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

by Cynthia Wright

  Had she been wrong to impulsively trust him because she trusted Gabriel? Although they were brothers, it was becoming more and more clear to Izzie how different they were.

  “Ah, I knew it,” Justin said softly. “You are gifted. One would imagine, from this sketch, that you know me very well…”

  A deep, angry voice interrupted them from the doorway. “Will someone tell me what the devil is going on here?”

  Izzie felt her heart jump into her throat as she looked up to see Gabriel St. Briac striding toward them, looking as if he were about to murder his own brother.

  Chapter 19

  Oh my, thought Izzie, feeling a little ache as she drew breath.

  Sunlight, pouring through the skylight, cast gold dust over Gabriel’s tousled chestnut curls and sculpted face. He was coatless, his cravat was loosened, and a fitted dove-gray waistcoat outlined his tapering chest.

  “Remove your hand from her ladyship,” Gabriel ordered.

  Justin stepped back and extended his open palms. “Done, sir.”

  “Your behavior is unpardonable. If you were not my brother, I would call you out.”

  Izzie was shocked yet gratified to hear the throb of emotion in his voice. Did it have anything to do with her, or was this merely one more episode in a lifelong rivalry between brothers?

  “M’sieur,” she protested, “you have misread the situation. Your brother has done nothing wrong.”

  “Has he not?” Gabriel turned to her, his face stormy. “Who are you to judge, my lady? You have no business being alone with him here, at the top of the house.”

  She gasped. “I will not allow you to speak to me in that manner!”

  Justin was watching, brows raised. “This is your atelier, Izzie. You have the right to ask him to leave.”

  “What is he talking about?” demanded Gabriel.

  Before she could reply, Justin interjected, “I knew that my lady’s dearest wish was to paint, so I had this room converted to an atelier for her personal use.” He paused, drawing his snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket, before he verbally twisted the knife. “As you can see, I was sitting for this gifted artist’s first portrait.”

  Seeing the flash of disbelief that crossed Gabriel’s face as his brother held the sketch aloft, Izzie felt like a traitor. “It’s not a really a portrait,” she protested softly. “More like an…experiment.”

  * * *

  “I can well imagine,” Gabriel said acidly. He knew he was glaring at them both, but didn’t seem to be able to help it.

  “If you are planning to call me out, please spare us the drama,” said Justin as he crossed to sit at one end of a carved neoclassical sofa. “Which reminds me, what inspired you to climb two flights of stairs to this particular room?”

  “Baptiste told me that you wanted to see me. He seemed to think I’d find you here.” Watching his brother, Gabriel began to suspect that his demeanor was just a bit too nonchalant to be believable. “Perhaps you meant for me to discover you and Lady Isabella at that particular moment?”

  “To make you jealous? Why would I do that?”

  “I haven’t a clue!” Why indeed? Didn’t Justin want him to forget about Isabella, to become a corsair and sail off to the Indian Ocean with him and Surcouf?

  “Actually, I had something to tell you, but I didn’t mean for you to burst in just then, mon frère.” Justin wore an exceedingly innocent expression. “I merely wanted to remind you that we have a dinner engagement this evening, with the lovely Marchand sisters.”

  Even though Isabella was sitting behind him, Gabriel sensed her discomfort. “I barely remember them.”

  “Oh, but they remember you!” Justin countered with a laugh. “And I have learned that Azelma Marchand is great friends with Citizen Wicar. You might learn something tonight that would help in your search for the painting. You haven’t forgotten about the King, have you?”

  Isabella had gone pale. “I must go,” she said. “I shall leave you two to talk freely.”

  Gabriel wanted to protest, but he also wanted privacy to shout, and even attack his brother, if need be. How charming Isabella looked as she picked up her sketchbook and swept from the room, head held high. It wasn’t her usual style, but she carried off the grand gesture with aplomb, even managing to forcefully pull the door closed without capturing the train of her fashionable gown in it. Listening to the tap-tap of her retreating footsteps, Gabriel’s heart swelled with tenderness.

  “Mon Dieu, how ravishing she is when angry,” Justin observed with a grin.

  “Do you have a death wish?”

  “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

  Gabriel remained silent for a full minute, breathing deeply to slow his own heartbeat. Clearly Justin was baiting him, to see if he would erupt into a possessive temper over Isabella.

  “I have told you that Lady Isabella is above us. You are not fit to touch the hem—”

  “—Of her gown,” Justin interjected. “Yes, yes, so you’ve told me before. But, does that apply even to gowns that I have purchased for her to wear?”

  God’s blood, how badly Gabriel wanted to murder him! He thought of the stylish gown Isabella had been wearing, and how it had flowed over her beautiful curves when she marched off with her sketchbook.

  “You had no right to buy her so personal a gift, or any gift for that matter!”

  “No? Why not?”

  “It’s not proper, and you damned well know it. Nor was it proper for you to lure her to this secluded room!”

  “I cannot recall ever hearing you use the word ‘proper’ before. Now you’ve said it twice in a row.”

  “What is your point?” Gabriel said testily.

  “I don’t understand why you are so vexed with me when you have proclaimed, numerous times, that you have no romantic interest in Izzie yourself.” Justin looked bored. “She is a grown woman, as you must have noticed. She doesn’t need you to be her nursemaid.”

  Gabriel was furious for many reasons, none of which he could admit to—not even to himself. “Just tell me one thing. Whose idea was it for her to sketch you?”

  “You are utterly transparent, do you know that?” Justin scoffed.

  The words had barely left his mouth before Gabriel closed the distance between them. He grasped his brother’s lapels with strong hands and jerked him closer, nearly bringing him off his feet in the process.

  “I have had enough of your insinuations and sarcasm,” Gabriel ground out. Their eyes were mere inches apart. “You are my brother. I would advise you to remember that even my affection for you has limits. If you continue to test me, you may push me to do something we would both regret.”

  “Would you care to call me out? I am capable of defending myself,” Justin said softly.

  “As tempting as that would be, your infuriating behavior is not a reason for one of us to die.” He released his brother’s cravat and gave him a harsh push backwards.

  “Don’t patronize me!” Fuming, Justin regained his balance and straightened his clothing. “You might fool someone else, but I know you better than anyone. Clearly, you’re as vulnerable as a turtle that’s been flipped on its back.” With that, he pivoted toward the door. “You profess indifference toward Izzie, but can you endure an evening away from her in order to dine with the Marchand sisters?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less.”

  “Even if Azelma Marchand can provide information that will help you discover the whereabouts of the King?” Justin paused for an instant, one hand on the door latch. “Or have you forgotten that was the supposed reason you and Izzie came to France in the first place…?”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Gabriel found himself on a small stone terrace jutting out from the rooftop of the Marchand home. Although the terrace was barely large enough to hold the table that Gabriel shared with Justin and the two Marchand sisters, it was splendid to be outdoors on this summer night. The view between two taller houses revealed the
distinctive silhouette of Petit Bé Island, crowned by a stone fort and shimmering under a coral sunset. Overhead, stars had begun to sparkle like tiny diamonds, brighter by the minute.

  “Building this terrace was a stroke of genius,” Gabriel remarked.

  Azelma and Nestorine stopped talking and followed his gaze out to sea, where a two-masted brigantine was gliding behind the tiny island.

  “It was Papa’s idea,” said Azelma. “The neighbors thought him mad, but he wanted to be outdoors on summer nights like this, enjoying the views Saint-Malo affords.”

  “Oui,” Nestorine chimed in. “Papa liked to look at the stars. He taught us the names of all of them.”

  “I hope I haven’t made you sad by mentioning your father,” Gabriel said.

  “Do not apologize,” exclaimed Azelma. “We treasure our memories.”

  After their parents had gone to their deaths at the guillotine in the Place de la Concorde in 1792, the family governess had fled with the adolescent Azelma and Nestorine to live out the Reign of Terror in Rome. Upon their return a few years ago, they had reopened their family’s home here in Saint-Malo.

  It was no surprise to Gabriel that the sisters had soon come to the attention of his brother. How could Justin resist a pair of high-born beauties who chose to live unchaperoned?

  Gabriel had once found the Marchand sisters diverting as well, but tonight those interludes of pleasure seemed long ago, so hazy that they could have happened to a different man. As they finished eating a course of woodcocks with wine, he listened to his hostesses chatter on about Napoleon and the empress Josephine.

  “He doesn’t want her any more,” Azelma proclaimed, glancing first at Gabriel and then at Justin, who sat across the table from him.

  “C’est vrai,” nodded Nestorine. “At first, when she was unable to have children, Napoleon feared that the blame might lie with him, but—”

  “How do you know these things?” interjected Justin as a footman refilled his glass with more wine and another set down an artfully arranged platter of fruit.

  “Servants talk,” Azelma whispered, arching her painted brows. “And of course, we have many friends in common with Josephine.”

  “I predict that they will be divorced within a year,” Nestorine proclaimed. “When Josephine’s grandson was declared Napoleon’s heir, it seemed that she might be able to salvage the marriage, but then he died of croup last year. Since then, rumor has it that Napoleon has been making lists of possible brides.”

  “He’s still in love with Josephine, of course, but what can he do?” Azelma murmured this with a sad nod, perhaps so that she wouldn’t be suspected of gossiping. “An emperor must have an heir. It’s quite tragic, don’t you agree?”

  As the footman hovered near Gabriel with more wine, he spread a strong hand above his glass.

  “There must be more interesting things to talk about than Napoleon,” he said, fearing that they were on the verge of listing candidates for the new empress. If only his brother would help him broach the subject of Wicar!

  Nestorine was slicing a peach with a pearl-handled knife. She slanted a coquettish glance at him from under her lashes, and he sensed that she was about to begin making romantic overtures with juicy slices of peach.

  The two sisters might be lovely, but they were too pale and thin for Gabriel’s taste. They both wore their light-brown hair in coils arranged artfully around their powdered faces. Nestorine’s hair was decorated with tall blue plumes, while Azelma had chosen a cluster of pink, heavy-scented lilies. Gabriel knew that some of their mother’s jewels had been hidden in Saint-Malo before her arrest, and both sisters were wearing her rings and necklaces.

  Before Nestorine could attempt to feed him her peach, Gabriel chose one of his own and began to peel it. It smelled so good, he found himself wishing that he were sitting with Isabella instead, sharing a plate of fruit with her. He imagined her delight as she savored each bite, the rosy tint of her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. If he kissed her, her lips would taste of peaches…

  “Have you tasted your peach, m’sieur?” Nestorine said suggestively, leaning toward him. “They are ambrosia.”

  Gabriel blinked. He noticed the way her cheekbones stood out in the shadows, her skin as pale as the moon. Suddenly, the night sky seemed to close in and Gabriel couldn’t wait to get away from the rooftop terrace.

  After giving Nestorine a polite nod, he turned purposefully to her sister. “Justin tells me that you are acquainted with Citizen Wicar. Have you seen him since his return to France?”

  Azelma looked surprised. “Yes, we knew him very well during our years in Rome. He even painted my portrait!” She paused to blush. “Has he indeed returned to France, m’sieur?”

  “So I have heard.” With an effort, Gabriel leaned back in his chair and tried not to betray his urge to leave. “Did you sit for your portrait in his apartments?”

  “Oui! He had a fine atelier, but his drawing room was truly splendid.” She paused, adding, “The walls were covered with masterpieces that came into Wicar’s possession after Napoleon’s conquest of Italy. When I asked him about them, he laughed and replied that he had helped confiscate so many works of art for French museums, no one minded if he kept a few for himself. Such a rascal!”

  Gabriel thought of Jean-Baptiste Wicar, with his curly hair and porcine features, and tried to chuckle along with the others. “A rascal indeed. What brings Citizen Wicar back to France?”

  “He has been in Spain, making a portrait of Napoleon’s brother, Joseph, the new king. When we saw Jean-Baptiste in Paris last month, he revealed that he had been enticed to travel on to France because of the opportunity to acquire a painting he had desired for many years.”

  With a supreme effort, Gabriel managed to remain silent. Meeting his brother’s gaze across the table, he lifted one eyebrow very slightly.

  Justin took his cue. “Ah! How interesting. Since Wicar already owns countless masterpieces, I wonder what set this one apart?”

  Azelma lowered her voice. “He said it was painted by Leonardo da Vinci, and has been hidden away for centuries. Jean-Baptiste was so excited that he actually rubbed his hands together in glee.” She shook her head at the memory. “Can you imagine?”

  “He wants it for himself then?” Gabriel asked casually.

  “Oh, I think he would love to have it, but someone had already informed Napoleon of the painting’s existence. Jean-Baptiste confided that he and his cohorts had orders to recover the painting and deliver it to the Emperor. However, I suspect that he is holding out hope that, once it is in his own hands, he might find a way to keep it for himself.”

  “Fascinating,” Justin said.

  Gabriel gave a distracted nod. “I hope you lovely ladies will be gracious enough to pardon me. I must beg your leave to retire now. Our mother hasn’t felt well today and I promised that I would return early, to ensure that she is resting comfortably and doesn’t need a physician’s care.”

  “Oh!” cried Nestorine, pouting. “We are terribly disappointed. The night’s real pleasures are still ahead!”

  “I too am disappointed, mademoiselle, but I fear that I have no choice. Bon soir.”

  Pushing back from the table, he rose to his feet. He couldn’t look at Justin, who he knew must be wearing an expression of bemused disbelief.

  Instead, Gabriel made his escape from the little terrace. A thrill ran down his spine as he felt the tug of an invisible golden thread, urging him back across the rooftops and ramparts of Saint-Malo.

  Back to Isabella…

  Chapter 20

  “Are you certain you don’t need anything, my lady?”

  Izzie kept the door to her chamber open only a few inches, peeking out at Eustache LeFait and smiling as brightly as she could. “No, not a thing, though you are very thoughtful. Why don’t you go and find Lowenna? She’s gone to dine with the servants, but I happen to know that she’s been longing to walk on the ramparts at night.”

  The
manservant swallowed visibly. “Indeed? Is she a student of astronomy?”

  Izzie beamed back at him. “That I cannot say, but I have no doubt that she would like to learn.”

  “Eh bien…if you are certain I can’t be of service to you, my lady, I will go.” He straightened his cravat. “I don’t expect monseigneur back for several hours, so I am free to show mademoiselle the ramparts by moonlight.”

  As she closed the door, Izzie felt a sharp pang in her heart. What was Gabriel doing with those sisters that would keep him there so long?

  Her gaze fell on the tray of half-eaten dishes, languishing on a table in her sitting room. Ever since Justin had mentioned the Marchand sisters and their connection to Citizen Wicar, Izzie had felt queasy. Of course, she should be happy that they might have new clues about the whereabouts of the lost da Vinci portrait, but what about George?

  It was a sharp reminder of how foolish and hopeless it was to harbor romantic notions toward Gabriel St. Briac. For so many years, she had longed for him in a fantasy, but this was different! Even if there were a chance that he might return her affection, the secrets she kept about her brother George created formidable barriers between them.

  Don’t think about it, Izzie told herself sternly. Somehow, she would find a way to help Gabriel recover his lost painting while keeping her vow to George. And if, along the way, Izzie could steal a few magical interludes of romance with the man of her dreams, what harm could come of it?

  Picking up her half-empty glass of wine, she carried it with her into the bedchamber. There were candles lit on the table beside the bed, and Lowenna had folded back the covers invitingly. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Izzie unpinned her hair.

  As she put the pins into a Sevres porcelain box that held the few pieces of jewelry she had brought from Cornwall, Izzie glimpsed a flat, round, brown object among the prettier pieces.

  It was George’s button: the one that had been dangling from his coat when they met on the muddy footpath, the same one she’d retrieved from the ground near the smuggler’s hole at Lanwyllow.