He’d been altogether perfect.
As perfect as she’d once imagined her Dark Prince to be. He wasn’t supposed to be like this now.
She had every confidence her cousins had set their plan in motion at the inn.
Only now it no longer felt right to do to him what she had planned.
In fact, it felt very wrong.
She was practically choking on the turmoil inside her.
The sky reflected her disquiet. Gray clouds loomed overhead, blocking out the late-day sun. It only served to elevate her sense of gloom and dread.
“Our bed nears.” He smiled. The appeal of those three words, the promise of luscious pleasures, tormented her further. There’d be no further intimate encounters.
She was about to drug him and steal from him.
After what they’d shared together, in the end, he’d despise her. And she had no idea why the notion bothered her as much as it did.
You have no choice. It was that simple. Yet it wasn’t.
He brushed his thumb along the curve of her breast. A soft gasp shot up her throat, sensations spiking from his touch to every sensitized nerve ending in her body. He was making this so difficult for her. He’d purposely fanned the fire inside her all afternoon during the ride to Delatour, inflaming her senses to a fiery pitch, in anticipation of their arrival at the inn.
“Your heart is racing again. Does this mean you’re anxious to reach the inn?” He repeated his caress. Pleasure rippled through her.
Stay focused. She had to start distancing herself from him.
Think of the huge debt. What she had left of her family. Think of Isabelle.
Sabine covered his hand and gently squeezed it, needing to still those decadent strokes. Mustering a small smile, she looked over her shoulder. “Yes. I’m most anxious.” That was mildly put. She’d never felt more inner torment in her life.
Horses’ hooves clattered over cobblestones.
She snapped her head around.
Delatour. They were inside the wall. The sight was like a fist to her belly. Jules led their party through the town. Lined with threestory white-and-timber buildings, its busy streets were noisy. Chaotic.
She felt swallowed up in the confusion. Heated haggling between merchants and customers, the incessant clucking of chickens, the shouts and laughter of children as they darted about assailed her ears. Carts rattled by. People moved past. The clamor and bustle escalated her distress.
It was all too loud for her frayed nerves.
A number of onlookers cast curious glances their way—their focus was Jules. It was then Sabine realized he was keeping to the middle of the road—just as any Aristo would—forcing others to either side. Only the upper class rode down the center of the street, and they were the only ones permitted to walk under the protective canopy-like jetties that jutted from the buildings. The rest of the population had to occupy the other spaces that put them at risk for a dousing from the chamber pots emptied out of the windows above.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that he gazed straight ahead and didn’t seem to notice the stares. His repeated defiance of society’s mores surprised her. He rode on, acting as if he were still privileged.
Jules negotiated a right turn. There it was. Located at the end of the road, made of gray stone, it stood three floors high—the inn.
A fresh wave of uncertainty hit her hard. She fought to reassert her resolve.
This is no time for a crisis of conscience!
Jules stopped the horse and dismounted.
He reached up to help her down. The moment her feet touched the ground, he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and tilted it up. He pressed his warm mouth to hers, instantly kindling a seemingly insatiable need for him. His scent, his taste filled her senses and for a moment quelled her agitation. Unable to resist the seductive pull of his kiss, she parted her lips for him, encouraging him into her mouth—uninhibited at the public display. But he lifted his head, denying her time to bask in the splendor of his mouth.
“Wait here,” he said with a wink.
Somehow she stopped herself from dragging him back for one last kiss.
With her heart in her throat, she simply nodded and watched him walk away, leading his horse toward his men. They stood in a group near the cart and horses in front of the inn.
It was then she noticed Raymond was missing.
Sabine looked about, yet couldn’t spot Jules’s loyal servant. He was never far from Jules’s side.
Where was he? He had to partake in the tainted meal her cousins had prepared. Good Lord, she couldn’t take one more complication.
Speaking to his men, Jules didn’t appear concerned about Raymond’s disappearance.
She watched the early evening breeze caressed his dark hair, his tall strong body, blowing his linen shirt against his sculpted chest. He looked princely.
He looked so good, it hurt.
She pulled her gaze away.
This was the stuff her father’s comedies and tragedies were about. A woman finds a modicum of bliss in the arms of her enemy, only to have to destroy it by her own hand. Ironic. Tragic.
Pathetic.
She kicked a small stone on the ground, all too aware of the knot in her throat. Had fate not intervened, she’d have never known this incomparable experience with him. She wouldn’t have stood any more of a chance to be with him than those women on the streets today.
Footsteps approached.
She looked up just as Jules reached her side. With one of his devastating smiles, he linked his fingers with hers, and bringing the back of her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to it. “Ready?”
Briefly glancing past him, she saw the men, cart, and horses heading to the stables at the side of the inn. She gazed back into his deep dark eyes and had to swallow before she could say, “Yes.”
He led her inside.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room. There were a number of wooden tables and chairs with a few patrons seated at them. A stone hearth was to their left.
“Good evening. Welcome!” the female voice behind them said.
Sabine stiffened. That voice sounded too much like . . . She turned. Her heart lost a beat.
Beneath the familiar matronly dress from their chests of costumes, her hair powdered to look older and her slim body padded to appear fuller, was Louise, her father’s longtime mistress and star actress from his troupe.
What on earth was she doing here?
It was impossible for her cousins to have reached home and returned with her in time.
Jules frowned. “Where is the owner?”
Dear God, he knew Joseph.
Louise’s years on the stage shone through as she held her perfect unwavering smile. “Why, you know my cousin Joseph? How delightful! Come have a seat. I’ll have my husband bring you and your lady something to drink.”
Husband?
“Did I hear you mention me, chérie?” Vincent, Louise’s older brother, also from her father’s former troupe, approached. He, too, was dressed to appear older than his years.
Was her entire family here? Where were her cousins?
Just then she took a closer look at the people seated at the tables. She all but groaned out loud. Clearly, Robert was no longer under the influence of the tainted wine. He was at one of the far tables—dressed as a woman—with Gerard, who looked old enough to be his, or her, father.
What were they thinking, sitting out here in the open?
If Jules were to recognize them . . .
“Why yes,” Louise said to Vincent. “This lovely couple has just arrived. What can I get for you, sir?” she asked Jules, her tone most cordial.
“The owner.” It was an unmistakable command, distinctly weighted with authority.
Louise’s eyes immediately filled with tears. She pulled out a handkerchief from her bodice and dabbed her cheeks as two teardrops gently rolled down her face on cue. “I would love nothing more than
to do that, but alas, I cannot.” She lowered her head, muffling a soft sob with the handkerchief. Vincent, seasoned actor that he was, placed a consoling arm around his “wife’s” shoulders while looking every bit as stricken as she.
“Please forgive my wife’s emotional state. I’m afraid Joseph’s dear wife, Anne, has become ill,” Vincent explained. “Joseph has taken her to an apothecary who saved her life once before. We are quite concerned about her. We pray the woman can help her.”
Louise pulled away from Vincent and composed herself. “Yes.” She dried her cheeks. “It was lucky we were here visiting when she became ill.”
“She’ll be fine.” Another familiar voice came from across the room. Sabine shot her gaze to the left and briefly closed her eyes.
Oh, Lord. Agnes, too?
“I’ve heard incredible things about that apothecary. She is gifted,” Agnes said as she approached. Stopping in front of Jules, she grinned up at him.
Agnes was no actress. She was an apothecary, the very one who’d helped Sabine by tainting the wine, and yet another member of her blended eclectic family. Agnes rarely held her tongue when her short temper flared. How was she to put on a believable performance?
Sabine peeked up at Jules. He looked serious. Too serious. Frantically she searched for recognition in his eyes, praying there would be none. Her father had had only one strict rule: She and Isabelle were to be invisible whenever they were at the theater. However, Jules had seen Louise and Vincent perform many times. She hoped for once his aristocratic attitude worked in their favor—that his inherent disinterest in the lower class would keep him from looking too closely at the “couple” before him.
“Your names are?” he asked. She couldn’t read much into those three curt words.
“Oh! What terrible manners. My apologies,” said Vincent. “I’m Gilbert and this is my wife, Bernadette.”
Louise walked over to Agnes and placed her arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “This is my sister, Claire.”
Since Jules wouldn’t know Agnes, she didn’t need a disguise. Nor did she need to sport that ridiculous grin affixed to her face. She was trying too hard, overcompensating for her dislike of nobles—including all Moutiers.
Instead of appearing genial, she looked daft.
“Really?” Jules responded, glancing at Agnes and her imbecilic expression. “I’m afraid I don’t see a family resemblance.”
Agnes opened her mouth to respond. Louise gave her a quick squeeze, cutting off her words by saying, “We had different fathers. Claire’s father died tragically young. Our mother remarried my father.”
Agnes shot a disapproving look, clearly displeased at being silenced. Especially by Louise. She had very little patience for Louise’s grandstanding ways.
Agnes had very little patience. Period.
Afraid she’d begin bickering, Sabine cleared her throat.
The distraction worked. Agnes turned her hazel eyes on Sabine.
Her idiotic grin returned.
“Oh, sir, my compliments! Your lady is lovely,” Agnes exclaimed with a tad too much exuberance. “So lovely! Let me take a closer look.” Agnes walked up to Sabine, then scrutinized her from head to toe.
What on earth was she doing?
“She has lovely features, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Agnes said. “But I fear she’s a bit”—she clamped her hands on Sabine’s hips—“thin. Some of my mutton will do the trick. We’ll have these hips and breasts filled out and then you’ll have something to hold on to!”
Sabine felt heat rush to her face.
If God was looking to punish her, she preferred the lightning bolt to this.
Louise pulled Agnes back. “Please forgive my sister,” she said to Jules. Lowering her voice to a loud whisper, she added, “She hasn’t been the same since her fall last winter.” Louise tapped her temple.
Agnes crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Fall . . . humph . . . I do have my hearing,” she shot back. “And my memory works just fine. Trust me, I will remember that comment later.”
“Easy, now,” Vincent said. “Claire is right about hips and breasts.” He gave Jules a wolfish grin. “Sir, I ask you, is there anything finer than the curve of a woman’s hips? Or a perfect plump breast? Heaven, no?”
What were the chances that the floor would give way and her family would fall through?
Jules placed a hand on her elbow; his touch immediately made her insides flutter. “You seem to have done a good job maintaining the inn.” To his credit, he chose to ignore the mortifying comments of her absurd lot before him. She wanted to kiss him for that.
“Why, thank you.” Louise was quick to take the praise. “We’ve maintained it to impeccable standards, for Joseph and dear Anne.”
Jules glanced around. Sabine held her breath, feverishly hoping that he didn’t recognize Robert and Gerard. “It’s very quiet. Not normal for this inn.”
“Well, yes, it is a bit quiet . . .” Vincent agreed. Sabine sensed that somehow they’d managed to clear out the inn.
“Then I’m certain there’s no problem with room selections. I’ll take the largest room on the second floor. The one at the end of the hall,” Jules advised, and began escorting Sabine toward the stairs.
“Wait!” Louise exclaimed and rushed to them. Fixing a smile back on her face, she said, “Why not sit down for some nourishment, and then proceed upstairs to the room you desire?”
He paused at the foot of the stairs. “I think not. We will have our meal in our room.”
“But your lady, lovely as she is, looks quite tired. Perhaps a small rest and some food first . . . then you won’t have to be interrupted with your meal.”
The door opened, grabbing Sabine’s attention. Raymond entered the inn.
“I’ll be right back,” Jules said to her, ignoring Louise, and stalked toward Raymond.
Louise linked arms with Sabine. “Allow me to escort you to a chair,” she said loudly, for Jules’s benefit. They began to walk.
“What are you doing here?” Sabine whispered.
“Agnes, in a rare moment of good sense, confessed that she’d tainted wine for you and what you intended to do with it. Fearing for your safety, we rushed to find you. Fortunately, when we reached Delatour, we happened to see Gerard and Robert. Gerard filled in the rest.”
Louise continued with a tight smile on her face. “Although I do approve of stealing from the Aristo—after what the Moutiers have done, he deserves what we’re about to do to him—you haven’t exactly handled this well. I can’t believe you gave yourself to him. Sans a maidenhead, it will take a greater dowry to marry you off. How could you do this, Sabine? I swore to your father on his deathbed I would take care of you, and you do something like this.”
Livid, Sabine stopped dead in her tracks and cast a quick glance at Jules. He and Raymond were engrossed in conversation. “No one in this family has come up with a solution to our dire situation. So I took the matter into my own hands, as I’ve been forced to do so many times before. I’m trying to keep us alive. A fortune in silver sits in the stables with five of Jules’s men. I’ve managed to come this far. On my own. And I’ll see this through to its successful conclusion.” The knots in her stomach had tightened with each word. “Further, my body is my own. What I choose to do with it is none of your concern. Neither is it your responsibility to ‘marry me off.’ ” Marriage was the last thing on her mind.
There had only been one man she’d ever thought to marry.
And he was across the room. About to be drugged and robbed.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll use the funds to purchase a new life for ourselves, and for dowries . . . especially for Josette and Pauline. Oh, and they need new gowns . . . a whole new wardrobe, in fact. My poor girls have been in rags long enough. As have I.”
At the mention of Louise’s spoiled daughters, her ire spiked. She was not her father. She didn’t need to placate and indulge them the way he had, simply to keep his mistr
ess happy and from leaving his troupe. Pauline and Josette were not his children and yet they, together with Louise, had done their share of draining Sabine’s family’s funds dry. Sabine had allowed them to remain after her father’s death because her conscience wouldn’t permit her to toss them out.
Knowing what would befall them if she did.
But she hadn’t done all this just so Louise and her daughters could attain status and new gowns.
The wealth wasn’t Louise’s to spend.
“I’ll decide how the silver is spent. After the debts are cleared, I’m searching for Isabelle.”
“Oh, Lord. Not this again. Isabelle is gone—”
“Stop. I’ll not hear talk of her being dead.” Perhaps it was because of Jules and old memories he stirred, but the feeling that Isabelle was still alive was stronger than ever.
“Sabine, sooner or later you’re going to have to accept the truth. It’s been five years—”
“I will find her. With the silver, I’ll have plenty of wealth to search.” She knew it sounded mad. They knew where Isabelle had been buried.
She hadn’t been able to bring herself to visit the humble grave. Too many conflicting thoughts and emotions paralyzed her.
“This is no place to discuss this,” Louise said, casting a furtive glance at Jules. “We are putting an end to this scheme. Quickly.” She urged Sabine down onto a chair. “Tell him you’re tired and hungry. Encourage him to eat here and not upstairs, where he seeks to satisfy other appetites. Whatever he orders will be sufficiently laced. His men will meet a similar fate.” Louise’s smile turned genuine. “This is all very sweet, indeed.”
“Enough. He approaches,” Sabine said, relieved to silence Louise.
Sabine watched as he moved toward her, his movements confident and sinfully riveting.
She’d shared Louise’s contempt. Her perfect Dark Prince, the Aristo she’d been so smitten by, had over time turned into a soulless villain. And now he was her lover. It was becoming increasingly difficult to define her feelings toward him.
Jules held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “Come.” That single word held such wicked promise. It left her feeling warmed and wet.
A Midnight Dance Page 12
