“Mmm,” he murmured. His hands moved to turn her closer and then he pinned one of her wrists above her head.
Slowly, slowly, he began to kiss, gently nibble, and finally suckle her responsive nipple. Izzie’s arousal felt almost unbearable. His restraining hand on her wrist was an additional thrill, permitting her to submit to this carnal pleasure.
She could feel Gabriel’s arousal through the kerseymere fabric of his trousers, a hot ridge that pushed against her inner thigh. With her free hand, Izzie instinctively reached down and found the buttons securing the fall front of his breeches.
As she fumbled them open, one by one, she told herself that if Gabriel made love to her, she would at least have that memory to take with her through the rest of her life. Once he knew that it was her own brother George who had stolen his treasure—and even worse, she had known all along and kept the secret from him—Gabriel would never trust her again.
How could he?
When her hand touched him at last, Izzie was shocked that human flesh could be at once unyielding yet warm. Dimly, she was aware that he had lifted his mouth from her breast. He released the wrist he had been holding and tried to take her other hand, the one that had closed around his pulsing erection.
“Isabella—you must not—”
And yet the tone of his voice, thick with desire, told her that he meant just the opposite. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. He moved almost reflexively against her clasping hand, in the way she realized he would thrust when he was inside her.
“Please,” she whispered impulsively, feeling her cheeks warm, “let me kiss you there.”
Izzie could feel the thump of his heart against her breasts, and the taut length of him grew even harder and hotter than before. But then, with a harsh groan, he pushed himself away from her and sat back on his heels.
“We must stop this.”
Tears stung her eyes and her shame doubled. She watched him almost angrily shove his sex back into his trousers and close the buttons. A moment later, he was propping her up and lacing her into her stays and fragile muslin gown.
“I don’t understand,” Izzie sobbed, despising herself for weeping.
“Do you think I don’t want to make love to you?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “I can assure you that I burn for it.” When they were both completely dressed, Gabriel grasped her elbows and brought her to her feet. Roughly, he stroked back the loose curls that had come loose from their pins. “But not here, not now, not like this.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No! This was my fault—but when we are alone, I can scarcely contain my desire.” He folded her into his arms and kissed her brow. “Isabella, hear me now. I love you. I intend to marry you. As soon as I have recovered the King, I will take you home to Cornwall and beg your brother Sebastian for your hand in marriage.”
He loved her! He wanted to marry her! Her heart soared, singing an aria of joy, but then it was crushed by a towering wave of panic when she thought of George…
…and the shameful secrets she had kept.
* * *
Somewhere on the marble stairs between Gabriel’s rooms and her own, Izzie realized she must tell him the truth. It was the only way, even if it meant that she would watch his face harden with the fury of betrayal.
Yes, she had made a solemn vow to George, swearing on the memory of their mother, but what was that compared to her love for this brave, splendid man? The secret she was keeping had begun to poison everything that was pure and good between them. How many times had she tried to push reality to the periphery of her mind, to block George from her thoughts, to tell herself that she was helping Gabriel and that was what really mattered?
Now, however, the bright light of truth would not be ignored.
“Gabriel?” Hearing her own uncertain voice, Izzie straightened her shoulders and spoke more firmly. “There is something I must tell you.”
They had descended the stairs and now were traversing the shadowed gallery. Another minute and they would be at her door.
“Will you keep it for me until the morning?” he said gently. “I promised to speak to Nicholai before bed tonight, and I confess that I am suddenly very tired.”
She held fast to his arm. “I think that it cannot wait.”
“Cherie, I promise that we shall walk together in the garden before I depart for Paris. We’ll both be rested, and I will give you my full attention.”
Izzie could see the fatigue on his face. What could she say? In truth, although she felt an urgent need to unburden herself to him, she was also relieved that they might sleep one more night feeling connected by the invisible bonds of love. For surely, when Gabriel learned of her deception, it would smash any longing he now felt to make her his wife.
They had reached her door. He started to open it for her, but stopped and instead gathered her into his arms. Izzie clung to his strong shoulders, pressing her face into the side of his neck, inhaling his scent.
“I wish we could stay just like this, forever,” she whispered fervently.
“Ah, but it will only get better, my darling. Trust me.”
Tears stung her eyes as he kissed her. If only it could be so! “Do you promise that we will have time to talk in the morning?”
“I do. I shall hear your secret then.”
She heard the warm, almost merry tone of his voice, and held it in her memory, like a pressed flower. “Yes. Until then, sleep well.”
Gabriel put her from him with mock severity. “Go then, minx, before you tempt me to finish what we started tonight.”
Izzie stepped into her sitting room, but closed the door only partway, watching him through the opening as his tall figure disappeared down the long, moonlit gallery. Her heart ached with a mixture of bittersweet emotions. Would he ever look at her with such tender love again?
Sighing, she locked the door and turned back into the sitting room. Izzie was surprised to discover that sweet-smelling beeswax candles were lit around the chamber. For a moment she supposed Lowenna must have done it, until she remembered that her maid had asked permission to spend the evening with Eustache.
“Ah, there you are!” exclaimed an eerily familiar male voice.
Horrified dread broke over Izzie as, slowly, she turned to see her brother George, Marquess of Caverleigh, reclining in the salmon-pink chair near the fireplace.
Chapter 27
“What are you doing here?” Izzie cried. She wasn’t sure she believed her own eyes.
“Waiting for you, of course, and enjoying this excellent bottle of cognac supplied by your fine hosts.” George held up his large portion of cognac and gave her a taunting smile. “Aren’t you pleased to see me? Do sit down, little Izzie, and let us toast our noble family.”
“I am not pleased to see you,” she cried hotly. “In fact, I am going to fetch someone right now—”
“You will not!” Disheveled hair spilled back from his widow’s peak as he lurched forward to grasp her arm. “Sit down! Do you long to have me killed?”
“Of course not,” she said immediately, and paused to consider his question. A voice that sounded like their dead mother’s softly came to remind her that, no matter what, George was still her brother. “What do you want? How did you find me here?”
“I happened to see you on the road and I made some inquiries,” he said more calmly. “Naturally, I have been worried about you. Why are you in France?”
“You saw me on the road? More likely, you have followed us!” Her thoughts whirled in confusion. “George, I know you stole the painting that belongs to Gabriel St. Briac. How could you? Do you have any idea what a terrible position you have put me in?”
“Did you say stole?” His voice rose. “How dare you accuse me, your own brother, of a crime?”
Izzie rose from her chair and fetched the brown button from the little Sevres box where it was mixed with her few pieces of jewelry. “I didn’t want to believe it, either, in spite of your highly sus
picious behavior the day we met on the Hall Walk. However, I have proof.”
“Impossible.”
She stood over her brother, repulsed by the odor of strong drink emanating from him. He wore the same clothing he’d had on the day they’d met on the path near Pont Pill; threads still dangled where the brown button had been attached.
“I found this on the ground next to the remote place where the painting had been hidden.” She held the button next to his coat; it was a perfect match for the others still sewn in place.
George blanched, then drank down the rest of his cognac. “What the devil are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, I’m saying it quite plainly.” Izzie was so angry, she was shaking. When George pushed a glass of cognac toward her, she drank from it, and the warmth that spread through her helped her regain a measure of control. “You were on the Hall Walk the day we met because you were stalking Gabriel St. Briac. You listened outside the window when we were talking at dinner that night. You stole the painting from the smuggler’s hole before he could retrieve it himself. I can only assume that you intend to sell it to pay your despicable gambling debts!”
“Yet you haven’t betrayed me.” His lower lip curled. “I heard you talking about your secret tonight, when St. Briac brought you to this room.”
“I cannot explain my misguided loyalty to you, except that our parents are gone and I’ve longed for familial affection.” Tears threatened, but she forced them back. “Because I swore that I would keep your secret, I had to help Gabriel in the only way I knew how, as a painter and art historian.”
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I protected you when no one else could be bothered, not even Sebastian or our parents? They left you in that horrid school and forgot about you, but I never did.” As he became more agitated, his speech began to slur. “Dearest Izzie, you owe me another chance. Do you not believe that I am capable of change?”
This speech tugged hard at her heart, but she forced herself to think of Gabriel. “I am grateful to you for the past, but I can no longer keep your secret. It is like poison, George! The only way forward for us is to tell Gabriel the truth—and you must return the painting.”
At this, he slumped back against the chair, wide-eyed. “You have lost your reason!”
“On the contrary, I have found it. The only way either of us can find happiness in the future is by doing the right thing now.”
She could see him chewing nervously at the inside of his cheek as he considered this. “All right.” He paused, breathing deeply. “I will return the painting. But first, you must help me. You see, I had to take it out of the frame, and when I did so, one corner was slightly damaged—”
Izzie gave a horrified gasp. “Damaged!”
“Just a tiny chip, really it’s nothing! You can repair it, Izzie, and then no one will know. Please, you must help me. I want to do the right thing, I swear it.”
“You have damaged an original Leonardo da Vinci?” she repeated, stunned.
“Have you heard nothing I’ve said? I intend to start a new life, but you must help me. I don’t want to live this way any more!”
Searching her brother’s face, Izzie saw the desperation in his shadowed eyes, but what did it mean? Was he truly repentant, or merely attempting to manipulate her emotions again?
As if reading her thoughts, George took her hand. “Don’t you owe me this much after all that we have been through together? The world is fickle, but we are family. I will be there to help you when everyone else has forgotten.”
Indeed, Izzie had once depended on him when it seemed that the rest of her family had forgotten her. She yearned to give him another chance. “You must give me your word that you will make an honest effort to change…”
“I do. I will! But you must help me. Hurry, get your paint box!”
Izzie wavered. “Do you have the painting here?”
“No, it’s in my rooms in the village.” George continued to clasp her hand and gaze pleadingly into her eyes. “Come with me now, I beg you. It is the last favor I will ever ask of you.”
“All right, I will come, but only if you promise to return the repaired painting to Gabriel St. Briac.”
“Of course!” Distractedly, he released her hand and scrambled out of the chair. “I will bring you back within the hour, with the painting.” Waving a pale hand in the air, George started toward the glass French doors that opened onto the grounds of the château. “But first, we must make the painting perfect again, and only you can do that. Hurry, get your paint box and come with me.”
Izzie paused to look around the sitting room. As she picked up her shawl, she deliberately placed the brown button on the table next to the two empty glasses of cognac, praying that no one would need to follow her clue.
Then, as she found her traveling painter’s box and joined her brother, she remembered that Lowenna was off with Eustache again. Hopefully, Izzie would be back well before dawn and no one would even be aware she’d left the château.
A hopeful smile touched her mouth as she imagined reuniting Gabriel with his lost portrait of King François. Perhaps tomorrow would be a day of new beginnings for everyone, even George.
* * *
The slightest hint of pink had begun to wash over the eastern sky when Gabriel St. Briac, sprawled naked across the big testered bed, heard a knock at his door. It came again, and he made a sound of protest into his pillow.
“Eustache! What the devil are you good for? Answer the door!”
The knocking came again, this time accompanied by a female voice. “M’sieur!”
He sat up in the unfamiliar bedchamber. “Isabella?”
“No, no, sir! Please, let me in!”
Moments later, clad only in a pair of fawn breeches, Gabriel threw open the door. To his dismay, he saw Isabella’s lady’s maid, Lowenna, standing in the corridor.
“I hoped she were with you, sir!” the girl cried.
A flash of alarm shot through him. “What are you talking about? Where is your mistress?”
“I don’t know! Her door be locked.”
He scowled. “You didn’t see her to bed last night?”
“I were with Eustache, sir. He took me to see the chapel!”
“At bloody midnight?” Gabriel took a deep breath to slow the runaway pounding of his heart. “Never mind. Perhaps she’s sleeping. It’s barely dawn, after all.”
“It’s a bad feeling I have,” fretted Lowenna, twisting her apron with both hands.
This only increased his fury. “If you don’t have something helpful to add, be silent.”
He pulled on boots and a linen shirt, then sped downstairs to Isabella’s rooms, the Cornish servant trotting behind him. Rounding the last corner, he nearly collided with Eustache, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Monseigneur! Mère de Dieu!”
“I should whip you for keeping this innocent maiden out all night, alone, when both of you had duties to attend to!”
“But, monseigneur, you said that I should enjoy myself while we stayed at this château where my own ancestors once lived. If I had known what could happen—”
“Nothing has happened!” Gabriel broke in angrily. “Stand aside.”
All he could think of was getting to Isabella, but before he could break down the beautiful paneled door, Nicholai Beauvisage appeared.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said in a tone of calm reassurance. “Allow me to assist you.”
With that, Nicholai brought out a ring of keys and opened the door to Isabella’s sitting room. Gabriel’s heart was in his throat as they began to search the rooms. Isabella’s bed did not appear to have been slept in.
Within moments, it was clear that she was not there, but her clothing remained. The only other item that was missing was her traveling painter’s box.
“Mon Dieu! This is madness,” said Gabriel hoarsely. “What could it mean?”
Lowenna was standing next to the side
table near the fireplace. She gestured toward the empty glass of cognac and the brown button beside it.
“It do look to me that his lordship’s been here and taken my lady away.”
“Who the deuce are you talking about? What lordship?” Gabriel knew that he sounded crazed, and was relieved to feel Nicholai’s hand on his shoulder.
Lowenna swiped a tear from her cheek. “I be speaking of the Marquess of Caverleigh, sir, my lady’s ne’er-do-well brother! This ’ere’s his button. My lady’s been carrying it with her since we left Cornwall. I think she do leave it behind as a sign!”
St. Briac looked past her to the French windows leading to the gardens. With a shock, he saw that one of the glass doors was not completely closed.
Eustache, who had gone as white as the sheets on the bed, spoke up in a quavering tone. “Monseigneur, I must tell you the truth. I may have seen the marquess skulking about outside the château last night. At the time, I was caught up in an interlude of…” He paused, gulping. “…romance, with my lovely Lowenna. It was very difficult to think of anything else in that moment! However, when I later mentioned the stooped, fair-haired stranger, she picked up her skirts and ran all the way back here to check on her mistress. It was then that we discovered she was missing.”
St. Briac wanted to strangle them both, but dimly it came to him that he and Isabella had been engaged in a romantic interlude of their own last night. A band of savage brigands could have attacked the château and he doubtless wouldn’t have noticed.
“Never mind, Eustache. I value your honesty, and so would her ladyship.” As he spoke, St. Briac thought back over his own sightings of the exiled Marquess of Caverleigh with Napoleon’s art pillagers, Denon and Wicar, as well as Isabella’s recent nightmare about her brother being attacked by the watchdogs of Saint-Malo.
The Secret of Love (Rakes & Rebels: The Raveneau Family Book 3) Page 23