The Secret of Love

by Wright, Cynthia

  “My friend, we have caught Gabriel off-guard with this plan! He’s never liked surprises. Let me talk to him; I’m sure he’ll come to his senses.”

  “I will go home to my family,” Surcouf replied, nodding. “Perhaps we can discuss this further tomorrow.”

  “I will send word to you,” Justin promised.

  Gabriel bristled at the condescending tone his brother had adopted when referring to him, almost as if he weren’t physically present, or in his right mind. He extended his own hand to Surcouf. “I assure you, m’sieur, that I am not ungrateful. I deeply appreciate your generous offer, and the trust you put in me. However—”

  “We must send our friend home to his family,” Justin interjected. Grasping Gabriel’s arm, he pulled him away, cautioning, “Don’t say anything you will regret later.”

  Surcouf went off then toward the ramparts, turning to send them a last wave, while the two brothers started toward Port Saint-Vincent.

  “Your arrogance is breathtaking,” Gabriel said at length, his voice like steel.

  “I think you have completely taken leave of your senses!” shouted Justin.

  “Just because I don’t want to do exactly what you have planned?” He felt like strangling him.

  “You are an idiot. You nearly threw away the opportunity of a lifetime!”

  “How can you expect me to turn my back on the life I have created, which I enjoy, in order to follow you and Surcouf to the Indian Ocean? I am no longer a foolhardy youth who will simply change direction because you have beckoned to me.” The air between them was charged.

  “Arrangements can be made for our business. I know you must feel that you are indispensible, but…” Justin’s jaw was clenched with an effort to be persuasive rather than rude. “Martin and Helivet are overseeing things in Roscoff at this very moment. All our men are well-trained and trustworthy and they would support our decision to do this for France.”

  “When did you become so patriotic?” Gabriel scoffed. “This has more to do with your hunger for increasingly daring adventures than any supposed dedication you have to Napoleon’s cause.”

  “Don’t try to distract me by changing the subject.” Justin reached up to loosen his cravat. “God, it’s hot inside these walls, isn’t it? See here, Gabriel, why must you be so cursed difficult? Next you’ll tell me that you want to spend your life studying plants!”

  This hit a familiar nerve. When they were boys and Justin mocked him for having his nose in Latin-filled Botany books, Gabriel learned to keep his interests to himself. But as an adult, he had continued to read, to study plants, and to search out new species during their voyages to exotic locales.

  Now he gave his brother a dark glance. “I have matters of real importance on my mind. In case you’ve forgotten, the King has been stolen and I am on a quest to find it.”

  “Oh, right.” Justin looked bored. “I must confess that I was never much of a believer in the value of that portrait. You and Father are the only ones who think it was actually painted by Leonardo da Vinci himself. It’s much more likely to have been made by a student, decades or even a century later.” Pausing to open his snuffbox, Justin added, “In my opinion, it’s all just a lot of nonsense passed down to reassure our misbegotten ancestors that they had some value after all.”

  “I disagree.” With an effort, Gabriel managed to keep his tone even.

  “That’s it? No impassioned argument that I can deftly challenge?”

  “In truth, I don’t care what you think. I have made up my mind.” Gabriel continued to walk, and now that they were on a back street away from the ramparts, he lengthened his stride. His legs, he knew, were just a little bit longer.

  After a few moments, realizing that Justin wasn’t making any effort to keep pace with him, Gabriel turned back to see his brother standing in the middle of the cobbled lane, eyes narrowed.

  “It’s not about the King at all, is it?” Justin goaded. “It’s Lady Isabella.” He closed the distance between them and pushed lightly at Gabriel’s broad chest. “Don’t bother to deny it; I know you better than anyone else. How the mighty have fallen!”

  Chapter 18

  Baptiste met Izzie and the others as they came into the entry hall.

  “Bienvenue,” he said, welcoming them back. “I trust you all had an enjoyable outing?”

  Cerise removed her bonnet and put it in the servant’s hands. “No doubt my unforgiveable husband has arrived,” she said. “What did he say when he learned that I was not here, pacing the floors and waiting eagerly for him to appear?”

  Other than a momentary blink of his eyes, Baptiste was expressionless. “If M’sieur has come, Madame, I have not seen him.”

  The blood drained from Cerise’s flushed cheeks, but she quickly recovered. “C’est bon! I was praying that I wouldn’t have to see his arrogant face. Kindly bring luncheon to me in my apartment.”

  As Izzie watched the older woman sweep away up the curving marble staircase, she thought she detected a slight twitch of Baptiste’s mouth.

  “My lady,” he said to Izzie, “would you also like to rest and have food brought to you?”

  “That sounds lovely. Merci.”

  As Izzie and Lowenna traversed the long corridor that led to her own rooms, a door opened several inches and Cerise peeked out. For a mere instant, Izzie read unguarded hope in the older woman’s expression before Cerise realized whom she had heard in the corridor.

  “What a relief,” she sniffed unconvincingly. “I feared you might be my husband. He can be so overbearing when it comes to me. I am simply too fatigued to deal with him now!”

  “I’m sorry, it’s only us,” Izzie said.

  “Thankfully! Xavier is the last person I wish to see, I can assure you.”

  Continuing on to her own rooms, Izzie felt compassion for the older woman. It must be exhausting to have to pretend, every moment of the day, not to give a fig if her husband cared enough to come after her…

  No sooner had Izzie slipped off her gown and lain back on the bed’s silken counterpane, than a knock came at the door, followed by the sound of voices. Lowenna had closed the door between the bedroom and the sitting room before answering, so Izzie had to sit up to hear.

  “I would like to make an appointment with your mistress,” a male voice was saying.

  “She be resting, m’sieur, and luncheon comes shortly.”

  Izzie crawled to the foot of the bed, straining to identify her caller. Was it Gabriel? As she imagined him filling the doorway, demanding to see her, a thrill washed over her.

  “I will return for Lady Isabella in a quarter hour and she will dine with me,” the man was saying. There was a pause. “I have a surprise for her and you may be assured that it will please her immensely.”

  When Izzie heard the door close, she scrambled off the bed in her linen petticoat just as Lowenna came in from the adjoining room.

  “It was M’sieur St. Briac, was it not?” she asked the maid.

  “Indeed, my lady. He did say—”

  “Yes, I know what he said.” Izzie tried not to betray too much excitement.

  “I did try to tell him that you be restin’ but he wouldn’t listen. High and mighty, he is—”

  “Never mind. Just help me get into a fresh gown, will you? Do I have one?”

  “Yes, my lady, you do. M’sieur delivered these as well.” She spread three delicate, fashionable gowns across the bed, adding, “He said clearly you hadn’t been able to pack properly before you stowed away.”

  “How beautiful!” Izzie felt like dancing around the room. Gabriel must truly be warming up if he had gone to the trouble of ordering new gowns for her, especially ones as exquisite as these.

  “Beautiful, mayhap, but hardly proper,” Lowenna said with a disapproving frown.

  Izzie held up the middle gown, which was a pale golden hue with ribbons of sea green streaming from its high waist. “This one, I think.”

  Soon enough, she was ready. The g
own fit as if made for her, and the colors were perfect with her fair hair and green eyes. As Lowenna loosely pinned up her curls, Izzie gazed at her own reflection in the looking glass, imagining Gabriel’s expression when he first saw her in the gown he had chosen.

  She remembered last night, when she had felt the force of his desire for her through the clothing that separated them, thrillingly pressed to her softness. A cascade of memories washed over her: the warmth of his hoarse voice on her ear, his hand cupping her bottom to bring her in contact with him, the shadowed lines of his chiseled face as he reluctantly separated himself from her…

  “My lady, are you unwell?” asked Lowenna. “You’ve suddenly gone quite flushed!”

  In the looking glass, Izzie saw the guilty expression on her own face. “Lowenna, have I ever told you that you ask too many questions for a servant?”

  “We’ve been through too much to be standing on ceremony, my lady,” the girl said frankly. “I do see myself as your protector as well as your abigail. Should you not be wearin’ a fichu in that bodice?”

  Izzie glanced down at the swell of her breasts and her blush grew hotter. “No, not on a day as warm as this one.”

  Just then, a sharp knock came at the door.

  “I will answer that,” said Izzie. She gave the girl a warning glance for good measure. Then, heart pounding, she hurried to open the door.

  “Ah, bonjour, my lady.”

  She gave a little gasp, for standing before her was the compelling figure of Justin St. Briac. “M’sieur!”

  “You look every bit as beautiful as I knew you would.”

  Izzie’s thoughts raced. “It was you who sent the gowns?”

  “Indeed it was.” He sketched a bow, looking every inch the wicked pirate. “Come with me now and see the surprise I have prepared for you.”

  “Another surprise?” She stared at the hand he extended to her as if it were a dangerous snake. “But, where is Gabriel?”

  “Do we really care? He has had his chance to sweep you off your feet, but he resists.” Justin leaned closer and his breath was warm against her temple as he added, “I do not resist, my lady, and neither should you.”

  * * *

  As Justin led her along the corridor and up the steps to the mansion’s highest floor, Izzie’s thoughts were spinning. He might be Gabriel’s brother, which meant she ought to trust him, but she couldn’t help feeling a little flustered by Justin’s aura of edgy passion. Perhaps it was simply his natural demeanor, and had nothing to do with her in particular.

  “Where is Gabriel?” she asked. She hadn’t seen another soul since leaving her own rooms, when Justin had assured Lowenna that her presence wouldn’t be needed.

  “I believe my brother is enjoying a nap.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “You aren’t frightened of being alone with me, are you?”

  “No! Of course not—”

  “Bien.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Because Louise Le Brun would urge you to seize adventure with both hands—particularly if it involves me.”

  “I can assure you that I wouldn’t be here if I were afraid of adventure,” she asserted, ignoring his last phrase. “I stowed away on your brother’s ship, you know.”

  One of his black eyebrows flicked upward. “Deux Frères is my ship, too.”

  Izzie watched him out of the corners of her eyes as they walked. Did he really have designs on her, or was it just his habit to try to steal his brother’s possessions?

  Not that she belonged to Gabriel, of course!

  “Ah, here we are.” He wore the smile of someone with a marvelous secret.

  Izzie watched as he threw open the tall, paneled door and led her forward to behold a spacious, light-filled room. Above them, a window stretched across part of the mansard roof. When she tipped her head back to admire it, she was afforded a view of the same cloud-smeared azure sky she had reveled during their walk today. There were more windows with views out over the ancient ramparts, toward the towers of the Château, and across the turquoise water.

  “What a glorious room,” Izzie breathed, adding before she could pause to think, “it would be the perfect place to paint!”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Justin reached out a dark hand to touch the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Behold your new atelier. For as long as you choose to remain in Saint-Malo, you may use this room as your own.”

  It was then that Izzie’s gaze settled on the array of fresh canvases on stretchers, leaning against a corner wall. Nearby stood a new easel, with a graceful Sheraton chair drawn up before it, while a side table held a beautiful unused palette, a cluster of brushes, and a variety of pencils and crayons. The entire scene was bathed in soft light that poured in from the windows surrounding the easel.

  “I—I don’t know what to say!” she exclaimed at last, feeling his eyes on her.

  “Say yes.” Justin walked over to a lovely inlaid chest of drawers. He slid one open and withdrew a stoppered bottle of ochre-colored powder. “This chest is for you. It is stocked with dozens of bottles of the finest pigments, with linseed and walnut oil to make your paints. I have even procured an array of small buckets for your turpentine and water. Have I forgotten anything?”

  She watched as he arranged more bottles of color on a nearby shelf for her perusal. There were generous supplies of the pigments she prized most: crimson lake and recently created cobalt blue. Izzie ached to touch and smell them, to mix her paints and fit the new palette into the crook of her left elbow…

  “I would love to paint in this room,” she admitted. “The view of the ramparts and the harbor cries out to me.”

  “Splendid.” Justin came closer, holding her gaze with his. “I have only one requirement.”

  Her heart was pounding so hard she thought he must be able to hear it. “A requirement? That sounds ominous.”

  “Hardly.” He smiled. “All I ask in return is that you paint a portrait. Of me.”

  “But—m’sieur, I have told you that I don’t make portraits. My area of expertise is landscapes.”

  “I perceive that I make you nervous, but you needn’t be afraid of me. Please, sit. Why not begin with a sketch? That’s simple enough, isn’t it? I promise not to judge you.”

  Izzie’s mouth was dry. How could she refuse—or explain her aversion to painting portraits? Her own mother had confided to her that painting was really another way to convey emotion. Perhaps for that reason, Charlotte Trevarre had preferred landscapes, where the only feeling she had to access was her love for the Cornwall coast. Izzie understood that completely. Each time Madame Le Brun had offered to tutor her in the special art of portrait painting, Izzie had always found a reason to paint only strangers. The thought of bringing another human being to life as miraculously as Madame did made her clench inside with a fear even she couldn’t properly understand.

  The last person she wanted to share those feelings with was Justin St. Briac. Instead, she perched on the pretty Sheraton chair and looked at the array of supplies. Taking up a charcoal pencil and a new sketchbook, she looked at Justin and began to draw. A simple sketch was nothing, really, especially compared to Madame Le Brun’s extraordinarily lifelike portraits. There was nothing to be afraid of!

  “You enjoyed your outing today?” Justin asked.

  “Yes, very much.” She was pleased to see how perfectly she had captured the line of his shoulders. “I trust the meeting you and Gabriel attended went well?”

  “Indeed. Would you be shocked to learn that we went to see the notorious corsair Surcouf?”

  As Justin spoke, he drew out his snuffbox and flicked it open. Izzie felt a frisson of creative excitement as she incorporated that characteristic mannerism into the sketch.

  “Since you and your brother are very nearly pirates yourselves,” she said, shadowing his cheekbones, “why should I be shocked that you would socialize with Surcouf?”

  “We were not socializing. Surcouf, who is in the service of Napoleon, has offered each of us
a ship. He wants us to return with him to the Indian Ocean and become, not lawless pirates but rather heroic corsairs—for France.”

  Izzie’s heart jumped. She had to lift her pencil to keep it still. “Indeed? How thrilling!”

  “I can see I have distressed you.” He lounged in the chair like a watchful panther.

  “That’s ridiculous. I am not distressed in the least.” Her voice shook slightly, making her furious with herself.

  “If you insist, my lady. You are surely aware that Gabriel and I are not the sort of men who settle down to lives of convention. We were born with the hunger for adventure in our blood.”

  “That is abundantly clear.” Glancing down, Izzie was dismayed to see that her breasts were moving up and down with her accelerated heartbeat. She tried to give a little laugh. “Woe to the woman who thinks otherwise!”

  “Many women have enjoyed adventures with us, if you take my meaning. They have memories to keep them warm during the long, dull nights of their respectable marriages.”

  “M’sieur, if you are trying to shock me, I must warn you that I am not a woman who swoons.”

  Justin laughed. “Of course you don’t.”

  Izzie bit her lower lip and resumed sketching. Her heart was in turmoil at the prospect of Gabriel sailing off to the Indian Ocean to be a pirate, yet her creative spirit was caught up in the moment, drawing Justin and feeling elated with the results.

  Minutes passed and then Justin shifted in his chair. “Let me have a look, won’t you?”

  Before Izzie could reply, he rose and came to stand behind her. Leaning forward, he rested one hand on her half-bare shoulder. She felt him bend down, looking at the sketch. His warm breath touched the tendrils that curled next to hear ear. Suddenly, she was very nervous because they were alone together.

  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.