman is still alive—as are all her passions and wants.”

  She leapt off the edge of the bed and onto her feet, moving away from him. “I have to go. Please send a maid in to help me dress.” Her voice was charged with emotions, and she moved about the room, snatching up the rest of her clothing from the floor.

  To avoid looking at him.

  He rose, reached out, and grasped her arm. She jumped on contact and shot him a look that tore his heart. So much pain was in those eyes. And he understood that level of anguish.

  “Easy. I’m not going to force you to stay. I can help you with your clothing—”

  “No.” It was firmly dealt.

  “Very well. I’ll summon a maid. But I want to tell you something first. I think it’s only fair that if I’m asking you to reveal all your secrets, I should reveal all of mine.” That captured her attention. He was able to pull her clothing bunched in her arms away from her now that he’d piqued her curiosity, and the focus was no longer on her. Luc tossed the items on the bed.

  He led her to the settee and motioned to it in silent invitation for her to sit, waiting patiently until she finally did and looked up at him. His heart had begun to race and his stomach roiled, knowing the darkness he’d kept at bay was about to come to light—when he’d fought so hard and successfully against that—the greatest battle of his life.

  He thought he’d go to his grave with the information he was about to reveal. But this was Isabelle, and it was important to him for her to know. To hear everything. To have just one human being know the complete truth. And perhaps—by some miracle—purge the shame from it all.

  He’d never craved acceptance from anyone. Except his father—until it was beaten out of him. But, Dieu, how he wanted this woman’s understanding.

  And so much more.

  You already had one miracle occur today. You found Isabelle. Maybe, you might get a second. Or maybe she’ll run from the room.

  In disgust.

  She waited quietly. Watched him closely. He scrubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, grapp
ling with his words. Foul memories were surging to the surface. He could feel a bead of sweat form on his brow. Old anxieties and fears echoed in his body and oozed into his stomach. Jésus-Christ. It was all happening again. Like an encore performance from a hideous play, all the emotions he’d felt as a boy were crawling through him. Pervading every fiber of his being. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his hands. He instantly felt a pull on the muscles of his scarred back.

  An ugly reminder he got from time to time of his ugly past.

  “Fucking is the only time I allowed myself to feel anything.” That took her by surprise. From the corner of his eye, he saw her lovely brows rise. “I suppose I should add reading novels and poetry. And your father’s plays. Perhaps it’s the reason I enjoy sex and the arts so much.” He gave her a small smile, then looked down at his clasped hands before he continued. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. But I care what you think. You’ve asked me certain questions. I want to answer them—completely. Truthfully.” He didn’t want his past to be the reason she couldn’t trust him. His past had done him enough harm. He didn’t—wouldn’t—let it harm anything he had with Isabelle. “You’ve asked about my temper. About my duels. Why would I fight in so many duels? Why was I so angry? I’ve been purposely evasive. I’d never respond to those questions from anyone who dared to ask—and there aren’t many who would have dared. But I want to answer them for you. Just you.” He took in a fortifying breath, trying to quell the agonizing emotions rising inside his gut. “Most of my boyhood, I was beaten for sport by Charles and the cousin I’ve mentioned named Bellac—that is until I was big enough and strong enough to fight back.” He wasn’t going to offer the horrific details. Those words would never make it out his mouth. Not ever. He had to stop and swallow twice before he could force more words out. “The older I got, the more fury I felt inside. I couldn’t vanquish it. Nor the emotional torment that came with it—even after they’d stopped. I turned to dueling, challenging my peers, purposely leaving no slight uncontested. Dueling was supposed to release the anguish I was choking on.”

  Her warm hand was suddenly on his arm. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were large, shimmering with tears. And understanding.

  “You…you wanted to…die.” It wasn’t even a question.

  Fuck. There was that intuition she had. He’d left it unsaid. Hadn’t even explained fully. She could have interpreted his words differently. Yet she’d simply known.

  He had to look back down at his clasped hands once more. Emotions were knifing him in the chest. Everything inside him was screaming STOP! And he couldn’t speak and battle back the agony slicing his insides while seeing pain in her eyes.

  He forced a small smile. “I believe the only duel I partially wanted to win was the one that sent Bellac to hell. I was volatile, brash, with reckless wishes. And it’s what led me to the King’s navy, thinking war would put an end to it all. That I wouldn’t likely return. But instead, it changed me as a man. I am grateful to have served my King and country, and to have fought with the men whom I commanded. And as horrible as it was to be arrested and imprisoned as a traitor, it solidified my desire to rise above everything that had happened and triumph over it.” To put his boyhood behind him at last.

  He took a moment to shore up his defenses before looking at her. Merde. He’d laid himself completely bare. Would she be repelled by what he’d told her? Would she see him as having been weak for wanting his anguish to end on a dueling field before his twenty-second birthday? Or as a casualty of war?

  He dragged his gaze to her.

  Tears were slipping down her face. She looked at him with compassion and… Was that awe? A knot formed in his throat.

  She cupped his face tenderly and pressed a kiss to his lips. He could taste her tears. “He was a monster. Your father and cousin were both monsters. No one should do that to a boy. No one. And I’m so sorry for the suffering they put you through. I understand how torment can continue long after your tormenter is no longer there. I marvel at the inner strength you had to overcome what would have been insurmountable to many. And I am so very glad you didn’t lose your life on a dueling field, in a ship battle, or on a gibbet.”

  And then her warm lips were on his again.

  Dieu… Her words were like a balm over every wound he had inside. He shut his eyes and pulled her onto his lap, returning her kiss tenderly. Lovingly. Worshiping her perfect mouth. And her. He’d held on to his secrets for so long. Too long. Having had no one to tell. Never wanting anyone to know.

  Or to sit in judgment of the lowest moments of his life.

  He could still taste tears on his lips, and, merde, he wasn’t entirely sure they were just hers.

  And he wanted, needed more from her today. Wanted to share more with her. And to have her to share more with him.

  He pulled back, noting that her breathing had begun to quicken slightly. It wouldn’t take much to turn this into another carnal encounter. But he had more to say. “No one but Isabelle noticed that anything was amiss about me. Just you.” He caressed the side of her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I want to thank you for that.”

  Her eyes were soft and full of emotion, but she held her tongue.

  At least she wasn’t trying to run from his home anymore.

  He smiled. “I have something I want to show you. But, unfortunately, we are going to have to put our clothes on.”

  *****

  Isabelle descended the grand staircase of Luc’s hôtel, holding his hand.

  She’d been afraid to trust him for so long, in constant conflict over wanting to believe everything he said. Wanting to distrust him. And just plain wanting him, more than anything.

  Yet the truth was he was every bit the man she’d imagined him to be. And so much more. The wounds he’d suffered from his childhood, both inside and out, didn’t diminish him in her eyes one bit.

  It only made him perfectly imperfect.

  Human. And real. So brave and strong.

  A courage that went far deeper than the battles he’d fought and won as an officer in the King’s navy. Or as a privateer. His bravery and strength reached back all the way to his boyhood and rose to the level of hero in her eyes.

  Regardless of whatever happened between them, she knew two things: She was determined to fight back against Pierrette’s demands and not allow Nicole, Luc, or herself to be pawns in that woman’s little game. Secondly, she would enjoy whatever moments of bliss she could with this man and cherish them for a lifetime.

  No more hidden truths between them.

  If he could bare all, if he, knowing who she was, understood why she’d held her tongue for so long—with no volatile outburst as Roch would have done—then there was no reason to keep anything else from him.

  She was doing what didn’t come easy to her—she was placing her complete trust in someone.

  “Gilbert,” Luc called out. His rich voice broke into her thoughts.

  The dark-haired young servant stopped dead in his tracks in the vestibule and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Madame Carre has agreed to grace us with her presence and dine here this evening. Tell the cook we wish to impress her and that supper will be served one hour earlier than normal.” Luc smiled at the younger man.

  “Yes, my lord.” Another quick bow and he was gone.

  She gazed up at Luc. That knee-weakening smile was now directed at her. A fresh wave of joy crested over her. It felt as though she’d slipped inside the pages of her very own Princesses’ Adventures novels.

  “Does that meet your approval, chérie? I trust that will give you sufficient time to return home to Gabriel and see to him before he retires for the night?”

  His consideration of her son moved her deeply.

  You meet with my approval. You always have…

  She returned his smile. “Yes. Thank you.” It didn’t escape her notice that he had begun to call her “darling.” She had to fight the urge
to read anything into the endearment, lest she embarrass herself by flinging her arms around him and never letting go.

  He led her across the vestibule to a set of double doors, still holding her hand. Grasping the door latch with his free hand, he gave her a wink. “After you.”

  Then threw open the door.

  She stepped inside. Her heart lost a beat. The room was massive, with a wall of windows and three sets of double glass doors that stretched across the opposite wall, facing the courtyard. But it wasn’t the vista that took her breath away, nor the grandeur of the room. It was the three other walls lined with shelves and filled with books, from the floor to the high ceilings.

  More books than she’d ever seen in her life.

  A single book was a small fortune. A costly treasure in and of itself. Her family had once owned a moderate number of novels.

  This immense collection surrounding her was more than a king’s ransom. Slowly, she turned around and drank it all in.

  “This is one of my libraries,” he said with pride. “There is one at each of my châteaus. I’ve lost some books after the Crown confiscated our properties and title, but I am working to replace them. What is here is being duly recorded by my secretary.”

  She shook her head, her smile returning. “No small task.”

  He chuckled. “No, it isn’t, but it is mostly done.”

  She walked toward the nearest shelves. “This is an incredible library, Luc.” She ran her fingertips along the leather spines of the volumes before her, loving how much they meant to him. Luc walked over to a shelf feet from where she stood and pulled out a book.

  He held it out. “I think you might like this one.”

  She approached and took the book from his hands. The author’s name grabbed her attention. A large grin she couldn’t contain formed on her face. “Isabella di Morra.”

  “Yes. I think we both like her works. I would like to gift it to you.”

  She shot her gaze up from the book to his face. “I couldn’t…”