Three Reckless Wishes

by Lila DiPasqua

  “But, this poetess is one of your favorites.”

  “I have many favorites.” He turned and walked toward the large ebony-and-gold desk at the end of the room. Wearing a white shirt, black breeches, and boots, his tall strong form was mesmerizing to behold. She allowed herself to appreciate the sight. It set her insides aflutter. “I’ve recently discovered a new author I favor. The characters are captivating,” he said over his shoulder. Reaching the desk, he turned back to face her, then gestured toward some volumes beside him.

  Curious, she approached to see who his new favorite was, still holding the book of poetry by Morra in her hands, and immediately recognized her books. Her cheeks heated.

  He sat on the edge of the desk, studying her closely. Those engrossing green eyes, scrutinizing her face. And, perhaps, her thoughts.

  What in the world did one say when the man you’d dreamed of for years has learned of your girlhood affinity for him?

  “I will say it again, as it bears repeating. You’re an extraordinary writer,” he said. “Your writing is engaging. And I don’t say it because I am one of your main subjects and characters.”

  She murmured her thanks, mortified that her blush only deepened. It was a great compliment coming from a man who was so well-read.

  Coming from Luc de Moutier.

  “I don’t suppose the purpose for bringing me here is to have me to talk about books—a comfortable, innocuous subject—and well…lull me into divulging more?” she gently teased.

  He laughed. “I will confess, there is that. But I also wanted to share this library with someone who’d appreciate it.” He brushed an errant curl off her cheek. “Allow me just once to hear from those gorgeous lips your real name.”

  She owed him as much. He’d spoken his truth with courage. She needed to do the same.

  “Before I do, I wish you to know I am placing great faith in you. Something I do not normally do.”

  “I know. And I will not betray your confidence. Not ever. I would never hurt you.”

  She’d heard those words from other men. From Leon. From Roch. She swallowed, placed Morra’s book on the desk next her novels, lifted her chin a notch. And took a leap of faith.

  “I’m Isabelle Laurent.”

  He softly swore, snaked an arm around her waist, and yanked her to him. Then swooped in with a kiss as though he wanted to seal the name on her lips. Her body sparked to life. She immediately fisted his shirt against his strong chest and returned the kiss, hungry for more, wanting to make up for all the missed kisses she could have had with him.

  And foolishly denied herself.

  He broke the kiss sooner than she would have liked. He was about to speak when she blurted out, “You are the first man I’ve ever kissed.”

  His brows shot up, clearly surprised by the unexpected confession.

  “I’ve never kissed a man before you,” she continued. “Roch despised the mere thought— for which I was eternally grateful. And I’ve never given any man leave to kiss me—except you.”

  “Dieu… I don’t know what to say… I’m flattered and honored—” was all he could say before she leaped into more confessions.

  “I hadn’t ever done some of the things we’ve done in the boudoir. Or the library. Then there was that time in the gardens…and, well, if you haven’t already guessed, I haven’t the sexual experience others think I have.” Words were spilling from her lips unrestrained. As though a dam had just broken. Everything she’d been forced to hold back flooded out of her. “Besides submitting to Roch, I’ve only been with the Marquis de Cambry. Do you know him?”

  “I—”

  She began to pace. “He was gentle, kind.” Unlike Roch. “But he didn’t have your sexual repertoire. I didn’t realize men even knew the things you know of the carnal arts.”

  He caught her arm, arresting her in her tracks. “Isabelle—”

  Dear God, hearing her real name from his lips sounded heavenly. “Could you tell?”

  His brow furrowed. “Could I tell what, chérie?”

  “That I was a novice at some of the things we did?”

  A smile formed on his handsome face, and he pulled her by the arm back between his parted legs and wrapped his arms around her waist. She wanted to return the embrace, but rested her palms against his chest instead.

  Mindful not to touch his back.

  He leaned in and pressed a kiss to that sensitive spot below her ear. A tiny tingle quivered down her spine. “I noted some sexual curiosity that suggested certain things were new. But that didn’t lessen the experience. The carnal connection between us is exquisite. I love fucking you. I love making you come for me. And I love the way you come.” His voice was a low, sensual murmur.

  Her blood heated with every quickening beat of her heart. “What a coincidence. I love making you come for me and the way you come too,” she whispered in his ear. Then lightly bit his earlobe. She delighted in the sound of his groan.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, but a smile was on his lips. And oh, how she loved that smile. It made her feel joy just seeing it. It always had. “We are going to continue our talk. Without any of those delicious distractions—for now.”

  She nodded in agreement. “There is much to talk about.”

  Pierrette. And Sabine. Her sister was the topic she wanted to discuss most. And was most afraid to mention. Until now, there had been a glimmer of hope she’d see Sabine again.

  The time had come to see if that hope would be utterly dashed.

  “Why don’t we begin at the beginning?” he said. “What happened that day of the fire in the servants’ outbuildings? If you are not the person buried in the grave at my château as everyone believes, then who is?”

  “Gabriel’s mother.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  “I did not give birth to Gabriel. His mother was a woman from the village. She would come for food while she was pregnant with her son and continued after her babe was born. I always managed to sneak her something to eat. She came every day, and so I became concerned your father would learn of what I was doing. He’d have been furious to know his food was being given away—and especially to one of the peasants on your lands. And I did not wish to suffer his wrath as many of the other servants had. I asked Virginie to meet me that day at the servants’ outbuildings. That is where she, Gabriel, and I were when Leon’s men started the fire. Gabriel was only an infant. He and I survived. But Virginie perished. I became his mother that day.” She felt the usual sting of tears in her eyes and a knot in her throat over Virginie’s death. The mental images of the inferno, always lurking on the fringes of her mind, invaded her thoughts. The terrifying flames. The eerie sounds of crackling wood followed by the crashing timbers all around them.

  It was the stuff of nightmares. Nightmares that had torn her from sleep many times and sent her racing to Gabriel’s bedside to make certain he was all right.

  She tamped down the memory.

  Luc pulled her tightly against him. She allowed herself to lean on him—something she normally wouldn’t do—and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Feelings of being safe engulfed her heart.

  And she liked that. So much.

  “I can only imagine how terrifying that must have been,” he murmured. “I wish I’d been the one who’d ended Vittry’s worthless life. I’ll see to it that a proper stone is placed over Virginie’s grave. Something discreet yet fitting for her.”

  She shot her head up, surprised and moved by his promise, her eyes filling with fresh tears, blurring his face. She forced them back. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

  “What about Gabriel’s father?”

  “I know little about him. I’d never met him. Virginie was recently widowed and all alone. There wasn’t any family to care for Gabriel—on either side. Gabriel and I had no one that day of the fire, except each other. I have raised him, and I couldn’t love him more had he com
e from my own womb. He is my son.”

  “How on earth did you make it off our lands without Vittry and his men seeing you?”

  “I simply ran with Gabriel in my arms. Didn’t stop until we reached the main roads. I was in desperate need of any transportation at all to get as far away as I could. Then I thought a miracle happened. Roch was in his carriage and stopped to help. An aristo with wealth. He didn’t ask questions in the beginning. He was kind then and offered to take me to a wet nurse for Gabriel. After Roch’s death, I came to Paris to begin anew. With a new name. A new persona. Determined to make certain Gabriel would have a good life and a future free from poverty.”

  He gave a nod. “You are indeed his mother. Only a mother would go to such lengths for her child. I don’t often say this to people, but I admire you. Your strength. Resilience. And courage.” A warmth glowed in his beautiful eyes. And she cautioned herself not to presume more than what was there. He reached out and brushed another of her errant curls from her cheek. “So, now I fully understand why you wouldn’t allow a man to kiss you. And I comprehend why you would not accept any married lovers—to keep your affairs uncomplicated.”

  She stepped away from him, breaking the embrace, needing some distance to be able to speak without the deluge of romantic emotions that was presently swamping her heart. He was beyond potent—both to her heart and body.

  The longer she remained in his arms, the more strongly he affected her.

  “Yes, that had a lot to do with Roch’s wife, and since we are on the subject of her, there is something important I must tell you about Pierrette de Roch.”

  *****

  Luc cocked a brow, awaiting her next comment. He couldn’t imagine what could be relevant or important to him about a woman he’d never met.

  “She’s a recluse. She never leaves her country estate, but now she’s here in the city.”

  An uneasy feeling slid into his gut. “Does she know who you really are?”

  “She didn’t before, but she does now. I never expected to see her in Paris. I never expected Roch to leave letters with my real name. Letters she discovered after his death.”

  “When did you see her? How do you know she’s here?”

  “She was there at the Duc and Duchesse d’Allain’s salon today. I just spoke with her in private. She’d been sending me anonymous notes for a while. Ugly little missives with nothing more in them than insults. It is all rather bizarre and twisted. Pierrette harbors a great deal of animosity toward me. Accuses me of stealing Roch from her. I’ve tried to explain to her that I did no such thing, but she is now threatening to reveal my identity—and threatening to ruin Nicole’s reputation for aiding me in my, as she called it, ‘self-enriching scheme’ if I don’t help her daughter marry a certain aristo.”

  Bloody hell. “That is madness. Which aristo?”

  “You.”

  “Me? You jest?”

  “No, I don’t. Please give me your word that you will not further complicate this by attempting to see Pierrette or reason with her. To intervene in any way is likely to only make her angrier, and that would make matters worse. I’ve yet to speak to Nicole about this. I believe we should defer to her wishes on managing the matter, whatever they are. She has much to lose.”

  “By Roch’s widow’s threats, so do you and Gabriel.”

  “We will be all right. All of us. I’ll make certain,” she managed to say with conviction. Yet, he sensed she was worried. Again, he marveled at her fortitude. “Do I have your word?”

  “You have my word and my pledge to help, as much or as little as you wish—without marrying Roch’s daughter.” He wasn’t going to add to her distress. Nor was he about to marry this madwoman’s offspring.

  “Thank you. I would never ask you to. And I am unwilling to allow any of us to be a pawn for Pierrette.”

  “But why does she want me?”

  He saw her stiffen ever so slightly. Then she shrugged. “Who knows the workings of that woman’s mind.”

  Again, he sensed there was more she wasn’t saying.

  She looked down as though in thought, then met his gaze. “Luc, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you… It is about Sabine. I wish to see my sister again. I want Gabriel to meet her. To meet his cousin Isabelle. I want to hold both of them. I want her to know that I am alive. That I did everything I could to keep Leon away from her and the rest of our family—and I wish to see them too. I know it is much to ask, but perhaps you can take me to her?”

  His stomach fisted, a reflexive reaction to a subject that struck a raw wound.

  What she was asking of him was no easy task either logistically or emotionally, for it would mean he’d see Jules again. In their final conversation, when his brother had attempted to break down barriers—barriers Luc had erected between himself and Charles’s favorite son for Luc’s own sanity’s sake—he’d slammed the door permanently shut on any relationship with his brother.

  The thought of seeing him again was gut-wrenching.

  “Isabelle, that isn’t easy. You need a fully armed sea vessel to safely navigate the waters in the West Indies. It is far too dangerous otherwise. I don’t own a warship.”

  “But the King does. France is at peace. The warships aren’t needed. Perhaps you can speak to him? You were an officer in the King’s navy and a privateer for the Crown. Didn’t the King allow privateers to rent the ships they used? I have funds—”

  “The King was not aware that I was renting his warship at that time, as I was under the command of his favorite privateer then, Simon Boulenger. Simon was once the commander of a fleet of privateer ships. He has his own warships and had rented some from the Crown as well when we were still at war with Spain. That is how your sister, family, and Jules reached the West Indies and Simon’s island, Marguerite—on one of his warships. And yes, for the King’s gain, he did permit the use of his ships to attack Spanish vessels and relieve them of their silver cargo. Not to simply voyage across the sea.”

  “Do you mean to say there is no way to see Sabine again?”

  Jésus-Christ. He felt as though someone just punched him in the stomach. Seeing the devastation in her eyes winded him. “I did not say that. Perhaps they will return someday for a visit…”

  “Why would they? My family and Sabine are there. And you have made it plain to your brother that you don’t wish to see him. Even you don’t believe that they’ll return. You have said as much.”

  Fuck. He raked a hand through his hair. “This is complicated and more than just an issue between my brother and me.”

  She went silent and simply stared at him. A direct, unwavering, penetrating gaze, as though she could read his every thought. Then looked away and shook her head.

  When she returned his regard, she simply said, “I must leave. Please have someone summon my men.”

  Merde. “What about dining with me?”

  “I fear I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going home.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “Oddly, I was going to say the same thing to you.” She walked toward the doors of his library.

  “What should I reconsider, chérie?” he called out.

  She stopped and turned around. “I wish you’d reconsider your lying to me after purporting to be honest.”

  “I am not lying.”

  “You are. Perhaps you are even lying in part to yourself. I have asked for a great deal, I know. I should not have made such a request and put you in this position. And for that, I apologize. I can understand why one wouldn’t wish to make such a great journey. So be it.” He didn’t miss her voice cracking with emotion. “But the obstacle here is not obtaining the warship—though I will concede that there is significant difficulty there. And it isn’t the long voyage. The true obstacle is your brother. I know your father treated you horribly. Unspeakably cruel. But it isn’t your brother’s fault, any more than it is yours. I’d wager he isn’t even aware of what happened to you. You haven’t ever told him,
have you? He deserves the truth from your lips. And he doesn’t deserve to be punished for your father’s sins.”

  Her words slammed into him. Anger surged inside him and scorched through his very entrails. “Jules is not a victim!” he shot back.

  “Nor is he a villain. I remember him with you at the theater. I saw him once intervene in an altercation between you and another gentleman one night. He loves you. He’d tried to protect you. He may have even kept you from a duel that might have killed you. You suggest that everything you’ve been through is over. Behind you. But, and I say this to utter the truth with no ulterior motive, you will never be completely done with what your father and cousin did until you’ve made peace with Jules.”

  What she said robbed him of his physical breath, knifing deep into his wound. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he wasn’t done with Bellac and Charles.

  The last fucking thing he ever wanted to hear.

  He steeled himself against the pain and the ire it incited, battling back the excruciating memories that suddenly threatened to materialize in his mind. He didn’t want to see his father’s face or any part of that room where his nightmares originated. Or his perfect, unmarred brother. Not now.

  Fuck, not ever.

  Luc placed his hands on his hips and shut his eyes a moment before opening them again. He managed one sole word past his clenched teeth.

  “Go!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isabelle was numb.

  Her carriage approached home. She stared blankly out the window.

  She’d lost her sister—for the second time. This time for good.

  And Luc as well.

  She’d pushed him too far today—though what she’d said about his brother was true. It was only a matter of time before what they’d had would come to an end. They had lived in the present with no future.

  The entire day had been incredible. And horrible. And though she was exhausted down to her marrow, she wanted to see her precious boy and their beloved oversized dog, curl up together with them on her bed, and read a story.

  Tomorrow, she would address the problem with Pierrette. Speak with Nicole.