A Midnight Dance

by Lila DiPasqua

  “Turn down the quilt. See if there are any fleas,” Jules ordered. Though given his state, even if there was an infestation, he doubted he could have resisted the urge to lie down.

  “It looks very clean,” Raymond said, having pulled back the bedcovers.

  Jules lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, refusing Raymond’s help. He tried to pull off his shirt, but couldn’t lift his arm without pain ripping across his side. He swore viciously. “Get this binding off me, Raymond. It feels like a vise!” He couldn’t breathe, and the pain was making him impatient and irritable.

  “Of course, my lord.” Unfazed, Raymond removed Jules’s shirt then undid the knot and deftly unraveled the binding from around his ribs. When it was off, Jules took in a breath and let it out slowly.

  The door opened and slammed shut.

  Furious that one of his men would dare intrude so rudely, Jules looked up to see who was about to receive the full brunt of his ire.

  Sabine, balancing a tray with one hand, locked the door quickly with the other and turned to face him. Her eyes immediately narrowed on the massive discoloration across his ribs. Jerking her gaze up, she met his stunned regard with her own.

  Rapid footsteps approached the door. Someone attempted to turn the locked latch, then pounded at the portal.

  “Mademoiselle!” Marc called out. “Out of there!”

  She glanced back toward the commotion. Raymond stepped toward her, the key visibly vulnerable in her hand. But she turned around before he could grab it and dropped the key down the front of her chemise, tossing him a “Don’t you dare” look.

  Raymond froze, then glanced at Jules for direction.

  Jules placed a palm over his eyes, wrestling down the expletives bellowing in his brain. Clearly, he wasn’t finished being tortured this night.

  “Mademoiselle!” Marc continued to strike his fist against the door. “Commander?”

  “Commander?” Raymond said. “What do you wish me to do? Um . . . fetch the key?”

  Jules lowered his hand and slanted Raymond a look. Raymond had the good grace to blush.

  “No,” he managed to say calmly for the sake of his ribs, though it took considerable effort to tamp down the vexation boiling in his blood. “But you can tell Marc to cease his incessant pounding.”

  “Of course, Commander. MARC! ENOUGH!”

  There was silence followed by footsteps retreating from the opposite side of the door.

  Raymond smiled. “There you are, Commander.”

  Jules turned to the woman before him, astounded by her errant ways.

  “Tell me, Sabine, when it’s obvious I’d find nothing more enjoyable than to strangle you, why exactly would you lock yourself in a room with me?”

  Sabine placed her tray on the table beside the bed, then smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt. “I don’t know where the silver is. I wish to God I did. I know you don’t believe me. However, that’s not the reason I’m here. I’m here because I have a question.”

  “Ah, how wonderful. You have ‘a question.’” Jules formed a false smile, his tone caustic. “I can’t wait to hear it. It must be one of utmost importance and urgency for you to sweep in here, without so much as seeking permission before entering.”

  She frowned. “I’m not a servant in this home. There is no reason for me to seek permission to enter here. This is my room. And that is my bed. What are you so concerned about? That I might happen upon you in your natural state? You haven’t suddenly become bashful, have you?”

  He dug his fingers into the mattress. Calm . . . “What is your question?” he responded through clenched teeth. “The one you risk life and limb for.”

  She glanced at Raymond. “My question is,” her voice softened, “since it obvious that you are injured . . . Were you injured at the inn?”

  “Why do you wish to know? So you can gloat? Rejoice with your criminal lot that your witch’s brew had results greater than anticipated?”

  “No. I don’t wish to gloat. I am not as he says.” She pointed to Raymond. “I do have a conscience.” Jules glanced at Raymond, who immediately lowered his gaze, suddenly fascinated with a spot on his boot.

  “I’ll admit it; I have in the past and present wished every ill upon you,” she continued. “I thought I’d find no greater joy than to see you suffer. But the reality is . . . seeing you hurt does not ease my pain. I am not indifferent to the suffering of others. If I were, it would make me like you and your class. And I am better than that.”

  He wasn’t in any state to spar with her. Not when pain was knifing through him. Before he could order her out, she picked his binding up off the bed and threw it over a chair.

  “That needs laundering.”

  Walking over to the pile of clothing his men had tossed out of her trunks and onto the floor, she picked up linen from the top of the heap.

  “Take this.” She handed it to Raymond. “It may be worn, but it’s clean. Cut what he needs from it.”

  Surprised, he watched as she poured water into the water basin then soaked a cloth in it.

  She knelt before him and stroked its cool wetness across his chest.

  He seized her wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m bathing you. I’ll be gentle.” She glanced at Raymond, who was busy tearing a strip off the linen she’d given him, then leaned toward Jules and whispered, “You’ve done it for me. I’m returning the favor.”

  Her words sent a rush of heated memories through his mind. A different kind of ache immediately rose up, this time from his stiffening prick. Jésus-Christ, the very last thing he needed was a hard cock to add to his physical torment. He couldn’t believe his body was reacting to her—after all her transgressions.

  “Heed this warning and heed it well.” He gave her wrist a squeeze to punctuate his words. “Don’t ever mention our time together again. Understood?” He released her.

  “Jules—”

  “And don’t address me by my Christian name! That is to be used by friends. Lovers. Or those in my social class. You are none of those things. You will, whenever you speak to me, remember your place.” He gave her a look daring her to mention his ignoble status. Regardless of how the court temporarily viewed him, he was still an Aristo by blood, untainted by a single commoner in his pedigree for more than five generations in all four of his bloodlines.

  She returned his glare, then rose and tossed the cloth into the basin.

  “Fine. Have it your way, my lord.” She picked up the wooden goblet from the tray. “Agnes is known for her talents in healing. I convinced her to help you, even though you don’t deserve it. This is a mixture of boiled poppy seed and herbs. It will aid with your pain and help you to sleep.” She held the goblet out to him.

  A mirthless laugh shot out of him. He snatched the goblet out of her hand, and peered at the brown liquid. “Raymond, the witch has prepared yet another elixir to induce sleep.”

  Frowning, Raymond shook his head.

  Turning to Sabine, Jules said, “Why, thank you, Sabine. I so enjoyed the first one. Naturally I’d be interested in trying another. Do tell, what sort of sleep will this one induce? Eternal?” He whipped it across the room, sending the contents spraying out. The goblet bounced off the wall and landed on the ground.

  Grabbing his side, he growled, “You, your witch, and your potions can go to hell.”

  “I am trying to help you!”

  “You want to help me? Then get out of my sight!”

  “From your movements and your breathing, Agnes says it’s likely you have broken ribs. Your bruising convinces me she’s right. You wish to suffer pain, fine. But at least use this.” She snatched up a small wooden bowl. “This is a balm. I’ve seen it work. It will heal your ribs quickly. It takes two days to prepare. Agnes made it for someone else, but I convinced her to allow you to have it instead. You merely spread it over the skin where the injury is—”

  “Get out!”

  “You’re will
ing to risk lung fever?” She looked incredulous. “You won’t even try it?”

  “If it comes from you or your lot, NO!”

  She slammed the bowl down on the tray and began unlacing her bodice.

  His brows shot up. “What are you doing?”

  “Proving a point to the most foolish mule-headed man in the realm.” She tossed the bodice down on the bed and yanked on her chemise, pulling the knee-length garment out of her skirt. The key slipped out, landing on the floor. She scooped it up. Then, with her other hand, she gathered the fabric of her chemise and bunched it just under her breast.

  Beautiful soft skin he knew all too intimately was exposed before him, snaring not only his attention but that of his hard straining cock.

  Transferring the key to her opposite hand, she then dipped her fingers into the balm. “This is the approximate spot where your injury is,” she said and smoothed the slick substance over her skin, making it glisten.

  His mouth went dry.

  She dipped into the salve again, then glided her moistened fingers along her side once more from the undercurve of her breast down to the waistband of her skirts. Then back up. And Dieu, back down. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away as she caressed herself, smoothing on the balm—her body now so sensuously glossy.

  “There.” She released the hem of her chemise. Like a curtain, it dropped down, covering the provocative sight, leaving him bereft and heated.

  She tucked her undergarment back in her skirt. “You see? The balm is perfectly safe to use.” She grabbed the bodice off the bed and laced it up. “If you’re wise, you won’t waste it like you did the pain tonic.”

  She marched over to the door, key in hand, unlocked it, and left with an abrupt slam.

  Jules glanced at Raymond, who stared at the door, mouth agape.

  “Are you done gawking, Raymond?”

  His servant clamped his mouth shut. “Forgive me, my lord. The lady is, well, full of surprises.”

  “What the hell did you say to her?”

  “Nothing! During my interrogation I merely mentioned that she shouldn’t be so quick to judge others. She’s rather an unpredictable woman. I certainly did not expected her to enter here and expose her—”

  Jules lifted a brow.

  “Um, may I help you lie down, my lord?”

  “No. But you can go into the other room and tell Marc and Bruno to bring the sister’s trunks. They’ll be kept here near me. In fact, have all our supplies brought to this room. Also, I want you to explain to our band of thieves that they’ll be having guests for a while and there will be new rules from now on. No one is permitted to leave this house without permission. No one is permitted to be out of plain sight. And for the love of God, get me that key without fishing your hand down the front of her bodice.”

  Raymond cleared his throat. “Of course, my lord.”

  The moment Raymond closed the door, Jules carefully placed his legs on the bed and slowly reclined, unable to hold down the fierce groan that quivered up his throat.

  Once his back rested against the soft mattress, he closed his eyes. His chest hurt, his cock was still hard, and to add to his misery, Sabine’s scent was emanating from her sheets, filling his senses with each and every breath he took.

  Surely, no more havoc could be wreaked upon him.

  The heavens responded with a thunderclap.

  16

  Sabine jerked the weeds out of the herb garden.

  “Insufferable.” Yank. “Overbearing.” Yank, yank. “I curse the day I ever met him! Ever laid eyes on him!” She tossed the weeds toward the pile she’d made and jerked out more.

  Agnes blinked as she watched Sabine, down on her knees, venting her fury on the vegetation.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this incensed,” Agnes remarked, holding a basket of carrots, radishes, and leeks.

  Sabine shot to her feet. “I cannot believe our cursed luck! It’s bad enough that the silver is missing—and I’ve been racking my mind trying to figure out when it was stolen and who could have taken it—and now we must deal with him!” Agnes knew full well she was talking about Jules. “He holds us prisoner and then acts as though he’s our master, taking our eggs, cheese, all the best foods we have for himself! The very foods we use to sell for a few meager coins. What does he leave us? Some stale bread to dunk in soup made from that!” She pointed to Agnes’s basket. “It’s bad enough that Louise and her lazy daughters never do their share around here. Now we have His Majesty to contend with!” Sabine cleaned her hands on her apron with an angry swipe. “He even has Raymond pull furniture out of the house for his comfort outside. Awaiting the return of his silver, he sits on his throne. For two days he’s dictated to us while you, Olivier, and I kill ourselves trying to scrape together enough to eat and toil in the fields!” So scorching was her fury, she was amazed her eyebrows hadn’t been singed off.

  Sabine curled her fingers into a fist. “I should march in there and break another of his ribs!”

  “Sabine, he’s injured, we took his treasure, and he’s an Aristo by blood. You can hardly expect he’ll help us in the fields,” Agnes responded.

  “His ignoble status makes him no more important in society than we are. I am sick and tired of this poverty. And his highhandedness. We’re going to get our hands on his silver. We’re going to climb out of this dark hole we have sunk into. I’m going to find my sister. And as for the mighty Jules de Moutier, he needs to be knocked off his perch. And I am just the woman to do it.” She stalked toward the house, stopping abruptly when Agnes called out her name.

  She turned back around, itching to give Jules a piece of her mind. “What is it?”

  Agnes was smiling. “I do like one thing about the Aristo.”

  Sabine frowned. “What is that?”

  “I like how he affects you. It’s been five years since I’ve seen any sort of fire or life in you.”

  Jules leaned on the windowsill and gazed out at the summer day. Merde. He was climbing the walls. This horrible state of infirmity was so contrary to his active existence. Between the incessant agony in his side, the constant violin music from the music composer Olivier, and the actress Louise’s loud spontaneous bursts into theatrical soliloquy, his sanity was being tested. The entire lot seemed to thrive on noise and theater. And despite the nervegrating bickering that would ensue from time to time, they were constantly together, seemingly preferring it that way. Undercurrents of loyalty and affection coursed through the constant commotion.

  He had far too much time on his hands. To think. To agonize for what surely had to be the millionth time over his father’s betrayal. Over his missing silver. And then there was Sabine.

  He spotted her just then standing in the distance with Agnes, engrossed in conversation. Sunlight shone on Sabine’s pale hair, and it was bedazzling to behold. Even in her humble attire, she was lovely.

  No woman who was as accomplished at deception as she was should be that beautiful.

  Sleeping in her bed every night, with her scent all around him, he dreamed of her. Of fucking her. Of her gorgeous form, so sensuous and sensitive and responsive to his touch.

  An instant feral need rolled through him. His groin tightened in response.

  Jules clenched his teeth and swore softly.

  Each morning he awoke with a stiff prick, battling back memories of tasting, caressing, and kissing those sweet spots on her body he knew undid her. Of being inside her climaxing core, so silken and snug, and feeling those decadent spasms as she came on his cock.

  The pain in his ribs alone should have been enough to kill this ludicrous lust he had for her. But it wasn’t. Nothing stopped the mental images of their time together in the forest and at the inn. Laughing and talking and feeling something he thought he’d forgotten how to feel.

  Contentment.

  She’d quieted his soul. Well, the bitterness and the anger were back. Full-blown.

  And he hated it.

  He hated i
t as much as the memories and this unbreakable pull.

  He wanted them dead and gone.

  Jules turned away. The wooden plank beneath his hands creaked and lifted on one side. He pulled at it. It came away. Jules peered in the hole. Beneath the wooden sill were two books wedged between the inner and outer wall. Hidden as they were, they had to be important.

  Removing one from its secret spot, he brushed the dust off and opened it to the first page. Across the top it said, This is the very private journal of Sabine Laurent. Isabelle, put it down or I’ll read yours!

  Yesterday, he’d glanced at the books in Isabelle’s trunk, even thumbed through her journal. They hadn’t captivated him. Yet the moment he turned the page and read the first line in Sabine’s journal, he was ensnared.

  I can think of no better way to begin a journal than to say,

  I am in love!

  Glancing at the date of the entry, February 11, 1650, he made a quick calculation, realizing he was reading words written by a young Sabine just blooming into womanhood.

  Oddly fascinated, he covered the second journal with the windowsill and made his way to the bed.

  Jules tossed the volume down on the mattress. Gritting his teeth, he lowered himself onto the bed, his hand over the linen binding around his chest.

  The wooden bowl on a small table near his bed caught his eye. It mocked him. And tempted him.

  “It will heal your ribs quickly . . .”

  He wasn’t going to smear that concoction on any part of his body. Nor was he going to think about the arousing memory that was forevermore associated with it. Damn her.

  Slowly he reclined, opened the journal, and began to read.

  Oh, I have never felt this way. Not ever! But then I’ve never known anyone like my Dark Prince. I first beheld him when he attended Father’s comedy two weeks ago. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. I will admit it here, on these pages alone, that I was completely aquiver and hopelessly enthralled by his every movement. He is so handsome and regal, with hair and eyes so dark. Oh, his eyes! I could stay immersed within their depths forever.