She was certain she hadn’t slept a wink, but this was not something her maid needed to know, for Izzie couldn’t divulge the reason why. She couldn’t tell her that she’d lain awake, hour after hour, reliving each moment with Gabriel, each word he had spoken to her just a few hours earlier. Color returned to her cheeks now as she remembered the thoughts she’d had, alone in bed in the middle of the night. She had imagined that Gabriel was there with her, but in her dreams they were both naked, and she was touching him.
Izzie bit her lower lip, recalling the shockingly pleasurable things she’d imagined him doing to her. Suddenly, she felt warm all over.
“My lady? They’ve told me to pack our things,” said Lowenna a bit too loudly. “We depart this morning, after breakfast. I shall miss Saint-Malo, I believe. I have been told that we are returning to Roscoff, and thence back to Cornwall.”
Izzie blinked and came back to the present moment. She sensed that the girl was watching her under her pale lashes, gauging her reaction. Could it really be Gabriel’s intention to send her back to Roscoff? It seemed impossible that he intended for them to be separated, no matter how noble the reason.
It felt as if she were on a runaway horse, alternating between exhilaration and sheer panic. Her heart raced with joy whenever she pondered the emotional and physical intimacy they had shared the night before…but then she would remember that he intended to leave her today, to go on to Paris without her, and her blood ran cold with dread.
I love him, she thought. I’ve always loved him, since that night in Roscoff when I was just a girl. It was a relief to feel just the same by daylight as she had in his arms the night before.
A knock came at the door and Izzie’s heart skipped a beat. It must be Gabriel! Perhaps he had come to tell her he’d changed his mind.
Lowenna leaned forward and patted her mistress’s cheek. “Calm yourself, my lady. I shall see who it is.”
Izzie imagined Gabriel there in the doorway, his wide shoulders nearly filling the space, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure at the sight of her.
“Oh!” exclaimed Lowenna. “Good morning, sir.”
“Bonjour, mademoiselle. Is your mistress available?”
Her heart sank. Peeking from the bedchamber through the sitting room, Izzie saw Justin standing on the threshold.
“I am here,” she said, and went forward to greet him.
“I would be grateful if you would allow me to walk you downstairs.” He looked tired but sincere. “We are serving breakfast for the family since you and my brother depart this morning.”
Izzie wanted to ask him if Gabriel had changed his mind about sending her back to Roscoff, but contained herself. Instead, she smiled, agreed, and lightly touched his arm as they started down the long corridor.
“I’m grateful to have a moment alone with you,” said Justin.
“And I with you. I want to thank you for making the beautiful atelier for me. I regret that I won’t be able to use it, after all.”
He was watching her from the corners of his eyes as they walked. Izzie thought that he was shrewd enough to make a very good pirate.
“You would be welcome to stay here and paint while Gabriel goes to Paris,” he suggested. “I can be trusted to behave as a gentleman.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I must refuse. Besides, aren’t you leaving very soon yourself, on your adventure to be a pirate with Surcouf?”
“Corsair,” he corrected, amused.
They descended the curving stairway and came into the same dining room where she had shared a meal with the two brothers after her arrival in Saint-Malo. This morning, sunlight spilled in through the windows. Outside, people were strolling along the walkway atop the stone ramparts that surrounded the city, while seagulls wheeled and dipped from the blue sky above.
Izzie saw Xavier and Cerise St. Briac then, seated close together on one side of the burnished mahogany table. They had the look of lovers, completely immersed in each other.
“Oh, there you are, Lady Isabella,” Cerise said before turning her gaze back to her husband. She wore her dark hair loosely wrapped in a muslin scarf that was tied in front to resemble a soft turban. It looked as if she had just gotten out of bed, yet Izzie thought the older woman looked radiantly beautiful.
As Justin was pulling out a chair for Izzie, she glanced up to see Gabriel stride into the room.
“I’m sorry if I’m late,” he said. “There is a great deal to organize before our departure.” His eyes touched the other members of his family before settling on Izzie. To her delight, he came around the table and drew a chair over next to hers. In the light of his gaze, she felt warm all over.
“Departure?” echoed Xavier. “Where are you going?”
“I must travel to Paris,” he said. “And Lady Isabella will return to Roscoff, with Eustache and her maid, and await me there.”
Hearing him say the words filled her with sadness, but she sat up a little straighter and tried to smile.
As footmen poured hot chocolate for Izzie and served freshly-baked brioche with raspberries, Gabriel brought his parents up to date on the theft of the painting that the St. Briac family had long ago dubbed “the King.”
Cerise waved a hand dismissively. “You are wasting your time, mon fils. Now that the painting is gone, it is time to face facts and admit that the King was doubtless painted by someone else besides Leonardo da Vinci—and thus, it is not worth risking your life to hunt it down.”
“I have tried to tell him that,” interjected Justin. “But do you think he will listen to me?”
Xavier sipped café au lait and watched his wife and older son over the gold rim of his cup. “You two are wrong. The King is quite authentic. My grandfather believed it with all his heart.”
“Pah!” exclaimed Cerise. “Wishful thinking!”
Gabriel held up a hand. “I have not solicited your opinions about the authenticity of the King. Unless you have a truly helpful piece of advice for my search, kindly keep your thoughts to yourselves.”
Izzie had just turned her attention to the thick, sweet hot chocolate when Cerise spoke up again.
“I do have some advice for you,” she told Gabriel in a gentler tone. “You should travel to Château du Soleil on your way to Paris.”
All three men stared at her in surprise.
“Are you referring to the noble St. Briac family château?” asked Justin. “The one where our bastard forebear was raised by his aunt?”
“Just so,” she replied. “It was also the château of Thomas Mardouet, seigneur de St. Briac, your ancestor who was raised as a companion to King François I.”
“Why the devil should I go there?” protested Gabriel impatiently. “We never visited before. In fact, I was raised to believe that Château du Soleil was as completely beyond my reach as Versailles itself.”
“Because I have always had a feeling about it,” Cerise replied. “Your father and I visited the nearby village more than three decades ago. In fact…” she paused dramatically and stared right at Gabriel. “You were conceived in an auberge with a view of the château, high on a distant hilltop. It happened on a moonlit night of rare enchantment.” She began to blush at the memory.
“I think you’ve described far more than we need to know about that,” Justin interjected, waving a hand in front of them.
“I am merely trying to convey to you the feeling I have always had that something of true consequence transpired that night,” Cerise said, warming to the subject. “I told your father that we were meant to be there. I urged him to visit his relatives. However he would only gaze up at the white spires of the château from our room at the auberge.”
“Did you want me to knock on the door and have it slammed in my face?” protested Xavier. “If every misbegotten descendant of French nobility decided to turn up on the doorsteps of their aristocratic cousins, the grand châteaux of this country would be overrun with uninvited guests.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps y
ou’re right. But that old world is gone now. And rumor has it that, since the death of Étienne Beauvisage, the last Marquis de St. Briac, his family in America released their claim to the title. That happened even before the Reign of Terror.”
“True,” her husband mused, nodding. “I’ve heard that the Beauvisage grandson who lives there now has no use for the old family title.”
“A wise decision,” remarked Gabriel, finishing his raspberries. “He could have lost his head if he’d gone about calling himself seigneur de St. Briac.”
“The point is,” pressed Cerise, “times have changed. I realize that you St. Briac men have deep-rooted feelings of inadequacy, but now it doesn’t matter anymore which side of the blanket your ancestor was born on.”
“Perhaps, but I still see no reason to go to that château.” Gabriel started to push his chair back from the table just as Eustache LeFait appeared in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. “Just because you have a feeling, Maman—”
Izzie watched the family, sensing the emotions swirling in the air, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Wait.” Xavier reached over to put a hand on his son’s coat sleeve. “Your mother is right. You may well discover clues about the whereabouts of the King at Château du Soleil. Napoleon’s men doubtless visited there in their quest for the painting.”
Just then, Eustache spoke up from the doorway, surprising them all. “Did I hear you mention Château du Soleil, m’sieur?”
“That’s right,” confirmed Xavier.
“I beg your pardon.” The manservant stepped into the room. “I only came to tell monseigneur that one of the carriage horses has gone lame—but I couldn’t help overhearing.” He twisted his new Breton knit cap with pudgy fingers. “When I was a boy, my father often spoke of Château du Soleil. He said that our ancestors were once employed there, and that he had visited and found it to be a magical place.” Staring at Gabriel, Eustache continued, “I was very young. I never made the connection between the château and you, monseigneur.”
“Sangdieu, why would you? I’ve never been near the place!” Gabriel, clearly growing impatient with the entire subject, stood up as if to end the conversation. In sardonic tones, he added, “Unless you count the night of my apparent conception.”
“Do you doubt it?” challenged Cerise. “Women know these things.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Gabriel continued, “See here, I have matters of real importance to attend to. Kindly excuse me from this time-wasting conversation.”
With that, he strode out of the room. Izzie watched Eustache, realizing that he clearly had something on his mind, but didn’t know how to say it without his master present. So, after meeting her eyes for a long moment, he turned and hurried after St. Briac.
“How stubborn he is.” Cerise pressed her lips together before pronouncing, “Just like his papa!”
Chapter 23
By the time the quartet of travelers made their farewells in the walled courtyard outside Justin’s mansion, it was nearly midday. It had taken time to ascertain the extent of the injured horse’s lameness and then to procure a substitute for the journey.
In the end, Justin had agreed to loan his brother one of his best horses, and it was now hitched to the green-and-black landau that Gabriel had hired for the journey. He was set on the notion of the two women riding in a closed equipage that was not an insult to Isabella’s nobility, as he perceived the dilapidated fiacre to be.
“Are all of you traveling to Château du Soleil?” asked Cerise as they gathered at the foot of the stone steps. She held a blue-fringed parasol aloft to protect her fair skin from the sun.
“None of us are going there,” Gabriel said firmly, avoiding eye contact with everyone present. “Eustache is taking Lady Isabella and her maid back to Roscoff. I will travel to Paris on my own to retrieve the painting.”
He noticed that Eustache and Isabella were exchanging looks, but at that moment, all that mattered to Gabriel was leaving Saint-Malo and his vexing family behind. It was torture to think of parting from Isabella. Did she doubt it? He wondered when he saw the sad expression on her face.
There had been little opportunity for them to speak this morning. But what could he say? Had he not communicated his feelings clearly enough last night? It was completely out of the question for her to travel any further with him, especially now that he understood more about the possible danger ahead. Furthermore, he would not do any more damage to her reputation. She was too precious to him in every way.
Once everyone had wished them a safe journey, Gabriel took Isabella’s arm and walked with her to the landau. She looked so beautiful, in a gown of green-sprigged white muslin and a fitted rose-pink spencer. With her pink cheeks and softly upswept golden curls, Isabella herself resembled a flower. Of course, her ensemble had been chosen by his cursed brother, but Gabriel was glad she was garbed appropriately for her rank.
It seemed that he’d come to his senses in more ways than one. Now that he was resolved to claim Isabella as his own, he could no longer go through life laughing at convention and choosing the reckless path of a rogue. When he was close to her, it took every bit of his resolve to remember that everything had changed. He must aspire to a standard of propriety that he’d previously mocked.
As he handed her into the landau, Isabella turned back with a disconsolate expression. Behind her fragile spectacles, her beautiful eyes swam with tears.
“Will you not reconsider? Please, Gabriel, I know that you want to be with me. Let me come with you to Paris!”
“I will not. It’s precisely because I care for you that I refuse to put you in harm’s way.” With a long forefinger, he reached behind the glass lenses and wiped her tears away. “I must insist that you obey me.”
“Obey you?” Her tone cooled.
“Perhaps that’s the wrong word, but what I mean is that you must trust me to do what is best for you.”
A shadow passed over her face. “You—you haven’t changed your mind, have you? I mean…”
“I know what you mean.” Gabriel yearned to take her in his arms and reassure her with a long, burning kiss, but his family was watching them with interest. “I have not changed my mind. Will you trust me?”
Clearly, Isabella still had concerns, but after a moment, she glanced away and nodded. Gabriel took her slim, gloved hand and raised it to his lips for a long moment. He was gratified to hear her give a little, involuntary sigh. Their eyes met and held.
Eustache had brought Victor around, and Lowenna was there to join her mistress. Soon the two women were closed inside the landau and Eustache had climbed up to the perch.
Cerise and Xavier approached to embrace their son one more time.
“Please heed me and go to Château du Soleil,” he mother begged.
Gabriel pretended not to hear. “Wish me well,” he said to his parents. “Until we meet again.”
Justin walked with Gabriel to his horse. “If you should need my help, you need only send word,” he said.
“To where?” came his ironically amused reply. “The Indian Ocean?”
Justin’s dark eyes hardened slightly. “Perhaps you and I are not as much alike as I once thought.”
“So it would seem.”
Just as Gabriel put his foot in the stirrup, Justin said lightly, “I forgot to ask you a very important question during our conversation earlier this morning.”
Gabriel glanced up at the sun, which seemed to be climbing in the sky by the minute, and waited.
“Have you offered for her ladyship?” queried Justin.
“Offered? That’s a rather cold word. Perhaps you mean, ‘proposed marriage?’”
Justin took out his snuffbox, flicked it open, and arched a brow. “I do.”
“I have other matters to attend to first, but I shall.” Gabriel swung up into the saddle. As they rode through the gates leading out onto the cobbled lane, he realized that his brother had managed to cause him a moment of renewed
disquiet.
Isabella knew his intentions well enough. Surely he didn’t have to spell them out now! There would be time enough for that after he’d retrieved the painting.
* * *
Gabriel made it known that the little band of travelers would part ways a few miles south of Saint-Malo, where the roads split in the ancient village of Dinan. The landau and its occupants would continue west, back to Roscoff, and he would ride on alone, toward Rennes and thence to Paris.
First, however, they paused for a meal at a half-timbered inn on the steep cobbled Rue de Jerzual. In the distance, the River Rance sparkled in the afternoon sun, busy with vessels. A water-boy emerged to tend the horses while the travelers went inside the dark public room and sat together at a scarred table.
Izzie was feeling hungry, tired, and disconsolate as she contemplated her imminent parting from Gabriel.
“Drink,” he said gently, as a serving girl set glasses of strong Breton cider on the table. “It will improve your spirits.”
The hard pear cider was cold and delicious, and she felt herself relax a little as she sipped. Gabriel sat near enough so that her shoulder brushed his arm, and she could feel the muscles of his thigh through the thin stuff of her gown. It seemed almost impossible to believe that very soon, they would be parted. Tears pricked her eyes.
“Cherie, tell me what is bothering you.”
She was embarrassed to feel her chin tremble. “I want to stay with you. After the things you said to me, just last night, I thought that you—you—” Although she wanted to use the word “love”, she stopped herself.
“I do.” He bent his head closer, his eyes as blue as the sea. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “I intend to resolve the matters that stand between us. Then we will be together.”
The serving girl, who wore a white apron over her blue gown and a small starched coiffe covering her dark curls, returned now and set plates in front of each of them. Isabella stared at the fragrant, steaming galette, a paper-thin buckwheat pancake with ham, some cheese, an egg, and asparagus tucked inside.
The Secret of Love (Rakes & Rebels: The Raveneau Family Book 3) Page 20