The Secret of Love (Rakes & Rebels: The Raveneau Family Book 3)

by Cynthia Wright

  “Touché! But what’s become of Denon and Wicar?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here,” Gabriel replied with exaggerated patience. “They left Roscoff the day before I returned and learned of their presence. I was hoping you might assist me with planning the next step in apprehending them.”

  “I don’t know… Is it really worth our time and trouble?” Justin sipped his cognac and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “As you know, the King may well be counterfeit. Perhaps it’s of no value at all and you’re well rid of it.”

  Gabriel had long suspected that this was the real reason Justin had “given” the painting to him one night when they were in their cups. They both were sensitive to their tarnished ancestry and if Justin had already dismissed the painting, he wouldn’t have to be hurt if the King was eventually revealed to be a forged da Vinci—just as they were imitation St. Briacs.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Gabriel replied now with a shrug. “The King has been in our family for so long, I’ve grown attached him.”

  “Eh bien, then, as you say.” Justin continued to rub his jaw. “I will speak to a few of our friends who may have news of Denon or Wicar. And what of Louise Le Brun? She is back in Paris, I understand, and she could be quite useful. She and Denon have been friendly for many years.”

  “I know.” Gabriel didn’t want to explain about Lynton and the reasons he’d brought Isabella along on this quest, but he could sense Justin’s growing curiosity.

  “No doubt you have a plan. How does Lady Isabella figure into it?”

  “I’d rather not discuss her ladyship.”

  “Of course you’d rather not, but I must insist. How can I help you if I don’t know why she is here, complicating everything you are trying to do, not to mention achieving her own complete disgrace among polite society?” Justin paused, letting his words sink in, then delivered the coup de grâce: “Mayhap you have fallen in love with the beauteous Izzie?”

  “No! God, no!” Gabriel gave a harsh sigh and jumped up, pacing across the vaulted storeroom. He might realize that Isabella was ruined, but hearing his brother say it aloud made her situation bruisingly real to him. “Look, she is headstrong, but well-meaning. She has studied art, especially the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci. She wanted to help me retrieve the King and, after I refused, she foolishly stowed away on board Deux Frères when I sailed back to France.”

  “Ah! A lady of beauty, charm, and audacity,” his brother pronounced, eyes sparkling. “No wonder I feel so drawn to her.”

  “I must insist that you be respectful of Lady Isabella.” Gabriel heard the raw edge in his own voice and cursed inwardly, for Justin would surely notice it too. “I fully intended to send her home to avoid damaging her reputation, but because Lynton, the Customs Officer I mentioned earlier, was asking questions and skulking about the docks in Roscoff, I had no choice. I had to bring her with me.”

  “You can’t say she didn’t know what she was in for when she left England. Perhaps Izzie was not so virtuous as you might have imagined…”

  Gabriel felt as if fire was coursing through his veins as he strode back to push a rigid finger into his brother’s chest. “You are wrong! Furthermore, you will refer to her as Lady Isabella, not Izzie. She is the daughter of a Marquess, and you and I are not fit to kiss the hem of her gown. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Oh yes. Quite clear.” Justin stood to face him in the shadows, staring into his eyes with shrewd perception. “We St. Briac brothers may not be fit to breathe the same air as the alluring Lady Isabella, but I cannot help wondering for whom you presume to be saving her. Will any respectable nobleman will have her now?”

  Chapter 14

  Izzie looked up from her gilt-edged plate of chicken sautéed with garlic, tomatoes, and wild mushrooms in a piquant sauce of white wine. As a footman poured pale golden wine into her glass, a million tiny stars sparkled in the effervescent liquid. Justin St. Briac, at the head of the table, raised his glass to her.

  “My lady, will you permit me to propose a toast?”

  Was it her imagination that his gaze seemed faintly insolent? No, she decided, it must be the shadows cast by the gas-lit bronze chandeliers. “Of course, m’sieur. You honor me.”

  Across from her, Gabriel was watching with hooded eyes. Izzie decided he had never looked more sinfully handsome than he had since their arrival in Saint-Malo. Although he wore a mask of sardonic amusement, Izzie sensed his guarded male tension, his blue eyes agleam with something thrilling she couldn’t quite name.

  Justin, meanwhile, let his own gaze slide from Izzie’s face to her bosom. Perhaps, she thought, it had been a mistake to wear this particular nearly diaphanous gown in his company. She’d packed it because it rolled up to nearly nothing, but it might have been wise to add a chemise tucker to the bodice, for modesty’s sake.

  “To the enchanting and ravishing Lady Isabella Trevarre.” He lifted his glass, causing more tiny stars to sparkle in the light. “How refreshing it is to have you in my home.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled, but her cheeks felt hot. “I think.”

  “Justin,” said Gabriel in a low, threatening tone, “remember that you are speaking to a lady.”

  “D’accord, I will try, but it is asking a great deal to expect me to restrain myself in the presence of such alluring loveliness.” As if sensing that his brother was about to call him out, Justin changed the subject. “My lady, I must tell you that I find your spectacles a charming accessory, a reminder that you are as intelligent as you are beautiful.”

  She touched the delicate gold frames self-consciously. “Vanity tempts me to leave them behind when I dress, but I fear that, without my spectacles, I might step off a steep staircase or commit a deeply embarrassing act.” Her eyes met Gabriel’s across the table and she realized that he was remembering the night at Trevarre Hall when she’d forgotten her eyeglasses and had come into his bedchamber as he was shaving. Now the corners of his hard mouth flickered, but he said nothing.

  The brothers chatted for a few minutes about business matters while Izzie enjoyed her meal. She had always heard that the French were much better cooks than the English, and now she believed it. Tender and flavorful, the chicken was the best she’d ever eaten. When she told Justin this, he laughed.

  “Once again, you have Napoleon to thank, not me. It is a recipe his chef created at the end of the battle of Marengo, when the emperor was very hungry. The chef made a meal with what he had on hand, using shrimp and cognac instead of mushrooms and white wine. Napoleon claims it is a dish that brings him luck, so he serves it often—as it was originally prepared, with shrimp and cognac.” He gave a mock grimace. “I prefer this version, don’t you?”

  “I do, yes!” She laughed. “I must say that I am beginning to soften toward the terrible Boney. As you may imagine, he is reviled in England as the worst sort of villain.”

  “He has been attempting to rule the world,” Gabriel reminded her.

  “Yes,” Izzie agreed more soberly, “and he seems to have been looting artistic masterpieces from every country he’s conquered. To a serious painter like me, that is an unpardonable crime.”

  “Napoleon has no shame,” said Gabriel. “And I think that the tide is turning against him, since he’s conquered Spain and crowned his brother king. He is shocked, no doubt, that the Spanish people are far from grateful.”

  “For my part, I am bored with Napoleon,” said Justin as a dish of asparagus with fresh rosemary and lemon was served. “I would rather hear about your love for painting, my lady.”

  Although she sensed the elder St. Briac’s hardened, predatory air, she could not resist his open interest in her art. “I have found joy in painting since the day an Italian master arrived at my school.” She decided not to explain about the unscrupulous headmistress, Florence Jarrett, who had pretended to be French, among other things. “I was fourteen years of age and my parents had just died. One of my brothers, who I adored, was forced to leave Engla
nd in disgrace, and the other one, Sebastian, had been away for years with the Royal Navy. It was a revelation to discover a talent inside myself, something I could nurture and feel passionate about.”

  Gabriel was watching her. He leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze, and she lost herself in his eyes, remembering the girl she had been on that long-ago night of their first meeting.

  “And now you have grown into a woman,” Justin said, breaking the spell. “You are a true artist.”

  “Yes, thanks to the guidance of the great Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun. She knew my mother many years ago, when they were young, and she generously took me under her wing.” Izzie smiled. “Those years in London were magical.”

  “And are you a portraitist like your mentor?” Justin asked.

  “No.” She blinked. “No, I prefer to paint landscapes. I do not share Madame’s genius for capturing the inner light of her human subjects.”

  “No doubt she had to practice a great deal to bring her subjects to life so vividly,” he replied. “Indeed, the exquisite Louise could teach one about much more than painting.”

  “What are you implying?” demanded Gabriel. “And must you continually refer to Madame by a name used by only her most intimate friends?”

  Izzie straightened in her chair. “I’m not offended in the least, nor would Madame be if she were present. She has told me that the challenges of her life, including the tragedy of the Revolution which stole the lives of so many of her loved ones, taught her to take the reins of her future. She was forced to leave France without her husband and travel the world, earning her way with her art.”

  “So true,” agreed Justin. “Louise became the toast of royal courts from St. Petersburg to Vienna to London. And now she has come home to us in France.”

  There was a short break in conversation as a platter of artistically arranged fruit appeared: succulent purple grapes, Seville oranges, a whole pineapple, ripe figs, wedges of melon, and glistening blackberries. A footman brought claret and poured a small glass for each of them.

  * * *

  Gabriel took only one meager sip of claret, wishing to keep his wits intact. There was something about Justin’s demeanor that put him on alert.

  “I haven’t seen oranges like this since the Continental Blockade began,” Isabella exclaimed. “They are like gold in England. However did you get them?”

  “Breaking blockades is our business,” said Gabriel wryly. “They entice us.”

  “Oh that’s right!” Her cheeks were pink from the wine and the warmth of the candles. “In the midst of such grandeur, I nearly forgot you two are smugglers.”

  “We have all had to adapt to our tempestuous world,” Justin observed as he cracked a walnut and tucked the nutmeat inside a halved fig. “I hope that the stuffy rules of the old world have been swept away, don’t you?”

  “What sort of rules do you mean, m’sieur?” she asked innocently.

  “Oh, you know, the dull, grandiose bits like…propriety.”

  Gabriel had watched his brother in action too many times to be fooled by his offhand demeanor. In a low voice, he warned, “Justin—”

  “Propriety?” echoed Isabella.

  “It must be a dead bore for an aristocrat like you,” Justin murmured, arching a brow. “Gabriel is glaring at me as if he believes I have offended you, but you were the one who was bold enough to cast your reputation to the wind and stow away on Deux Frères! It’s an escapade worthy of Louise herself, reminiscent of the time she hid her diamonds in her stockings to elude British highwaymen.”

  “Lady Isabella will not be ruined by this episode,” Gabriel said in a low, hard voice. “I mean to guard her reputation and return her to England unscathed, so that she might enjoy the sort of future she deserves.”

  “Guard? You’re too late, I fear,” Justin countered. “And by ‘future,’ do you mean as the wife of a stuffy, pasty-faced nobleman? Attending routs and house parties in the country?” He turned to Isabella, who had just finished her claret. “Is that the sort of life you aspire to?”

  “Actually, no. Not a bit.” She pressed a hand to each cheek, as if hoping to stop them from growing pinker. “I have tried to explain to your brother that I don’t give a fig for propriety. I watched my own mother surrender her dreams in exchange for marriage to a wealthy marquess. He repaid her with an utter lack of love and respect, and then she died before she could steal some happiness for herself. Life is brief. I want independence. I don’t care if London society won’t have me! I aspire to live like Madame Le Brun, who revels in the freedom to travel, to paint, choose her own friends, even her own—”

  The word lovers hung unspoken in the air, hot and forbidden.

  Isabella’s licked her lips, as if her mouth had suddenly gone dry. A footman stepped out of the shadows and poured more blood-red claret into her little goblet.

  Gabriel’s thoughts tumbled backward to the night in Morlaix, when they had been half-naked together in the narrow bed, damp with perspiration, their mouths open as they kissed. His arousal had burned like a torch. He could still smell the intoxicating heat of her and hear her gasps of newly-awakened desire.

  He found that he was hard again, sitting there at Justin’s table, watching as his brother attempted to seduce Isabella. Anger washed over him in a hot wave.

  “You are mad, my lady. You don’t know what’s best for you,” Gabriel heard himself admonish her. “And you’ve had too much wine.” He reached across the table and snatched the goblet away.

  “M’sieur!” she cried. “You dare too much.”

  “Ha! You are an expert on that subject!” Out of the blue, Gabriel knew a raging urge to stalk over to Isabella, toss her struggling body over his shoulder, carry her up to his bedchamber, and have his way with her.

  Justin stood up and held out a hand toward each of them. “Now, now, calm down, you two.”

  A fourth voice spoke from the entrance to the dining room. “Whatever is all the shouting about?”

  Gabriel turned in disbelief to see his own mother rushing toward them, Baptiste hurrying in her wake.

  “Madame, I beg of you, allow me to announce you,” the servant was imploring.

  “Bonté divine! These are my children; they know me perfectly well!” She whirled on Baptiste and shooed him away. “Kindly bring me a cognac.”

  Gabriel and Justin exchanged a knowing look and went forward together to greet the statuesque Cerise St. Briac, who was gowned and coiffed as if she were on her way to a ball at the Tuileries Palace.

  “Chère Maman,” said Justin as they met her halfway to the table. “What brings you to Saint-Malo so unexpectedly? Has our father fallen ill?”

  Her dark eyes snapped and she pretended to spit on the marble floor. “Pah! I wish he were ill—even crippled! No, my babies, I have been forced to flee my own home, like a thief in the night.”

  “Flee? Why, what has happened?” Gabriel suspected he already knew the answer, but decided to give his mother the benefit of the doubt.

  “Your papa and I are finished.” She leaned against him so forcefully that he had to embrace her to keep her upright. “Thank God you are here, dearest. Of course, I adore your brother, but it is no secret that you are my favorite. I need you quite desperately!”

  Thankfully, Justin didn’t seem to be offended by their mother’s words. “Never fear, Maman,” he assured her, “we’ll take care of you until you are ready to return home.”

  “Home?” Just saying the word made her swoon. “But, surely you can see… I cannot go back there. Not ever! I shall stay here with my boys, where I am appreciated.”

  Chapter 15

  It seemed to Izzie that, no sooner had she been presented to the surprised and curious Madame St. Briac, than Gabriel announced their leave-taking.

  His mother had just taken a seat at the table and footmen were pouring her wine and bringing her plates of soup, asparagus, and Napoleon’s favorite chicken. Her eyes, black and astute like Justin’s, took I
zzie in with one sweeping glance.

  “Why are you taking her ladyship away?” she said to Gabriel. “I am so longing to discover the reason for her visit. And look, Baptiste is serving a chestnut pudding. Doesn’t it look delectable?”

  Izzie thought the pudding did indeed look delectable and she longed to taste it, but Gabriel looked very determined.

  “Lady Isabella is fatigued,” he said, “and you must be, too, Maman. You’ve had a long journey today. We will have conversation tomorrow.”

  Justin accompanied them out of the room, pausing at the foot of the staircase. “Does Lady Isabella require a chaperone?”

  “From you, perhaps,” Gabriel parried.

  “Those are harsh words for your host, brother.”

  Izzie watched as the two men straightened their backs and stared into each other’s eyes, unblinking. “For heaven’s sake, you two act as if you’re about to fight a duel, but surely I must be mistaken because it couldn’t be over me!”

  “How can you say that?” protested Justin. “Any man would be proud to defend your honor, my lady.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, his lips warm against her bare skin.

  Gabriel took her other arm. “Good night,” he said pointedly to his brother.

  Izzie knew an urge to laugh aloud. How could it be that these two dazzling men appeared to be vying for her attentions? “One of you will have to loose me,” she said, feeling slightly giddy.

  “C’est vrai. That’s right,” Gabriel warned. “Release my lady’s arm, Justin.”

  The elder St. Briac gave a soft laugh and backed away, hands raised in mock surrender. He turned to his mother and said, “Do you see how difficult he has become? I swear, Maman, our lighthearted Gabriel has changed.”