Chapter Eleven

“Clearly, that’s not the case,” Luc countered, fighting down the bile threatening his throat.

“I was touching you for several moments, with no reaction.”

“DON’T DO THAT! I don’t like my back touched!” He was all but bellowing at her. Merde. Calm down!

His heart was pounding. His breathing came short and sharp. He hadn’t been this overwrought in years. And he wanted none of this on display before Juliette.

Before anyone.

Luc sucked in a breath and expelled it slowly, beating back the raw emotions rioting inside him. “There are areas on my back I cannot feel. And other areas I can. I have some permanent injury from my capture by cutthroats, all right?” Well, at least that was calmer.

Not bloody much.

She remained silent and composed in the face of his discomposure. But the expression on her face told him she didn’t believe his pirate tale. She damn well saw through his lie.

Though he wasn’t easily rattled, that shook him to the core.

She shook him to the core.

She was able to see through the veil he concealed all things he wanted hidden. A veil others never saw through.

He needed to leave the room. Now.

He intended to throw on the shirt fisted in his hand. But instead, his legs lowered him to the floor of their own accord. Knees bent, his back resting against the bed, he settled his arms on his knees, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. Then he did the one thing that always brought him peace.

He envisioned his beloved sea.

A calm ocean. Rolling waves. Its soothing sound. Its cool mist against his face. The gentle rocking of his ship.

There was nothing on earth like it. Nothing as soul quenching—except when there was perfect passion between him and a woman. The likes of which he had with one confounding, dark-eyed, dark-haired female who was twisting him inside out.

A rustling sound followed by a light press against his side and hip made him open his eyes. He found Juliette sitting beside him on the floor, her legs straight out before her, pink slippers peeking out from her skirts.

There was a certain warmth in her eyes, and she gave him a smile. It was one of those smiles of hers that always seeped into his chest and melted a part of him deep inside he didn’t know could even be affected.

“You’re going to wrinkle your gown,” he told her softly.

“In case your memory is faulty, sir, I am in the habit of doing far worse to my gowns in your presence.”

That pulled a smile out of him.

“You’ve looked gorgeous each and every time,” he said, with the utmost sincerity.

“So have you.”

He could feel his agitation begin to quell. It was incredible, really. But just being here on the floor with her like this was helping to beat back his demons. It was surprising. A relief. His heart and breathing were returning to normal.

“I’m sorry, Juliette. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I dislike any sensation against my back.”

“I’m sorry you had to sustain such injury.” Her voice lowered to all but a whisper when she said, “You didn’t deserve it…”

His chest tightened. Another jolt of tender emotions lanced through him. Another comment no one had ever uttered to him before. He couldn’t count the number of times his father and Bellac had told him he’d deserved every lash on his back.

Every blow to his ribs.

Every beating he’d endured.

He turned away from her, leaned his head back against the mattress, and closed his eyes. There was no way for him to respond to that. A knot had just formed in his throat and made it impossible.

He heard her move, and the press of her body was now gone, much to his regret.

Her hand landed gently on his arm.

He opened his eyes to find her on her knees at his side. She sat back on her heels. There was no mistaking it. Compassion shone in those big dark brown eyes of hers. Not the sort of look he got from, well…anyone. He’d never inspired compassion in anyone before. Except in a dead woman’s writings in her journals.

Jésus-Christ. He had truly found Isabelle’s incarnate. Women he’d had in his life were genial. Accommodating. Desirous of his company—for the purposes of sex. But none of them ever looked at him the way this woman was looking at him. Gazing deeply. Seeing beyond the sexual surface.

And he was astounded that he hadn’t walked out of the room under such scrutiny.

“Though you’re not obliged to tell me anything, Luc, I’d very much like to hear about what happened to your…in your past.”

He laughed scoffingly.

“Are you afraid I’d betray your confidence?”

“I’m not concerned about you betraying my confidence.” He trusted her, even though she didn’t trust him. “I’ve told you before. I don’t give a damn what people think of me.”

“Then tell me about your past.”

“It’s the last thing you want to hear.”

“Let me be the judge of that. It’s the reason for the bondage, isn’t it?”

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Partly.” It was his way of changing the horror of bondage—when he’d been tied up and beaten—into something purely pleasurable. Passionate. Wonderful. “I also like it. Very much. And you will too.”

“Luc—”

He sat forward and slipped a hand behind her neck, her soft curls tickling his hand. “No more…” he said, eager to push away the ugliness of this subject. Wanting instead to revel in the woman before him. “Let me remind you how good it is between us.” Luc pulled her closer, and thankfully, she didn’t pull away.

If only this was no more than good sex between them. But there was more. Much more. And he didn’t know how to grapple with it. Or sort any of it out.

He resorted to what he knew. What was familiar. What made sense.

He dipped his head, then grazed his mouth along her jaw to her neck, stopping at that sensitive spot just under her ear, and lightly sucked her warm skin between his lips.

She gasped, a sensuous little sound that sent a bolt of lust through him. That delicious fire that always smoldered between them instantly ignited into flames. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his mouth. He could hear the quickened breaths from her lips.

Dieu, those lips…

The ones he was starved for. Having them around his cock earlier had all but caused his eyes to roll back in his head. It was time he reminded her that she’d trusted him with her sweet form before, and that he knew how to give her what she needed and wanted.

And he needed and wanted her.

He rose to his feet, then swept her up into his arms and deposited her back on the bed.

His heart pounded for an entirely different reason now. His body clamored to possess her. But he forced himself to stop and wait.

“Unless you object, we are going to proceed with what we started—without bindings.” He searched for any sign of reluctance.

There was none. Just a warm, willing woman, the only one he couldn’t seem to get enough of, awaiting his next carnal move. “No objection.” She said it softly, yet it roared through his system.

Luc lowered himself beside her, and without wasting a moment, he stripped off her clothing with practiced haste, sucking, licking, kissing her exposed skin, wanting to taste every inch of her. Loving her every little mewl and moan she couldn’t contain. Loving how eager she was to help.

Loving how her fingers fumbled because she was so flustered and famished for him. Her bodice was open. The gorgeous breasts before him made his mouth water. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her naked. Her skin against his. Nothing between them.

He was back on his feet at the end of the bed, yanking off the last of her clothing, then his own, tossing them to the floor in a heap.

He gripped his cock and squeezed, trying to combat the pressure inside his prick. The head of his sex was already wet with pre-come and his sac was so full. Yet he couldn’t drink in her beauty enough. Lying on her back, she watched him with those fathomless eyes. Her cascade of dark curls was puddled around her head, her perfect tits rose and fell with her rapid breaths, and she had the most adorable little curve to her belly.

He grabbed her ankles and yanked her to the end of the bed. She squeaked in surprise, finding her legs apart and suddenly dangling over the edge. Leaning over her, he braced a hand against the mattress near her head. With his other hand, he stroked his fingers along the folds of her wet sex.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She tilted her chin up, her lips parting with a soft gasp. She was so damned sensual. He forced himself to mute the urgency thundering inside his veins as he scored his fingers along her slick folds again and again, teasing her clit with the occasional light pinch just to make her moan for him. Her hips jerking upward toward him, begging for more. Her little bud was so swollen with need, glistening with her juices.

And he wanted her wetter, wilder.

She wiggled, urging him on. “Luc…”

He liked how breathless his name sounded.

“Not yet…” He rewarded her little clit with a stronger pinch before driving his fingers deeply into her core.

She cried out, her sex soaking his hand further. Just as he wanted. He homed in on that ultrasensitive spot inside her vaginal wall, curled his fingers, and began to ply it with short, sharp strokes. Making her buck and fist the sheets. Her sweet tight sex seeped more moisture onto his hand.

He told her how good she felt around his fingers. How beautiful she looked. Soothed her with words while heightening her hunger with his hand. And he told her how hard she’d come for him.

Then he withdrew his wet fingers and was immediately met with dismay—a sound of frustration shot out of her throat. He smiled and massaged her sex again, instantly easing her agitation. “I promise, we are far from done.” Spreading her essence, he coated every pink inch of her pretty cunt watching as she closed her eyes and bit her lip. Then he pressed a slick finger firmly against her puckered little hole. Her eyes flew open, and this time, she jerked back in sharp surprise. He knew right there and then, that sweet puckered hole was untried and untouched by previous lovers.

And that only reinforced his suspicions about her.

He gripped her hips, pulling her bottom back to the edge of the bed once more.

“Tell me you want me.” His breathing quickening by the moment. Her wet sex beckoning him fiercely.

“I want you.” No hesitation. Just a breathless affirmation. It spiked his fever.

“I’m burying my cock deep inside you. You’re going to take all of me, aren’t you?”

She nodded, unable to speak. He flipped her onto her belly, availing himself of her pert derrière for his viewing pleasure. Her hips rested on the edge of the bed. She rose up on her elbows, looking back at him with a critical eye. He tightened his hold on her hips and wedged his cock at the opening of her warm, wet cunt.

“You trust me to give you pleasure, don’t you, Juliette? Because you know I know what your body needs.” Jésus-Christ. Her moist heat cinched around the crown of his cock was driving him mad.

She looked away and hung her head, her breaths as rapid and raw as his. He could feel her body trembling between his hands. And though it was soft and shaky, he heard distinctly, “Yes…” Then the most luscious, “Please…”

He drove the whole length of his stone-hard prick into her. Pleasure slammed into his system. His head fell back briefly as he steadied himself against the stunning squeeze of her tight, wet sheath. She had him throbbing in an instant.

The pulsing sensation was exquisite.

The tall bed just the right height for his body. And this dark-eyed beauty, this woman who had him so undone, was perfect. His perfect match.

He dragged his cock almost completely out, then rammed back in deep, his groan blending with her moan. He drove into her again and again with solid, rapid thrusts, stroking her soft snug sex with his heavy cock. Basking in the flood of sensations radiating along his length. His hand still slick with her juices, he moved his finger back to her puckered hole and pressed, breaching it just with the tip as she jerked with a mewl.

And clenched her inner muscles, dragging a raw growl of bliss from his lips.

“Just relax. Trust me…” he managed to say between pants, and sank in to his second knuckle, then the third. He could feel his own plunging cock on the opposite side of her inner flesh. This was without a doubt a new experience for her, the way she was tightening around his finger, tightening around his cock, clenching her vaginal walls and squirming that beautiful bottom, not knowing how to absorb the novel sensations flooding through her sex.

She was so snug. The pleasure was almost too much to bear. He rode her for all he was worth. Working her with his finger. Lost to the maelstrom of stunning sensations rushing through him.

*****

Isabelle trembled. Every fiber of her being quaked. And the bud between her legs throbbed so hard, she could barely stand it. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Fisting the counterpane between her fingers in a white-knuckle grip, she could only muster feral sounds the likes of which she’d never heard from her mouth before. The sensations were overwhelming. Her sex had never felt so full. The new sensations were a deluge on her senses, currents of powerful pleasure flooding her body. And she had no desire to maintain any control. No desire to do anything other than surrender to the only man who could drive her to delirium. She couldn’t muster shock or objection over what he was doing. She was simply suspended in euphoria, reveling in his every thrust, gluttonous for more. Pressing her forehead into the mattress, she braced herself for the climax that was rushing at her, feeling her release mountaining inside her, growing bigger. Faster. Stronger by the moment.

Ecstasy slammed into her, reverberating through every nerve ending in her body, knocking a scream from her lungs. Her inner muscles wildly contracted around his length, his finger.

Luc.

Curling her toes, she rode through the orgasm, through every fierce clench and release of her vaginal walls. And each glorious thrust he gave her. When the final flutter inside her sex faded, he reared, yanking out his finger and cock. His hard body came down on hers, pressing her into the mattress. He crushed her to him and buried his face in her neck. He groaned, long and deep, as warm semen coated her back. His body jerked, then shuddered until he’d drained himself dry.

She felt flush from the top of her head to her toes. Her muscles were so lax and heavy, her body so spent, she didn’t want to move. She remained slumped against the mattress as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and rose. Immediately she mourned the loss of his body. The divine feel of his skin against her.

Once again, a warm, serene, contentment blanketed her.

It was a feeling like no other.

And there was just one reason for it: this one man she’d dreamed about most of her life. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of pouring water and soft splashes as he washed himself. She knew she should join him. With her torso on the bed, her feet on the floor, she should at the very least change positions from this rather awkward one.

Isabelle pressed her palms down on the bed, intending to push herself up off the mattress and force herself to stand, when a cloth swiped against her back. She gasped at the coolness against her heated skin.

Suddenly, there was a dip in the mattress near her shoulder and his handsome face appeared inches from hers as he leaned over her, bracing a palm against the bed. The small smile on his lips reflected in his eyes. There wasn’t a single male in the entire realm more beautiful than Luc de Moutier.

Or more shattered as a young man.

The pirate story was a lie. They both knew who’d brutalized his back, but the devastated look in his eyes when she’d pursued the subject shredded her heart, made her hurt for him, and stopped her from pressing him further.

“I’m sorry the water isn’t warmer,” he said, washing her back with the wet cloth in slow, wonderful strokes. This thing he did, this endearing act after every carnal encounter, only melted her insides more. She wanted to put her faith in him. She wanted to blurt out the truth of who she was. And that frightened her as much as the flood of romantic feelings she was having toward him.

The protective wall around her was getting harder and harder to fortify.

He walked away, then returned and stroked the wet cloth over her sex. The soft, cool sensation along her flesh was so exquisite, it drew a soft moan from her throat. He tossed the cloth away and scooped her up in his arms. Sinking one knee into the mattress, then the other, he lowered her onto the bed, stretching out beside her on his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

He gave her one of his stomach-fluttering smiles.

And to her utter mortification, face-to-face with him now, she blushed. Thoughts of what he’d just done to her swirled in her mind.

He slipped his fingers under her chin. “Are you blushing, Juliette?” His smile had grown, and he looked almost…proud at himself for producing the effect.

That only heated her cheeks more. She rolled onto her side and slipped her hands under her cheek and took in her Lord Seductive. “No,” she said. A blatant falsehood. And she returned his smile, unable to stop herself. Who could resist a smile as infectious as his?

He chuckled and gently ran his knuckles down her cheek. “I’m not used to seeing it and I like it.”

“I’m not used to a man like you.”

He cocked a brow, amusement shining in his eyes. “What exactly is a man like me?”

She propped herself up on her elbow, matching his pose. “Are you shamelessly looking for compliments on your carnal skills again?” she teased.

He affected a look of utter innocence. “Of course not. I simply want to make certain I hold true to the title you gave me—Lord Seductive.” He grinned.

She laughed, adoring his banter.

Adoring him.

Careful…her heart warned. She’d built this very man into a fairy-tale prince over the years. Male perfection. Above all others. He was even one of the main characters—one of the princes—in her novels, The Princesses’ Adventures. She had to hold on to her heart. She couldn’t afford to make any missteps. Once revealed, something couldn’t be unrevealed.

“Rest assured, you still hold that title, sir.”

He slumped back into the pillows. “Thank God,” he stated dramatically, then propped himself back on his elbow, her laughter blending with his.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss near the corner of her mouth, so enticingly near. Once again, she was struck by an overpowering urge to turn her face and meld her lips with his. Dying for a taste.

When he pulled back, he said ever so softly, “You want to know my secrets. But you have some of your own, don’t you?” Oh, she wasn’t ready to respond to that. She held her tongue. “Tell me something else about you. Something I don’t know.”

“You know everything you need to know.” At least for now.

“What about the man who sired your son? Was he a good man?”

“I am not comfortable talking about Gabriel.”

“All right, then, what about your rules about bedding married men? Why avoid them?”

“It’s less complicated that way. No angry wives.”

“Did your husband have an angry wife when he led you to believe you were lawfully married?”

Isabelle looked away, contemplating whether to answer, then offered, “Yes. She threw Gabriel and me out of our home in the middle of the night before his body was even cold. I’d only learned she existed a week prior to his death.” Roch’s deceit and what he’d put her through, thinking she was his wife, still caused a knot of cold anger to form in her belly and the last thing she wanted was for Roch to destroy this moment of quiet bliss. “That is all I’m prepared to say,” she added, “until I learn more about you.”

He studied her quietly for a moment but said nothing.

And she knew that he was contemplating how many more of his secrets he was willing to divulge. Her heart began to pound, willing him to talk, and afraid of what he might say.

“It’s been years since the King reinstated your fortune, title, and lands. Where have you been during your absence?” she prompted.

“Renovating my châteaus that had fallen into disrepair while in the hands of the Crown. I’ve done extensive changes, wanting each one to be very much my own—both the interior and exterior.”

She didn’t need him to say that he wanted to wipe away all traces of his father. She could easily discern that without any words. “Are they done? I’d like to see them sometime.”

He smiled. “I’d love to show you.” He became quiet again, then he brushed a lock of her hair from her brow. Again she waited, giving him time to speak. Sensing his desire to say more.

He looked away and trailed a hand down her arm with a soft caress. “You asked me a question earlier. About my back…and Charles.”

Her stomach clenched.

“I told you I’d never lie to you, Juliette. But I did. It isn’t something I do, except when it comes to…this subject.” He still didn’t make eye contact. He simply trailed his fingers back up her arm, delighting her skin with his touch—all while holding her in suspended anticipation.

Anxiously, fearfully, awaiting his next words.

He swallowed as though there was an obstruction in his throat keeping him from speaking. “In truth… Charles was a monster. And so was my cousin Bellac. My back is their handiwork…dating back to a time when I was too young to fight back.”

She’d worked for Charles de Moutier, knew him to be vile, but didn’t know anyone was capable of this kind of depravity against their own little boy.

With invited assistance.

The terror Luc must have felt at their hands was unfathomable.

Hearing it felt like a fresh blow to her chest. She was winded as horrifying images of Luc as a young boy being abused assailed her thoughts. She blinked back the tears, wanting to be strong for him. Wanting to hold him.

She took in a quiet breath to settle her emotions before she asked, “Was that the cousin who died from injuries in the duel with you?”

Still no eye contact. But he gave her a nod.

“That’s why you challenged him to a duel, then? Because he…he…” She couldn’t get the words out. They were soaked in such malevolence. And she feared voicing them would only hurt him more.

He met her gaze. He’d schooled his features, hiding the anguish she knew was behind his beautiful eyes. He shook his head.

Surprising her.

No? What on earth did that mean?

Luc sat up and scrubbed his palms up his face, stopping over his eyes. Almost as though he was trying to blot out scenes from the nightmare he’d endured. “That’s enough, Juliette. I’ve already told you more than anyone else.”

She was overcome and undone by him. A tear slipped out of her eye, and she quickly swiped it away before he saw. She wanted to weep, but that would serve only her.

Not him.

She sat up too, just as he rose from the bed. He began to dress. Her heart dropped. She didn’t want him to leave upset.

Or to leave at all.

She leaped off the bed, threw on her chemise, and approached him. He already had on his breeches and boots and had just donned his shirt when she touched his arm.

“I’m sorry, Luc. I didn’t mean to hurt you with this discussion… I’m sorry…” she simply repeated, hating the notion she might have added to any of his inner pain.

He took a step toward her and cupped her cheeks. “You are not the one who hurt me. You have nothing to apologize about. I am not leaving because of you. I simply must leave.”

That scared her. “What…what will you do?”

A rueful smile canted the corner of his mouth. “I am not going to duel or engage in fisticuffs, if that’s your concern. That is exactly what I would have done in this situation long ago.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’m going home. You can find me at my hôtel in Paris awaiting you. But know this: if you come to me, it’s because you are willing to trust me. To be as candid. If you are not ready to trust me with your secrets, then come to me and trust me with your body. That will be a start.”

With her cheeks captured in his palms, she couldn’t look away. Her heart was pounding, the words, all of them that revealed her hidden truths were swirling in her throat. She was too emotional. Her thoughts too disordered to think. Speak. To make decisions that could impact more than just her life.

“Dieu, you are so beautiful, and I don’t damn well understand this connection I have with you,” he murmured. “You are more heaven than I ever expected.”

“So are you…” slipped past her lips, unguarded.

Her heart ached for him with the same intensity it used to years ago. She wanted to throw her arms around him, bury her face in his chest, and never let go.

Be careful! Remember Roch. Remember Leon. Don’t trust. Don’t trust. Don’t trust.

The small smile on his face grew slightly. “I am vastly pleased you think so. I have been honest with you, chère. We both know there is still much you have yet to divulge. And though carnal encounters with you are incredible, we both know you aren’t a Venetian courtesan. It’s very likely that your real name isn’t even Juliette Carre.”

Her heart lost a beat. She stiffened. Before she could respond, he placed a finger against her lips. “You’re going to have to trust me. The next time we are together, you’re going to have to come to me and place your faith in me on some level—any level—you haven’t been willing to before. And don’t ask me why. Because I don’t understand any of this. But for some reason, it matters a great deal to me. In many ways, you remind me of someone whose journals I’ve read.”

“Journals?” was all she was capable of, barely a whisper, the knot in her throat was so big.

“My sister-in-law gave me her sister’s journals. Sabine’s sister, Isabelle, is buried on one of my properties, and you are similar to her.”

He’d read her journals? All her intimate thoughts of him?

He released her cheeks, ducked his head, and pressed a warm kiss against the sensitive spot below her ear. The sensation was divine. She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed.

Scooping up his doublet from the floor, he walked out of her bedchamber and across the antechamber.

Say something! her heart screamed. But the words were stuck in her throat. Emotions barraging her. She followed him into the antechamber.

He stopped. He stared at the ebony side table, then walked to it and picked up the book there. Opening the novel, he read the title page. “This is the first volume of The Princesses’ Adventures you were going to lend me. Thank you. I’m looking forward to reading it.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

Wait… If he’s read your journals, any entries on your desire to write a book about princesses and the Moutier brothers… Her heart lurched.

She darted to the door and threw it open, despite being in just her chemise.

Luc had disappeared into the servants’ stairwell.