We haven’t exchanged words or even looks, but we will. In time. When Father’s not around, of course. It is inevitable. I know it. I feel a connection to my Dark Prince I cannot explain.
Jules turned the page to the next entry.
. . . Father demands that Isabelle and I remain unseen while at the theater. I would gladly break his foolish rule and approach my Dark Prince the next time he attends, but I haven’t the courage to speak to him. I wish I had Isabelle’s confidence. I know she would speak to the object of her affection—who is my Dark Prince’s brother!—if it weren’t for her fear of banishment from any more performances, as Father has so often threatened.
Jules’s curiosity was more than piqued over the identity of the Dark Prince. Looking for more references to him, he came upon:
. . . He was here! My Dark Prince was at the theater tonight! It seems impossible, but he was even more beautiful than the first time I saw him. He looked so fine, so very princely. He draws a throng of adoring subjects to him. I loathe it that they are mostly of the female persuasion. They vie for his attention. I crave it, too . . .
Completely engrossed, Jules turned the page to the next entry.
. . . Father says Isabelle and I will marry men in the nobility. We will be great ladies one day. But there is only one man I want—the finest in the realm—my Dark Prince.
Jules gave a short harsh laugh. “The finest in the realm”? Shaking his head, he wondered how well he knew the poor Aristo she’d set her sights on.
He scanned more entries, looking for any clues to unravel the mystery of the Dark Prince once and for all.
. . . Louise noticed me watching my Dark Prince last night. She said he is far beyond my reach. That I dream too grand. But aren’t dreams supposed to be grand? Alas, I am afflicted with a heart that won’t be reined in. It reaches out to my Dark Prince and will be satisfied by no other. He is my destiny. I know it. I feel it.
He searched on.
. . . I saw my Dark Prince tonight! He was at the theater to see Father’s newest comedy, “One Summer Night.” The most magical nights are when my Dark Prince appears either in my dreams or before my longing eyes. How I adore his laugh. His smile shines brighter than the sun! Yet he looks through me, as one would the wind. I brush past, but he does not see or feel me. Nor does he sense the yearning in my heart. How I ache for a look, a touch. Oh, heaven would be a kiss from his lips! Nothing this side of the stars would be finer.
Who was the object of her romantic ramblings? Whom did she long to kiss?
. . . I’ve seen enough stolen kisses at the theater. I am confident I can do it well. When at last I kiss my Dark Prince, he won’t want me to ever stop!
Frustrated, all he knew of the Dark Prince was that he had dark hair and a brother. That description matched many. Dieu, it even matched him.
Fast and furious footsteps approached his closed bedchamber door. Merde. He knew exactly who was about to burst in. Shutting the journal, he managed to stuff it under his pillow just as the door slammed open.
Sabine marched in, her skin flushed. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breaths.
Jésus-Christ. Stop looking at her breasts. So, she had the kind of tits a man could delight in for hours. There were plenty of other women. Plenty of other gorgeous breasts.
Briefly glancing at her lush mouth, he wondered if the Dark Prince ever got to taste those lips. She’d definitely done it so deliciously well, he hadn’t wanted to stop.
“I have had enough of you,” she stated. “You’ll not take any more from us.”
Jules lifted a brow. “I believe those should be my words.”
Raymond rushed in and grasped her arm. “Come!”
She tried to pull her arm free and glared at Jules. “You need him because you’re too much of a coward to face me alone.”
“Really, Sabine. All your obvious baiting and carrying on about cowardliness is getting rather old, don’t you think?”
“You are despicable!”
“Yes. And you’re a lovely woman who gives her body to men, feeds them tainted food, and steals from them. Raymond, remind me to improve myself and adopt Sabine Laurent’s high moral standards.” His ire was mounting with every moment he looked into her deceitful face.
He resented this clash of disdain and desire that constantly warred inside him over this woman.
“Your father should have raised you with a firmer hand rather than to allow you and your sister to wander about the theater unchecked. You’d comport yourself better.”
She stiffened. “How would you know anything about what my father allowed my sister and me to do at the theater?”
Merde. That was a slip. If he wasn’t so incensed with her, if he didn’t have pain shooting through his chest, he wouldn’t have made the bloody blunder.
“It was a guess. Clearly he was lax in his parenting. He failed to teach you how to be a lady. How to speak to your betters.”
In fact, he’d caught a couple of journal entries where she’d witnessed various explicit acts in dark corners of the theater and in the alley outside that most innocent young women didn’t observe. Paul Laurent had been a fool to let his daughters roam so carelessly.
“My betters?” she exclaimed. “You are not my better. You are my equal. No, you are not even my equal. You are beneath me.”
“I was. At the inn. And I think another time in the forest, no?”
A small gasp escaped her, completely taken aback by his words. And he delighted in it.
Quickly recovering, she said, “I thought you forbade the mention of our time together.”
“I make the rules and I decide which, if any, apply to me.”
“Why are you so angry?” she demanded. “Is it because you were duped? Or is it because you were outwitted by people you think of as less than you? You have only yourself to blame for being robbed. You’ve been to my father’s theater many times. You’ve seen Louise and Vincent in his plays. Had you truly looked at them at the inn, you would have recognized them. But you didn’t. You don’t look at anyone who isn’t part of the upper class. No one outside of it is worthy of your regard—unless you’re interested in a tumble.”
He tightened his jaw. “I’ve grown tired of our conversation.” Jules waved her away. Raymond immediately began hauling Sabine from the room.
“I’m not finished yet!”
“Yes, you are,” Jules responded calmly, though he seethed.
“You’re not taking our best food any longer. Do you hear me?”
“Chère, they can hear you in England. And I’ll take what I want until my silver is returned.”
Raymond pushed her out and closed the door behind him, yet Jules could still hear her anger and frustration. Good. Why should he be the only one to feel that way?
He pulled the journal out and located the page where he’d left off. Several entries later Jules was stunned to read:
He kissed her! I saw him. My Dark Prince kissed Marie de Perron! Oh, how it makes me ache to see his lips touch another’s.
Marie de Perron? A favorite courtesan among the male population of the aristocracy. An auburn-haired beauty whose charms Jules had personally sampled many times after his return from war in the summer of ’50. In fact, they’d remained friends and lovers until his father’s death years later.
Jules had definitely been to the theater during the time these journal entries were written. Could he be the Dark Prince? No. Marie had had many lovers. The Dark Prince could be anyone.
It wasn’t him.
Was it?
17
“Good morning.”
Without the courtesy of a knock, Claude Cyr and the large man he’d brought with him had opened the door and stepped into the Laurent home.
Their presence sent a chill through Sabine.
Almost twenty years her senior, Cyr smiled. The man looked like a rodent, inspiring the same feeling of revulsion.
Josette immediately inched away from Sabine and close
r to her sister and mother, distress etched across their features. Agnes and Olivier were out in the fields, unaware they had unwanted visitors. And Raymond, well, Raymond was always somewhere attending to the needs of his master.
Knowing she’d have to deal with these men by herself, Sabine schooled her features. Cyr thrived on fear.
It would only encourage him to escalate his intimidation tactics if he saw any on her face. Sabine didn’t have the luxury of expressing her own disquiet.
“It’s not the end of the month.” There was no need to pretend at pleasantries. She wanted them gone. The sooner the better.
“Now, is that any sort of a greeting?” Cyr said.
Sabine glanced at his companion. The scar on his left cheek added to his formidable look. “It’s the kind the tax collector gets,” she responded coolly, though her heart pounded.
“Such impertinence.” Cyr brushed something off the sleeve of his costly doublet. “Your time is about done. If you don’t pay in full this time, you will face the consequences.”
“Yes. Well, thank you for the reminder. If you will see yourselves out . . .” Silently she willed them to leave. Cyr didn’t bring the brute along for companionship. She feared what might happen the longer they lingered.
Cyr approached Sabine, stopping inches from her. Her heart lurched. A nauseating combination of sweat and perfume wafted off him. She fought the urge to step back and forced herself to maintain his gaze, his icy eyes vacant of empathy.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation you’re in.”
She understood it all too well.
“A debtor’s prison awaits you and your band of misfits if you don’t make good on your debt this time. I don’t think any of you will fare well there, especially you. Imagine how delighted the guards will be to see a woman like you . . .” He ran his knuckles down Sabine’s cheek.
She slapped his hand away, the ring he wore stinging her palm. “Get out of our home!”
He grabbed her braid near her ear and yanked her to him, wresting a cry from her throat. And from Josette.
He brought Sabine’s face close to his own. His vile breath assailed her nose and churned her stomach.
“Just who do you think you’re talking to?” He tightened his cruel hold on her hair. Tears gathered in her eyes. She clutched his wrist, desperate to disengage.
“Let go!” she cried, then quickly added a softer “please” to appease him.
“That’s a very pretty ‘please.’ ” Another waft of his foul breath hit her in the face and roiled her stomach. “But I see defiance in your eyes.” He gave her hair a vicious yank. She cried out. He was pulling so hard. The pain was unbelievable. Fearing he’d tear off her scalp, she savagely dug her nails into the flesh of his arm. He yelped in pain. She kicked him square on the shin with her wooden clog.
Cyr released her with a shout. She jumped out of his reach, her head throbbing.
A sword was suddenly thrust between them, its razor edge against Cyr’s throat.
“Don’t. Move,” a familiar voice said.
Cyr froze. His brutish companion gripped the hilt of his sword. The ominous whisper of his rapier unsheathing sent a shiver of dread down Sabine’s spine.
She looked from her assailants to her unexpected savior. Jules kept his focus on Cyr and the sword against his throat.
“Tell your man to put his weapon down or I’ll open your throat here and now,” Jules informed.
A bead of sweat appeared on Cyr’s brow. He moved nothing but his eyes. Upon seeing exactly who was holding a weapon to him, he exclaimed, “My lord!”
Jules frowned. “Have your man drop his blade, then identify yourself and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through the gullet.”
Raymond came rushing down the stairs. He immediately unsheathed his sword, poised to battle Cyr’s giant companion. Louise and her daughters, who’d been cowering in the corner, took the standoff as their cue to run from the room.
“Raymond,” Jules said. “It appears we have visitors.”
Cyr swallowed. “Roland, drop your sword!”
Roland didn’t move, sword still in hand.
“Do as I say, you fool!”
With an angry growl, the beast tossed his blade down. Raymond snatched it up and pointed both swords at Roland.
“My lord, it—it is I, Claude Cyr. I loyally worked for your family for years! Your faithful tax collector, my lord.”
Jules raised his brows and lowered his weapon. “Cyr?”
“Yes! Yes, that’s correct. Cyr.” The rodent’s smile was wary as he checked his fat neck for blood with a swipe of his hand. Looking relieved that none was present on his palm, his smile broadened. He gave Jules a low bow. “Your most humble servant.”
His demonstration of “respect” irked Sabine. It was as insincere and corrupt as the rest of him.
Jules replaced the sword at the tax collector’s throat.
“Taxes are collected monthly in the local parish. Why are you here and why would you attack this woman?”
He was defending her? To his former tax collector?
“My lord, if you would lower your sword, I could—”
“Answer me!” Jules barked.
Cyr started. He cleared his throat. “A-As you wish. I’m here on the King’s business. Since your family lost . . . er . . . since the tragic wrongful charges against your father and the . . . change in ownership of these lands, I’ve been given the responsibility of collecting taxes for the Crown, an honor, I might add, as great as collecting for your prestigious family, my lord. I, for one, have never believed, even for an instant, that the charges against your family—”
“Enough gushing, Cyr. Get to the point.”
“Of course. It is my responsibility to make certain that taxes are paid on a timely basis. Unfortunately, it is not easy to collect from degenerates who resort to avoidance, schemes—all manner of trickery to escape paying their share.”
“So you collect taxes by brutalizing women?” Jules seethed. Though he’d been tempted to throttle Sabine several times, seeing the vicious assault shot hot rage through his veins.
“I collect by whatever means works. I must do my duty.”
“Collection of taxes is one thing, your methods, completely another. They’re unacceptable.”
“Really? It never bothered you before. How else did you think taxes were collected?”
Cyr’s words were jarring.
He lowered his sword and looked at Sabine. She stared back, indignation etched on her fine face. He realized he’d never wasted a moment’s thought on it. Never imagined that excessive means were used, particularly on women.
“My lord, these people are a blemish on society. Lazy. Cheats.”
Those were the very words he’d always used to describe the lower class, yet hearing them from Cyr’s mouth made Jules mentally flinch. Though Sabine and her family were definitely the latter, they were certainly not the former. With the exception of Louise and her two daughters, these people were not lazy. He’d seen how Sabine, Olivier, and Agnes toiled daily.
“They’re not inclined to pay unless one impresses upon them the importance of abiding by the law.”
Sabine lifted her chin and responded softly, “We don’t have enough to pay all the taxes owed to the Crown.”
“You see what I must deal with, my lord?” Cyr said. “Such blatant disregard for the law and disrespect for authority. They live on someone else’s land and yet don’t feel obliged to pay for the privilege! I’m forced to make these home visits—visits I’d sooner forgo—when the debt is significant. As it is in this case.”
“What is the debt?” Why the hell did he ask that? Why involve himself in matters that were none of his concern?
“Roland, bring the satchel.”
The large man lumbered over to the table. Pulling off the satchel slung on his shoulder, he set it on the wooden surface.
Cyr pulled out the accounting ledg
er. “Here, my lord, is the exact figure and the date of their last payment, which, as you see was some time ago. I have lumped the entire debt here, but in actual fact, half this amount is for Crown taxes and half for what remains unpaid in local taxes.”
Jules glanced at Sabine. “Is this the amount you owe?”
She moved to the table and glanced down at the figure on the open ledger. “Yes.”
Dieu, it was considerable. He felt a stab of conscience—and it irked him. He wasn’t the one who had mismanaged funds. The Laurents had.
This wasn’t his problem, and he wouldn’t be lured into it.
His physical pain tormented him. His mood was foul. And he decided to vent a little frustration and exact a small measure of retribution for his family.
God knows Cyr had it coming.
“Cyr, a payment is going to be made today,” he announced.
Sabine’s eyes widened.
“Really? Wonderful, my lord. How much?”
“All of it.” Jules heard Sabine’s soft gasp.
Cyr looked just as astonished. “Why, that’s excellent! But bartering isn’t permitted when paying the Crown’s taxes, and since, in this case, it’s the King who’s owed the local taxes as well, I must insist the sum be paid in coin. Do they have the funds to pay in such a manner?”
“No. But you do.”
Cyr raised his brows. “Me? Why on earth would I pay their taxes?”
Jules yanked Cyr to him by the hair, jerked his head back, and pressed the sword against his throat once more.
Raymond instantly stopped Roland’s advance by placing the tip of one of his blades to the beating pulse at the side of the man’s thick neck.
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