Luc placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Of all his sexual encounters, this was inarguably—unique. He should feel slighted by the way she’d bolted from the room, but her antics were so unexpected and unconventional, he couldn’t muster up feelings of insult. She’d left him even more intrigued and drawn to her than before. Once again, he hadn’t anticipated her to be like this. Nor could he have anticipated having such an intense sexual encounter with her without any binding involved. Merde, his knees were still weak from the sheer force of his orgasm.
And Dieu. The look of her with her wet gown plastered to her body, those delicious nipples of hers protruding ever so delectably against the soaked fabric, wasn’t an image he was going to be able to get out of his mind anytime soon.
And yet, of all the unusual things that had transpired between them tonight, nothing—absolutely nothing—staggered him more than the fact that she’d put her arms around him.
And he hadn’t even noticed until the aftermath.
He’d been so completely engulfed by pleasure—the most glorious draining rush purging from his prick at his release—that he hadn’t felt any of the usual suffocating urgency to retreat from the embrace.
Another unbelievable first…
Somehow, Juliette had even managed to vanquish the ghost of Isabelle Laurent for a time. He’d forgotten all about her. Juliette had had his undivided attention and so completely undone, he doubted he’d have noticed if the room burst into flames.
Maybe, just maybe, Isabelle Laurent was gone for good.
There were many things he intended to focus on in order to rebuild his life that had nothing to do with the beautiful courtesan who had just left the room. But he liked her. Very much. He liked many things about her, things that went beyond the physical, including her adorable quirkiness.
And, fuck, he really wanted to kiss her. He really wanted to introduce her to the sexual practice he favored. Moreover, he wanted to learn where this incredible woman came from.
And all the many secrets he sensed were behind those lovely dark eyes.
Chapter Five
Isabelle watched the note in the hearth burn. Slowly, it blackened and curled within the lambent flames. Images of a much larger fire flashed through her mind. Tall lapping flames climbing the walls around her. Scorching across the ceiling. The suffocating air, thick and smoky.
Burning her throat.
Isabelle turned away, battling the images back. She’d relived that inferno too many times in her worst dreams.
This was the second such note she’d received in the last week.
Nothing more than some hateful words sent to her anonymously.
Clearly, the author of the loathsome letters didn’t care for her. Nicole had warned her to expect such letters from time to time. The more popular a courtesan became, the more enemies she’d have. Yet that held true for everyone who scaled society in any way. Not just women of her trade. Though she knew she should be nonchalant about such correspondence, she couldn’t help feel the sting from its biting words.
Rapid footsteps suddenly thundering down the corridor outside her private apartments in Nicole’s hôtel grabbed Isabelle’s attention. She turned to the large double doors of her antechamber. The instant she heard a resounding bark, she knew exactly who was barreling toward her rooms.
The doors flung open. And slammed against the wall.
Her son raced toward her, waving a parchment, flanked by his oversized, inseparable companion in the form of a white, three-year-old Great Pyrenees dog named Montague.
“Maman!” Gabriel skidded to a stop before her and flung his arms around her waist. “Good day!”
She laughed and returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm. “Good day, my darling.” He was the greatest joy in her life.
Montague was never one to be ignored, if you could ever ignore a dog practically the size of a small donkey. He pushed his big body in between them, nudging them apart so he could be the center of attention. With a barked salutation to her, he resumed his canine smile. His tail wagging vigorously.
“Good day to you too, Montague.” She scratched his favorite spot, just above the base of his tail, and he curled his body to give her busy fingers approving kisses.
“Maman, I finished my lessons, and Monsieur Bernard allowed me time to sketch, just like a real artist!” Gabriel waved his parchment again, his excitement atwinkle in his dark eyes. God, how she loved that sweet face. From his dark hair down to his small feet, he was the most precious thing in her world. “Look at it, Maman! Look!” He was still waving it back and forth, making that very task quite impossible.
She laughed again and gently grasped his wrist, stilling it. “One moment, darling. Let me see your work.”
“Do you like it? That’s you.” He pointed to the figure with the large gown. “And this is Montague.”
Isabelle gazed at the sketch Gabriel had done and couldn’t help but return his contagious smile. “I love it. It’s wonderful!” She pulled him to her and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
He made a face.
“Too old for a kiss from your mother, are you?” she gently teased him. At eight, he was trying very hard to be older than his years. Yet, he still allowed her to cuddle him at night before going to sleep—as she regaled him and Montague with stories of faraway kingdoms, honorable knights, brave princes, and magical horses—the very same stories she and Sabine had invented together in their childhood—as Gabriel and Montague drifted into slumber on Gabriel’s bed.
She’d promised Gabriel two stories tonight to make up for the one missed last eve due to the masque.
If only she’d made some advancement on the story she was writing—the next volume of her popular Princesses’ Adventures. She had to turn it in for publication soon if she was to build on the excitement and momentum with the series.
The income her anonymous stories generated was something she couldn’t simply forgo.
But she hadn’t slept much last night. And her concentration today was nonexistent. Her mind was a constant whirl all morning, fluctuating between heated memories of the encounter she’d had with the last man on earth she should have given herself to, and the thought that she might have actually found a link back to her sister.
There was a knock at the open door of her antechamber.
Nicole stood at the threshold, already smiling at Gabriel, looking as elegant as always, dressed in her deep green gown.
“Grand-mère!” he exclaimed and raced toward her, Montague on his heels, both boy and dog stopping abruptly in unison. Montague wagged his powerful white tail unceasingly. Her little boy gave Nicole a proper bow, making Isabelle so proud, before the woman who had not only opened her home but her heart to them. Even insisting that Gabriel call her grandmother.
It gave Isabelle such delight to see the happiness her young son and Montague brought Nicole. They both drew smiles and laughter from her constantly.
“I made a sketch, Grand-mère! It’s of Maman and Montague. I shall draw you in next.”
“That’s marvelous. I cannot wait to see it, Gabriel. Why don’t you take Montague back to your room and finish your sketch, then show it to me?”
As soon as Gabriel and Montague raced off happily, Nicole didn’t waste a moment. She closed the doors, then took Isabelle’s hand and pulled her down onto the settee near the hearth. “I simply must apologize to you again, my dear. I assured you that Luc de Moutier was not in attendance last night. Yet that wasn’t at all the case. I want you to know I rushed to you the moment I learned from the Duc d’Allain that Luc had chosen the Comtesse de Grandville’s masque to reenter society. I feel terrible about misleading you.”
Isabelle shook her head. “No, Nicole. Please, don’t fret. You owe me no apology at all. I should have known it was him. It was my stupidity.”
“What happened last night? Why were you in the rain?”
Isabelle cringed at the ment
ion of her antics. She’d made a colossal fool of herself in front of Luc. And after all Nicole had taught her, there wasn’t anything sophisticated about her behavior last night. Thankfully, Nicole had not assailed her with questions during the short but very wet carriage ride back to her hôtel. In the light of day, in reflecting on her evening with Luc, it was even more mortifying.
And exquisite.
“It was a carnal encounter, though not exactly a typical one.” That is an understatement. Erotic memories of last night flooded her thoughts. Her blood warmed instantly. “I had sex with the very man I once harbored the greatest tendre any young girl’s heart could possibly possess—and who now happens to be my sister’s brother-in-law. Oh, but that’s not the extent of it. Before I knew who he was, I requested a sum in exchange for the encounter. A substantial one.”
Nicole’s brow furrowed. “Really? How much did you request?”
She told her the amount and watched the seasoned courtesan’s eyes widen. “And he agreed to that much? For a single tumble?”
“It was far more than a mere tumble. It was…rather, he is…” The feel of his hands and mouth on her body, the shattering finesse of his fingers inside her were forever branded into her mind. Imprinted on her form. And then there were those stunning sensations of every plunge and drag of his hard length. The man believed in the deepest penetration possible. No short sharp thrusts with this man. He gave long, luscious strokes with his sex—tantalizing every nerve ending in her sheath down to the farthest depths of her core. She’d never been filled so completely.
She had never reached such a heightened level of pleasure. For the first time ever, she hadn’t had to put on a performance at all.
“That good?” Nicole asked.
“No.” Isabelle shook her head. “Luc de Moutier is far better than good. He is exceptional.”
Nicole smiled. “Why, that’s excellent! All the rumors about him are true, then. Though I have heard he isn’t the sort of lover for a novice at bed sport. He has very distinct sexual tastes. You’ve had a limited number of lovers. Did you not mind it when he bound you?”
She tried not to blush at the blunt question. “He didn’t. Though he did ask to. But I refused him.” Yet he’d still restrained her wrists for a portion of the time. Again, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this practice of his than merely a penchant.
Nicole looked at her as though she’d suddenly grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. Shock was etched on her face. “Let me understand this… He agreed to a hefty sum to have you once, and though he firmly practices bondage during all his sexual encounters—so much so that he’s walked away from any woman who refuses to participate in it—he made an exception for you?”
“Well…yes… I suppose…” To an extent, though she wasn’t about to relay every intimate detail.
Nicole let out a short laugh. “My dear, whatever you have done, you have beguiled this man and he is not one to be beguiled easily. I’m positively delighted for you. And I’m very pleased you’ve experienced your first gifted lover.”
“Nicole, he is a part of my sister’s new family—and by extension, part of mine.”
“And? What is the problem?”
“The problem is this wasn’t just a passionate interlude between a man and a woman—though that alone is bad enough given his connection to Sabine. What happened between us amounted to nothing more than a mere transaction. I sold him something he wished to purchase.”
“Nonsense. I heard you tell him before we left there was no fee—though I cannot believe you forfeited that sum of money. You canceled it, nonetheless. If funds aren’t exchanged, then it isn’t a transaction.”
“That was something I blurted out to further make a fool of myself. Because, clearly, after he revealed who he was, my running straight into a rainstorm, then standing there in it wasn’t imbecilic enough for me last eve.”
Nicole smiled and placed a hand over Isabelle’s hand. “Isabelle, I wouldn’t waste another thought on that. You have made yourself interesting. And that’s never a bad thing when dealing with men.”
Isabelle squeezed Nicole’s hand. “Nicole, I don’t wish to be interesting to him. Nor would I have ever offered to sell myself to this man—of all men—had I known his identity. I just want to reach my sister.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, her stomach and heart clenched with opposing emotions. Longing and trepidation assailed her equally. Understandably, Sabine would want—insist—on knowing every detail that had transpired in Isabelle’s life over the last nine years since they’d seen each other.
So many excruciating details to divulge—including her present vocation—that Isabelle had hoped her sister would be spared.
She’d written Sabine countless letters over the years, even though she couldn’t send any of them and risk everyone’s safety. And upon returning to Paris and learning they were at last safe from Leon de Vittry, Isabelle had written dozens more, when there was no address to send them to. Letters that were ultimately crumpled up and burned. Sabine had taken their three cousins and what remained of their father’s acting troupe—in essence, all that Isabelle considered family—and now resided somewhere in the West Indies, whose waters were infested with pirates.
Moreover, not a single letter adequately expressed how vastly she missed her. Or how deeply she regretted her youthful, rash decision to leave her home and family behind to go work for Charles de Moutier—her head full of ridiculous girlish romantic dreams about Luc.
Little did she know that leaving home would set into motion a series of devastating events for her.
Gabriel was the only good thing to come out of her mountain of mistakes.
He wasn’t a mistake. He was perfect.
“He’s the only one who knows where Sabine is and has any potential access to her. Since no one had seen Luc de Moutier for the longest time, I’d despaired of ever seeing my sister again,” she continued. “Now that he has reappeared, he could perhaps help me reach her.”
If she knew she could trust him.
She had a thousand questions for Luc about her sister. How she was? Did she have children? Was she happy? Did she think of her anymore? Or did she limit her thoughts of her, just as Isabelle did, so she wouldn’t miss her so much? So her heart wouldn’t ache so unbearably.
“I don’t understand,” Nicole said “How is it that he didn’t recognize you? Didn’t you say that after your father lost his theater and your family was forced to move from Paris to the country with your cousins, you eventually left the farm to work as a servant for Luc’s father at one of his châteaus?”
“Yes, before Gabriel was born. That is true. For a time, I did work at Château Serein, one of the Moutier grand estates.” She could still see Sabine’s stricken face when she’d told her she was leaving, having convinced their father to let her go. A foolish, fateful day when anger and fear got the better of her—anger over their life-altering losses of lands, funds, and future, and fear of the accumulating bleakness. She regretted the pain she’d caused every day that her family thought she was dead. And loathed herself for it. Worst still, she was utterly heartbroken that her father had passed away in her absence never knowing that his daughter was still alive. “It was there at the Moutier château that the fire occurred, the fire Leon started in his attempt to murder and silence me for his misdeeds.”
That was the day Isabelle Laurent died—to all who knew her.
That was also the day she became Gabriel’s mother.
“Luc didn’t recognize me because he never visited his father or that château while I was there.” She’d hoped each day that Luc would arrive, and actually notice her, when she’d been so invisible to him at the theater, no matter how long she’d adoringly stared at him. So young and foolish, she saw it as the only way to meet and marry the handsome lord of her dreams.
Given how horrible his father was, she wasn’t surprised he’d never darkened the doorstep of Château Serein. The servants of
ten gossiped about the fact that Charles de Moutier’s youngest son didn’t much care for his father. And the feeling was more than mutual.
“Since he doesn’t know you, will you introduce yourself as Isabelle Laurent?” Nicole asked.
“I cannot blurt out that information. I don’t know that I can trust him to help me reach Sabine.” She was nothing if not overly cautious now. “What if he behaves as Roch did and uses it against me? I would be at his mercy. I have Gabriel’s future to think about. I risk his well-being. Not just mine. And last night, I complicated matters. If I tell him the truth now, he’ll know that I am…”
“A woman doing what she must and in control of her own future,” Nicole supplied. “A woman who is among the few our society allows to embrace her sexuality as freely as any man. I see no shame in what we do. But I understand how you feel. And I agree that you should proceed with caution. I also understand this wasn’t the future you envisioned as a girl. But there are worse ways for a woman to survive than to be given funds, jewelry, and pleasure.”
“Yes, I know. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect,” she apologized. “My lack of sleep and last night’s events are—”
Nicole instantly hugged her. “Hush now. No apologies are needed from you either. You and I are different women. While I have always enjoyed having a variety of special men in my life, I believe you’d prefer to have only one special man in yours.”
Perhaps once. A long time ago, that was true. Not anymore. She’d seen the ugliness in men, and she’d made it a habit not to trust any man who wielded more power than her.
They got her body—at a price. She sold them passion. Nothing more. It was the reason she’d chosen to be a courtesan and not a man’s mistress. She was beholden to no one. And chose whom she obliged in the boudoir, when, and how often.
A knock at the door halted all conversation. Joseph, the tall, slender majordomo, stood on the threshold of her antechamber after Isabelle bid him come in.
“My ladies.” He gave a bow. “Forgive the intrusion, but a gentleman is here, and he is quite insistent on seeing you, Madame Carre.”
Three Reckless Wishes Page 7