Chapter Ten

Luc slammed the door shut to Isabelle’s private rooms.

A half smile tilted his mouth.

She knew what was coming, and there wasn’t a fiber in her being that could muster the will to stop it. The aching need had been building at the salon and as they made their way to her rooms.

Only this time, it included a longing in her heart, so similar to the way she’d felt all those years ago.

When she couldn’t allow him to matter that way to her again.

Realistically, any permanent romantic relationship between them was laughable, whether she divulged her secrets or not. She wasn’t her sister. She’d chosen a different path. Let’s face it. You are hardly marriage material for a man in the aristocracy. Not even the most celebrated courtesan of all, Nicole, had managed to do for herself what she was able to accomplish for her children—marry into nobility. And just when Isabelle was beginning to think she had an understanding of this aristo, he unbalanced her yet again. It took a certain depth and sensitivity to appreciate the heartbreaking words of the late Italian poetess Isabella di Morra.

It took someone who’d known pain.

It wrenched her heart to think of what he might have suffered at the hands of his father. She wanted the pain erased. His and hers.

Even if it was for but a brief interlude.

The fire this man ignited made the entire world melt away.

He hoisted her up off her feet, bracketing her legs around his hips, and shoved her up against the wall. “Beautiful Juliette, you need to be fucked…by me. You need my cock,” he murmured against her neck before pressing his lips to it.

There were so many reasons she should simply hand him a copy of her first The Princesses’ Adventures volume as she’d promised and stop this amorous encounter. Pain-soaked discussions needed to be had. But as his mouth trailed across her skin, sending ripples of pleasure shimmering down her neck and through her system, she shoved away all reason. For now.

Instead, her response to his blunt comments was to arch into the hard bulge in his breeches pressing so deliciously against her sex. He rolled his hips, plying her clit with the most perfect stroke. Her gasp mingled with his groan.

She fisted the shoulders of his doublet.

Any final thoughts of resisting dissolved into the ether.

She’d read once that strength came from knowing one’s weakness. And hers was Luc de Moutier. He always had been. He didn’t know how many times thoughts of him had bolstered her—during those dark days with Roch, isolated and afraid, with a young child.

Her Fair Prince…

She wanted—needed—him. With shocking desperation.

She kissed a path up his neck and drew on his warm skin. His low groan was a heady rush.

“Not here. On your bed,” she heard him say as he pulled her away from the wall and walked toward her bedchamber, her body wrapped around him. Pressed snugly against his solid shaft, each stride he took caused a scintillating friction against her already soaked sex. By the time he’d reached the foot of her bed, she was starting to squirm.

He dropped her onto it. She landed on her bottom with a small bounce, her heart now thudding harder in her chest.

Anticipation roared through her senses.

Riveted, she watched him strip off his doublet and drop it to the floor, his smoldering eyes wreaking havoc on her. He untied his cravat next and tossed that on the bed beside her.

The one article of clothing that was weighted with sexual suggestion. And a multitude of questions.

Opening his breeches, he pulled out his shirttails and discarded his shirt onto the floor in one fluid motion of utter mouthwatering masculine grace.

He wrapped his hand around his erection protruding from his breeches and squeezed. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Oh, she had some definite inkling.

Especially if it was anything resembling the carnal chaos rioting inside her.

That cravat on the bed was tempting her sorely—the pull growing stronger with each sexual encounter they shared. Luc had been affecting her most of her life. And she needed to touch him. Needed for him to accept—no, want—her touch.

She rose from the bed and took his hand. “Allow me.” There was curiosity in his beautiful light green eyes as he let her turn him around and seat him on the edge of the bed. She lowered herself onto her knees and pulled off one boot, followed by the other. She sat back on her heels to admire the man before her.

Far more exquisite than any statue or painting of any Greek god she’d ever seen.

She couldn’t fathom what she’d done so right in life—when she’d chosen all the wrong paths, made all the wrong wishes—to deserve these experiences with this man. The very man of so many long-held dreams.

Regardless of what the future had in store, she had this moment.

Right now.

A rare chance for her to make some exquisite memories to help squeeze out all the bad ones that replayed in her mind again and again. It had been years now since the silence stopped being quiet.

He watched her intently for her next move. She didn’t hesitate. Reaching out with both hands, she placed them against his solid chest. His skin was warm, inviting. And she could feel the quickened beats of his heart, racing her own. She grazed her hands downward, relishing every delicious dip and ripple of his abdomen, his muscles flexing and tightening under her fingertips. She wasn’t sure if he’d stop her at any moment, more than a little surprised and elated over the fact that she was touching him at all.

And for the first time ever.

Perhaps she was mistaken about him in this? Perhaps Delphine was wrong about the stories of his childhood too? And that thought elated her further still.

Reaching his generous sex, she wrapped her fingers around its base, then stroked him to the tip and back down. Briefly, he closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Oral pleasure was something Roch had demanded often. Until this day, this moment, she’d considered the act distasteful, had hated every minute she’d been made to gratify Roch this way. But with Luc, it was different.

She wanted him in her mouth.

She wanted to taste him. To be the one bestowing pleasure the way he’d bestowed it on her with mind-melting skill.

Ignoring the soft feelings clustering in her chest, she dipped her head and swirled her tongue slowly around the crest of his cock. At his low groan, moisture pooled between her legs.

His fingers tangled in her hair. Fearing he’d stop her, she plunged him deeply into her mouth and began strong, slow sucks, her tongue stroking the sensitive underside of his prick with each plunge and drag. To her delight, it drove him to distraction. His head fell back, and he hissed out an expletive between clenched teeth. Being in command of his pleasure was a heady rush. She kept to a steady pace, savoring him. Sucking him. Teasing him with her tongue. Relishing the low groan that rumbled from his chest.

Without missing a stroke, she slipped an arm around his waist, pressing her palm and splaying her fingers against his strong back.

Suddenly, she was staring at him at arm’s length—no longer touching him at all. It took three beats of her rapid heart to realize he’d yanked her away, his grip firmly on her shoulders.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Clearly she’d been mistaken in her perception that things were going well. “I’m sorry. I’ve done something to displease you.”

He dragged in a ragged breath, then expelled it slowly. “No.” He cupped her face and pulled her near until his forehead touched hers. “You haven’t done a thing to displease me. You are incredible. More than any man deserves. Including me.” His soft voice, his tender words, all wrapped around her heart and squeezed. “Dieu, I need to be inside you,” he whispered, then trailed his mouth along her jaw to her earlobe and gave it a sensuous bite.

Her sex clenched hungrily.

He reached beside him and picked up his cravat, his other hand still cradling her face. “I want you to trust me. Allow me, Juliette…” She knew exactly what he was asking of her.

She shook her head. “I want to be able to touch you.” Voicing her own wants during sex was still so new. And she liked it. He was the first man with whom she’d felt able to do so. She’d stopped acting like a courtesan with him practically from the start. Truth be told, she’d stopped acting like a courtesan—period. He was the only lover she wanted at the moment. An arrangement based on mutual desire. Without financial transaction. And though she hadn’t lost sight of her responsibilities of providing for her son, she had to see this matter between them through.

Because she wanted—no, deserved—to experience more of the way he made her feel.

Because there might be the chance, no matter how small, to see Sabine again.

A small smile formed on his lips. “You have touched me—more than you know.”

Again she was aflood with emotion. And it frightened her. She couldn’t allow it to lower her defenses. No matter how he affected her, she’d remain in control of those emotions.

She pulled back, out of his hold on her cheek. Needing some distance. Needing to reassert control over her heart—even if that meant sabotaging this glorious moment. “You want to bind me and take me, but this…” She pulled the cravat from his hand. “This isn’t just a sex game to you, is it?” His body changed immediately. Every beautiful muscle before her tightened. And the softness that was in his eyes clouded.

She didn’t let that stop her. “Perhaps it’s a way of maintaining a level of detachment. It’s a way to keep anyone from touching you during carnal encounters—both physically and emotionally, isn’t it?”

He shot to his feet with a curse, making her jerk back in surprise. He stood several feet away from her now, his hands on his hips, head down as he stared at the floor. Isabelle rose and braced herself, unsure what was about to happen next. Was that infamous temper of his about to make its appearance at last? It was best she saw it now, in its full glory, when she could summon protection. Where she could get to safety. Before she’d even attempt to convince him to take her to her sister, she needed to know what she and Gabriel could face trapped on a ship with him for months.

“Tell me, Luc,” she pressed.

He lifted his head and stared back at her. She couldn’t read his eyes or the expression on his face.

“We’ve already discussed this. I enjoy it. I enjoy fucking a woman who is willing to indulge in it.”

“There’s more to it than you’re saying.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Merde. Juliette, perhaps I do like a certain level of detachment during sex. Is that any different from you not allowing a man to kiss you?”

She didn’t so much as flinch when she responded firmly, “Yes. There is a difference. You don’t have my…vocation. My time, body, passion are all for sale.” Except with you. “I’ve chosen to withhold one thing that is not for purchase—that’s permitted only when I choose and with whom I choose.”

An utterly beguiling smile slowly formed on his lips, and he tilted his head, a lock of dark blond hair falling against his brow.

“I’d like to be chosen,” he said with far too much devilish charm.

Damn him. How does he do that? How did he combine the most perfect smile with the most alluring timbre in his voice? She felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, a little exasperated at how easily he disarmed her.

Focus, Isabelle. You might as well continue what you’ve just started. Even if at the moment she wanted to run into his arms and forget their pasts.

“We’re not talking about kisses now. We’re talking about you.” She tried admonishing him, but she was having a difficult time not reacting to that infectious smile.

“I prefer to talk about kissing you.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“What are you afraid of? That if I tie you to that bed, I’ll fuck and kiss you mindless?”

God…yes. There was definitely that.

He’d already more than proved he knew how to drive her to sexual delirium.

“Because if that is what you’re worried about,” he continued, “you have good cause for concern. I’ve already planned how I’m going to bind you, take you, and the first thousand deep kisses—when you give me leave, of course.”

A feral need slammed into her senses, practically shifting the ground beneath her feet. Without a doubt, Lord Seductive was in top form, at his finest, and he was causing her to melt. Soon she’d be a helpless puddle on the floor.

She took a step back, needing more space and cleared her throat. “You and I live by a different standard of rules. Your gender and your class give you superiority. You can do practically anything you want to whomever you want with impunity. My rules are there for my safety and that of my son. I avoid vulnerability at all cost whenever I can.”

He gave a nod. “I understand. Gabriel is at the center of all your decisions. And I admire how you love and care for your son. But I wish you to understand this: the rules I live by, I’ve broken for no one—but you. I don’t engage in sex with a woman who doesn’t share the same sexual proclivity I do. I don’t dance, but that first night, I danced—just to meet you. I wouldn’t normally come to a sojourn like this. I prefer to limit the time I spend with many of those in attendance here. And again, I came here to spend time with you.” He raked a hand through his hair, then softly laughed and shook his head. “Believe it or not, I’m much more aloof than this. And if you want honesty, and if you think erotic bondage makes you uncomfortable, know that this—whatever this is between us—is making me uncomfortable because I’m so bloody well drawn to you. Fascinated by you. Attracted to you—if this vastly uncomfortable erection doesn’t make it obvious. And if that weren’t enough, today at the salon in front of Vannod, Prost, and Meslon, I admitted to something I’ve never admitted before.”

“What is that?” Her words slipped past her lips on a soft breath. She was a little unbalanced anew. He was chipping away at her safeguards with his every utterance.

“That I have emotions—though I think I’m safe in assuming they’re still very much skeptical about that,” he said, still sporting one of his knee-weakening smiles. “Ma belle, we have a bed and the desire between us that’s intense enough to burn this château to the ground. You don’t want me to tie you up. You’re not ready for that—fine. To hell with it. Forget it. But don’t stop. Don’t pull away.”

She glanced over at the bed, then back to him. That was the crux of the matter. There was actually a part of her that didn’t want to simply forget it. That wanted to give in to his request and surrender to him completely. “I want to trust you, Luc…”

For so many reasons.

He studied her silently for a moment. “What did those two men do to you? What did they do to make you so leery of men in my class?”

Normally, she wouldn’t answer that. And though it shouldn’t matter what he thought, she wanted him to understand she had good reason to fear. “One of them tried to…kill me. He was someone I’d known a long time.” Nightmares of being in a burning building with Gabriel and Virginie still plagued her.

“Merde!” The word exploded from his mouth in shock and anger. He walked up to her and grasped her shoulders. “Jésus-Christ, Juliette, tell me who he is, and I’ll make sure—”

Isabelle shook her head and cut off his words. “He’s dead. And so is my late husband, who also pretended to possess decency but harbored none.”

“Husband,” he said. “You were once married, then?”

It was just easier to call Roch “husband” than to delve into the details of his grand ugly ruse and what a fool she’d been ever to believe a word he’d uttered. She was about to lie about her “marriage,” but then, “Yes and no,” left her lips. And again, she’d no idea why she wanted to tell him anything about her past at all.

His fingers captured her chin so she couldn’t look away. Those light green eyes held her gaze, as though he were trying to read all the thoughts in her mind. “What does that mean?”

“It means I was once a great fool. I was led to believe we were properly wed. It was all a sham. An unlawful union. And a living hell. The man who wed us was no real priest at all.” She could feel her insides beginning to quake with fury. At Roch.

And herself.

“Was this in Venice?”

Mentally, she flinched. She’d told many lies about her fictitious past. But lying to Luc felt different. Each time it felt…harder. Wrong.

And so she said, “No.” Giving him the truth without negating her tale about her Venetian roots.

“And this man wasn’t Gabriel’s father?”

“No.” That was all she was prepared to say on the subject of her son’s sire, because she guarded everything about her precious little boy—fiercely.

Luc drew her into his arms and pressed his cheek against her hair. “I’m sorry someone tried to harm you. That they put you through any misery at all.”

His arms around her felt warm and strong enough to stave off the rest of the world. So good. Too good. The sort of feeling a woman could easily grow used to. Crave, even. And for the very first time since leaving home all those years ago, she felt almost…safe. Her arms wound around him of their own volition.

He pulled back, breaking their embrace, and curled his fingers under her chin once more. “I understand why you would be cautious. Those men should have been trustworthy. They violated that trust profoundly and perversely. Your trust matters to me, Juliette. Tell me, what about me frightens you into not bestowing it?”

How to begin to answer that?

“I don’t have the luxury of placing my complete trust in any aristo. I have Gabriel to think about… You are also bigger, stronger, and with a self-admitted temper.” And thus far, you’ve been too incredible to be true…

Too close to the girlhood dreams I’ve had of you to be believed.

“You think my temper might flare when I have you bound and could hurt you.” It was a statement. Not a question.

“It has crossed my mind.”

He raked a hand through his hair, then returned his hands to his hips. “I’m certain the rumors don’t help. The duels I used to fight. My killing my cousin.”

Isabelle’s heart lurched. “You…you…w-what?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard about that? That’s surprising. I would have thought Vannod and the others would have delighted in telling you all about it. Or at least their twisted version of the truth.”

A slow cold fear began to congeal in her blood.

FOOL!

This was the reason she shouldn’t—couldn’t—lower her guard with this man. Or any other. He almost had her convinced.

She took another step back.

He looked down and softly swore again. When he met her gaze again, it appeared to be unguarded. Without artifice. “You’re looking at me as though you think I’m going to lunge at you and slay you where you stand. I’ve told you before—and it is the absolute truth—I’ve never harmed a woman. There is no woman who has ever suffered at my hand. I challenge you to find one. Or even a rumor of one. There isn’t anything you can say or do, bound or unbound, that would make me harm you, Juliette.”

“Even if. . .” Her words croaked out her throat, barely audible. She swallowed and tried again. “Even if I were to accept that you’d never harm a woman, what about someone like Gabriel? Given your animosity toward men, how long before you see him as no longer a boy but an adversary? How long would someone like him be safe near you?”

Even though Luc had no idea she was contemplating a ship voyage with him, and even though men didn’t normally interact with their paramour’s child—especially one they hadn’t sired, Luc’s accidental meeting of Gabriel notwithstanding—her fears for her son’s safety were valid. Particularly when the man in question struck fear into a number of his peers.

He was seasoned in dueling, a master with weapons.

Her little boy grew a little every day.

He nodded. “That is a fair question. I would expect no less from a devoted mother. The answer is, he would never be at risk from me, no matter his age, for two reasons: one, he matters deeply to you. I would never wound you, whether we continue this affair or not. The second is, I’m no longer the man I once was. Yes, there was a time I was full of fury. It took little to unleash it. If that were still the case, I would have slammed my fist in Vannod’s arrogant jaw by now. Being in the King’s navy changed me—for the better. I was the commander of a number of ships. There were several hundred men under my command. Their lives depended on me and my orders—a sobering responsibility I never took lightly. They trusted me in every battle we fought and we fought hard together. I had their respect, and they had mine. Then I was arrested and wrongly accused of treason—like my brother and Charles—and brought back to Paris. Being held prisoner in a cell, faced with the possibility of an execution before a cheering crowd, with nothing to do with my time but think caused me to reflect on my life. I’d been stripped of my officer’s commission in the navy. My family labeled traitors. My service to my King and country tarnished by false charges. And I decided that if by some miracle I walked out of that prison alive and to return to society, I would not allow myself to become the man I once was around my peers—brash and volatile. Not ever again. I chose to abandon the anger I’d harbored and seek and embrace inner peace. I continue to choose it now.” A small smile formed on his lips. “And I appreciate and relish all exquisite moments in my life, like those I’ve had with you, because I choose to experience pleasure over ire.”

*****

What the hell are you doing? Luc was astounded at himself. Things he’d never told anyone, would never tell anyone, were falling out of his mouth. Yet, he couldn’t seem to stem the words.

Had Isabelle’s effect on him somehow changed him around women?

Or was he only going to behave this way around those who reminded him of her? It was obvious that part of Juliette wanted to run from the room. His idiotic slip about his cousin was the root cause. He was used to people fearing him. During his combustible youth, he’d even liked it.

It kept people at bay.

But the thought of any woman, much less this woman, fearing him, fearing for her son’s safety because of him, didn’t just bother him.

It gutted him.

Her beautiful dark eyes gazed at him. Her breathing, though soft, had quickened as she stood there, clearly contemplating what to do.

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She lurched at his touch.

“Easy,” he said softly, cradling her face in his palm. “We’re not strangers. We’ve been alone together before. We enjoyed each other’s company, and the carnal pleasures we’ve shared have been nothing short of spine melting. You’re safe with me. Your son has nothing to fear from me. And before you ask about the incident with my cousin, I will tell you that he died because of our duel. He was a good deal older than me. It was many years ago. Before the navy. His wound festered for a few days before he succumbed to his injury, and he damned well deserved to die. In fact, I’ve no doubt he’s burning in hell.”

He hadn’t talked about Bastien de Bellac—ever. He shouldn’t have spoken of him now. Just the mention of Bellac was causing myriad emotions to gather inside him.

“What on earth does that mean, Luc? Why would you be filled with so much anger? Why would your cousin deserve to die?”

He mentally chastised himself. This is why you keep your mouth shut. Offering information only leads to questions. And though this maddening affinity he had for her was strong, there were some things he couldn’t—wouldn’t—talk about.

In fact, he could feel his throat tightening, his body silencing the horror, as the sounds of Bellac’s chilling laughter mingling with Charles’s echoed in his brain.

Memories he’d learned to crush through the years.

Luc shoved them from his thoughts through force of will now and pulled Juliette into his arms once more. Burying his face in her hair, he took a moment to let the sweet scent of lavender from her soft tresses infuse his senses. Her body stiffened against him, and he knew he had to give her some sort of response. Briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself, determined to keep those unwanted images confined to that black hole deep inside his chest that had been created long ago.

It stored every horrible moment of his life.

Luc pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I suppose it’s a situation much as you’ve described. He was someone who should have possessed decency but harbored none. He was evil.” And so was that fucking demon who sired me.

“What did your cousin do?” Her tone was so gentle and soft. He was amazed that even so much as a sliver of him wanted to tell her the ugly truth. He easily quashed that infinitesimal urge.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The duel was fair. He lost. He’s gone.”

Good riddance…

“Duels are illegal. Yet you were able to fight in so many without ever being arrested before the treason charges,” she stated, underscoring her previous comment about the impunity men in the noble class had when it came to breaking the law.

A mirthless smile formed on his face. “Charles’s influence was able to keep me from arrest then.” The piece of merde was quick to act—not for Luc’s sake, but out of fear Charles’s twisted little secrets might be brought to light by the state of Luc’s body.

She gazed at him intently. He couldn’t read her expression. He had no idea what she was thinking or what she was about to say next, but an uneasy feeling came over him. There was something in the way she was looking at him…

“Did your father harm you when you were a boy, Luc?” Her question was but a whisper, but it might as well have been screamed out.

He stepped back.

His ears instantly started ringing.

“Why the hell would you say that?” The words shot out his mouth, uncensored.

He was instantly furious at himself for not simply denying it by saying, No!

But no one had ever asked him that question. Not even his own brother. Charles’s treatment of Jules had been benevolent, hiding his malevolent nature from Luc’s older brother.

And so had Luc. He’d never told Jules about the extent of their father’s mistreatment of him.

No one knew, except Charles and Bellac.

And they were both dead.

“I’m sorry. You have such contempt when you mention your father. Always refer to him by his Christian name. I thought perhaps…” Her words trailed off.

And he was grateful.

He simply couldn’t talk about this. Couldn’t dwell on how accurately this woman had deciphered the truth.

Merde. He’d already said too much. Given away too much. This subject was excruciating. Especially when her words were tinged with anguish for him. When there was the hint of tears in her eyes.

To see it tightened his very entrails.

In certain ways, she was a kindred spirit, having had her own experiences with human heinousness.

And he hated that for her.

He hated it as much as having the hatred for Charles and Bellac surging inside him—when he no longer allowed himself to feel this level of loathing.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this.

Luc turned away from her and stalked over to his clothing on the floor. She gasped as he snatched up his shirt. He didn’t need to look back at her. He already knew what she was reacting to.

His back.

In all its mangled glory.

Fucking beautiful, isn’t it? The surface of his back was covered in long scars and raised welts.

He had his usual explanation ready. The lie he’d retold multiple times of being in battle, being captured by pirates and lashed. Lord knows he’d fought enough of them in the West Indies to know firsthand how depraved they were.

Just like the two dead members of his family.

It wasn’t difficult to convince past mistresses that the tale was true.

The lightest stroke brushed against his back. He practically jumped a foot and spun around to find Juliette right behind him, surprise etched on her face. Her hand was raised slightly, having just touched him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Damn it. He hadn’t even heard her approach.

“You.” She swallowed as her surprise turned back to anguish. “You couldn’t feel my touch, could you?”

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.