Her Dark Knight

by Sharon Cullen

  “I will go to Paris, retrieve your treasure and guard it for eternity. I am giving you everything and asking for one small favor in return.”

  They stared at each other for several heartbeats, neither willing to look away. Two warriors in a struggle for dominance. Finally Michael nodded, although reluctantly.

  “If she returns to me, give her the choice of immortality.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Present Day

  The club was packed. People crowded onto the dance floor, moving their bodies in ways that would have been illegal seven hundred years ago.

  The wait staff expertly maneuvered between the dancers. The DJ played the tunes the crowd hungered for and bouncers roamed the club, keeping a keen eye out for trouble.

  Everything was operating smoothly, yet Christien’s gut wouldn’t stop churning. He clasped his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. A few seconds later he shoved his hands in his pants pockets and jingled his change. He had an irrational need to pace, but there were so many people he had no room.

  Sabine passed him, patting his shoulder with a quick smile. He smiled back and glanced at his watch. He had a conference call with his people on the West Coast in fifteen minutes. It would take almost that to make his way to his office, but he didn’t move. He was edgy.

  He’d been on edge for a week and it was, quite literally, driving him crazy.

  A few people waved at him, and more than a few women approached. Some were even brave enough to slide their bodies across his, exclaiming it was just too crowded in here—said with a wink and an inviting smile. Christien smiled back but never encouraged the invitation. The lack of sex wasn’t what made him uptight. He wasn’t interested in sex.

  Not to say he hadn’t partaken. Seven hundred years was a long time to wait for the woman of your heart. There had been times he’d had to relieve the pressure and while his body had reveled in it, his mind had not. He’d felt like he was cheating on Madelaine and the guilt had almost been too much to bear.

  He’d spent the last seven hundred years alone, a recluse inside himself, going about his business but never allowing others close.

  In the beginning it had been because he wasn’t fit for company. He’d been a furious, self-destructive, single-minded, selfish fool. Except self-destruction had not been an option and he’d done nothing but make himself ill over ale and fisticuffs. For the first hundred years he’d been a tyrant of the first order, a despot others avoided at all costs. Even Michael stayed away as much as possible, which was fine with Christien. Michael was the last person Christien wanted to see.

  He spent decades alone, secluded in one estate or another, avoiding the outside world in order not to tamper with the future. Because living seven hundred years over gave a man the ability to see into the future. And while Christien had been recruited by a saint, he was no saint himself. He took advantage when he could, investing with the insight of a man who knew what was to come.

  He was rich. Far richer than he’d ever been before. But even that he had to be careful of because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. So he gave to charities. He, the man everyone avoided because of his acerbic tongue and monumental impatience, became a philanthropist. Even Michael laughed at the irony of that.

  Something changed around two-hundred years ago and even to this day Christien couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was that changed. His humanity began to poke through, much to his disgust. Maybe it was the annual reports sent to him against his will of the orphanages he funded, the poorhouses he fed.

  Christien looked back on those first five-hundred years with regret and embarrassment. Thank God no one was alive to remember it.

  Slowly he emerged from his cocoon and began the process of reconstructing the life he’d once lived. The life that led him to Madelaine.

  Thirty years ago Christien learned of her and her sister’s birth. Those thirty years seemed longer than all seven hundred put together. He’d waited. Not patiently, but he’d waited and moved the pieces of the puzzles of his life so he would end up here, in Milwaukee, with the hopes that Madelaine would do the same. Without Lucheux to guide her, Christien had no way of knowing if she would come to this city and it worried him that he would miss her. Or have to go after her.

  When the twins were separated, he made Michael put a guardian on Madelaine’s sister. She was safe, but not as well-adjusted as Madelaine. Her life had been far more difficult than Madelaine’s but there was nothing Christien could do about it. Sometimes life must roll on the way it was meant to.

  Not interfering in Madelaine’s life had been much harder. He’d wanted to save her father’s farm from the government’s takeover. He’d even fantasized about creating a lottery with her the sole winner. Only extreme willpower kept him from doing either of those things.

  Three weeks ago she moved to Milwaukee. She was living in the same apartment she’d lived in before, but worked for a different company. Happy and well-adjusted, she earned enough to keep her father in his expensive nursing home.

  He’d wanted to rush to her apartment the moment he learned she was here, but restrained himself. He needed to let her come to him even though the wait was killing him—figuratively of course.

  Michael agreed to Christien’s terms seven centuries ago. If Madelaine wanted to, she could become immortal. His prayer was that she would want to. If she didn’t, well, he would live with her decision and appreciate the time they had together.

  God help him, he hoped she would want immortality.

  He glanced at his watch again. Three minutes.

  Still he didn’t move. He had no interest in the conference call. His business wasn’t his main concern anymore.

  Madelaine.

  Her name whispered across his soul, a balm to his jagged nerves.

  He’d anticipated her arrival last week. The same night she’d arrived at his club the first time around. But the night had come and gone with no sign of Madelaine. In hindsight he should have realized his mistake. She wasn’t working for Lucheux because there was no Lucheux and therefore no one to send her to the club.

  He turned on his heel and headed for the back exit, his feet taking him where his heart yearned to go. Since last week he’d strolled past her apartment nightly. Like a lovelorn fool, he stood on the street and stared up at her darkened windows, imagining her asleep in her bed, her body curled around her pillow. He’d walk away, restless and fighting the nearly uncontrollable impulse to knock on her door and tell her everything.

  That would be disastrous, of course. He would push her away, scare her before they even had a chance. But still he wondered…

  Did she dream of him like he dreamt of her? Was she as restless as he? Was she waiting for something to happen but wasn’t sure what?

  Just as he put his hand on the back door commotion broke out on the dance floor. Christien hung his head, torn. Sabine could handle whatever was happening. She had the full force of his security personnel, all ex-military and ex-police.

  With a curse he pushed away from the door and spun around, heading back to the dance floor with a frown of irritation. Fighting was not allowed in his club. He had a reputation for zero tolerance. He would handle this latest disturbance then go to Madelaine’s apartment.

  The crowd parted at his, “Excuse me.” Whispered comments followed as they always did when he appeared at the club.

  People made a wide circle on the dance floor, their eyes soaking in the disruption. In the middle of the circle was an obviously intoxicated gentleman with a beer bottle in one hand and a woman in the other. By the way the woman struggled Christien determined she wasn’t open to the drunkard’s advances.

  “Get off me,” she said, trying to yank her arm from the man’s grip.

  Christien’s heart jackhammered and it had nothing to do with the altercation.

  “I just wanna dance.” The man slurred his words and swayed, but it was the woman Christien focused on.

  Her
hair fell down her back in cascading waves of silky mink. She wore silly shoes with open toes that looked like they were pinching her feet and even though he was too far away, he could have sworn he smelled lavender.

  He grabbed the collar of the drunk, wrenching him away from Madelaine. The man’s beer went flying. Madelaine ducked to avoid it. The crowd hushed and even the music stopped playing.

  “What the—” The man’s outraged sputtering died when he saw who held him. “I just wanted to dance,” he said quickly, his eyes widening in fear.

  “Apparently the lady doesn’t want to dance with you.” He shoved the man toward his security. “Take him out and don’t let him come back. Ever.”

  “What? Hey! I was just—”

  But Christien wasn’t listening. He was staring at Madelaine, soaking up the vision of her standing in his nightclub. Seven hundred years without her. It felt like an eternity and yet merely yesterday that he held her in his arms.

  His breathing hitched and suddenly he was afraid. He, a man who’d lived seven centuries twice, who’d been waiting for this moment forever, couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. He reached out a hand to her, then let it drop to his side, forcing himself to stay where he was. To keep from snatching her up and carrying her away.

  He had to go slow, when all he wanted to do was race to her.

  His throat closed up, emotions battering him.

  Madelaine brushed at her wet shirt, pushed the hair out of her face and looked up at him. Those cinnamon-colored eyes he’d dreamt about for centuries widened.

  “Do I know you?”

  Christien swallowed. “I…” He forced himself to smile and hold out his hand for her to take. His fingers shook. Was she the same Madelaine? She’d lived a different life, not exactly the same as the last. Had that changed her in some fundamental way?

  “My name is Christien Chevalier.”

  She stared at his hand for a long time. The crowd around them didn’t move, the music didn’t start up, but Christien refused to think about them. This was about him and Madelaine.

  Confusion, excitement and fear crossed her face. Slowly she raised her hand and wrapped her fingers in his. Christien let out his breath and his knees went weak. He battled the tears building in his throat. Her touch made his soul sing.

  Recognition flared in her eyes and she tilted her head. “We’ve met before.”

  His lips twitched but he held back his smile. He suddenly felt light. Weightless.

  He drew her to him. She came easily enough, her brows creased. “I can’t recall when.”

  The rotating lights of the disco ball above them reflected off her necklace. A silver-and-diamond key.

  “Have you ever been to France?” he asked, pulling his gaze from the key.

  “Hardly.” She laughed and his uncertainty gave way to hope and love. He resisted the urge to take her in his arms, even though he ached to. Slow. He had to take things slowly. Mon Dieu, he had no idea how he was going to do that.

  Gently he tugged on her hand until she was at his side, her lavender scent surrounding him. “Come, Madelaine. Let me tell you a story.”

  About the Author

  When Sharon was in the sixth grade, her teacher made everyone in the class write a book and illustrate it. Sharon’s book was about a family who built an amusement park on the top of a mountain. The family was quite large—and very rich. Each person fell in love and had a spectacular wedding and lived happily ever after in their amusement park.

  Sharon is the proud author of ten published romances (eleven if you count the one in sixth grade). Her stories these days are a little more complex and her characters don’t all live in amusement parks. However, Sharon did grow up to work in the amusement-park industry for eighteen years before settling down with her husband, three children and a black Labrador retriever who occasionally will make it into one of her books.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9271-4

  Copyright © 2011 by Sharon Cullen

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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