A Midnight Dance (23 page)

Even if they had sold everything they owned, it would have put only a small dent in the debt.

But the silver changed everything. Their financial problems were at last over.

The wind picked up.

She heard the sounds of nickering horses. Many of them. Spinning around, she didn’t see any. The stable was a distance away. The sounds couldn’t be coming from there. She quickened her pace. Two hundred feet away from the house, she noticed hoof marks on the packed dirt. Several of them.

Vincent? It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have reached Paris and returned so quickly. Had something happened?

Her heart rapped wildly. She bolted for the house.

Reaching the door, she grabbed the latch, swung the door open, and rushed inside.

The sight that greeted her hit her like a fist in the belly.

Raymond and several well-muscled, well-armed men stood in the room, men she instantly recognized from Jules’s camp. Agnes and Olivier sat at the table, abject terror etched across their faces. Louise’s daughters stood near their mother in the corner, softly weeping with fright.

The door slammed shut behind her. Sabine jumped and spun around. Her knees all but buckled the moment she saw Jules leaning against the wall, his hand still flat against the door he’d just forcibly closed.

With the coldest, most menacing glint in his dark eyes, he said, “Hello. Remember me?”

Sabine stood perfectly still, her mind racing as fast as her heart.

Bearing the full weight of his regard, she watched him push himself from against the wall and thought she saw him wince. But her thoughts scattered as he approached. Like a predator. She, his prey. Caught in a trap. With her family.

She’d done everything in her power to save them.

And now they were hemmed in.

He stopped inches from her, his tall powerful form towering over her. She refused to step back. He was purposely using his physical advantage to unsettle her.

It was working.

Yet she wasn’t about to let him know just how much.

Normally clean-shaven, his jaw was shadowed with at least a few days’ growth, and his hair was mussed, likely from hours of hard riding. It made him look darkly dangerous. And, the devil take him, even better than in her recent dreams.

It was only there she couldn’t shut him out. Where he would torment her with his touch, unchecked. Each morning she woke up cursing him, angry that he’d invaded the sanctity of her sleep, for he wasn’t worth her time—day or night.

She returned his gaze unflinching, the silence between weighted with tension. His palpable fury lay just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed at any moment.

He raised his hand. Her heart lurched. She braced herself.

Show no fear
.

Her family needed her to get them out of this predicament.

To her surprise, he caressed his knuckles down the side of her cheek. His touch, though gentle, was not as it had been before—a lover’s touch.

He’d never touched her while so enraged.

“Such creamy skin and brilliant eyes . . . She is beautiful, isn’t she?” He spoke to his men without taking his gaze off her face, his every word rimmed with barely restrained anger.

Male murmurs swept around the room in concurrence.

He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “And she has a lovely mouth, wouldn’t you say, Raymond?”

“She’s definitely comely, Commander.”

“Indeed.” Jules nodded. “What a shame this exquisite mouth spouts nothing but lies. It’s difficult to believe that a woman with such an angelic face is capable of such treachery. I bet you thought you’d never see me again.”

Disdain and dread clashed inside her. “That was the plan,” she managed to force out.

“Ah, yes.
The plan
. My compliments on your plan, and your acting. Both superb.” His fingers slipped below her chin; he held both it and her full attention. “But one would expect a convincing performance from the daughter of a playwright, and his troupe of actors. Isn’t that so,
Sabine Laurent
? Imagine my surprise when I learned Paul Laurent, a man whose theater I used to frequent, had twin daughters. One with dark hair and one with pale tresses. Where are the others,
Sabine
? The actor Vincent Caran and the two other young men you had with you at my camp.”

Full of contempt, and in defiance, she held her tongue.

His eyes narrowed. “Let me assure you, any sort of rebelliousness would be
most
unwise . . .”

His ominous words tightened her stomach. “How did you find us?” she asked.

“Your witch has quite a reputation.” Jules threw Agnes a glare. “We found someone who remembered seeing her enter the inn and knew where to locate the inn’s owners.”

“I thought you said no one knew you in Delatour?” Louise snapped at the older woman.

“I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.” Agnes was quick to defend herself. “I told you, I spoke to no one other than Joseph and Anne in that town. Ever. If my popularity as an apothecary has grown, I can hardly help that. I am talented.”

“You are a foolish—” At Jules’s sharp look, Louise’s words died on her tongue.

Josette buried her face in her mother’s shoulder and continued to sob softly.

He returned his attention to Sabine, her chin still captive in his strong hand. Her heart still hammering so hard, she feared he could hear it.

“Does this appeal to you?” she demanded. “Do you derive some twisted pleasure out of intimidating women, a child, and an old man?”

“Well,
ma petite
, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly
old . . .
” Olivier, her father’s former composer, gently protested.

“Hush, you old fool.” Agnes slapped his shoulder.

“Who are you calling old? You are older than I am!” Olivier countered.

“Silence!” Jules bellowed, then turning to Sabine, he said, “You knew about the silver from the start, didn’t you?”

Despising him with all her being, hating the way he spoke to her family, she smugly answered, “Yes.” Though the devil couldn’t be wounded, for all the pain she had inside, she wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to know she’d used him, then discarded him. That he’d been treated with a level of callousness he’d shown others.

“And how exactly did you learn of it?” he demanded.

“I heard two of your men discussing your capture in Italian at the marketplace in Nadeau-Morel. I suppose they thought the peasants around them were too ignorant to know foreign languages. They thought wrong.”

The muscle in his cheek twitched. “So you knew who I was all along.”

She jerked her chin out of his grasp. “I know exactly who you are,” she sneered. “Former Comte de Charbonneau. Former officer of the King’s Navy. Self-indulgent firstborn son of Charles de Moutier, Marquis de Blainville.
Jules de Moutier
. A debauchee. Born into privilege and power, and like your father, abuser of both.”

He hauled her up against him by her arms. She gasped. Her family gave a collective cry.

“I care nothing of what you have to say about me. But don’t you
ever
speak of my father. I’ll not hear his name from your lying lips. You aren’t worthy to utter it. He was one of your father’s patrons. And it was my family who purchased this meager parcel when your wastrel father squandered your family’s fortune. You little ingrate, you’ve stolen from the hand that’s fed you!”

“No. From the hand that’s bled me. You drained us dry and reduced us to this state. I’m not sorry I stole from you. I lost my sister because of your corrupt family!”

By the fury in his eyes, she thought she’d gone too far. And she didn’t care. She wouldn’t take back a word. In fact, there was more she wanted to hurl at him.

“So you hate me,” he said in a low snarl. “You’ve hated me from the very beginning. Well, here is your chance. Don’t miss the opportunity,
chère
. Look me in the eye and say it.”

He taunted her. He thought she didn’t possess the courage, for he was a man accustomed to being in authority. To being respected or feared. She’d show him she more than had it in her to say what others wouldn’t dare. Straight to his face.

“I. Hate. You.”

He lifted a brow. Dipping his head, he said near her ear. “Tell me,
Sabine
, how much did you hate me when you were begging me to fuck you? Or when you were screaming out orgasm after orgasm? How much did you hate me then?” He released her abruptly.

Torrid memories flooded her mind and heated her cheeks.

No matter how rattled he made her, she wasn’t about to give him the upper hand.

Drawing on her acting experience, she took a deep breath and managed to reply coolly, “I never said your skills in the carnal arts were lacking. Due to your licentious lifestyle, you’ve had plenty of practice in the boudoir.” She shrugged. “I enjoyed your expertise. However, it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Or did you think I’d fall madly in love with you over a few physical encounters? That’s what you’re accustomed to, isn’t it? A steady stream of female adoration? Does it wound your overinflated male pride to know you don’t have mine?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already told you, I care
nothing
about your feelings toward me. Why would I waste a moment’s thought over a woman as base as you? Someone who is completely ruthless, willing to stoop to whatever it takes to accomplish her nefarious goals—even giving up her innocence. You are cold and calculating.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “Really. That’s most amusing coming from you. A man without conscience. Someone completely unaffected by anyone outside the upper class.”

He grasped her arm in an iron grip and jerked her close. “Well then, since I am, as you say, ‘a man without conscience,’ you and your band of no-accounts have cause for worry. I came here for my silver. I will get it back.
Every coin
. Whatever it takes.”

He released her with a slight shove. She stumbled back.

“Marc,” Jules said.

“Yes, Commander.”

“You, Daniel, and Raymond search this floor. Bruno, watch them.” Jules indicated Sabine and her frightened family with a motion of his chin. “Serge and Fabrice, search the upstairs. The silver is here somewhere. Find it. Leave nothing unturned. Take this hovel down stone by stone if you need to.”

“No! You can’t take the silver!” Pauline cried. “
Maman
, make him stop. We need the coin! You said we’d get pretty gowns. You said things were going to be better. You said!”

Bruno unsheathed his sword, the light from the fire blazing in the hearth reflecting on the blade with a deadly gleam.

“Hush up, Pauline!” Louise’s sharp words silenced her hysterical daughter.

Without a backward glance, Jules walked out and slammed the door shut.

The men immediately began their search, pulling items down from shelves and discarding them onto the floor, breaking pottery and the few chipped ceramic plates they had left.

Agnes cried, burying her face in Olivier’s shoulder. He placed an arm around her.

Watching the destruction of their modest possessions made Sabine feel sick. Yet with each object they shattered, her resolve and hatred intensified.

She’d outwitted him once. She’d somehow do it again. After all they’d been through, she’d
never
relinquish the silver.

Jules leaned back against the wall of the house and placed a hand on his side. The wind ruffled his shirt. He felt no different from the darkened clouds above. They, too, looked as though they could barely contain the tempest within.

Needing to calm down, he took in a careful breath—each one pure torture—and let it out slowly. His anger was only aggravating his injury, the tension in his body escalating the pain to unmanageable levels.

The only way to ease his discomfort was to remove himself from Sabine Laurent’s presence. Just being in the same room with her made him want to do something he’d never considered doing before: thrash a woman.