A Midnight Dance

by Lila DiPasqua

  Male laughter erupted from the camp. Sabine jumped.

  Stay calm. You can do this. You can.

  She was no stranger to the theater. Her late father was the prominent playwright Paul Laurent. She’d been raised around actors and knew how to put on a convincing performance. As children, she and Isabelle used to write their own plays and perform them for the servants. Acting was in her blood. She could play any role.

  Even the role of a whore.

  Sabine adjusted her neckline a fraction lower, her fingers fidgety, the coarse material a sharp contrast to the sumptuous gowns she’d once owned. Her wealthy middle-class family had had social standing once. A magnificent townhouse in one of the most prestigious areas in Paris. A bright future.

  Now their future was bleak—that is, if they didn’t get hold of that ever-nearing treasure.

  “What will we do if we cannot get them to drink the tainted wine?” Gerard pressed. “What will you do if, when alone with their leader, he wishes to sample you before the drink?”

  Another round of laughter rushed up at her from between the trees and shrubs. Tightening her jaw, Sabine stared straight ahead at the camp with cold resolve.

  She’d come to terms with exactly what she’d do. Though she’d never admit it to her cousins, she was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice and let the scoundrel have her body. She’d detach herself from the act, numb herself to it—just as she’d numbed herself against the loss of her sister these last five years—and acquiesce.

  Whatever it took to succeed, that’s what she’d do.

  She couldn’t enter a situation like this and not be resigned to the very real possibility that he’d have her before she’d get him to down the wine.

  “They could murder you, Sabine. All of us. But not before they rape you. Repeatedly,” Gerard added.

  Dear God, she didn’t need this. His words were only shredding her courage.

  “Leave Sabine alone, Gerard,” Robert defended. “If—If she says it’s going to work, I believe her.” Sweet Robert, just sixteen, trusted in her. Her family had always looked to “sensible Sabine” to fix matters. There was nothing “sensible” about this plan. But desperate people were forced to do desperate things. It sickened her that this was all she could come up with to save them from the consequences they faced.

  “If we don’t pay the taxes we owe the Crown, they could arrest us and throw us into debtors’ prison,” she said tightly. “You’ve heard the stories. You know what happens to women confined in cells with all-male guards. They are raped. Repeatedly. And let’s not forget the conditions of the prison. Disease is rampant within its walls. I doubt we’d all survive the incarceration. And if they decide instead to cast us off our land, we’ll starve. One by one. There will be no escaping it. Hunger is still widespread. The realm has yet to recover from the ravages of the Fronde.” The Fronde—the civil uprising incited by a group of ambitious noblemen—had almost dethroned their young King and thrown the country into chaos. Five years since the end of the unrest, and still the realm reeled.

  If only there had never been an uprising.

  If only her father hadn’t sunk them further into debt once they were forced to move out of the city to their country home. If only he hadn’t sent Isabelle away. She’d still have her sister. Then she wouldn’t be so hollow inside.

  “But, Sabine . . . this plan . . .” Gerard’s voice trailed off.

  Why did he insist on arguing with her? He knew the reality they faced.

  “Gerard, if you”—twisting around, she looked back at Robert—“either of you have a better plan, speak of it now.”

  Robert lowered his eyes.

  “Well?” she pressed, demanding a response.

  “I’ve no other plan,” Robert murmured. “Though I wish I did.”

  So did she. Sabine turned her attention to Gerard.

  “What about you, Gerard? Have you something better to suggest?” In the moonlight, she could make out his profile as he stared straight ahead.

  His face was taut and he swallowed hard before he said softly, “No.”

  “Then we’ll proceed with my plan.” Good God. She was really going to go through with this.

  She was going to have to face a camp full of men, convince them that a woman who was still a virgin was an experienced harlot, and persuade their leader to purchase her services. It was the only way to enter the camp. Once inside, she and her cousins would have to make sure every man ingested at least some of their tainted wine.

  Heaven help them. This plan is beyond mad . . .

  She readjusted the neckline of her dress, desperate to distract herself from the terror twisting in her belly.

  This is going to work out in our favor because it has to.

  “A King’s ransom in silver is just ahead. Our plan will work. Be brave.” It amazed her how courageous she sounded while her very entrails quivered and quaked, unsure exactly whom she was trying to reassure more—them or herself.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” The voice came out of nowhere.

  Her heart lurched.

  A dark-haired burly man had appeared from the thicket with several large intimidating friends. He scratched his scruffy chin and grinned. It was mirthless and menacing.

  She met Gerard’s gaze. The fright in his eyes was unmistakable. Her courage faltered.

  “Go on,” she whispered, forcing the words out. There was no turning back now.

  These men didn’t look as though they’d let them simply drive on past.

  Gerard glanced at the men and gave her one last look. Holding his gaze, she silently pleaded for him to proceed before her courage completely gave out, her bottled-up fright so barely contained.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and got down from the cart.

  “Sir, we’re hungry and your cooking fire drew us. Spare us some food and we’ll provide you with wine to wash it down.” Gerard sounded so convincing, it elated her. All those times she and Isabelle used to force him to act in their plays had rubbed off on him.

  The brute chuckled, his comrades joining in.

  Slowly he unsheathed his sword. The ominous blade gleamed in the moonlight. Sabine’s stomach dropped. He placed the tip to Gerard’s chest in proximity to his heart. Her cousin stiffened. A scream lodged in her throat. Dear God . . .

  “We don’t share,” the brute said, “unless it’s the woman you’re offering.” The roar of male laughter assailed her ears. Every pair of eyes from the unruly bunch was fixed on her in lewd assessment.

  “Wh-Who is the leader among you?” Gerard asked. “I w-w-will offer the woman to him and only him in exchange for food.”

  “Jésus-Christ, Fabrice, put the sword down before he pisses his breeches.” A tall thinner man with blond hair approached.

  With a muttered curse, Fabrice reluctantly lowered the blade.

  “Who are you?” the blond man asked Gerard. “State your business here in these woods truthfully, or I’ll have Fabrice finish what he started.”

  Gerard looked up at her, his reluctance to continue clearly readable on his face. She nodded to him to proceed. Courage, now. The blond man didn’t seem as frightening as his friends.

  Gerard looked at the ground. Taking in an audible breath, he released it slowly before he was able to speak again. “We’ve been traveling all day and are hungry,” he wove his tale. “We offer some wine to your men—and the woman only to your leader—in exchange for food.”

  “Why only him?” Fabrice lamented.

  “Silence!” the blond man snapped. He then looked up at her and said, “Step down and come closer.”

  Sabine clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. The moment her feet touched the ground, she was relieved her knees didn’t buckle beneath her.

  She approached the blond man on shaky limbs, managing to conceal her disquiet.

  He looked over her upturned face, then down her body with a dispassionately critical eye. She held in her outrage. Never in her life
had she been so crudely assessed. But then, a whore wouldn’t mind the preview.

  And that is how you must act.

  “Turn around,” he demanded.

  Sabine turned slowly, allowing him time to assess her backside, fighting down the humiliation with purposeful resolve. This is all part of the role.

  When at last she faced him again, he said, “Good. Wait here. I’ll speak to the commander and suggest your deal to him.”

  “Merde, Raymond, have you lost your fucking mind?” Jules Thomas de Moutier snarled. Members of his crew who’d been sitting around the fire immediately rose and cleared the area, noting his escalating ire. “You allowed someone close to the camp when we hold our biggest capture to date?”

  The rest of the men stood guard around the perimeter of the camp. Too many desperate peasants would risk death for what he had in his covered carts.

  Raymond shook his blond head. “They’re harmless—a woman and two men, no, more like boys, merely looking for food. Take a look at the woman. You will like what you see,” he implored.

  “I don’t care what she looks like. Jésus-Christ, I’ve more important things on my mind.”

  Five years. Five horrific years he’d spent privateering, preying on Spanish ships and ports during the realm’s ongoing war with Spain. And finally he’d accumulated enough wealth.

  With this latest prize he could repurchase his family’s lands. Or at least part of them. By God, he’d repurchase parcel by parcel if he had to, until he’d reclaimed everything that had belonged to his family.

  Everything that had been wrongly stripped from them.

  Everything that was rightfully theirs.

  Once he had enough land, respectability would follow. Enough time had passed since his family’s disgrace. He prayed that he could convince someone to talk. Someone out there knew the truth about who’d so treacherously doomed his father.

  And why.

  “My lord, as a loyal servant to your family for many years, to you, personally, during your time in the King’s Navy, I know how difficult it has been for you since your father’s death. But—”

  “Death, Raymond? He didn’t simply die.” Jules couldn’t keep the venom from his tone. “He was falsely convicted and executed for treason.” Why the bloody hell was Raymond bringing up the subject? He knew better. The mere mention of his father’s tragic end immediately hurled him into a volatile mood. Just about anything set him off now. He barely recognized the man he’d become over the last five years. Angry. Bitter. The man he once was, was gone, along with his birthright. His family’s honor.

  His beloved father.

  “Be that as it may,” Raymond said. “What I do not understand, my lord, is this celibate lifestyle you’ve adopted. How many times have we come ashore and you have allowed the men to sate themselves? Many. How often have you indulged yourself? Rarely. You’ve always had your share of beautiful women, some all but begging for any sexual favors you were willing to bestow upon them.”

  Unwanted memories of his past sexual exploits flooded his mind. His body tightened, a physical reminder that his latest stint of celibacy had been lengthy.

  “Raymond,” he said, his voice low, edged with fury, “are you trying to torment me this night?”

  “Of course not! I’m trying to alleviate some of your torment.”

  His torment wasn’t going to be alleviated by thinking about those days when he’d had it all—when he was heir of the Marquis de Blainville. A distinguished officer in the King’s Navy. And had his choice of women wherever he went, indulging in carnal diversions—his favorite vice—when he wasn’t occupied with his naval duties.

  In his absences from home, he never imagined anyone would fabricate lies—that his father had been in league with those who’d tried to overthrow the King during the Fronde. Or that he and his brother, Luc, would be stripped of their nobility, their lands, tossed out of the Navy, and forced to feed themselves by captaining privateer ships for Simon Boulenger, the captain of the realm’s unofficial fleet.

  He hated what he’d been reduced to, what had been done to his family’s name. Not a friend to be found in the cursed lot of his peers.

  And now Raymond wanted him to purchase sex. This added a different dimension to his humiliation. A humbling example of how far he’d fallen for a man who had always been offered carnal pleasures in abundance for free.

  It was damned difficult for his pride to bear.

  And so he took to abstaining until he reached a point where he could stand it no longer; then and only then did he allow himself a brief fuck, the women utterly forgettable. In fact, in the last five years, he couldn’t remember a single one of their faces.

  He’d sooner take his cock in hand than pay this camp follower for sex.

  Jules placed his hands on his hips and gazed at the crackling fire. “Get rid of her. All of them. I’m not interested.” His life was on the verge of changing at last. As soon as he delivered this latest capture to Boulenger, he’d take his share of the bounty and walk away from privateering for good.

  “No,” Raymond answered defiantly for the first time ever.

  Jules’s gaze shot to his servant. “What did you say?”

  Raymond swallowed. “It—It is out of regard for you that I decline. To speak frankly, my lord, it has been difficult to watch your self-induced suffering with these long periods of abstinence.” He shifted his weight, nervously. “Did—Did I mention her fair coloring? It is the very type you have always preferred . . .”

  Jules crossed his arms over his chest, wrestling with his ire.

  “M-May I be frank again, my lord?”

  “Well, of course, Raymond,” he responded tightly. “There seems to be no stopping you tonight.”

  “This latest capture is significant. It would be beneficial if you had a clear mind. Knowing you as I do, you’re ready to leap out of your very skin.”

  Jules tamped down his resentment. He knew Raymond’s words were true, but he’d be damned if he was going to admit it.

  “My lord, she is attractive, blond, and here. It is something you need.”

  Jules’s patience finally snapped. He stalked up to Raymond and growled in his ear. “What I need is my life back, not a fuck in the forest.”

  2

  Robert began to mutter a prayer.

  “Stop that!” Gerard whispered forcefully, immediately silencing his younger brother.

  Sabine ignored them, trying to peer between the trees in the distance, her attention focused on what she could see of the camp—more particularly, the “commander.” The blond man was speaking to someone, but she couldn’t see to whom.

  Fabrice and another man remained a short distance away, keeping guard and preventing them from getting any closer.

  It was then that the blond man stepped back, revealing the commander to Sabine.

  Her breath caught.

  It couldn’t be . . . Sabine stared harder. No. It only looked like him. It couldn’t actually be . . .

  She watched intently as the dark-haired man stalked away from the blond man, disappearing behind the trees then reemerging near Fabrice and the other guard.

  Robert gasped. “It’s the Marquis de Blainville’s son!”

  Stunned, Sabine stared at the unmistakable sight of Jules de Moutier. He was in profile talking to the blond man once more. And he seemed angry.

  Sabine tore her gaze away and looked at the ground, trying to control her breathing. Good God. She couldn’t believe it!

  “You—You said they were thieves, Sabine,” Robert whispered. “We cannot steal from a noble.”

  “Quiet, Robert!” Gerard snapped. “He is an ex-noble. His family was stripped of everything when the Marquis was convicted as a traitor. Their lands reverted to the Crown. That’s why we owe taxes to the King and not him or his family. He is nothing.”

  Not true.

  Jules de Moutier had had too much impact on her life to be dismissed as nothing.

  Memories
of watching him arrive at the theater, always surrounded by men and women who hung on his every word, were still vivid in Sabine’s mind.

  Sinfully beautiful, his potent appeal—that knee-weakening smile and those fathomless eyes—had had her utterly enthralled. Heart, body, and soul.

  Yet that was all before the mighty Moutier family had brought about her family’s ruin.

  Except for his occasional irritating invasion into her dreams, she hadn’t seen him in eight years.

  You’re going to have to entice Jules de Moutier into purchasing your sexual favors. Incredulous, she reeled.

  Her eyes were drawn back to him standing in the distance.

  He wore a white shirt and black breeches. His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him; his shoulders were broader, too. He looked more muscled, stronger. Gone were all signs of his boyish charms. With his confident manner, his tall powerful body, he exuded authority on a whole new level. He was every bit a man, with an edge of danger. And even more devastating to behold. Her stomach fluttered wildly.

  The unexpected physical response ignited her ire.

  She wasn’t the same foolish girl who used to drain inkwells writing stories with Isabelle about the two gorgeous Moutier brothers, and how the men would fall madly in love with them and whisk them off to their castles. Back then she’d had more romantic, utterly unrealistic dreams of Jules than she could count.

  She’d been naïve about how corrupt the Moutier family was.

  Until the Fronde, when traitorous families like the Moutiers had thrown the realm into turmoil for five years. And driven so many into financial despair.

  Her father had lost their theater because of the Fronde and soon after sold their country estate, land that had belonged to her family for generations, to the powerful Moutiers, obliging them to pay taxes to Jules’s family just so they could continue to live in their deteriorating château—when her family had never been governed by any lord before.

  Taxes that were raised at whim.

  His family had inflicted incredible hardship on hers.

  After all these years, after everything that had transpired, it galled her that she trembled just being in his presence.