Chapter Six

Isabelle made her way across the vestibule, her heart pounding faster than the tempo of her steps on the marble floor.

She was sending Luc on his way. Promptly. This was her home. Her son’s home. Regardless of her desire to reunite with her sister, this was no place to entertain conversations with a man. Especially one she’d coupled with this past night.

You aren’t ready for this. You need more time.

More time to determine how best to assess whether she could trust him with her great secret and elicit his help.

More time to shore up her defenses.

And more time to learn how to quash the quickening in her belly caused by the mere knowledge that Luc de Moutier was here.

And he wanted to see her.

Stopping before the closed door of Nicole’s salon, Isabelle took in a fortifying breath and let it out slowly. But it did nothing to quell the physical frenzy that spiked the moment she placed her hand on the door latch.

He was so very near.

Calm down… You’re acting foolishly.

She wasn’t the same young girl she’d once been. She was a grown woman. With a child. He was her first priority. She could—would—curb these physical urges where Luc was concerned. What happened last night wasn’t going to be repeated.

Isabelle steeled herself, as she’d done many times when cool composure was needed, turned the latch, and walked in.

The sight before her stopped her dead in her tracks. His head was down, and he was idly thumbing through a book of poetry. His dark blond hair was wet from the rain. And so too was his doublet—defining those broad shoulders and strong arms in the most spellbinding way. Standing there in the middle of Nicole’s salon in the light of day—wearing black breeches, a white shirt, and dark gray doublet—was undoubtedly the most exquisite male on this side of the sun. Unable to help herself, her gaze drifted to his sculpted chest, his hard abdomen, and his long, muscled thighs, chiseled to perfection due to his years at sea.

He was by far more muscular than the average aristo. Signs of the beautiful boy he’d once been were gone.

Before her was a man, beyond handsome, beyond seductive, with a tall, powerful body. A man who exuded an alluring confidence. With an edge of danger.

And far more devastating to behold than ever before.

She waited for the bolt of heat that shot through her veins to dissipate.

This wasn’t going to be easy. It had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d been intimate with him. That was far too soon. Clearly, she was still feeling the aftereffects of Luc de Moutier.

Pressing forward, she forced out, “My lord?” Opting for a formal greeting. It would give her some much-needed distance.

Turning his attention away from the book in his hands, he looked up at her. And then he smiled. The sort of smile that reached his eyes.

Oh, those eyes…

It was impossible to count how many times she’d dreamed of them.

She’d never met anyone who had green eyes like his, their color so light, they were mesmerizing. They’d always had her transfixed and a little breathless.

Now was no exception.

He dropped the book on a nearby chair, then sauntered over. If she had any good sense, she’d stop him from getting any closer. But she couldn’t drag the words up her throat. Her body already humming with awareness at his approach.

Stopping before her, he took her hand and, with a bow, brushed his warm lips ever so lightly over her knuckle before he pressed a kiss to it. Her sex responded with a warm gush.

“Good day, Juliette,” he said, straightening to his full height with a gorgeous, lopsided smile. Still holding her hand, he grazed his thumb over the spot he’d just kissed. Tiny tingles sped up her arm and shot to the tips of her breasts.

How did he do it? How did he wreak such havoc on her—when no one else ever had—with the most innocuous gestures and comments?

Dismiss him, quickly.

She’d have to make it clear he wasn’t to come to her home again. He’d have to abide by the same rules as every other man—regardless. Except this man was far more dangerous than other men. This man exuded the promise of sinful pleasure in intoxicating doses.

And she had Gabriel here.

Desperate to reassert some control, she schooled her features. “My lord, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

“It’s raining. I can’t get the image of you wet from the rain out of my head. I know how much you love it when it showers. Would you like to take a walk with me in the summer rain?”

That was the last thing she should do.

“Thank you, but no.”

A slow grin formed on his handsome face. “Then I’ll have to think of other ways to make you wet.” Her heart lost a beat. He leaned in, and, with his mouth close to her ear, he murmured, “You look so very fine this morning. And you smell so good.” He nuzzled her neck. “I want to fuck you with nothing on except satin scarves around your ankles and wrists.”

Her feminine core gave a hungry clench. Every fiber in her body rioted against her resistance.

Oh, she was definitely in over her head with this man. Nicole was right when she said Luc de Moutier was a lot to handle—especially for a woman still a relative novice at bed sport. He was far too potent for her senses.

A formidable carnal force wrapped up in the most irresistible masculine packaging. Besieging her senses.

Before she could summon her voice, from the vestibule behind her, she heard, “Maman!” Isabelle started, jumped back away from Luc. Oh God, no…

Her young son raced to her and gave her one of his sweet embraces, his arms wrapped tightly around her skirts. His chin resting against her side, Gabriel’s head was tilted back as he gazed at her with his usual love and adoration that was so very mutual. She put her arms protectively around him and shot Luc a quick glance. If he dared say anything she deemed inappropriate or hurtful to Gabriel, she’d have him tossed out on his highborn derrière. Nicole purposely employed a number of large male servants who could easily remove any unwanted gentleman.

But Luc didn’t say a word. In fact, he couldn’t have looked more stunned over the presence of the young boy in her embrace.

“I finished my sketch, Maman.” Gabriel’s smile was enormous.

She couldn’t help but smile back and brushed a lock of his dark hair from his forehead. “That’s very good. Now I need you to return to your rooms…”

Gabriel turned his head and gave a gasp as he noticed Luc for the first time since running into the salon—so unaccustomed to visitors. Quickly, he pulled away and gave him a bow. “Monsieur, good day,” he said to Luc, looking very proud of himself for his well-executed greeting—just as he’d been taught.

Isabelle studied Luc, her maternal instincts to protect filling every fiber of her being, still unsure of how Luc would react to the boy beaming at him. Where on earth was Annette, Gabriel’s nurse, when she needed her?

Luc’s lips twitched in amusement, and he returned the bow. “Good day. You may call me Luc.”

That pleased her little mite, evident by the way he continued to beam. “You may call me Gabriel,” he said before a frown furrowed his brow. “Your hair is wet.”

“It is. It’s raining.”

“You should dry your hair so you won’t get sick.” Gabriel stepped toward Luc and took his hand. “Come sit by the fire.” He led him toward the hearth.

Isabelle’s stomach plummeted.

“Gabriel, the marquis was just leaving. I’m afraid he can’t stay.” She looked pointedly at Luc. A half smile still on his face, Luc simply allowed Gabriel to escort him to the crackling fire.

“He can’t leave, Maman. It’s raining,” her son reasoned calmly. “You wouldn’t want him to become ill, would you?” She knew Gabriel had an ulterior motive for keeping Luc here. Truth be told, he craved male companionship. Daily. He was always seeking out the cook or the majordomo Joseph, neither of which satisfied Gabriel’s need for male camaraderie. Though that didn’t stop him from talking to them and his private schoolmaster, Monsieur Bernard, incessantly.

“Yes, Gabriel is correct. It is definitely raining,” Luc said, concurring with his young ally. “And you wouldn’t want me to become ill now, would you?” Luc settled himself down in the tall blue velvet-and-wood chair near the hearth, clearly intent on staying. Mischief openly gleamed in his eyes.

His motives weren’t as innocent.

Gabriel stood near the chair Luc occupied, still holding his hand.

A lump formed in her throat. She had to get Gabriel out of the salon. And Luc out the door so she could formulate some semblance of a plan to sort all this out. She couldn’t just simply blurt out, “Oh, by the way, didn’t I tell you? I’m Isabelle Laurent, your sister-in-law’s dead twin. I’m actually alive and selling my body to men for money—just as I did with you last eve. Will you take me to my sister?”

She didn’t know how Luc would react. There was no reason to trust him at this point. It was one thing to give a man your body. Quite another to give him leverage over your life—and that of your child’s life.

“You’re a marquis, then?” Gabriel asked Luc.

“I am.”

“Is it difficult to be a marquis?” was her son’s adorable question.

“Some days and nights are better than others,” Luc said, giving her a discreet wink and a smile. She didn’t miss his double entendre.

Gabriel turned to her. “Maman, do you think Montague will like Luc?”

Her stomach lurched. Montague. Luc had her so out of sorts, she’d completely forgotten about him. Quickly scanning the room for her unruly dog, she realized that he was nowhere in sight. He had to be upstairs, asleep in his favorite spot—on Gabriel’s bed.

“Gabriel, please tell me you closed the door to your rooms when you left.” She held her breath, praying Gabriel would say yes. She had enough to deal with without Montague’s antics and his general mistrust of strangers in the house.

“Yes, Maman. I did.”

Isabelle let out a sigh of relief.

“But Montague isn’t in my rooms. He’s outside in the courtyard.”

“Oh, Gabriel, go fetch him, darling. He’s in the rain.”

“No, Maman. I left the door open so he can enter whenever he wishes.”

*****

Who the hell is Montague?

It was ludicrous that Luc was in the least bit bothered by the notion of another man being in attendance. But he was. Since when had he ever cared if a woman he bedded had other men? She was certainly free to do as she wished.

Yet, he wanted the aristo gone. Now. Whoever he was.

And apparently, everyone in the world was suddenly standing in the rain. Including him.

He’d ventured out into the downpour just to see this woman again. Just to learn more about the female who’d kept him up most of the night with the memory of their encounter. From her wet, snug sex clenching around his cock, to the sultry sounds she’d made, to the stunning release he’d had with her. Yet, as he glanced at the young boy still holding his hand, Luc now had even more questions about her than before.

She was forever surprising him.

A loud sound akin to a bark suddenly resounded in the vestibule. It was the last thing he remembered before a streak of white fur shot through the door and slammed into his chest, hurling him backward onto the floor while still in the chair.

“Montague, no!” came from the boy. A sudden flurry ensued. Quick steps approached him.

Briefly dazed, Luc looked up and took a moment to realize that he was staring into the brown eyes of a giant wet white beast panting above him. Water from his drenched fur dripped onto Luc’s face. At least he hoped to hell it was water dropping onto his brow. Two large paws held him down.

Then the beast was gone, allowing air to flow into Luc’s chest freely now.

Juliette dropped to her knees at his side. “Good Lord. Are you all right?” Warm, soft hands wiped at his brow.

He took a long deep breath, expelled it slowly, then rolled onto his side away from Juliette and up on his knees, the toppled chair between them. Sitting back on his heels, he placed his hands on his thighs and gazed back at the two horrified people in the room. The great white beast sat calmly near Gabriel, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Merde. This was not exactly how he’d envisioned this visit transpiring. A passionate roll on the floor with the beautiful woman in the room? More than fine by him. Being knocked to the ground by a large animal, he could have done without.

Suddenly, Gabriel rushed toward Luc, his massive pet barreling forward with him.

Oh, hell, no… Luc shot to his feet, not wanting to be knocked down by the animal again.

The boy and beast stopped before him, then Gabriel righted the chair. “Please, Luc, don’t be angry with Montague or Maman,” the mite said. “This is my fault. I should have closed the door to the courtyard.” Then he did something that took Luc by surprise. He stepped in front of his mother. A purely protective stance.

Luc’s gut clenched. It was like a second blow to his body as memories of his own similar attempts to protect his mother from his father’s wrath flitted through his mind. He hated the way the boy was looking at him now. Fear and worry were etched on his face. Before Luc could respond, Juliette was on her feet and gently pulling her son to her side. “Gabriel, no one is angry.” She glanced over at Luc. “Isn’t that so, my lord?” Her gaze dropped to his chest, and her lips quirked. Luc realized she was holding back her mirth. He glanced down, and there in the middle of his once white, pristine shirt was a long, muddy smear and two perfect muddy paw prints.

His gaze shot back at her, and he noticed her hand was over her mouth now, and she was trying to hold back a laugh. He burst out laughing, the situation beyond farcical. She dropped her hand and joined in, a delicate sound he very much liked.

When at last he sobered up, he moved closer and placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

Montague let out a resounding bark. His large teeth showed.

Christ. He removed his hand from Gabriel’s shoulder. In no way did he want to do anything to anger that large mass of teeth and sodden fur. “There is no reason to fret, Gabriel. I’m not angry at your Maman or,” he glanced over at the animal in question, “Montague.”

That made Gabriel smile. “Montague likes you, Luc. He doesn’t like everyone.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me feel.” He smiled in return. He meant every fucking word.

Montague barked again, and this time smacked Luc’s thigh with his paw, leaving another visible muddy smear, even with his black breeches.

Bloody hell…

“Montague, behave!” Gabriel admonished. “We have a visitor today. You can’t have all the attention always,” he explained to the beast.

Of course he can. That beast is hard to miss.

“All right, my darling, we’ve done quite enough to the marquis and his clothing today. Please bid him adieu and take Montague to your rooms,” Juliette said. “The marquis must be on his way now.”

With clear disappointment, the boy bowed, bid him good day, and left with his oversized pet, quietly closing the door behind him.

*****

Isabelle grasped Luc’s elbow and started across the room for the door with the tall aristo in tow. “My lord, I too bid you good day.”

“What? No time to recover from my traumatic ordeal? I was pounced on by a large beast.” Without turning around, she could easily hear the teasing in his tone. She had to fight back another laugh. He was so adorably disheveled at the moment. A sharp contrast to this handsome man’s always perfect appearance. Even the wind knew to rustle his hair just right.

She stopped at the door of the salon and turned to look at him. Those beguiling light green eyes stared back at her, and the half smile tilting his lips instantly played with her pulse. “We both know what remedy you seek to overcome your ‘traumatic ordeal.’ One that will not be administered in this house.” Or ever.

She quashed down the disappointment that spiked inside.

He chuckled softly. “I meant only to bask a little longer in your company. Nothing more, especially with your son here.” That he’d care about Gabriel over his physical needs surprised her. That wasn’t the typical response she’d normally get from men. Their needs were paramount at all times. Above everyone else. Always.

He then leaned in. His mouth close to her ear, he said, “And I don’t consider sex a treatment, because desire isn’t an illness. It’s an irresistible attraction that occurs between certain individuals—like you and me. It’s expressed through a variety of carnal acts for the purposes of shared intense orgasms…when you’re bound to my bed.” His voice took on that low sultry timbre that made her clit start to pulse.

It took her a moment to fight back the urge to graze her lips along his neck, so tantalizingly close. She took a step back. “Be that as it may, you still must go,” she forced out. Opening the door, she then marched out, hauling Lord Seductive with her.

Did he have any idea of the earthshaking impact he had on a woman’s senses? She was more than a bit stunned by how good-natured he was being about being knocked to the ground by Montague and having his costly clothing ruined. This former naval officer who’d once commanded scores of men, this formidable aristo whose hand was quick to the scabbard, and yet he’d held Gabriel’s hand and demonstrated nothing but patience and cordialness.

He was every bit as complex, enticing, and fascinating as he’d always been.

This man who wanted her naked and bound in his bedchamber and who could possibly collapse the foundation of her carefully crafted world, if she wasn’t careful.

She’d always sensed there was more to him than just the physical appeal that set females aflutter.

There was so much more she was curious about—such as what had caused those unexpected flashes of sadness in his eyes at her father’s theater on those rare occasions he’d let his guard down long enough for her to glimpse them? He’d had everything a man could want. Looks. Riches. Power. What could have caused him a moment’s melancholy back then? Was that sadness gone now? Or had he simply become better at disguising it over the years?

Isabelle crossed the vestibule, stopped at the main entrance of the hôtel, and released his arm. The solid muscles she’d felt beneath her fingers were too much temptation for her liking. “My apologies again for the state of your clothing, my lord.”

“Luc,” he said. “I much prefer it from your lips than ‘my lord.’”

“Yes, well… Luc, I don’t allow men in my home where my son resides. Especially men that I have…Well, I’m sure you understand.”

“I do.” He smiled and simply gazed at her in a way that made her want him to linger longer. Want more physical contact with him than she should. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Isabelle stiffened, a visceral reaction, concerned his questioning would be about Gabriel. She didn’t try to hide him. But she didn’t offer information about him either. He was part of her private world and far too young to be part of Juliette’s existence. She didn’t want Juliette discussing details of her son. And she suspected he was going to ask about Gabriel’s father, which was none of his concern.

“That depends on the question.” Her words came out sharper than she’d intended.

It didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes searched hers briefly, the way she used to search his at the theater, trying to delve deeper into his innermost thoughts. Then his smile returned.

“I simply wondered…why do you have a small horse in your house?”

That made her laugh, tension melting from her muscles. Not exactly the query she’d anticipated. She had a strong feeling he’d graciously changed his question based on her curt response. He was too perfect in every way, this older version of Luc de Moutier.

“Perhaps you’ve hit your head too hard?” She brushed an errant strand of his hair from his brow, unable to stop herself from indulging in another touch. “He’s not a horse. He’s a dog.”

“And a rather large one for his already large breed. Most keep such dogs outdoors where they guard the property.”

“Montague doesn’t mind his anomaly any more than we do. He’s rather special in many ways and prefers the indoors.”

“I see.” There was amusement in his eyes. “Well, you may thank Montague for teaching me a valuable lesson in the follies of paying an impromptu visit to a certain beautiful woman.” Smiling, he opened his doublet wide, indicating the muddy smears on his white shirt. His smile moved her to one as well. What was it about this man that had her smiling and laughing so often?

In a way no one had in a very long time.

“Just one of his many talents,” she teased, enjoying the sound of his laughter once more. For God’s sake, stop flirting with him and get on with it, Isabelle! “I’m afraid I must insist you take your leave now.” She opened the door.

Just then, a loud clap of thunder rattled the skies, and the rainfall suddenly increased to a strong downpour.

With his hands on his hips, Luc shook his head. “Why am I not surprised this is happening. I can safely say that there is never a dull moment around you, chère.”

The urge to ask him to stay was powerful. As was the desire for him bubbling in her blood. She swallowed down the words, reminding herself this was neither the place nor time to be in the company of Luc de Moutier.

Especially the way he excited her body.

“May I see you tomorrow?” he asked. “I could send my carriage.”

Tomorrow was far too soon. But it didn’t matter anyway. “I’m sorry, but I shall be with my son all day. And night.” She’d promised him and she didn’t break her promises to Gabriel.

“What about—”

“I’ll be leaving the day after that and will be gone a week,” she said, anticipating his next question. “The Vicomtesse d’Appel is having a fête at her château in Magon.” She wasn’t relishing the sojourn away from Gabriel for several days, but she’d accepted the invitation weeks ago at Nicole’s behest, and she couldn’t disappoint her friend by denying her request to accompany her.

It would allow her time to reassert some much-needed self-discipline where Luc was concerned and sort out the delicate situation she found herself in.

“What a coincidence,” he said. “I’ll be there too.”

Her stomach dropped. “You will?”

Taking her hand, he bowed and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckle, his warm lips lightly brushing against her skin. A hot pulse quivered through her core. “I will—as soon as I secure my invitation.” A glint of wicked promise entered those intoxicating green eyes. “To our week together, beautiful Juliette. Adieu,” was the last thing he said before sauntering into the rain to his waiting carriage.