Chapter Nine

Good Lord. Why on earth is it so difficult for this man to just follow?

Isabelle stalked back over to Luc, exasperated.

“Why are you always running away after sex?” he asked when she was close enough to hear. That question stopped her abruptly, several feet away. He didn’t allow her to think of a response. He continued, “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then come to my rooms with me.” He approached and stopped before her. “Allow me to show you more pleasures. I’ll have dry clothes brought to my chambers and a hot bath to warm you.” He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Then I’ll warm you on a soft bed, with some silk ties.”

Hunger roiled through her in a hot wave.

She took a quick step back, unable to quell the quickening in her pulse.

“I wouldn’t keep asking if I saw complete disinterest in your eyes,” he said. “That’s not what I see. It isn’t that you’re not interested or curious. Because, by your body’s reactions, I see that you are. Who hurt you? It was a man—a member of the aristocracy. Isn’t that so?”

*****

Luc waited. And watched. She didn’t respond. Silently, she simply stared back at him, keeping her secrets.

He pressed on. “What did he do?” They were both drenched and in need of some dry clothing. In need of a bed. But damn it, he wanted to know, hating the notion that anyone would harm this woman in any way—because he knew, down to his marrow, that he was correct. Everything told him so.

Again, she offered no answer.

And for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t respond at all. But then she shook her head. “Not just one.”

That hit him like a blow to the gut.

“Who?” He’d see to it that he paid each one a visit. But her only response was to shake her head again. Damn it.

“Was one of the men Gabriel’s father?”

“No,” she said, quick to defend him. And that uncharacteristic possessive feeling rose back up in him.

“How many men?”

“Two.”

“What happened?” He caressed her soft cheek again, his heart constricted by the tears he saw form in her eyes. “It’s all right. Tell me, chère.”

“What happened is that I learned to be cautious with highborn men. I swore after surviving the clutches of both those men, I would remain in control of my life. No one would govern over me. And no one would ever be allowed to get close enough to me where they could harm Gabriel.”

Anger scorched through his veins with an intensity he hadn’t experienced in a long time—hating it with all his being that anyone would cause this woman distress. Gently, he curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up. “I understand your anger at the people who hurt you.” More than she could ever imagine. He’d harbored rage for so long, it had become lodged in his soul. Taking years to master. “I told you before, I won’t lie to you. I won’t hurt you. I’m not like them. You can trust me,” he urged.

She looked him straight in the eye, her spine stiff, her lovely smile gone. “All words I’ve heard before. I have a son. His welfare is not something I’ll risk. Not for anything or anyone. Not even for my own wants and desires.”

Once again, he marveled at her. His own mother hadn’t been able to protect him. Her spirit had been broken under his father’s tyranny. He’d often volunteered to take the abuse meant for her. Whatever this woman before him had endured, it hadn’t broken her. Her defenses were in place for the sake of her son.

And he couldn’t fault her for that—though he wished she’d tell him more. Trust him more.

In no way had he given up on learning all the many facets that made up Juliette Carre, but he wasn’t about to demand answers. Nor interrogate her. That would only make her run from him or shut him out completely. And that was the opposite of what he wanted.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against that sensitive spot under her ear. He loved her little gasp. “I’ll earn your trust. And a kiss from your beautiful mouth, Juliette. But for now, let’s get you to your rooms, dry clothes, and that warm bath you crave.”

There were certain people he had no patience for. Juliette wasn’t one of them. She was worth the trouble and the time it would take to gain her trust. To be a confidant. A friend and lover. The more he learned, the more he liked her. She was loving and loyal to her son. Full of endearing little peculiarities. Sensual and so deliciously sensitive to his touch.

Always full of surprises.

Moreover, this woman was an impressive actress. She might have fooled the others, but she hadn’t fooled him.

Because he was certain of one thing.

Juliette Carre was no seasoned courtesan from Venice.

*****

“Surely you jest,” Isabelle said, unable to hold back a soft laugh.

Luc’s amusing take on A Lady’s Dilemma was the reason for her mirth.

The popular novel was frequently discussed at all the salons around the city and published anonymously—as many of them were.

She’d walked all the way back to the outside doors leading to the kitchen, engrossed in the subject of Luc’s favorite novels. And some of his least favorite. She was delighted to learn he was such an avid reader. Together, they strolled through the busy kitchen, their clothing ruined from the rain, as the staff raced about. Yet the rapid movements and chatter around them faded into the background as Luc’s comments on the novel had her laughing again and again.

“No jest. It was awful,” he insisted.

“Oh, come now,” she said. “You can’t tell me you didn’t at least enjoy the merchant and his wife in that book? They offered a delightful bit of comic relief.”

“The cat was my favorite character because he didn’t speak. It was a relief from the tedious dialogue.”

That drew another laugh from her. She was thoroughly enjoying this new side of him she’d just discovered. They’d reached the servants’ staircase and made their way up to the next floor.

“What about the duc? He was gallant and brave. Did you care for him?”

“A fool,” he said.

They stopped at the top of the stairwell, before the door leading to the corridor of the second floor. “Don’t tell me—you liked his horse.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Because he didn’t speak.” She finished the sentence with him in unison and joined him in a laugh.

She watched as Luc opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. “It’s empty. Which room is yours?”

“Third to your left.”

He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers, then proceeded into the hallway. Holding his hand as she walked with him felt so natural. And right. As though he’d been hers for years.

In a way, she supposed, he had been.

The younger, naïve version of herself had been so in love with him, and though they’d never even spoken back then, being with him now felt wonderfully familiar. When she’d had many dreams of moments like these with him in the past. When everything else in her life was one new obstacle after another.

They stopped in front of her door. She turned to him and smiled, feeling a little awkward and far too aware of his proximity to her body and her bed beyond the door.

“Thank you for escorting me to my rooms.”

He had the most infectious smile. The moment it appeared and reflected in his eyes, it broadened hers to a happy grin. He really was like a balm at times that seemed to coat all the disquiet and worry she harbored inside. And she relished that.

“Thank you for a delicious evening.” He curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her head back.

She closed her eyes and braced herself for the thrill of his mouth against her skin. A sensation she couldn’t get enough of. He didn’t disappoint. The light brush of his lips up the side of her neck tantalized her nerve endings, sending ripples of pleasure quivering down to her core.

“I’m going to think of you as I lie in bed,” he said in her ear. “I’m going to luxuriate in the memory of your body covered in raindrops, your arms over your head. I’m going to imagine you feverish for me. Ready to take my cock again.” He gave her earlobe one of his sensuous little bites. It snatched her breath away. “…And how good it feels to be inside you.” Her heart was already racing. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands behind her back to keep from reaching for him. Concerned that if she touched him, she might not let go.

“I hope you’ll think of me too, Juliette. I hope you’ll allow yourself to imagine what it would feel like to relinquish complete control to me during sex. To be bound for my pleasure…and yours.” That was the last thing she’d allow herself to imagine.

A loud thud and a cry stopped the heated moment cold.

Isabelle snapped her eyes open and saw a servant down on the ground, folded linens scattered on the floor beside her. She realized instantly the servant had slipped on the wet wood. Water that had come from her soaked gown.

Isabelle dashed from her spot between Luc and her door to the woman on the ground. Falling to her knees, she quickly helped the servant to a sitting position. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, madame. I’m sorry to have concerned you,” she said, distracted. Her gaze darted about at the linens she’d dropped, some of which were now wet. She was about Isabelle’s age, slender. And distressed.

Being familiar with the duties of a servant, she felt instant compassion for the woman’s predicament. She didn’t know how sharp Eléonore d’Appel was with her staff for minor infractions, but something like this would have been harshly dealt with by Charles de Moutier in his household.

“Let me help you up. Then we’ll attend to the linens,” Isabelle said as she stood and reached out a hand to aid her to her feet.

The servant finally dragged her attention from the linens on the floor and met her gaze.

She let out a shriek.

It took Isabelle two heartbeats to change from surprise over her reaction—to recognition.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. This was no ordinary servant. She was a former servant of Luc’s father. One Isabelle had worked with many years ago.

Delphine…

Seated on the floor, her mouth agape, Delphine looked at her as though she was seeing a ghost. “You’re…you’re…al—”

“Allow me to assist.” Luc reached down and pulled Delphine to her feet before Isabelle could stop her words.

Delphine tore her gaze from Isabelle to Luc. She let out another shriek and jumped away from him—bumping into Isabelle.

Luc met Isabelle’s gaze, bewildered over Delphine’s behavior.

“M…my lord, my apologies,” Delphine began her babbling to her former master’s son. “It’s…you.” She snapped her head in Isabelle’s direction. “And…And YOU.”

Isabelle threw her arm around Delphine’s shoulder. “I think she may have hit her head. She seems confused,” she said to Luc. “I’ll attend to her in my rooms. Good night.” Then she whisked Delphine away before she could utter another word.

Matters just became more complicated.

*****

The moment Isabelle closed the door of her antechamber, she pressed a finger to Delphine’s lips to silence her. Though her eyes were wide, she remained quiet as Isabelle listened to the sound of Luc’s footsteps in the corridor diminish to nothing.

When she was sure Luc was gone, she removed her finger and, taking Delphine’s hand, pulled her into her bedchamber, closing that door as well. They were far enough away from the hallway now to have a private conversation without being overheard.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation to have.

There was a very different woman standing before Delphine from the one she’d known years ago.

Isabelle Laurent was now a mother and a courtesan.

Delphine remained transfixed by her, her mouth agape. She reached out tentatively and touched Isabelle’s cheek as if to see if she were real.

“Yes, Delphine, it’s me, Isabelle.” Clutching both her hands, she squeezed them and smiled.

Delphine’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re…you’re alive!” She threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly, then pulled back to gaze at her once more, still in obvious astonishment. “H…How can that be?”

“I know this is all a shock. And the story is rather long and complicated. In short, Leon de Vittry, Baron de Lor—a man who pretended to be a friend to my father and my family for years—harbored a dark madness no one knew existed. He hurt many people. Murdered others. He tried to silence me when I’d discovered what he was about—his twisted plans. He set the servants’ outbuilding I was in at the Moutier château ablaze. I managed to get out. I managed to save Virginie’s baby.” Isabelle’s throat constricted. “But not Virginie.” Those words were painful to utter, even after all these years. Images of that horrific day flashed in her mind—the inferno blazing high in the sky, as Gabriel, but a few weeks old, lay so quietly in her arms as if he too was too terrified, too in shock to cry. “The building was engulfed by fire so quickly. I couldn’t find her in the smoke. I managed to locate Gabriel, and we ran from the building. But I couldn’t go back for his mother. Moments after Gabriel and I got out, the roof collapsed.” Her throat felt as raw now from emotion as it had that day when it was scorched by smoke and heat from the flames.

“You mean the body they found was the village girl who used to come begging for food?” Delphine asked, incredulous.

“Yes. I told her what time I’d be in the outbuilding that day. I always gave her something to eat. She was a widow with a baby and no family.”

“What…What happened to the babe? Why did you not come back and tell us you were all right? Did you tell your sister? They buried the village girl’s body thinking it was you.”

“I knew they would. I simply couldn’t let anyone know I was still alive. That would have placed people in danger, including my family and me. Leon wouldn’t have stopped until I—and everyone who he believed knew the truth about him—was dead. I had to have him think he’d succeeded in killing me. As to Gabriel, that adorable baby boy had absolutely no one. He was, at that moment, as alone in the world as I. I’ve raised him myself. He’s my son.” Her heart swelled at the mere mention of the most important person in her world. “We have a new life, and I have a new identity.”

She’d refused to change the name Virginie had given her son.

It was her way to honor her.

“Oh my…” Delphine yanked a handkerchief out of her bodice and dabbed her tears, then blew her nose. “That’s so very touching…” Another loud blow of her nose. “So, so touching what you did for that babe.” She composed herself after a loud sniffle and a final blow into her handkerchief. “This is all so incredible.” She looked down.

“I know. It is quite a lot to digest.” Oh, there was so much more. But some things didn’t need to be retold.

Delphine’s head shot up as if she’d just recalled something important. “I saw you with Monsieur de Moutier! Isabelle, he was all you ever spoke of… And you were just…well, rather he was…” Her cheeks reddened. “I mean, you were both…”

Delphine had a habit of babbling when she became excited. Or nervous. And she was more often than not in one state or the other. Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her friend down beside her. “I believe you’re searching for in flagrante delicto,” she supplied. There wasn’t going to be any way around this. Delphine was about to learn just what her new life entailed.

Delphine blinked, staring back at her.

“In an amorous situation,” she said, trying again.

“Oh yes! That!” Her gaze swept over her from head to foot, puzzlement entering her hazel eyes. “And why are you dressed this way, in all this finery? And why is it all wet?”

Delphine had been the only person at the Moutier château who hadn’t laughed at her girlhood affinity for Luc. Or mocked her dream of winning the heart of Charles de Moutier’s youngest son, when at the time, she was nothing more than one of their servants.

As sweet and exuberant as Delphine was, she was also at times forgetful. Isabelle wanted to remind her that once, finery was what she always wore—albeit not in wet ruins like the gown she presently had on, but instead said, “My new identity is Juliette Carre.”

Delphine shot to her feet. “The courtesan?”

Calmly, Isabelle pulled her back down to a sitting position on the bed. “Yes.” Her heart was starting to pound. Her stomach began to tighten back into a knot—the usual feelings that barraged her since the day she fled from the fire. The wonderful lassitude that Luc had inspired was clearly beginning to dissipate. Besides Nicole, this was the first person who knew the old Isabelle.

But this wasn’t Nicole, who was urbane about such matters.

She wasn’t sure of the possible condemnation she was about to receive. She couldn’t help but think of her sister and wonder what Sabine would say about the acts Isabelle was willing to perform for funds.

“You…you…copulate with these men?” Delphine’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper, though they were alone in the room. Her eyes couldn’t be open any wider.

“Those of my choosing, yes.” She shifted, feeling more and more disquieted.

“I’ve heard the aristos talk about you. About Juliette Carre. You are highly desired.”

“Yes, that is rather a must in being a courtesan.”

Delphine let out a shriek—making Isabelle jump—then laughed and clapped her hands. “Why, that’s wonderful!”

“Wonderful?” Not exactly the word she would have used.

“Yes! You have all these powerful aristos fawning all over you. Do you know they argue with each other over who is most deserving of you?”

At least she was performing this courtesan role correctly.

Delphine didn’t grant her time to reply. “Do they adorn you with expensive gifts and funds?”

She shifted at the mention of payment for her services. “I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t providing funds for Gabriel and me. I intend to make certain that his future is secure. He will want for nothing. And he will not be vulnerable to poverty and know the horror of it. Nor be at the whims of wealthy men. That is why I need you to keep my secret. Isabelle Laurent is dead. Do I have your word?”

“Of course!” Delphine was back on her feet and pulled Isabelle to hers. She moved behind her and started undoing her gown. “You needn’t worry about my saying a thing. I’m so glad you’re alive and well, Madame Carre. And I’m glad you are able to take some of these aristos’ wealth for yourself. You deserve it. And so does your son. Now, let’s get you out of this wet gown before you catch your death.”

Isabelle’s pulse began to relax, as did her stomach, as she realized just how much it had meant to her to have her friend’s acceptance of her new persona. She was glad she’d found Delphine again. Another ally. Someone she could trust in a world full of disloyalty and malicious schemes. She heard loud sniffling behind her. Turning her head, she saw that Delphine was weeping again.

“Delphine, what is the matter?”

“You…you were with Luc de Moutier. How incredible is that? You made your dream come true.”

No, I haven’t, she wanted to say, ignoring the twinge in her heart. Not in the way she used to dream about them together—where she had his love and his body.

But she had gotten one thing right in her old romantic fantasies. Being with Luc was incredible—her beautiful aristo outcast.

Once again, he’d taken her with her arms above her head, not allowing her to touch him.

And she was determined to learn why. She wanted—no, needed—to know each and every one of his hidden secrets before she could ever entrust her and her son’s safety in his hands. Before she could ever reveal her own secrets. She couldn’t allow herself to be fooled again.

Bad enough she’d made three reckless wishes once.

She wouldn’t allow herself to make another major mistake after placing her trust in Vittry and Roch. Both still gave her nightmares.

Her wet gown flopped to the floor. She stepped out of it, standing in her wet undergarments. Delphine picked up her gown.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Isabelle grabbed hold of the skirts.

Delphine gently swatted her hands away. “Nonsense. I want to. And it would look rather odd having you do it.” She smiled and walked away and draped it over one of the chairs. “I’ll attend to it, and it will be as good as new.”

“Thank you… Delphine, I have some questions I must ask you, if you don’t mind.”

Her friend approached. “Of course. What would you like to ask?”

“Why do you suppose Luc didn’t recognize you just now? You’d been employed at his father’s château long before I arrived.”

Delphine shrugged. “I only saw him there once. Briefly. He’s forgotten, I suppose.”

“Just once in all those years? He never returned home during my employment there, but I thought perhaps prior—”

“Everyone knows he and his father didn’t much care for each other.”

“Yes, I’d heard that many times. But why? What happened between them?”

Delphine looked uneasy, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know if any of it is true…”

Isabelle’s stomach began to tighten again. Her friend’s sudden unease was palpable.

“What is it, Delphine? Tell me.”

“I heard, mind you, people can often exaggerate—especially since the late marquis was so despised by his staff…”

“Out with it, please.” The suspense was becoming excruciating.

“I heard that the late marquis would drag his son into his cabinet and…well…”

“Well, what?”

“There was much screaming. Not the angry sort. The sort associated with pain being inflicted. Some say they’d hear heavy lashings—always for minor infractions. Always just to his youngest son. That is, until the boy stopped screaming even when the lashing sounds could be heard. I was told he learned not to cry out anymore. Also, he’d often take beatings to spare his mother.”

A wave of revulsion oozed into her stomach. Dear God… She didn’t want to believe any of this had actually happened to Luc. That this was nothing more than venomous talk among servants, most of whom had despised Charles de Moutier. But she’d seen firsthand how heartless he was with his staff.

And, yet…his own son? Could he truly have misused him so barbarously? She couldn’t imagine inflicting any abuse on Gabriel. Ever.

She was sickened, furious, heartbroken for Luc, and incredulous all at once. Yet, of all the talk among the staff about the late marquis, if all this happened—repeatedly—why had no one ever mentioned or hinted at the abuse?

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t know. I’d only learned about it from the cook one night when he was into his cups. I heard the same thing from another member of the staff several months later. This happened after you left.”

“How…How long did they say this went on?”

“Until his mother, the marquise, fell ill and died and he was big enough to fight back. He began engaging in fisticuffs in taverns. And in duels. I’d heard that one day, he came to physical blows with his father. Pummeled him well, then left to join the King’s navy.”

Was this the reason for the sadness she’d seen in his eyes years ago? Could this be connected to the falling out Luc had had with his brother?

Though she’d learned that Luc certainly wasn’t the only man who indulged in erotic bondage, she couldn’t deny it had overwhelming appeal to her now. Especially after tonight. She was sorely tempted to surrender to the restraints he wanted to use on her.

But was his attraction to it only about enhancing sexual play?

Or had his body been so mistreated that he didn’t want it touched?

She had to know, from his lips.

*****

“Luc!” Hearing his name called out behind him stopped Luc in his tracks. He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. It was late afternoon. Eléonore’s salon was beginning, and he was anxious to see Juliette.

He knew he’d find her there.

Given her love of literature, she was sure to join in on an intellectual gathering where people came together to discuss and debate philosophy, religion, politics, books, and grammar. Where she was regularly invited, not for her vocation but for her extensive knowledge and wit.

Salons had never been of interest to him in the past. Mostly because he didn’t like those in attendance at the more prestigious ones where the aristocracy were in greater number than the literati. But last night, he’d thoroughly enjoyed debating with her about books.

Hell, he’d enjoyed every moment in her company.

His bright and beautiful faux courtesan.

A woman hiding behind a façade named Juliette Carre who didn’t even realize just how intensely sensual she really was. How sensuous she was during sex. He loved expanding her sexual horizon, more than he could ever admit. She was pure delight at every turn.

And a mystery he couldn’t wait to unravel.

Marc caught up to him. He clamped a hand onto Luc’s shoulder good-naturedly with a smile. Once again, Luc had to tamp down the wave of revulsion that roiled through him, every fiber of his being screaming for him to knock the hand away.

“Where are you off to, my friend?” Marc asked.

Dropping his hands from his hips, Luc jerked his chin in the direction of the double white doors at the end of the long window-lined corridor and stepped back casually, breaking Marc’s touch. “To Eléonore’s salon.”

“I’ll walk with you. I have something to tell you. You are going to thank me.” He seemed pleased with himself.

“Oh?” Luc slowed down his brisk pace so he wouldn’t have to listen to Marc’s ribbing about the reason for his rush. He’d run right into Marc last night on his way back to his rooms—soaking wet, sporting what must have been a big, foolish grin on his face—fresh from his encounter with Juliette.

It took Marc half a moment to decipher what he’d been up to. And with whom.

“What am I going to thank you about?”

“Well, since the only people you seem to be charming here are Juliette Carre and your female dinner partners, I thought to help you out by having a lengthy talk with the Marquis de Nort about you.”

“Why would that make me thank you?” Damn it. It was going to take forever to get to the salon at the leisurely pace Marc walked.

“Because the man has no fewer than four daughters. Two of marriageable age.”

“So?”

His brows shot up. “I thought you were looking for a bride. He’s interested in speaking to you. If you don’t challenge him to a duel or offend him—and you happen to find one of his attractive daughters to your liking, who, by the way, don’t talk about their footwear—you could possibly begin contract negotiations to wed one of them.”

This subject didn’t hold the same appeal it once had.

“I appreciate your efforts, Marc. Truly, I do. Perhaps another time.”

Marc stopped dead in his tracks. “You jest.”

Luc kept walking. “No, I don’t.”

His friend raced up to him. “You’re going to snub the man?”

“No. I’ll speak to him. Just not about marrying one of his attractive daughters who don’t talk about footwear.”

Marc laughed and shook his head. “All right. I understand what’s happening here. And I can’t blame you for your lack of interest in Nort’s daughters. Not when you have Juliette Carre. Bloody hell, there isn’t a man present who doesn’t envy you at the moment for your success with her.”

“Success? She’s not a contest. She’s a woman.” An extraordinary one, full of delightful surprises, with whom he was having spine-melting sex.

“One you’re too silent about. Come now, Luc. Provide details. Something. Anything. Have some mercy. I doubt she’ll ever favor me as she favors you. Allow me to live the experience through you. How good is the sex?”

“How good is the sex with Eléonore?”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Or I may decide I don’t like you anymore.” Marc’s smile nullified the threat and made Luc laugh.

“The crowd of people who don’t like me is rather large. You’ll only melt into a sea of faces.” They stopped before the doors at the end of the hallway with Marc chuckling.

“My friend, you can’t afford to lose me. I might be the only man in the entire realm who still tolerates you.”

Luc smiled. “I think you’re correct on that score.” Though, now that he was back among his peers, that notion didn’t at all bother him.

Just as he was about to put his hand on the door latch, Marc said, “At least tell me… How does she like your particular sexual propensity?”

He knew he was asking about sexual bondage. Images of last night, Juliette’s trembling body glistening with raindrops, her arms above her head tangled in her gown as he fingered her to the edge of release, flitted through his mind. His cock stiffened in an instant. Mentally, he cursed. Walking into the salon with a stiff prick was the last thing he wanted to do.

He turned to Marc, his friend’s expression etched with anticipation of his next utterance. “I haven’t really taken her that way.”

Marc blinked. Surprise, then shock crossed his features.

Luc sighed. He needed a moment to cool his blood so he could walk into the room and not look like a rutting roué, but the subject of taking Juliette bound wasn’t likely to help in that regard.

He should have simply kept his bloody mouth shut.

“What on earth does that mean? Not really taken her that way?”

“It means exactly what I said. I haven’t had her bound. She said no.”

Marc’s mouth fell slightly agape, and his eyes were so wide, it was almost comical. “And…And you didn’t…walk away?”

“No.”

Marc’s mouth opened wider. Then he threw back his head with a loud guffaw. “Oh, this is too incredible…” More laughter. It took him long, annoying moments before he sobered up, adding, “This is unbelievable. You? You didn’t…” That prattle was followed by some snickering.

Well, he’d needed a cooling effect, and Marc had provided just enough irritation to take the edge off.

“What are you carrying on about?”

“You never take a woman who’s not willing to be bound when fucked.”

“Clearly, that’s not true. There’s Juliette.” If truth be told, no one was more surprised than he at the fact that he’d had her twice—two utterly delicious carnal encounters—with the full knowledge that she wasn’t truly restrained during any of it.

He couldn’t tell Marc that that wasn’t even the most unimaginable part; she’d touched his back, and he hadn’t even noticed.

Marc shook his head, still snickering. “For you to forgo a sexual practice you enjoy immensely, an integral part of how you fuck, she must be incredible.”

“She most definitely is.”

“It must be her vast carnal experience.”

“She most definitely isn’t.”

Marc frowned, confused. “She isn’t what?”

“Vastly experienced in sex.”

“What are you talking about? She’s a courtesan.”

“She may be a courtesan. She may be highly sought out. But she’s not as experienced as is being suggested about her.”

“But…you said she was incredible during sex.”

“She is beyond incredible during sex. The best I’ve ever had, in fact. But she also has only a basic experience in the carnal arts—a fact you’ll not tell anyone,” Luc warned.

“Of course not. I’d never betray your confidence, but…” Marc rubbed the back of his neck. “Dieu, Luc, I can’t believe this is true. How can she be practically a sexual novice? All the talk about her… And her family… She comes from a long line of Venetian courtesans. Not to mention she’s a friend of Nicole de Grammont.”

“Madame de Grammont has many friends. That means nothing. I’m certain not every woman she socializes with has an advanced knowledge of sex. You’ve mentioned Juliette hasn’t been in Paris long, but from what I’ve gathered, the Marquis de Cambry is the only other man here who’s had her. As to her background, I don’t know a thing about her family or where she comes from, but I will. There’s nothing I’m looking forward to more than to learn every detail about her.” Except, perhaps, getting her alone in a bedchamber, near some silk or satin ties.

And permission to kiss her mouth to hot oblivion and back.

He couldn’t take the smile off his face. The mere thought of her did that to him. She made him feel joyful while setting his body on fire at the same time. And he loved that combination—more than he could ever admit. His every nerve ending was already humming in anticipation of seeing her. He wasn’t going to barrage her with the questions he had about her. He knew she wouldn’t be receptive to that. He’d take it slowly, relishing the notion of getting to know more about her a little at a time. It was like savoring the unwrapping of an unexpected present, anxious about what surprise awaited him.

Luc opened the door and walked in. Eléonore was the first woman he spotted among the various groups clustered about the room, and he forced his legs in her direction first, rather than look for Juliette, wanting to bid his hostess a good day and afford her every regard she was due. Her invitation to her weeklong gathering, regardless of any amorous arrangements she and Marc might have made, was sincerely appreciated.

Eléonore smiled at his and Marc’s approach. Luc made light chatter with her and the group of mostly ladies surrounding her, making certain not to get too involved in their debate of the Spanish classics. Not when he’d rather be in the far corner of the room where he’d located Juliette, dressed in a mouthwatering, gold-colored gown. As usual, Vannod was there. And she had him and other men and women in her group captivated by whatever commentary she was making.

So much for hoping his unruly cock would behave. Not even seeing the way Vannod leaned into her from time to time could redirect his heated thoughts. Marc dove into a discussion of one of the sonnets by the late Spaniard Miguel de Cervantes and moved to stand next to Eléonore, immediately enthralling her and the group. Allowing Luc a gracious exit.

And he couldn’t be more grateful to Marc, knowing he’d done so purposely to help him.

Luc approached Juliette’s group, intending to keep the promise he’d made to her the other day not to cause her trouble by purposely rattling or verbally sparring with Vannod—or the idiot brothers Auguste and Frédéric he just noticed were also in her company.

“Marquis de Fontenay, how good to see you.” Juliette smiled. It made his heart race. “Please join us, won’t you?” Luc relaxed his shoulders, not realizing he’d tensed as he approached.

He had an easy rapport with women. A casual approach to any affair. And it wasn’t as though lust was foreign to him. Hell, he loved the feeling of desire coursing through his blood when a woman he wanted was near. But this woman and his attraction to her was on another, entirely new level of intensity altogether. What this woman could do to him with a glance, a smile, a word was fiercely unraveling. Worse, he was beginning to have those odd tender feelings Isabelle alone had inspired with her journals.

And he had no idea what to do with them.

Or how to tame this interest he had in Juliette.

All he knew for certain was that he wanted more of her. Dieu, he wanted to take her to his private rooms and have his fill of her. After just two carnal encounters, he had a fear deep down inside he’d never had before. That he might not ever get enough of her.

She, and not Isabelle, had taken over his thoughts and erotic dreams.

He greeted the ladies, followed by the men in the group, before turning his full attention to Juliette, ignoring the icy reception he got from his male peers.

“We’re discussing various Italian poets. Do you read Italian poetry?” Juliette asked him. Her genial regard of him immediately caused the palpable tension in the group to diminish. Though the men were still glaring at him with disdain, the women’s expressions were of curiosity at his response to Juliette’s query.

He positioned himself near friendly faces, standing between the Comtesse de Gigot and her daughter, Béatrix.

“I’ve read some.” It was an understatement. His education had been his childhood escape. Something he deeply treasured. His time with books—as many as he could devour—and with his tutor, the kindly Monsieur Henri, were the happiest moments of his boyhood. Rebuilding the costly libraries in his châteaus that were plundered while in the Crown’s possession had been a priority during the renovations. Though most things confiscated had been returned, he estimated he was still missing at least eight hundred volumes. And that pained him.

“Italian poetry?” Vannod scoffed. “A barbarian like you?” He practically spit the words at him.

Luc knew he was referring to his former habit of engaging in fisticuffs and duels. His time privateering probably fit into that category in Vannod’s opinion as well. He could have congratulated Vannod for demonstrating a rare instance of courage—since Vannod bloody well knew he’d dueled over lesser offenses and that his skill with weapons far exceeded Vannod’s—a man who’d never once sullied his lily-white hands in the service of his country. But instead, he chose more gracious words. “Yes, even a barbarian like me has been known to enjoy a sonnet or two.”

“Do tell, which Italian poets have you read?” the Comtesse de Gigot asked, the older woman looking up at him genuinely curious.

“Well, let me see. There’s one that stands out to me. A poetess named Isabelle,” he said, smiling at Juliette. Oddly, he thought he saw her flinch. “Or rather Isabella di Morra,” Luc pronounced in Italian. “To be more accurate.”

“Oh!” The comtesse clapped her hands with excitement. “I have read her work! Such a tragic figure. And such scandal, if what her brothers accused her of was true. Have you read any of her sonnets, Monsieur le Duc?” she asked Vannod.

Luc felt a measure of satisfaction at the renewed glare he got from Vannod. Here the poor duc was trying so hard to impress Juliette—his sac likely blue by now as he still waited on her. And Luc knew the answer, given the look in Vannod’s eyes, before he was forced to admit to it.

“No,” Vannod said, quietly miffed.

“What about you, Madame Carre?” the comtesse asked. “I know her work was popular in Venice. Since you’re from there, have you had occasion to read her sonnets?”

Merde. He’d forgotten that part. He too had heard about the late poetess’s popularity in Venice. Though Luc was more than a little skeptical of Juliette’s Venetian origins, he would never have purposely placed her in jeopardy of having any deceptions come to light.

Especially before this lot.

“Yes. I’ve read her work.” Juliette’s friendly smile faded slightly. “It’s somber and rather heartbreaking.”

Luc was impressed. She did know of the poetess and was familiar with her sonnets. Just when he was beginning to believe she might not be from Venice at all… The mystery of the woman before him only continued to grow and puzzle him.

“I gather you don’t care for her sonnets, then?” he couldn’t help but ask, genuinely interested in Juliette’s opinion.

“It isn’t that I don’t care for them. I think she was extraordinarily talented. I’m happy her sonnets didn’t die with her. But it’s hard on the heart to read them. There’s a great deal of sadness and feelings of isolation in them.”

Those were the very reasons he’d identified with the sonnets—so different from the writings of another woman named Isabelle. One who was in no way morose. Whose journals came to life. Written in a distinct, engaging style he’d come to adore, it depicted a woman full of passion and wit. Bright, brave, astute, and compassionate. A positive force he’d have loved to have known in his life.

And likely the reason he was so drawn to Juliette, who had the same qualities.

“Tragic? Scandal? How was Isabella di Morra tragic and scandalous?” The questions came from the comtesse’s daughter, Béatrix.

“She was the daughter of a baron, I believe,” Luc responded. “Her father abandoned his children, and her cruel brothers kept her mostly isolated in a castle where she wrote. Her only friends were a neighboring couple—a handsome former soldier and poet named Diego and his wife. When her brothers suspected Isabella of an affair with Diego, they murdered their sister, her tutor, and later Diego too.”

The comtesse nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”

“Oh my… How sad and scandalous.” That came from Béatrix. The other men, Vannod, and the buffoon brothers looked annoyed and bored. Clearly, intellectual gatherings such as these were something they considered tedious. He suspected Juliette was their only motivation for being in attendance.

And she was the only one whose reaction Luc cared about.

He met her gaze. In those big beautiful dark eyes, a smile shone back at him that matched the one on her lips. She seemed pleased, and delighted that he knew the story behind the poetess.

“And you, sir, what do you think of Isabella di Morra’s work?” she asked him. “Do you care for it?”

“I do. I think there’s a little bit of Isabella di Morra in all of us.”

Her smile didn’t slip, but there was a brief flash of sadness in her eyes before she gave him a small nod, telling him she very much liked and agreed with his response. Dieu, his affinity for this woman was far deeper than any other he’d ever bedded. For her sake, and hers alone, he’d just admitted to having similar emotions to the Italian poetess. Something he’d never have done for anyone before. The way she was looking at him with appreciation and pleasure left him feeling as if warm, sweet nectar had just melted over his insides.

“Not me,” Frédéric said, his obnoxious voice piercing the moment. “I can achieve gaiety easily with but some good wine and the company of a beautiful woman.” He smiled at Juliette. She didn’t even glance his way. Her gaze was still affixed to Luc.

And it made him happy.

“If you like stories with damsels and castles, Monsieur de Fontenay, you really should read The Princesses’ Adventures, if you haven’t already,” the comtesse said. “Everyone is talking about them and wondering who the brilliant author is behind the anonymous volumes. The third novel is due out very soon, I suspect. I cannot wait to see what the sisters will do with their princes next.”

Reluctantly, Luc dragged his gaze away from Juliette. “Princesses’ Adventures with sisters?”

“Yes. Have you read them?” the older woman asked.

“No. I haven’t.”

“Well, you should. The princesses are twins and get into quite the intrigue and trouble just to win the hearts of their princes.”

That sounded so very much like the books Isabelle mentioned in her journals. The plot was identical. His interest was piqued. “Do you have a copy of the first volume, Comtesse?”

“I do.” Juliette spoke up. “I’d be delighted to lend it to you.”