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

by Cynthia Wright

  Izzie heard no more, for Gabriel had taken her hand and was pulling her along, out of the grand dining room, up the gracefully unsupported stairway, and down the wide corridor to her rooms. Glancing over at his stormy profile as she struggled to keep up with him, Izzie shivered with a mixture of trepidation and delight. She could see the hard contours of his body tensed beneath the expensive fabric of his coat and trousers. How magnificent he was!

  “What’s amiss?” she asked as they reached her rooms. “Are you angry with me?”

  Opening the door, Gabriel thrust her inside and followed. He leaned back against the door for a long moment, eyes closed, the fingertips of one sun-darkened hand pressed to the furrow in his brow.

  “Argh,” he muttered.

  “You behaved quite rudely,” Izzie said at length. “Aren’t you worried about your mother? You took me away before she could even tell you what had happened with your father to drive her from her home!”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “Maman does this regularly. She has ever been one for drama. I can assure you that our father will wait until she begins to despair of him coming after her. Then he will appear suddenly at the door, carry her off, and make passionate love to her for at least a fortnight.”

  “I see.” Izzie bit her lower lip, blushing. This description of parental behavior was completely foreign to her. “But, I wasn’t even allowed to bid my host goodnight.”

  “He is not your host,” came Gabriel’s tense reply. “I also own a portion of this house. Not that I want it any longer.” He paused and opened his brilliant blue eyes. “And not that my brother could appreciate the manners you wish to display to him. He would only find a way to turn your gratitude to his advantage.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t understand why you are being so beastly.” Izzie watched him for a moment before adding, “One would almost imagine that you are jealous.”

  He looked as if she had dared to slap him. “Jealous? No, my lady, I am outraged. I have sacrificed my own plans to protect your reputation and keep you safe, have I not? Then I was forced to watch Justin daring to address you as ‘Izzie’ and ply you with compliments, while you fluttered your eyelashes in response. The entire, ridiculous spectacle made my blood boil.”

  “Compliments? I don’t know what you mean.”

  He narrowed his eyes and recited in mocking tones: “‘Ah, the alluring, beauteous, enchanting, luscious Izzie, who looks so charming in her spectacles and surely must find the concept of propriety a dead bore’!”

  Izzie felt hot blood rush into her cheeks and backed away from him. “I felt certain that he must behave that way to every woman.” She wanted to say that a rake like Justin St. Briac would never be attracted to someone like her.

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  “There is nothing luscious about me. It’s just a nice way of saying ‘plump’.” Helplessly, she glanced toward her reflection in the full-length window. All she could see were curves. Granted, she was slimmer than she had been a few years ago, but she was hardly a sylph. Izzie couldn’t believe herself even pretty, not when there were so many areas that needed improvement.

  Gabriel stepped forward, grasped her upper arms, and drew her firmly against the hard length of his body. “You are wrong. Luscious is the perfect word to describe you.” His voice was husky with what sounded like desire. “Mon Dieu, Isabella, have you no idea how beautiful you are?”

  She realized that he wasn’t being kind. He meant it. The stays she wore under her thin gown pushed her breasts above the edge of her bodice and she felt his gaze brand them. Her nipples tingled, aching for something she didn’t fully understand. Luscious? Could Gabriel truly be describing her?

  “No, I have never thought of myself that way,” she confessed softly. “Quite the contrary.”

  His hand slipped from her arm, sliding down to caress the curve of her bottom, slowly bringing her more fully into contact with the proof of his arousal. “Perhaps you ought to reassess your opinion of yourself,” he suggested, amused. “For your own safety. My brother simply has the effrontery to say aloud what every other man is thinking.”

  Izzie realized that she didn’t care about other men, not even Justin St. Briac. The only man whose opinion mattered to her was holding her now, with what she sensed was a mixture of hunger and trepidation. She wanted to twine her arms around his neck and return his embrace, but all her instincts told her it would be a mistake.

  “Gabriel…”

  “No, don’t say it.” He released her then and took a step backward. “I shouldn’t touch you. For both our sakes.”

  Just then, a sharp knock came at her door and Justin’s deep voice called, “My lady? Are you all right?”

  Gabriel stalked over to throw open the door, glaring at his brother, who was holding something in his hands. “What the devil do you want?”

  “I am shocked to find you here,” said Justin with a disapproving shake of his dark head. “Have you no regard for Izzie’s reputation?” He winked at her behind Gabriel’s back.

  “You are out of bounds,” Gabriel said, and Izzie thought she had never seen him so angry. “I suggest that we continue this discussion elsewhere.”

  “Eh bien,” Justin replied agreeably. “But first, I have brought a dish of chestnut pudding for my guest.” With a roguish smile, he put the fragrant, napkin-wrapped bowl in Izzie’s hands. “I could see that you were longing to taste it, my lady. My chef and I hope that you will approve.”

  Gabriel stared in consternation, but remained silent as he gripped Justin’s elbow and guided him toward the doorway. To Izzie he said, “I will see you tomorrow, my lady.”

  The brothers left her room then, forgetting to close the door.

  * * *

  In the corridor, lined with flickering sconces and priceless paintings, Gabriel confronted his brother. “What are you up to, mon frère?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Is it a crime to show kindness to my guest?”

  “Isabella is not your guest—or your concern. She is here with me!”

  “Indeed?” Justin brushed an imaginary bit of dust from his sleeve. “You have professed to have no romantic interest in her.”

  “I thought I had made it clear that I am charged with protecting her from the overtures of lascivious men like you.”

  “Your duty is self-imposed. Our beauteous Izzie has no desire to be protected from romance. She told us tonight that she intends to take lovers, just like her mentor.”

  “Stop calling her your beauteous Izzie!” Gabriel wanted, not for the first time, to kill his brother. Repeatedly. “And she never said the word ‘lovers.’ I can promise you that I would remember if she had.”

  “It was clearly implied,” Justin took out his snuffbox.

  “Take heed. If you are foolish enough to try to seduce Lady Isabella right under my nose, I shall be forced to call you out. And our mother would not enjoy witnessing that drama!”

  “Don’t you think so? I imagine she’d revel in it,” his brother replied.

  Gabriel nearly laughed at that, but forced himself to look serious. “See here, you and I should not waste our energies fighting. I thought you meant to assist me in finding our stolen masterpiece, not drive me to murder you.”

  “If I cede that point to you, will you answer a question?”

  They were standing close together, in each other’s shadows, and Gabriel stared into Justin’s eyes with suspicion. “Perhaps.”

  “Can it really be possible that you have no romantic interest in Lady Isabella?”

  Although his heart jumped in his chest, he managed to keep his tone light. “Bien sûr, of course I am human, but even I cannot have every woman to whom I am attracted.”

  “So you feel nothing more than simple lust, the same as you would have for any beautiful woman?”

  Gabriel swallowed, straightening his shoulders to make himself slightly taller than Justin. Whatever complicated feelings might stir w
ithin him for Isabella, he could not share them with his brother. “That’s right. Nothing more. I never meant for her to come with me to France, and now that she is here, my only goal is to keep her safe until I can return her to the life she was born to live in England.”

  “Amazing.” Justin arched a brow and nodded slowly. “We should return to the table. Maman must wonder what’s become of us…”

  * * *

  On the other side of her half-open door, Izzie listened to their retreating footsteps. She’d heard nearly every word they had exchanged and now a desperate, sad feeling squeezed her heart. Sinking into an upholstered armchair, she caught sight of Justin’s chestnut pudding and felt sick.

  Of course Gabriel didn’t care for her. Why should it feel like a blow to hear him say the words to Justin? He had told her often enough that there could be no romance between them…yet something inside her had hoped he didn’t really mean it, that in the end it would all come right.

  It must have been born of the same girlish infatuation that had gripped her the night they met in Roscoff a decade ago, when she’d been there with the Raveneaus. Then, she had been too young to realize how ridiculous it was to imagine Gabriel St. Briac giving her his heart. She’d known nothing of the world. And since then, in spite of all that had happened to her and her later conviction that she couldn’t really love him, that she didn’t want to be bound to any man…deep inside she had clung to that fairytale dream.

  The time had come to face the truth. It was folly to long for a man like Gabriel St. Briac to fall in love with her, cherishing her just as she was, forsaking all other women, and going forward with her through the rest of their lives. Lovers, friends, husband and wife, even parents one day…

  Through the blur of her tears, Izzie saw the chestnut pudding, and suddenly she wanted it very much. Taking up the spoon, she began to eat. It wasn’t the sweet taste of the dessert that mattered, only the way it numbed her feelings, a little more with each creamy bite…

  Chapter 16

  “My lady, you do look lovely this morning!” exclaimed Lowenna as she arranged a scarf of blue silk bordered in ivory around Izzie’s shoulders. “How kind it were of M’sieur St. Briac to send this for you to wear.”

  “Indeed, he is a very thoughtful host.” Izzie regarded herself in the looking glass. Although she was the picture of fashion, clad in the gauzy, white high-waisted gown she’d brought from England, it seemed that last night’s chestnut pudding was clearly visible in the curves of her hips and breasts. Izzie had welcomed the large, fashionable scarf Baptiste had delivered this morning, for it seemed to disguise the less perfect parts of her.

  For a moment, as she gazed at herself and remembered the pudding she’d been unable to stop eating, Izzie was transported back in time. She stood in her childhood bedchamber in Caverleigh House, at home during a rare visit from school. She was at the age when her body seemed to transform into a woman’s all too quickly. Every new curve was a source of discomfort and confusion. Her mother, slim and graceful as a swan, looked at her askance each time she ate a bite of cake…and Izzie seemed to crave cake constantly.

  But it was her father who dominated this memory that descended over her like an ominous dark cloud. She had been standing in front of the newly installed looking glass in her room, trying on a new gown. Her father, the forbidding Marquess of Caverleigh, had glided soundlessly into her bedchamber and loomed up behind her so that he shared her reflection. Remembering now, a dozen years later, Izzie felt her cheeks grow hot and her heart begin to pound.

  “Into the sweets again, I see,” he pronounced, curling his lip as he stared at her. “Do not forget that you are an aristocrat, child, and you represent our family to the world. Exercise some self-control and push away the cake or you’ll cut a grotesque figure in your gowns.”

  And then he had suddenly reached toward her, pinching the roll of flesh around her middle between his long, wiry forefinger and thumb. Izzie could still feel the stinging pain and shame of that moment.

  Tears burned her eyes now as she remembered his parting words, “No man worth having will want a piggy for a wife, even if she is the daughter of a marquess.”

  From a distance, she heard Lowenna clearing her throat. “My lady? Do you be well?”

  Izzie blinked. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  * * *

  In his chambers, Gabriel St. Briac was reclining in a large copper tub filled with hot water. Nearby, Eustache fussed over his shaving implements.

  “Baptiste has sent up some new grooming tools, with your brother’s compliments. It is said that Napoleon himself insists on using these…” One by one, he held up a new brush for the teeth, an exquisite pair of nail scissors, and a boars-hair shaving brush with a carved ivory handle. “Most impressive, are they not?”

  Gabriel closed his eyes. He wanted to say that he was sick to death of his brother’s overbearing ways, but then he would sound churlish, a quality he despised in others.

  “Mmm,” he murmured instead, sounding much more relaxed than he felt. His thoughts wandered to Isabella and the conversation they’d shared last night. For a brief moment, he entertained a fantasy of her sitting between his legs in the bath, pale and naked, wet and slippery, leaning back against his chest. Her breasts would rise in the water, inviting his touch, and her hair would be damp and curly.

  “Monseigneur? Did you hear me?”

  “Of course.” He blinked. “You were going on about the nail scissors Justin prefers. Impressive indeed.”

  “I do not mean to imply that I find M’sieur Justin’s taste to be superior to yours in any way,” Eustache said suddenly. “Nor do I wish you to change to be more like him.”

  Of course, this was outrageous talk for a servant, but Gabriel expected it from Eustache. “That’s very comforting,” he said with heavy irony.

  “Monseigneur? Will you permit me to offer a few humble words of advice?”

  Gabriel sat up and began to wash himself, soaping first one strong brown arm and then the other. “I know you will do so anyway, so we might as well get it out of the way.”

  The rotund manservant pressed his lips together. “I realize you don’t mean to insult me.”

  “Not at all.” A smile touched the edges of his mouth.

  “Very well then. I would only remind you that you are a nobleman and must not compare yourself in any way with other members of your family.”

  “That’s ridiculous. How can I be noble if they are not?”

  Eustache stubbornly shook his head. “I simply know what I know.”

  “Eh bien,” Gabriel replied with a soft laugh. Standing up in the tub, he waited as the manservant lifted an ewer to pour clean hot water over him, then he took a fresh, soft linen towel and began to dry himself. “I have to admit, my brother provides only the best for his guests. We should bring one of these towels to Madame Kerjean. I would like her to procure some for my house in Roscoff, simple though it may be.”

  “As you say, monseigneur.” Eustache paused before adding, “I would protest that your house in Roscoff is quite perfect, and far preferable to this one, just as it is.”

  “You are loyal to the point of blindness sometimes.” As he dressed, Gabriel continued, “Do I recall that you are something of a scholar when it comes to Saint-Malo?”

  “I lived here throughout my youth and have studied the history of this town,” Eustache acknowledged.

  “Would you be willing to take Lady Isabella and her maid to stroll on the ramparts? Perhaps you can entertain them with a few of your stories.”

  “It would be an honor to do so.”

  As he shrugged into a close-fitting coat of charcoal-gray broadcloth Gabriel added casually, “My mother may wish to accompany you as well.”

  Eustache received this news in silence.

  “Have you no regard for the mother of a nobleman?” Gabriel chided, mischief in his eyes.

  “All right, then, if it pleases you, she may come with us.” Eustache
said grudgingly as he put the finishing touches on his master’s snow-white cravat. “But I hope that she conducts herself in a way that would make Monseigneur proud.”

  * * *

  “Why are you not going with us?” demanded Cerise St. Briac of her younger son. “I feel anxious when I am not near you.”

  “Don’t be difficult, Maman,” Gabriel told her firmly. “Have I told you that you look especially lovely in that bonnet?”

  She frowned. “It was a gift from your despicable papa. I suppose I should throw it away.”

  “Don’t do something in haste that you might later regret.”

  “He would deserve it, the cad. No doubt Xavier is galloping toward Saint-Malo as we speak,” she replied. “It will serve him right to burst through the door, shouting my name, only to discover that I have gone out. To enjoy myself!”

  Justin came into the entry hall then, rakishly turned out in buckskin breeches that fit like a second skin. “And what would be gained if you did that, Maman? Only your beauty would suffer.”

  “Hmm. I suppose you are right.”

  “Justin and I are engaged to meet with a business acquaintance this morning,” Gabriel said to Isabella, who stood to one side with Eustache and her maid. She was ravishing in white muslin and a cobalt blue silk scarf that was fashionably knotted round her shoulders. Her hair, the color of pale honey, was pinned up into a loose Grecian knot with blue beads woven throughout. “I see that you had the foresight to pack some extravagances when you stowed away on my ship.”

  “Oh no, I only brought the gown, because it rolled up into a light little package,” she replied. “I have your brother to thank for this beautiful scarf and the beads.”

  Gabriel clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he’d regret.

  “Such a shame that you must wear those spectacles,” Cerise observed. “You’d be quite presentable without them. Couldn’t you make do with a quizzing glass? It would be much more fashionable.”

  “Au contraire, Maman,” Justin protested as he ushered them toward the door. “Lady Isabella looks ravishing in her spectacles. I believe that she will create a new fashion when she travels to Paris.”