Chapter Fifteen

Isabelle leapt off the bed. “You’re mad!”

Luc watched as she scanned the floor. The instant she spotted her chemise among the clothing strewn about the room, she raced to it, scooped it up, and threw it on.

Covering her beautiful form from his sight.

She was visibly shaken, and it was clear her intent was to bolt from the room. She dropped her gorgeous derriere onto the end of his bed and began yanking on her stocking.

Luc rose from his spot on the side of the bed and approached, then lowered himself onto his haunches before her. He brushed her hands away and helped pull the stocking up above her knee. Grasping the red ribbon off the floor that had held it in place, he then secured it around her thigh, in the very spot he had affixed his scarf earlier. Wishing that that was what he was doing once more rather than helping her dress so she could flee.

“Isabelle—”

“Don’t call me that!” She tried to stand, but he managed to stop her with some gentle pressure on her shoulders. He hated that her breaths had escalated due to distress—instead of sexual excitement.

“If you wish to leave, so be it. I won’t force you to stay.” He placed her bare foot on his thigh and picked up the other stocking from the floor. There was a hint of tears in her eyes. And it gutted him. “But let us at least be truthful with each other.” He slipped the stocking over her foot and up her leg.

“You don’t know what you are talking about. You don’t,” she insisted.

“I know what Leon tried to do to you. I know that it must have been terrifying to be locked in a burning building, facing such a horrifying death. Flames closing in on you. Perhaps you were even with Gabriel at the time. That I do not know.” She averted her face. Wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t say anything. She was gripping the edge of his bed so fiercely, her knuckles were white.

“I understand that your late husband was abhorrent. And I understand why, having survived all that you have, you wouldn’t trust easily. Or at all. I do understand what it’s like to be betrayed so deeply by those who should be trustworthy, you don’t wish to bother. Or try. Or risk trusting again… Or even feeling.” He wanted to use her real name once more but didn’t want to upset her again.

At least she was still there. And listening.

“I’ve come to know Isabelle intimately well. She isn’t the sort of woman one easily forgets. You are fiercely loyal and protective—and you’ve sacrificed much to protect those you love—your son, your sister, and the rest of your family. Haven’t you? Vittry was the reason for this whole ruse of pretending to be dead. Wasn’t he?”

She bit her lip but said nothing.

He continued. “I know you. I know all your likes and dislikes. I know you are witty—the journals are full of charming stories. I know what an enormously talented storyteller and writer you are. How sensual you are. How responsive you are to my touch. You are a loving mother—the sort envied by all sons. And I believe, especially after today, that part of you trusts me and that whatever the reason you are unable to tell me the whole truth has something to do with the son you love so much.”

That caused a tear to slip down her cheek. She quickly swiped it away.

“Sabine and my brother looked for you. I helped them look for you too, chérie. And since I read those journals, I have wanted you.” He stopped short of mentioning her emotions for him in her journals. He’d no clue how to discuss such feelings.

Another tear slipped down her cheek and again she swiped it away. Only this time, she shot him a look with pain and anger in her dark eyes.

“What did you want? Sex from some ingénue scribbling fanciful notions in a journal? That woman from those journals is dead. You need to understand that.”

He picked up the other red ribbon from the floor and tied it around her stocking. “No,” he countered. “Her circumstances are different. But the heart and soul of that woman is still alive—as are all her passions and wants.”

She leapt off the edge of the bed and onto her feet, moving away from him. “I have to go. Please send a maid in to help me dress.” Her voice was charged with emotions, and she moved about the room, snatching up the rest of her clothing from the floor.

To avoid looking at him.

He rose, reached out, and grasped her arm. She jumped on contact and shot him a look that tore his heart. So much pain was in those eyes. And he understood that level of anguish.

“Easy. I’m not going to force you to stay. I can help you with your clothing—”

“No.” It was firmly dealt.

“Very well. I’ll summon a maid. But I want to tell you something first. I think it’s only fair that if I’m asking you to reveal all your secrets, I should reveal all of mine.” That captured her attention. He was able to pull her clothing bunched in her arms away from her now that he’d piqued her curiosity, and the focus was no longer on her. Luc tossed the items on the bed.

He led her to the settee and motioned to it in silent invitation for her to sit, waiting patiently until she finally did and looked up at him. His heart had begun to race and his stomach roiled, knowing the darkness he’d kept at bay was about to come to light—when he’d fought so hard and successfully against that—the greatest battle of his life.

He thought he’d go to his grave with the information he was about to reveal. But this was Isabelle, and it was important to him for her to know. To hear everything. To have just one human being know the complete truth. And perhaps—by some miracle—purge the shame from it all.

He’d never craved acceptance from anyone. Except his father—until it was beaten out of him. But, Dieu, how he wanted this woman’s understanding.

And so much more.

You already had one miracle occur today. You found Isabelle. Maybe, you might get a second. Or maybe she’ll run from the room.

In disgust.

She waited quietly. Watched him closely. He scrubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, grappling with his words. Foul memories were surging to the surface. He could feel a bead of sweat form on his brow. Old anxieties and fears echoed in his body and oozed into his stomach. Jésus-Christ. It was all happening again. Like an encore performance from a hideous play, all the emotions he’d felt as a boy were crawling through him. Pervading every fiber of his being. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his hands. He instantly felt a pull on the muscles of his scarred back.

An ugly reminder he got from time to time of his ugly past.

“Fucking is the only time I allowed myself to feel anything.” That took her by surprise. From the corner of his eye, he saw her lovely brows rise. “I suppose I should add reading novels and poetry. And your father’s plays. Perhaps it’s the reason I enjoy sex and the arts so much.” He gave her a small smile, then looked down at his clasped hands before he continued. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. But I care what you think. You’ve asked me certain questions. I want to answer them—completely. Truthfully.” He didn’t want his past to be the reason she couldn’t trust him. His past had done him enough harm. He didn’t—wouldn’t—let it harm anything he had with Isabelle. “You’ve asked about my temper. About my duels. Why would I fight in so many duels? Why was I so angry? I’ve been purposely evasive. I’d never respond to those questions from anyone who dared to ask—and there aren’t many who would have dared. But I want to answer them for you. Just you.” He took in a fortifying breath, trying to quell the agonizing emotions rising inside his gut. “Most of my boyhood, I was beaten for sport by Charles and the cousin I’ve mentioned named Bellac—that is until I was big enough and strong enough to fight back.” He wasn’t going to offer the horrific details. Those words would never make it out his mouth. Not ever. He had to stop and swallow twice before he could force more words out. “The older I got, the more fury I felt inside. I couldn’t vanquish it. Nor the emotional torment that came with it—even after they’d stopped. I turned to dueling, challenging my peers, purposely leaving no slight uncontested. Dueling was supposed to release the anguish I was choking on.”

Her warm hand was suddenly on his arm. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were large, shimmering with tears. And understanding.

“You…you wanted to…die.” It wasn’t even a question.

Fuck. There was that intuition she had. He’d left it unsaid. Hadn’t even explained fully. She could have interpreted his words differently. Yet she’d simply known.

He had to look back down at his clasped hands once more. Emotions were knifing him in the chest. Everything inside him was screaming STOP! And he couldn’t speak and battle back the agony slicing his insides while seeing pain in her eyes.

He forced a small smile. “I believe the only duel I partially wanted to win was the one that sent Bellac to hell. I was volatile, brash, with reckless wishes. And it’s what led me to the King’s navy, thinking war would put an end to it all. That I wouldn’t likely return. But instead, it changed me as a man. I am grateful to have served my King and country, and to have fought with the men whom I commanded. And as horrible as it was to be arrested and imprisoned as a traitor, it solidified my desire to rise above everything that had happened and triumph over it.” To put his boyhood behind him at last.

He took a moment to shore up his defenses before looking at her. Merde. He’d laid himself completely bare. Would she be repelled by what he’d told her? Would she see him as having been weak for wanting his anguish to end on a dueling field before his twenty-second birthday? Or as a casualty of war?

He dragged his gaze to her.

Tears were slipping down her face. She looked at him with compassion and… Was that awe? A knot formed in his throat.

She cupped his face tenderly and pressed a kiss to his lips. He could taste her tears. “He was a monster. Your father and cousin were both monsters. No one should do that to a boy. No one. And I’m so sorry for the suffering they put you through. I understand how torment can continue long after your tormenter is no longer there. I marvel at the inner strength you had to overcome what would have been insurmountable to many. And I am so very glad you didn’t lose your life on a dueling field, in a ship battle, or on a gibbet.”

And then her warm lips were on his again.

Dieu… Her words were like a balm over every wound he had inside. He shut his eyes and pulled her onto his lap, returning her kiss tenderly. Lovingly. Worshiping her perfect mouth. And her. He’d held on to his secrets for so long. Too long. Having had no one to tell. Never wanting anyone to know.

Or to sit in judgment of the lowest moments of his life.

He could still taste tears on his lips, and, merde, he wasn’t entirely sure they were just hers.

And he wanted, needed more from her today. Wanted to share more with her. And to have her to share more with him.

He pulled back, noting that her breathing had begun to quicken slightly. It wouldn’t take much to turn this into another carnal encounter. But he had more to say. “No one but Isabelle noticed that anything was amiss about me. Just you.” He caressed the side of her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I want to thank you for that.”

Her eyes were soft and full of emotion, but she held her tongue.

At least she wasn’t trying to run from his home anymore.

He smiled. “I have something I want to show you. But, unfortunately, we are going to have to put our clothes on.”

*****

Isabelle descended the grand staircase of Luc’s hôtel, holding his hand.

She’d been afraid to trust him for so long, in constant conflict over wanting to believe everything he said. Wanting to distrust him. And just plain wanting him, more than anything.

Yet the truth was he was every bit the man she’d imagined him to be. And so much more. The wounds he’d suffered from his childhood, both inside and out, didn’t diminish him in her eyes one bit.

It only made him perfectly imperfect.

Human. And real. So brave and strong.

A courage that went far deeper than the battles he’d fought and won as an officer in the King’s navy. Or as a privateer. His bravery and strength reached back all the way to his boyhood and rose to the level of hero in her eyes.

Regardless of whatever happened between them, she knew two things: She was determined to fight back against Pierrette’s demands and not allow Nicole, Luc, or herself to be pawns in that woman’s little game. Secondly, she would enjoy whatever moments of bliss she could with this man and cherish them for a lifetime.

No more hidden truths between them.

If he could bare all, if he, knowing who she was, understood why she’d held her tongue for so long—with no volatile outburst as Roch would have done—then there was no reason to keep anything else from him.

She was doing what didn’t come easy to her—she was placing her complete trust in someone.

“Gilbert,” Luc called out. His rich voice broke into her thoughts.

The dark-haired young servant stopped dead in his tracks in the vestibule and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Madame Carre has agreed to grace us with her presence and dine here this evening. Tell the cook we wish to impress her and that supper will be served one hour earlier than normal.” Luc smiled at the younger man.

“Yes, my lord.” Another quick bow and he was gone.

She gazed up at Luc. That knee-weakening smile was now directed at her. A fresh wave of joy crested over her. It felt as though she’d slipped inside the pages of her very own Princesses’ Adventures novels.

“Does that meet your approval, chérie? I trust that will give you sufficient time to return home to Gabriel and see to him before he retires for the night?”

His consideration of her son moved her deeply.

You meet with my approval. You always have…

She returned his smile. “Yes. Thank you.” It didn’t escape her notice that he had begun to call her “darling.” She had to fight the urge to read anything into the endearment, lest she embarrass herself by flinging her arms around him and never letting go.

He led her across the vestibule to a set of double doors, still holding her hand. Grasping the door latch with his free hand, he gave her a wink. “After you.”

Then threw open the door.

She stepped inside. Her heart lost a beat. The room was massive, with a wall of windows and three sets of double glass doors that stretched across the opposite wall, facing the courtyard. But it wasn’t the vista that took her breath away, nor the grandeur of the room. It was the three other walls lined with shelves and filled with books, from the floor to the high ceilings.

More books than she’d ever seen in her life.

A single book was a small fortune. A costly treasure in and of itself. Her family had once owned a moderate number of novels.

This immense collection surrounding her was more than a king’s ransom. Slowly, she turned around and drank it all in.

“This is one of my libraries,” he said with pride. “There is one at each of my châteaus. I’ve lost some books after the Crown confiscated our properties and title, but I am working to replace them. What is here is being duly recorded by my secretary.”

She shook her head, her smile returning. “No small task.”

He chuckled. “No, it isn’t, but it is mostly done.”

She walked toward the nearest shelves. “This is an incredible library, Luc.” She ran her fingertips along the leather spines of the volumes before her, loving how much they meant to him. Luc walked over to a shelf feet from where she stood and pulled out a book.

He held it out. “I think you might like this one.”

She approached and took the book from his hands. The author’s name grabbed her attention. A large grin she couldn’t contain formed on her face. “Isabella di Morra.”

“Yes. I think we both like her works. I would like to gift it to you.”

She shot her gaze up from the book to his face. “I couldn’t…”

“Yes, you can. I insist.”

“But, this poetess is one of your favorites.”

“I have many favorites.” He turned and walked toward the large ebony-and-gold desk at the end of the room. Wearing a white shirt, black breeches, and boots, his tall strong form was mesmerizing to behold. She allowed herself to appreciate the sight. It set her insides aflutter. “I’ve recently discovered a new author I favor. The characters are captivating,” he said over his shoulder. Reaching the desk, he turned back to face her, then gestured toward some volumes beside him.

Curious, she approached to see who his new favorite was, still holding the book of poetry by Morra in her hands, and immediately recognized her books. Her cheeks heated.

He sat on the edge of the desk, studying her closely. Those engrossing green eyes, scrutinizing her face. And, perhaps, her thoughts.

What in the world did one say when the man you’d dreamed of for years has learned of your girlhood affinity for him?

“I will say it again, as it bears repeating. You’re an extraordinary writer,” he said. “Your writing is engaging. And I don’t say it because I am one of your main subjects and characters.”

She murmured her thanks, mortified that her blush only deepened. It was a great compliment coming from a man who was so well-read.

Coming from Luc de Moutier.

“I don’t suppose the purpose for bringing me here is to have me to talk about books—a comfortable, innocuous subject—and well…lull me into divulging more?” she gently teased.

He laughed. “I will confess, there is that. But I also wanted to share this library with someone who’d appreciate it.” He brushed an errant curl off her cheek. “Allow me just once to hear from those gorgeous lips your real name.”

She owed him as much. He’d spoken his truth with courage. She needed to do the same.

“Before I do, I wish you to know I am placing great faith in you. Something I do not normally do.”

“I know. And I will not betray your confidence. Not ever. I would never hurt you.”

She’d heard those words from other men. From Leon. From Roch. She swallowed, placed Morra’s book on the desk next her novels, lifted her chin a notch. And took a leap of faith.

“I’m Isabelle Laurent.”

He softly swore, snaked an arm around her waist, and yanked her to him. Then swooped in with a kiss as though he wanted to seal the name on her lips. Her body sparked to life. She immediately fisted his shirt against his strong chest and returned the kiss, hungry for more, wanting to make up for all the missed kisses she could have had with him.

And foolishly denied herself.

He broke the kiss sooner than she would have liked. He was about to speak when she blurted out, “You are the first man I’ve ever kissed.”

His brows shot up, clearly surprised by the unexpected confession.

“I’ve never kissed a man before you,” she continued. “Roch despised the mere thought— for which I was eternally grateful. And I’ve never given any man leave to kiss me—except you.”

“Dieu… I don’t know what to say… I’m flattered and honored—” was all he could say before she leaped into more confessions.

“I hadn’t ever done some of the things we’ve done in the boudoir. Or the library. Then there was that time in the gardens…and, well, if you haven’t already guessed, I haven’t the sexual experience others think I have.” Words were spilling from her lips unrestrained. As though a dam had just broken. Everything she’d been forced to hold back flooded out of her. “Besides submitting to Roch, I’ve only been with the Marquis de Cambry. Do you know him?”

“I—”

She began to pace. “He was gentle, kind.” Unlike Roch. “But he didn’t have your sexual repertoire. I didn’t realize men even knew the things you know of the carnal arts.”

He caught her arm, arresting her in her tracks. “Isabelle—”

Dear God, hearing her real name from his lips sounded heavenly. “Could you tell?”

His brow furrowed. “Could I tell what, chérie?”

“That I was a novice at some of the things we did?”

A smile formed on his handsome face, and he pulled her by the arm back between his parted legs and wrapped his arms around her waist. She wanted to return the embrace, but rested her palms against his chest instead.

Mindful not to touch his back.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to that sensitive spot below her ear. A tiny tingle quivered down her spine. “I noted some sexual curiosity that suggested certain things were new. But that didn’t lessen the experience. The carnal connection between us is exquisite. I love fucking you. I love making you come for me. And I love the way you come.” His voice was a low, sensual murmur.

Her blood heated with every quickening beat of her heart. “What a coincidence. I love making you come for me and the way you come too,” she whispered in his ear. Then lightly bit his earlobe. She delighted in the sound of his groan.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, but a smile was on his lips. And oh, how she loved that smile. It made her feel joy just seeing it. It always had. “We are going to continue our talk. Without any of those delicious distractions—for now.”

She nodded in agreement. “There is much to talk about.”

Pierrette. And Sabine. Her sister was the topic she wanted to discuss most. And was most afraid to mention. Until now, there had been a glimmer of hope she’d see Sabine again.

The time had come to see if that hope would be utterly dashed.

“Why don’t we begin at the beginning?” he said. “What happened that day of the fire in the servants’ outbuildings? If you are not the person buried in the grave at my château as everyone believes, then who is?”

“Gabriel’s mother.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“I did not give birth to Gabriel. His mother was a woman from the village. She would come for food while she was pregnant with her son and continued after her babe was born. I always managed to sneak her something to eat. She came every day, and so I became concerned your father would learn of what I was doing. He’d have been furious to know his food was being given away—and especially to one of the peasants on your lands. And I did not wish to suffer his wrath as many of the other servants had. I asked Virginie to meet me that day at the servants’ outbuildings. That is where she, Gabriel, and I were when Leon’s men started the fire. Gabriel was only an infant. He and I survived. But Virginie perished. I became his mother that day.” She felt the usual sting of tears in her eyes and a knot in her throat over Virginie’s death. The mental images of the inferno, always lurking on the fringes of her mind, invaded her thoughts. The terrifying flames. The eerie sounds of crackling wood followed by the crashing timbers all around them.

It was the stuff of nightmares. Nightmares that had torn her from sleep many times and sent her racing to Gabriel’s bedside to make certain he was all right.

She tamped down the memory.

Luc pulled her tightly against him. She allowed herself to lean on him—something she normally wouldn’t do—and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Feelings of being safe engulfed her heart.

And she liked that. So much.

“I can only imagine how terrifying that must have been,” he murmured. “I wish I’d been the one who’d ended Vittry’s worthless life. I’ll see to it that a proper stone is placed over Virginie’s grave. Something discreet yet fitting for her.”

She shot her head up, surprised and moved by his promise, her eyes filling with fresh tears, blurring his face. She forced them back. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

“What about Gabriel’s father?”

“I know little about him. I’d never met him. Virginie was recently widowed and all alone. There wasn’t any family to care for Gabriel—on either side. Gabriel and I had no one that day of the fire, except each other. I have raised him, and I couldn’t love him more had he come from my own womb. He is my son.”

“How on earth did you make it off our lands without Vittry and his men seeing you?”

“I simply ran with Gabriel in my arms. Didn’t stop until we reached the main roads. I was in desperate need of any transportation at all to get as far away as I could. Then I thought a miracle happened. Roch was in his carriage and stopped to help. An aristo with wealth. He didn’t ask questions in the beginning. He was kind then and offered to take me to a wet nurse for Gabriel. After Roch’s death, I came to Paris to begin anew. With a new name. A new persona. Determined to make certain Gabriel would have a good life and a future free from poverty.”

He gave a nod. “You are indeed his mother. Only a mother would go to such lengths for her child. I don’t often say this to people, but I admire you. Your strength. Resilience. And courage.” A warmth glowed in his beautiful eyes. And she cautioned herself not to presume more than what was there. He reached out and brushed another of her errant curls from her cheek. “So, now I fully understand why you wouldn’t allow a man to kiss you. And I comprehend why you would not accept any married lovers—to keep your affairs uncomplicated.”

She stepped away from him, breaking the embrace, needing some distance to be able to speak without the deluge of romantic emotions that was presently swamping her heart. He was beyond potent—both to her heart and body.

The longer she remained in his arms, the more strongly he affected her.

“Yes, that had a lot to do with Roch’s wife, and since we are on the subject of her, there is something important I must tell you about Pierrette de Roch.”

*****

Luc cocked a brow, awaiting her next comment. He couldn’t imagine what could be relevant or important to him about a woman he’d never met.

“She’s a recluse. She never leaves her country estate, but now she’s here in the city.”

An uneasy feeling slid into his gut. “Does she know who you really are?”

“She didn’t before, but she does now. I never expected to see her in Paris. I never expected Roch to leave letters with my real name. Letters she discovered after his death.”

“When did you see her? How do you know she’s here?”

“She was there at the Duc and Duchesse d’Allain’s salon today. I just spoke with her in private. She’d been sending me anonymous notes for a while. Ugly little missives with nothing more in them than insults. It is all rather bizarre and twisted. Pierrette harbors a great deal of animosity toward me. Accuses me of stealing Roch from her. I’ve tried to explain to her that I did no such thing, but she is now threatening to reveal my identity—and threatening to ruin Nicole’s reputation for aiding me in my, as she called it, ‘self-enriching scheme’ if I don’t help her daughter marry a certain aristo.”

Bloody hell. “That is madness. Which aristo?”

“You.”

“Me? You jest?”

“No, I don’t. Please give me your word that you will not further complicate this by attempting to see Pierrette or reason with her. To intervene in any way is likely to only make her angrier, and that would make matters worse. I’ve yet to speak to Nicole about this. I believe we should defer to her wishes on managing the matter, whatever they are. She has much to lose.”

“By Roch’s widow’s threats, so do you and Gabriel.”

“We will be all right. All of us. I’ll make certain,” she managed to say with conviction. Yet, he sensed she was worried. Again, he marveled at her fortitude. “Do I have your word?”

“You have my word and my pledge to help, as much or as little as you wish—without marrying Roch’s daughter.” He wasn’t going to add to her distress. Nor was he about to marry this madwoman’s offspring.

“Thank you. I would never ask you to. And I am unwilling to allow any of us to be a pawn for Pierrette.”

“But why does she want me?”

He saw her stiffen ever so slightly. Then she shrugged. “Who knows the workings of that woman’s mind.”

Again, he sensed there was more she wasn’t saying.

She looked down as though in thought, then met his gaze. “Luc, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you… It is about Sabine. I wish to see my sister again. I want Gabriel to meet her. To meet his cousin Isabelle. I want to hold both of them. I want her to know that I am alive. That I did everything I could to keep Leon away from her and the rest of our family—and I wish to see them too. I know it is much to ask, but perhaps you can take me to her?”

His stomach fisted, a reflexive reaction to a subject that struck a raw wound.

What she was asking of him was no easy task either logistically or emotionally, for it would mean he’d see Jules again. In their final conversation, when his brother had attempted to break down barriers—barriers Luc had erected between himself and Charles’s favorite son for Luc’s own sanity’s sake—he’d slammed the door permanently shut on any relationship with his brother.

The thought of seeing him again was gut-wrenching.

“Isabelle, that isn’t easy. You need a fully armed sea vessel to safely navigate the waters in the West Indies. It is far too dangerous otherwise. I don’t own a warship.”

“But the King does. France is at peace. The warships aren’t needed. Perhaps you can speak to him? You were an officer in the King’s navy and a privateer for the Crown. Didn’t the King allow privateers to rent the ships they used? I have funds—”

“The King was not aware that I was renting his warship at that time, as I was under the command of his favorite privateer then, Simon Boulenger. Simon was once the commander of a fleet of privateer ships. He has his own warships and had rented some from the Crown as well when we were still at war with Spain. That is how your sister, family, and Jules reached the West Indies and Simon’s island, Marguerite—on one of his warships. And yes, for the King’s gain, he did permit the use of his ships to attack Spanish vessels and relieve them of their silver cargo. Not to simply voyage across the sea.”

“Do you mean to say there is no way to see Sabine again?”

Jésus-Christ. He felt as though someone just punched him in the stomach. Seeing the devastation in her eyes winded him. “I did not say that. Perhaps they will return someday for a visit…”

“Why would they? My family and Sabine are there. And you have made it plain to your brother that you don’t wish to see him. Even you don’t believe that they’ll return. You have said as much.”

Fuck. He raked a hand through his hair. “This is complicated and more than just an issue between my brother and me.”

She went silent and simply stared at him. A direct, unwavering, penetrating gaze, as though she could read his every thought. Then looked away and shook her head.

When she returned his regard, she simply said, “I must leave. Please have someone summon my men.”

Merde. “What about dining with me?”

“I fear I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going home.”

“I wish you’d reconsider.”

“Oddly, I was going to say the same thing to you.” She walked toward the doors of his library.

“What should I reconsider, chérie?” he called out.

She stopped and turned around. “I wish you’d reconsider your lying to me after purporting to be honest.”

“I am not lying.”

“You are. Perhaps you are even lying in part to yourself. I have asked for a great deal, I know. I should not have made such a request and put you in this position. And for that, I apologize. I can understand why one wouldn’t wish to make such a great journey. So be it.” He didn’t miss her voice cracking with emotion. “But the obstacle here is not obtaining the warship—though I will concede that there is significant difficulty there. And it isn’t the long voyage. The true obstacle is your brother. I know your father treated you horribly. Unspeakably cruel. But it isn’t your brother’s fault, any more than it is yours. I’d wager he isn’t even aware of what happened to you. You haven’t ever told him, have you? He deserves the truth from your lips. And he doesn’t deserve to be punished for your father’s sins.”

Her words slammed into him. Anger surged inside him and scorched through his very entrails. “Jules is not a victim!” he shot back.

“Nor is he a villain. I remember him with you at the theater. I saw him once intervene in an altercation between you and another gentleman one night. He loves you. He’d tried to protect you. He may have even kept you from a duel that might have killed you. You suggest that everything you’ve been through is over. Behind you. But, and I say this to utter the truth with no ulterior motive, you will never be completely done with what your father and cousin did until you’ve made peace with Jules.”

What she said robbed him of his physical breath, knifing deep into his wound. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he wasn’t done with Bellac and Charles.

The last fucking thing he ever wanted to hear.

He steeled himself against the pain and the ire it incited, battling back the excruciating memories that suddenly threatened to materialize in his mind. He didn’t want to see his father’s face or any part of that room where his nightmares originated. Or his perfect, unmarred brother. Not now.

Fuck, not ever.

Luc placed his hands on his hips and shut his eyes a moment before opening them again. He managed one sole word past his clenched teeth.

“Go!”