Cosette wanted to disagree, but the truth spoke for itself in the dilapidated conditions around her.
But then, as if rising from the abyss from the enslaved lower classes, a manicured courtyard came into view in the prestigious neighborhood of Marais, surrounded by numerous, elegant limestone buildings. Cosette almost felt sick that she should be staying in such luxury when so many were suffering such a short distance away.
Davien must have noticed her disgust, for he grasped her chin and placed a light kiss on her lips. “You’ve paid your dues to society. Don’t feel guilty for allowing me this chance to indulge you the short time we’re here.”
Cosette swallowed, but she nodded.
They were greeted at the front door of a hotel particulier by a stoic manservant, along with a woman who appeared equally severe. It wasn’t until the man instructed a nearby footman to retrieve their bags, did Cosette turn to Blackburn with a curious expression.
He merely winked at her and said, “To keep up appearances that we’re a normal couple.”
She smiled. “Naturally.”
Cosette had to admit that the duke had spared no expense to see to her comforts on the journey to France. He saw to all the preparations. She hadn’t needed to lift a finger. Even her things were magically packed and loaded into the coach while she had been in the library reading more of Calmet’s book. It was now safely packed in her bag so that she might peruse it in her spare time.
The crossing of the English Channel had been equally pleasant, and although she was slightly disappointed that the duke had procured separate rooms, she was comfortable in her cabin.
Since she didn’t suffer from seasickness like many others, Cosette ventured top deck as often as she could to relish the scent of the fresh, salty air. At times, Davien would join her, where they would converse about nothing more involved than the weather, but for the most part he left her to her own devices, and seemed content just watching over her from afar.
After she remembered the voice calling to her from Paris that day in his chamber, he had been careful to keep his distance. The light kiss he’d given her in the carriage had been the closest thing to affection that he’d displayed in the past seven days, although he treated her as gracious as a queen.
What was even more surprising was the fact that the beast hadn’t made an appearance lately. No shocking hunting event, no lewd advances that she’d come to expect from Blackburn when he was in the clutches of the animal inside, no . . . nothing. Lately, Davien was almost . . . normal. She didn’t know if it was because of their mutual respect for one another, having developed some sort of unspoken pact that kept the beast in slumber, but she had to admit that it had been rather nice, if not slightly frustrating. She still craved Davien with a passion that consumed her at times, but she was reluctant to act upon it for fear it would shatter this newfound amicability.
Now that they were going to be surrounded by a houseful of servants, Cosette knew that the chances of pursuing a carnal relationship were even more slim. But perhaps it was for the best. They didn’t need to be distracted by lust for one another when they were here for a purpose: to find the voice behind the locket.
“Your Grace. Everything is prepared for your stay. And for the lady, of course.” The butler bowed in reverence to Davien’s title, but when he looked to her, Cosette felt the ground shift beneath her feet. How exactly had Davien introduced her?
“Thank you, Monsieur Pickens. I’m sure my betrothed and I will have a wonderful time in Paris.”
“Naturally.” Again the man bowed, but whatever he said after that fell on deaf ears. Davien had claimed she was
his future bride? He had said that they were to keep up appearances as a couple, and yet . . .
The idea of becoming the Duchess of Blackburn touched something deep inside of her.
But the moment Cosette walked into the foyer, any further thought ceased to exist, for the splendor that met her gaze quite literally eclipsed all else.
From the large crystal chandelier overhead, to the white plaster medallions decorating the ceiling, from the gold wallpaper and the swirling white and gold marble floor beneath her feet, everything was filled with . . . light. It was a far cry from the cramped conditions of the workhouse, or even the swirling shadows that inhabited Shadowlawn. It screamed wealth and privilege.
Never before had she beheld such grandeur, had never even hoped to step foot inside of a place like this, where she might be allowed to walk in the front door as a guest, as opposed to entering through the servant’s quarters.
It was overwhelming, too much for a common girl like her to comprehend, who had been left on an orphanage doorstep when she was just an infant.
Her palms were damp, her heart pounding, and she felt she might disgrace herself when she felt the comforting presence of Blackburn at her side. He slid his arm about her waist, and she was grateful for his calm support. He spoke a few murmured words to the butler, which was nothing more than a strained buzz in her ears.
Davien whispered something to her as he led her up the stairs, where each step was a struggle. He opened the door to a sizable chamber, but she didn’t even take in the furnishings around her as she pushed away from him and stumbled to the privacy screen in a corner of the room and retched into the chamber pot.
When the worst had passed, her entire body continued to shake in the aftermath. She wasn’t sure she could even stand, but again, the strong presence of Blackburn appeared. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the large bed in the middle of the room. She instantly frowned. “It’s wrong. It’s all wrong . . .”
“What’s wrong?”
Cosette hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud. She had to take several deep, steadying breaths before she could reply. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m a commoner who is living the life of the nobility. This place—” She waved her hand to indicate the fine furnishings around her. “—I don’t belong here. It’s wrong.”
“You belong anywhere I am,” Davien corrected firmly.
“That’s another thing,” she continued, as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Why did you tell the servants that I was your intended? Couldn’t you have been my . . . cousin?”
He smiled. “They would have never believed that. Besides, it would make things rather difficult to explain since we’ll be in the same chamber.”
Cosette felt the blood drain from her face to pool in other areas of her body. “We’re going to be . . . sharing a bed again?”
“Did you doubt it?” he returned evenly. “We don’t know when the locket will call to you.”
Of course, Cosette thought bitterly. It had nothing to do with her. He was only interested in the power behind the necklace. She closed her eyes and laid her arm over her forehead. “I’d like to be alone for a while.” So that she might weep in private . . .
She felt Davien’s weight shift, and then leave the bed. When she dared to open her eyes, he was gone.
~ ~ ~
Why have you come, Cosette?
The hour of our reunion is not yet at hand.
You know what needs to be done . . .
We are not safe as long as the threat of Blackburn remains.
Only then can I teach you the old ways.
It is your birthright . . .
Cosette sat up in bed, her body coated in perspiration from the dream.
Or was it a nightmare, something else entirely?
She ripped the dress off of her body, held back by the suffocating weight of the material. She needed air . . .
She threw open the window to find it was still daylight, but the choking smoke from the city only increased her anxiety, while the four walls around her began to close in.
That’s when she spied the clearing beyond her window, the rich, green courtyard th
at lay in the middle of the other hotels. She ripped another gown from the wardrobe—her things already hung up in a neat, orderly fashion inside—and pulled a light blue dress over her head. She shoved her feet into the first pair of shoes she found—a pair of dainty heeled slippers—and opened the door to scan the hallway.
It was free of servants, so she loosened the tight breath in her chest and quickly made her way toward the back of the house. She shoved open a set of glass doors and spied the sanctity of the courtyard beyond. The soft grass beckoned, but when she was about to take a step forward, something caused her to hesitate—a slight movement out of the corner of her eye.
Davien was leaving another residence across the expanse. She had no doubt it was he for she wouldn’t have mistaken that tall, intimidating form for any other.
She watched, frozen, as he lightly kissed the cheek of a lovely, blond woman, before continuing down the steps.
Cosette suddenly forgot about the need for freedom as he looked up and caught her gaze.
Chapter 12
Davien found Cosette in their chamber. She had her arms crossed and was pacing the floor, absolutely furious.
The moment she heard him enter, she spun on him. “Do you have a mistress in every city in Europe then?” She stamped her foot. “I won’t stand for it. Do you hear me? I won’t be a party to your scandalous escapades while I am besieged by—” She snapped her mouth closed.
Davien had been fully prepared to explain who the woman he’d met with was, when something she said stopped him. He frowned warily. “Has something happened?”
She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Why should I tell you? After what I just witnessed, it’s not as if you truly care.”
A deep growl rose up within Davien’s chest, giving way for the arrival of the beast. Apparently, it was done slumbering.
Whenever Davien allowed his desire for Cosette to break free, or his anger was riled, that inner demon began to stir. It was the only reason he’d continued to remain infuriatingly polite with Cosette for the past week, because as long as the beast was asleep, he started to feel almost . . . normal.
But as the beast within grew and bristled, he knew that time had come to an end. Since he was once again reunited with his darker half, there was no use in pretending that they were anything else but one entity. “How quickly you are to think the worst of us, dear Cosette, rambling on like a deranged fishmonger’s jealous wife,” he drawled, as the shadows around him grew and lengthened. Instantly, her eyes widened. “Perhaps I should offer her the position if I am to be accused of it.”
He meandered around the room. “Then again, I shouldn’t think that the Duc de Chartres would appreciate it if I seduced his mistress right in front of him when he was so graciously inclined to extend an invitation to us this evening in order to watch her perform. After all, it’s best to check every possibility the locket might lead us to.”
He wasn’t even looking at Cosette, but he could tell in the silence that followed his pronouncement that he had her at a loss for words. He allowed a small smile to grace his features before he turned to face her. As suspected, her cheeks were high with color, the aftereffects of her anger, but it was the way she was biting her lip that spoke of her chagrin.
“Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me about your vision?”
She visibly swallowed. “It was the same voice. It told me that as long as you were . . . alive that we couldn’t be together, and that it couldn’t teach me the old ways that were my birthright.”
He tapped a finger against his chin. “Very intriguing.” He dropped his hand to his side. “We shall think on this and see you downstairs in a couple hours. Wear something . . . fashionable. We are in Paris, after all.”
~ ~ ~
Cosette sagged against the bedpost when Davien departed. She had forgotten just how fearsome the beast was when he was ruling the duke’s human form. Strange, but she’d almost missed that side of Blackburn, for it not only unnerved her, but—dare she admit it?—excited her as well.
Dear God, was she truly so deprived that she entertained dark fantasies about . . .
She shook her head. She refused to even finish that thought.
Instead, she went over to the wardrobe and began to rummage through all the fine materials at her disposal. If possible, there seemed to be even more dresses than before.
Then, as if being led by an unseen force, her hand touched the sleeve of a gown in silver satin. She slowly brought it forth, nearly hypnotized by the shimmering material, as if it glowed with a light all its own. It had a sack-back design, the hips only slightly flared. It would require panniers, and although Cosette had never worn them before, as it wasn’t a necessary requirement for the workhouse, nor was it something she chose to wear at Shadowlawn, she pulled out the undergarment now.
She was still inspecting them when a soft knock came at the door, followed by the arrival of a woman in servant attire. The maid bobbed a slight curtsy as she entered. “’Ello, Mademoiselle. I was sent to help you get ready for this evening. You are excited, no?”
Cosette had never asked anyone to help with her clothing, and yet she’d never had any reason to need assistance before. But considering the pile of linens that were starting to litter the bed, she knew that, at least for tonight, she would.
How else was she to make an impression otherwise?
“I’d like a bath first, if that’s possible.”
The maid nodded. “Of course. And afterward, I shall fix your hair in the latest style.”
Cosette’s mind started to whirl as several images came to mind. “And perhaps a bit of face powder?”
“Naturally.” The girl grinned conspiratorially. “You wouldn’t be in France without a bit of adornment.”
~ ~ ~
Exactly two hours later, the moment the clock struck eight, Cosette was walking down the stairs. Her silver pumps with their diamond buckles peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirts with each step she took. Her gown caught the light around her and cast prisms along the gold wallpaper. Her only adornments were a pair of diamond, silver drop earrings—along with her silver locket.
Her dark hair was lightly powdered and piled atop her head in an elegant design of curls, an array of white ostrich feathers peeking up behind the coiffure. Her face was also powered, but it only caused the small bit of red rouge that covered her lips and cheeks to stand out. A false mole in the shape of a heart adorned the right side of her mouth and completed her ensemble.
When she’d caught the first glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass, Cosette hadn’t even dared to imagine that she was the same woman who had arrived earlier that day. The outward difference was remarkable, for the timid woman from England had been left behind, and replaced with a confident, well-to-do lady from Paris.
Unfortunately, it was the insecurity behind her dark eyes that had remained the same.
She walked into the dining room to find Davien waiting for her, in a very similar position to the one she’d encountered at Shadowlawn—hands behind his back, staring out the window—but his attire was infinitely different. He wore a gold jacket and waistcoat with matching breeches instead of trousers. His strong legs were encased in white stockings, the buckled shoes on his feet so elegant that they nearly eclipsed her own. With a powdered wig covering his dark hair, he took on the perfect appearance of a fop.
It wasn’t until he turned those swirling, black eyes to her, did she know that no one would ever make that mistake. Even his movements were calculated and precise as he strode toward her. It wasn’t until he stopped a few feet away to lavish a deep, sophisticated bow in her direction, did she think to amend her opinion with a twitch of her lips.
“Ah, ma cherie,” he said in an exaggerated accent. “You are truly stupendous this evening. Surely no other lady in the thea
tre will compare to your exquisite loveliness.”
This time Cosette couldn’t keep a giggle from escaping. “Why, sir, you are a regular Sybarite, a true Casanova at heart.”
She knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment he stiffened, the lines around his mouth tightening. “You have no idea,” he murmured. “Shall we?”
She obediently sat to his left as he took the spot at the head of the table. It looked as though it had been polished recently, for she could nearly see her reflection in the gleaming mahogany. While everything at Shadowlawn magically appeared, tonight was different. A number of footmen entered with silver covered dishes and lifted the lids to reveal extravagant cuts of pork, freshly baked bread, steamed vegetables, and wine so dark and red that it was nearly the color of blood.
When that thought merely brought back Davien’s last hunting excursion, she quickly pushed it out of her mind and picked up her knife and fork as the servants left the room.
They were silent for a time as they ate, but finally the duke asked, “Why is it that you don’t carry a French accent, having been raised in a French orphanage?”
Cosette had never really considered that before, but now she paused. “I don’t know. I’ve been in England for the past seven years, so perhaps I have merely adapted to the environment around me.” She looked at him. “Why do you ask? Do you think it has significance to my . . . visions?”
“I wouldn’t think that it would matter.” He paused. “Unless you were used to hearing a certain accent in your head.” He steepled his hands before him and said, “This voice that you hear. What does it sound like?”
“I’m not . . . really sure,” she admitted. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I can’t really discern if it’s male or female, nor am I able to detect any sort of accent. It has a sort of . . . disembodied sound to it. Otherworldly.” When her hands started shaking, she lowered her silverware to the table and looked down at her plate where the enticing food now turned her stomach. She pushed it away. “It’s terrifying.”
The Secrets of Shadows Page 10
