Three Reckless Wishes (Fiery Tales Book 10)

by Lila DiPasqua

His light green eyes captured her gaze. A smile graced his lips as he bent at the waist and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. It was an entirely appropriate greeting, and yet, unlike Vannod’s kiss on her hand, Luc’s awakened every nerve ending in her body. Making them quiver with life. “Madame Carre. A pleasure,” he said.

  She responded in kind.

  “And I believe you know the Duc de Vannod.” Nicole gestured to the man.

  “Of course. It is good to see you, Vannod.”

  Vannod cocked a dark brow, dealt him a glare, and, after a rather awkward pause, finally drawled, “I wish I could say the same.”

  This side of Vannod was becoming irksome and his rudeness inappropriate at the vicomtesse’s gathering. Fearing the situation would unravel, Isabelle opened her mouth to interject when Luc surprised her with a genuine laugh.

  “Vannod, you’re utterly adorable when you’re miffed. I’m glad to see you haven’t changed.”

  Oh dear God.

  The duc stiffened. “You… You’re…you’re…”

  “Welcome?” Luc supplied with a smile.

  Vannod’s face turned deep red. “Sir, do you know to whom you are speaking?”

  She’d never hit anyone in her life, but at the moment, she wanted to smack Luc. If he wanted to reenter society, this wasn’t the way to go about it. Though Luc had considerable wealth, the duc held significant social rank.

  And had far more friends present.

  At that, Luc frowned. “It appears your facilities are failing you, Vannod. Are you having trouble remembering who you are?”

  Isabelle’s heart lost a beat. The redness on Vannod’s face had crept down his neck. He puffed out his chest and, turning sharply on his heel, stalked away without another word.

  The slightest sound escaped Nicole, suspiciously like a laugh, and for a mere instant, amusement crossed her features before she schooled her expression. She tapped a slender finger against Luc’s chest. “You, dear boy, are trouble. Mostly for yourself. Though you’ve never backed away from it before, but then, that’s part of your charm, isn’t it?”

  She smiled with no sign of the irritation Isabelle felt, bid them a good day, and wandered toward the other guests.

  “Are you trying to get into a duel?” Isabelle asked the moment they were alone.

  “No.”

  “You’ve just insulted a duc,” she said, sotto voce.

  He shrugged. “Vannod is a coward. He’d never challenge me. And I don’t intend to challenge him. I don’t duel anymore.” He was back to giving her one of those irresistible smiles, gorgeous green eyes aglint. The kind of smile that made being angry at him difficult.

  Even when she wasn’t completely over the urge to smack him.

  “If you are looking to make friends here, that was hardly the way to go about it.”

  He leaned in and, in her ear, said, “I hate these people. I don’t care for their friendship.” He pulled back, gazing into her eyes once again.

  There he was. That rebellious boy she’d been so desperately enamored with so long ago. The one male aristo who always seemed to be on the outside looking in. Never fitting in. Never truly part of the upper class he was born into—despite his exalted pedigree and his brave naval service to the Crown she’d heard so much about from Nicole.

  There was a certain vulnerability about him, one he tried to conceal from the world. And that vulnerability was one of the many reasons she’d been drawn to him from the start.

  That same Luc was back now and, God help her, even more beckoning than before.

  “You’re the only one whose company I crave,” he said, so low, so softly that it melted her insides a little—when she didn’t think words from any man could inspire soft sentiment. And the way he’d said crave made her sex clench.

  This aristo could turn her inside out. She had to be far more immune than this.

  Offering his arm, he asked, “May I have the honor?”

  She took his arm and began to stroll with him down the garden path, not wanting to cause a scene. Tiny stones crunched beneath her shoes. There was no need to look around. She knew the entire throng of guests was watching them. The younger version of herself would have wildly celebrated being on Luc de Moutier’s arm.

  But she was much more jaded now. She’d been through much more than that dream-filled girl could have ever imagined.

  “How is Gabriel?” he asked. That took her by surprise. It wasn’t a question that would normally come from men of the upper class. They wouldn’t ordinarily voice concern about a boy who wasn’t even close to his social standing. His query was touching. And perfect.

  A little too perfect.

  For years she’d built Luc de Moutier up to be incredible in every way. When would he inevitably disillusion her? When would he show his true unkind nature that was so prevalent in his gender and social class and finally crush to dust all the foolish notions and fantasies she had about him?

  When would she see what Vannod and his other peers saw?

  “Gabriel is fine.” She smiled and nodded politely at the elderly Comte and Comtesse de Gigot as they passed by. Once out of hearing range, she added, “Please don’t use my son to ingratiate yourself with me. Flowery words are fine, though I have heard them all. But I don’t want you using my son in the hopes of sexual gain.” There. That should do it. That should evoke some sort of fiery response, show the temper he and everyone else mentioned he had. No doubt some cruel commentary would spill from his perfect lips for good measure.

  Finally ending her infatuation with him—for good—and prove he wasn’t trustworthy.

  He stopped abruptly and faced her. But anger wasn’t what was in his eyes. His brows knitted, and a look of hurt, one she’d remembered from long ago, surprisingly flashed back at her. It was like a blow to the belly. “You think I’d use a young boy to seduce you into more sex?” He sounded incredulous.

  Suddenly, she was unsure of her actions. “Men have done worse.” She offered that bit of raw truth. “Men also try to bed me simply to elevate their status among their peers—since I am, at the moment, the current coveted courtesan. And we both know you could use some help there. Especially after your encounter with the duc.”

  Are you mad? She’d never behaved this way. Of course men used her. She was a courtesan. She hadn’t cared about being used before. It shouldn’t matter if this aristo had or was as well. Yet it bothered her.

  More than she wished it did.

  His brows shot up briefly, then he rested his hands on his hips, tilted his head, and studied her in silence for a moment. Then another. And another. She glanced about, unsure what to do.

  At last, he said, “I wish to apologize for my peers. I’m sorry, Juliette. Clearly, they have made a bright, passionate, beautiful woman mistrusting of men. And who can blame you given that lot?” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the guests behind her in the garden. “But let me make something very clear. I don’t lie to women. I won’t lie to you. I don’t—won’t—use anyone or anything to manipulate a woman into having sex with me. If it’s not something we both crave, a mutual carnal attraction that’s hot and intense,” his voice dropped an octave, “just as it is with us, then I’m not interested. I don’t need to use a child to get sex. My concern for Gabriel was genuine. And I don’t need to bed anyone to elevate myself. My title, my wealth, and my years of distinguished service to my country and King speak for themselves. Anyone who wishes to dismiss any of that wouldn’t be someone whose opinion I’d give a fuck about.”

  No temper. No cutting words.

  He even offered an apology.

  Good Lord, what was she to make of that? He was either as close to perfect as any mere mortal could be. Or he was far better at concealing his character than most.

  “You are the reason I’m here, Juliette. I want you…” The soft, low delicious way he said that sent a bolt of lust rippling through her senses. He gave her one of his beautiful smiles. “I want to make you come for me—hard�
��again and again. I want your little clit in my mouth and to hear you scream my name in pleasure. I want you naked and bound as I bury my cock inside you. And, Jésus-Christ, I want to taste that mouth of yours in a long, lush kiss more than you could ever imagine. There are many decadent delights I’d like to share with you—if you would allow me to. I know there are other men here who want you too. But if you choose me to be your lover, I’ll bring you to a level of sexual bliss you’ve never known.”

  Had the sun suddenly become hotter? Her blood was rushing through her body like liquid fire.

  Unable to speak, she shook her head no and gave him a rueful smile as another couple walked past. But when she went to reinforce her physical action with words, what tumbled out of her mouth instead was “We’ll see…”

  We’ll see? She wanted to kick herself.

  He chuckled. “I see how it is. You want to make me work for it. Fair enough. I’m most enthusiastic about the challenge.” The promiscuous promise that gleamed in his eyes spiked her fever further. He offered his arm once more just as a small group of guests wandered by, their chatter drifting in and out of their space in the gardens.

  Isabelle took his arm. This was quite the dilemma. She needed to be around him to see if there was a way to reach her family. But remain immune to his seductive charm. It was time to steer this conversation away from sex.

  For the sake of her sanity.

  “I feel it is my turn to apologize. I’m sorry for my earlier accusations. They were horribly inappropriate and rude. I have tried to keep Gabriel from this part of my world. He is innocent and too young. I hope you understand.”

  He still sported a lopsided smile as they walked on, deeper into the gardens and farther from most of the guests and the vicomtesse’s château. “No more talk of Gabriel…for now.”

  She cocked her brow and gave him a look of warning. His lips twitched in amusement. “Except to say, I think you are an excellent mother. He is a lucky boy and a charming child.”

  “I am the lucky one. And thank you.”

  “I do wish to know more about him.”

  Isabelle stiffened. She could feel her defenses begin to rise. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a part of you. Because I don’t just want you. I like you—very much. And I’d truly like to learn more about you.” He leaned in toward her ear. “I want to know all your secrets,” he gently teased.

  That made her uneasy and nervous. What would he truly do if he knew who she really was? How’s that for a secret? Would he turn on her as Roch had?

  “No more talk of Gabriel,” she said, wanting to change the subjects about her son and her secrets.

  “All right, then. What about Montague. May I inquire about him?”

  That made her laugh. “Yes, Montague is fine.”

  “Wonderful. How is that white horse you live with?”

  She laughed again. “Dog,” she corrected.

  “If you say so.” He shrugged, mirth etched on his handsome face. “Has he ever eaten any of the staff?”

  Another laugh. “Montague is a dear, sweet dog. All staff members, and their limbs, are very much intact and unmarred.”

  He chuckled. “I and, I’m sure, your staff are happy that’s so.”

  She enjoyed this side of him. The banter was endearing. It wasn’t often she had the luxury to converse with a single person. There was usually a group of men competing for her attention. Instead, at the moment, she had just one sinfully seductive lord who made her burn for him in a way no man ever had. And whose appealing charm was on full display. She could easily stroll through the gardens for hours on his arm like this, discussing subjects of little consequence. But she had a beloved sister she wanted to see again.

  She decided to probe guardedly.

  “Tell me something about yourself, Luc. I know little about you. Tell me about your family.”

  At the word family, she felt a tightening of the muscles in his arm.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard a great deal about them from others.”

  “I’d rather hear about them from you. I understand you have a brother?”

  “I do.”

  “Where is he? I don’t believe I’ve met him.”

  “He’s in the West Indies with his wife.”

  Isabelle’s heart began to pound at the mention of her sister. “He’s married? What is she like?”

  “Sabine? She’s lovely. Very bright. Fiery. She’s just what my brother needs.” He smiled. “I very much like her.”

  Her heart constricted. A lump formed in her throat. Somehow, she managed to ask, “Do they have children?”

  “A daughter. Perhaps more now.”

  A daughter! “Wh…What is her name?” She prayed he didn’t hear her voice crack.

  “Isabelle.”

  She froze in her tracks. Overwhelmed with emotion.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked.

  She looked down, unable to make eye contact with him. Fearful he’d see the tears in her eyes. She blinked them back quickly.

  It took her a moment before she could speak. She had to swallow hard twice before she could say, “I…I think I have a pebble in my shoe.”

  He lowered himself down onto his haunches and looked up at her. “Which foot?” His hand was already slipping under her hem.

  “The left,” she said randomly.

  Warm, strong fingers wrapped around her ankle. He slipped her shoe off, gave it a gentle shake, then placed it back onto her foot.

  Leaving her body tingling in the wake of his touch.

  He rose to his full height. “Better?”

  It was. His touch had helped blunt the initial stab of anguish the news of her niece had caused. But the longing was still so fierce, she wanted to race to the West Indies, throw her arms around Sabine and her child right now. And never let go. “Yes. Thank you. How old is your niece?” Not the smoothest attempt to steer the conversation back to her family, but she didn’t care. She wanted to devour all the information about her sister and daughter she could.

  He frowned, clearly confused. “Why?”

  “I’m simply curious,” she said with a practiced nonchalance. “Does she look more like her mother or her father?”

  He shook his head with a soft laugh. “Just when I think I know just what we’ll talk about the next time we meet… You are many things, but predictable is not one of them. To satisfy your curiosity, Isabelle would be about two years of age now. All I know about her is that ‘she is as beautiful as her mother’—a quote from my brother. I’ve never seen her. Jules left France with Sabine three years ago with no intention of ever returning. However, this year, he did return unexpectedly to help out a mutual friend who also lives in the West Indies. Jules wasn’t here long and was anxious to return home to his wife and child—which he did with the balance of Sabine’s family and our mutual friend Simon on one of Simon’s privateer ships. I don’t expect either Simon or Jules will return again.”

  The ground fell out from under her feet. She took a quick step back just to balance herself. “Never?” The single word rushed out on a breath.

  “Never.”

  “But…but… You can’t! I…I mean… He’s your brother. Your kin. If he won’t return here, you—you must visit him.”

  “My brother and I have always led very different lives—from boyhood. I know he’s happy, and that’s enough for me.”

  “But you will never meet your niece! Or any of his other children.”

  “That is regrettable, but there isn’t anything I can do about it. You need a ship to get there. I’m no longer in the King’s navy or a privateer for France. And it’s too far to swim,” he added with a small smile, clearly trying to leaven the conversation.

  She was reeling. For years, she’d quietly kept the hope alive that she’d see her sister again. Through many deep, dark moments, it had kept her spirits up. This was almost too cruel.

  “Do you know what island they’re on?”

  “Yes.”
<
br />   “Then surely there’s got to be a way to get there. What about some other ship bound for the West Indies?” She tried to keep the distress from her tone.

  “The war between France and Spain is over. The King’s ships no longer sail to the West Indies as they used to, to attack Spanish silver fleets returning from New Spain. And given the sheer number of cutthroats in that area, the only safe passage to the West Indies is on a fully armed warship. Anything else is highly risky and foolhardy.”

  Her chest was tight. As was her throat. Maintaining her composure had never been more hard-fought. She wanted to crumble to the ground but locked her knees and battled back the urge. There was more to this than he was saying. Something in his eyes, in his tone—ever so subtle—told her so. “You don’t want to visit him in the West Indies, do you?” The words tumbled from her mouth uncensored.

  For the briefest instance, surprise flashed across his features, telling her in an instant she’d been accurate in her hunch. He tightened his jaw and looked away. When at last he returned his gaze to her, he gave her a firm “No.”

  “And you didn’t much care for his last unanticipated visit, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. In truth, I wished he hadn’t bothered.”

  “Did you have an argument?”

  “No. We’ve accomplished what we’d set out to do together—clear our names and regain favor with the King. Now that that’s done, I don’t want to ever see him again. And he knows it.” His words were firmly unequivocal. For the first time ever, she saw a coldness in his eyes.

  Her heavy heart plummeted. Of all the hardships she’d endured since her family had lost everything, she’d never felt more dispirited in her life. And given the hell she’d been through, that said a great deal.

  “Ah, there you are, my beauty!” Auguste, Marquis de Prost, had arrived sporting a large smile. He took her hand, bowed low before it, then pressed a kiss to her knuckle. At least a dozen years her senior, he had dark hair and dark eyes, with a pleasing enough frame and face. And had at least three mistresses when last she heard. He’d been sniffing around her skirts for some time now.

  His younger brother, Frédéric, Comte de Meslon, stepped out from behind him and kissed her hand too. “Good day, Madame Carre. You are without a doubt the loveliest thing in this garden.” Married and smarmy, he had no chance at all despite his many attempts to bed her.