The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(59)

Nicolas, more precise than Julien, had once been more focused as well. But Julien had a ferocious concentration today that fixed itself on his older brother as though he were fighting his own demons incarnate. It was Charlotte who murmured in her ear, “There is always ferocity when a woman is involved.”

Plainly, Charlotte thought she was that woman. It was an…intriguing thought. Lucette had never imagined herself a femme fatale, leading brothers to duel one another for her favour. Not that she intended to bestow her favour on either of them—at least, not as a result of a practice yard fight.

True to his uncle’s command, Felix kept up a running commentary on the match. “See how Uncle Julien moves his feet? If it were an opponent who did not know him, the surprise would be very useful. But father knows him too well. He can always anticipate where Uncle Julien will be.”

Indeed, after a bit it did seem as though Nicolas were fighting with all the foreknowledge of a seer. Julien seemed to realize it as well, if the narrowness of his eyes and tightness of his jaw were any indication. His wheat-coloured hair tumbled about his face as he whirled suddenly away and back, out of his brother’s reach, and they stood facing each other with an intensity that suggested they had momentarily forgotten there were spectators.

“Quitting?” Nicolas asked, with an ugly edge to his voice that seemed to hint at an unknown number of grudges. So might a man sound who hated his brother, perhaps for loving his wife or perhaps for something else. Even if Nicolas had not greatly loved Célie for herself, the possessiveness of a husband could easily make a man territorial and unwilling to share.

Like Dominic and William.

Julien just laughed. “When, dear brother, have I ever walked away from a fight?”

“No, you don’t walk away so much as send someone else to finish the fight for you. Who will it be today, Julien? Going to send Felix in your place next time?”

All the irritation previously alive in Julien’s expression flattened into blankness. “That is unfair.”

“So’s war. And also, I believe, love.”

Julien dropped his sword. “Well, then, in the interests of brotherly love, let us call it a draw.”

There seemed to be a wealth of unspoken communication between them, and Lucette chanced a sideways glance at Renaud. His hands were knotted together until his knuckles were white. Suddenly she knew that something terrible stood between these brothers. Something only they and their father knew.

Something—she was sure of it—that had happened in 1572.

Nicolas held his position as though contemplating striking the unprepared Julien, but at last he shrugged and dropped his own sword point. “We shall call it a draw for now. But brothers cannot ever leave matters entirely alone. We shall finish the fight one day.”

Julien jerked his head in acknowledgment and strode out of the yard without a glance for Felix or Lucette or anyone else watching. After only a moment’s hesitation, Lucette followed him.

As she went, she heard Felix say, “Mademoiselle…” and then Nicolas reprove his son.

“Let her go, Felix.” Lucette fancied she could feel the force of Nicolas’s gaze at her retreat. “There’s no need to chase the lady down. She’ll come back of her own accord quick enough.”

He sounded absolutely sure of himself.

—

When Julien heard Lucette following him (who else would be foolish enough to come after him when he was clearly in a temper?), he wanted to turn his eyes to heaven and ask piteously, Why now? She had asked him to kiss her, appeared to enjoy the experience, and then taken every effort to keep out of his way since.

Not, he admitted to himself, that he had made any great efforts otherwise. He hadn’t been lying—he did only kiss women who asked it of him—but the asking had always been a game, the words a mere formality considering that those women had given every indication of wanting far more than just a kiss. There had been times when he wished he hadn’t told Lucette that, having been so sure that she would never ask. Whether from pride or disinterest…

But then she did. In the most honest, winsome manner that had the effect of a spear blow to his chest. No woman had ever looked at him like that—except Léonore. And see how badly that turned out, he reminded himself blackly.

He was not used to jealousy, at least not on his own account. But as Lucette had taken to spending much of her time with Nicolas this last week, he’d at times been so jealous he couldn’t see straight. He’d rather have the Paris strumpets, he told himself. At least the whores never pretended.

All in all, he’d been glad enough to fight Nicolas today. Until his brother took the single worst moment of Julien’s life and openly threw it in his face.

This was why he never came home. Forget pleasing Charlotte—he would leave tonight. He did not want to be here while Paris descended and Lucette paired herself with Nicolas.

Except she can’t, his selfish side whispered. No matter how much Nic may want her, he can never give her what I can.

So he wasn’t pleased when she caught him up. “I thought you said you didn’t run away,” she noted shrewdly.

“I would think you’d be pleased with my restraint,” he said, halting because he could not go on without rudeness and because, finally, she was speaking to him, and damn it all if it didn’t make him dizzy. “I assure you, I could have finished my brother with a few carefully chosen strokes. I have always been the more violent one.”