Love's Vengeance Read Free Page A

against his chest to free herself, only to feel the bodice of her gown give way as he fell back. She had shrieked, flaying him with an assortment of well-chosen words and turned away trying unsuccessfully to hide her bosom in the tatters of her chemise.
    Then from all directions, across the square had come her heroes at a jog—as always, rushing to her aid. They had surveyed the young Fabre' seated against a tree rubbing his jaw in stunned silence and then Antoine's eyes had fallen to her gown. Quickly accessing the damage he had removed his coat with a curse, draping it carefully about her shoulders while the other young men had glared at their foe with rage.
    Rene' Vermillion had made to lay the offender lower still but she had tugged at his arm, assuring him she was fine and pleading with him to see her back to the inn to change clothes. His eyes had been afire with anger, his fists clenched ready to do battle but he had nodded, placing an arm about her shoulders and leading her away.
    She had heard Antoine's voice, very tight and menacing behind her as he spoke to his cousin, “Never touch her again or by God you will have me to answer to.”
    Although Antoine had been very close to his cousin, the rift caused by that indiscretion had taken the whole of this last year to reconcile.
    “You have two types of men in your life Pet,” her mother was now saying, “those you don't know and those you know too well. One day, you must learn to restrain yourself and allow a man to court you or you shall have a multitude of confidants but not a one brave enough to give you even that first kiss.”
    Desiree quietly digested this statement. The same words she had heard time and again from Bridgett but to hear them from her mother gave them added weight. Perhaps she were right, perhaps she befriended too easily.
    Philippe Barbre came to mind. He looked to her as almost a mother image, although she was only one year his senior. He had been orphaned ten years ago, at the age of seven and taken in as an apprentice to her godfather’s groomsman. She had met him shortly after his arrival and they now shared a closeness that had stemmed from his need to have someone…anyone to care for him. She could not imagine how lonely he would have been if not for her openness that had brought him out of his shell those many years ago.
    But if her mother spoke true, then she must be distant. And what man would she distance herself from in order to spark his interest? Which one could she honestly consider as a mate for life? None came to mind. They were all as close as family. And what would she do if she lost the friendship of even one by distancing herself? She could not bear it, she knew.
    Then too, she had witnessed enough of the sickening ploys girls that were her peers practiced to entrap a man's interest. In the close living quarters of an exclusive private finishing school in Paris, she had found that she shared nothing in common with the other young women attending. They had but one topic of conversation, men, or more specifically the strategy they were plotting to woo one into a proposal of marriage and she could not abide their prattle.
    Her dearest friends had always been boys and over the years she had spent many happy summers romping in the cool murky lake, riding horses, attending social and other functions with Philippe, Antoine and others. She felt a fierce sense of loyalty to each of her friends. Men were not merely a quest to her—not a quarry to ensnare.
    Of her closest friends, the four young men who lived within a few miles of her home, three were from well to do families, but Philippe, the fourth, worked, and worked hard, for his keep. Three were vied for by many of the young women of Rouen, while Philippe was given hardly a passing glance. How that fact infuriated her and in itself gave credence to her vehement opinion of most women and their ploys. For Philippe was by far the most appealing of the four—extremely handsome