A Midnight Dance

by Lila DiPasqua

  “For the endless skimming you did each time you collected taxes for my family. And don’t”—Jules yanked the hair harder, enjoying the cry Cyr gave—“try to deny it.” Cyr’s eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. It gave Jules perverse pleasure to see the man so panicked, gripped with terror. He was one of many who would pay for betraying his father’s trust. “Shortly before my father’s arrest, he wrote to me and told me you were dipping your hand in deeper than was your due. He wanted to replace you. But he never got the chance. Me, I’m less merciful. I want to send you to hell.”

  “My lord, please . . .”

  “Admit you stole from my family.”

  “I’ll—I’ll pay the debt! All of it! As you wish! In fact, I’ll write it in the ledger right now!”

  “Not good enough. I want the truth! I want to hear how you took a position of trust and twisted it into a self-enriching role, amassing sizable wealth, judging by the look of your clothes and rings. SAY IT!”

  “I—I took only a little . . .”

  Jules pressed the sword harder.

  “Yes! All right! I admit it. I stole. I’ll—I’ll pay it all back.”

  Jules viciously tightened his grip on the man’s hair. Cyr screamed out. “Oh, that you will. You’ll leave your ledger here and I’ll make some calculations to determine what you owe me. Make no mistake, Cyr, I will reclaim my birthright and you will never cross a Moutier again. Is that understood?”

  “Absolutely.” His profuse sweating added to his revolting smell.

  Jules shoved him away, all too eager to distance himself from the man and his stench. Cyr stumbled back and clutched his throat as if to protect it.

  “I’ll be in contact with you soon, Cyr.” He was going to keep the man unbalanced, hold the debt over his head. Cyr knew a lot of people and could be of use in Jules’s quest for justice. “Don’t try to avoid me, or I’ll hunt you down like the dog you are, and you’ll pay in more ways than one.”

  “No, my lord.” Cyr said, visibly shaken. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Before you go, mark down in the ledger that the debt has been cleared.”

  “Of course. But—But I don’t have a quill or ink with me. I didn’t expect . . . payment to be made.”

  “Get him what he needs,” Jules said to Sabine. “And bring a parchment.”

  She didn’t hesitate and rushed off. By the time she returned, Olivier and Agnes had torn into the house, clearly having recognized the horses outside, and now stood looking astonished by the scene before them—Cyr humbled and his henchman subdued by his own weapon.

  Sabine set the items on the table.

  Cyr wrote in the ledger. “There, my lord. Just as you willed.”

  “Now write on the parchment that the taxes are fully paid, sign it, and get out of my sight.”

  Cyr hastily obeyed, murmured a good day with a quick bow, and ran from the house with his giant plodding behind him.

  The witch and Olivier exchanged looks.

  Silence hung in the air . . .

  A burst of laughter erupted from them.

  “Have you ever seen Cyr so frightened? He practically pissed his breeches!” Olivier guffawed.

  Incredulous, Sabine simply stared at Jules, her beautiful silver eyes holding his gaze. Her pretty lips were slightly parted; her breaths had quickened.

  “I didn’t know anyone’s eyes could bulge like that,” Agnes exclaimed. Another fit of mirth gripped the two.

  A smile tugged at the corners of Jules’s mouth as Cyr’s distraught face came to mind. But he held it back. Though seeing Cyr’s reaction was humorous, he wasn’t going to celebrate with these people. He wasn’t one of them.

  They were as dishonest as Cyr.

  He was determined to maintain distance, not to mention command with this lot.

  The witch beamed. “You’re definitely my least-despised Aristo!”

  Olivier walked up to Jules and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done a fine thing here today, son.” He smiled warmly. “And since you’re in a generous mood, I don’t suppose you’d see fit to return my violin?”

  He’d taken the damn thing away yesterday. The man’s relentless playing drove him mad.

  Jules glanced down at Olivier’s hand on his person then met his gaze and lifted a brow.

  Olivier’s smile dissolved. He immediately removed his hand. “Sorry.”

  Jules sheathed his sword, his side feeling like it was ready to split in two. “No, I am not in a generous mood, and no, you may not have your violin. Your debt hasn’t been canceled. It’s been transferred. To me.” His words vanquished the joviality of the group.

  Jules turned and made his way to his room, feeling no satisfaction from killing the joy. In fact, to his surprise, he disliked the sudden sobering.

  Sabine knocked on the door and entered her room.

  She found Jules seated on the edge of the bed, baldric and shirt off. Down on his haunches before him, Raymond worked on the knot in the binding.

  The sight of Jules’s beautiful chest had its usual carnal impact on her senses. Her body warmed and she felt that familiar quickening low in her belly that he alone inspired. She missed having his solid strong body pressed against her, the feel of his skin.

  She missed him, more than she could ever admit.

  Jules met her gaze. His jaw tightened. “Well, at least you knocked this time. I suppose that’s an improvement.” He looked tired and no doubt his injury was causing him great discomfort. She should be rejoicing over his suffering.

  But the truth was—her only joy had come from being in his arms. He’d surprised her on many levels during that time together. Just as he’d surprised her with Cyr.

  She stopped before him and folded her hands. “May I have a private word with you?”

  He studied her silently.

  “Please,” she added, her tone free of the sarcasm or biting edge she’d adopted around him. A tone she disliked. In fact, she was tired of the arguments altogether.

  She didn’t want to spar with him anymore.

  Since returning to her staid existence, she found herself wishing more and more that she could recapture the bliss she’d known as Elise. In the dead of night, lying on her cot, knowing he was nearby, she couldn’t seem to kill the longing. Or the memories of the time they shared. Day by day, the longing only got stronger. She ached to touch him. She ached for his kiss, his body inside hers.

  She longed for the magic he possessed.

  He was the only one who had the power to make the sorrow disappear and infuse her with joy.

  As he gazed up at her, there was no trace of pleasure in his eyes over her presence—as there had been for Elise. She grieved the loss of that look, and his smile.

  He gave Raymond a nod, dismissing him.

  Raymond left and closed the door.

  “All right. We are alone. What is it?” he said as he tried to untie the knot in his binding.

  “I want to thank you for what you did. For stopping Cyr.”

  “I didn’t do it for you. My motives were strictly personal. Damn this knot . . .”

  She knelt before him, brushed his hands away, and went to work on the knot. “I know. But you have removed my family from imminent danger. And for that I am grateful.” She untied the binding and unwound it.

  Freed from the restraint around his chest, Jules took in breath and was instantly frustrated that it gave him only mild relief.

  Slowly, he lay back and closed his eyes. “I’ve told you, you owe me now—the silver and the debt.” His side throbbed painfully. He cursed his own stupidity at thinking with his cock. He’d never be suffering like this if he hadn’t bedded Sabine Laurent.

  Jules felt a gentle swipe and slick coolness against his skin. He snapped open his eyes. Looking down at his injured ribs, he saw that she’d applied the balm on it.

  “Merde!” He grabbed her wrist, stopping her from dipping her fingers back into the bowl she held and applying more.

&n
bsp; “This will help,” she assured calmly.

  “How? By killing me?”

  “Don’t be absurd. You saw me use it on myself. If you want, I can do so again—”

  “No!” Good Lord. Anything but that.

  “Then lie back and relax. It will begin to soothe and you’ll feel better.”

  Dieu, she was right. Already the throbbing was easing and there was a warm tingling sensation where she’d spread the balm.

  He reclined against the pillows, relishing the first moment of real relief he’d known in weeks. If the balm was truly tainted, he didn’t care. Basking in its blessed effect, he released her wrist.

  “It feels rather pleasant, doesn’t it?” She smiled and lightly spread more over his tortured side.

  The balm felt incredible, but so did the soft caressing strokes of her hand. Watching her at her task, he caught her eye. She blushed slightly and returned her focus to his ribs.

  Her pulse was racing. He could see its rapid beat in her neck. Her breathing had quickened, too. He was affecting her. Touching him was inflaming her. The realization stiffened his cock. He closed his eyes briefly. Jésus-Christ . . . He was going to start panting like a dog if she kept this up. But what she was doing felt so good.

  He didn’t want her to stop. Ever.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry you were injured this way,” she said. He was surprised by the apology and the tone. She spoke as sweetly as she had in bed, freshly sated from an intense release. Her cheeks were pink, and he watched as she bit down on that lush bottom lip. He was gripped with a powerful urge to pull her close and do the very same thing to that lush lip. “I only did what I did to help my family.”

  He wasn’t going to fall for this again. Not the gentle tones. Or the empty amiable words. He’d heard them before. In the forest when she stirred his compassion and he’d agreed to take her to her “cousin.”

  This was merely a ploy to lower his guard.

  “There,” she said and placed the wooden bowl back on the nearby table. “Now we are even. Your actions allowed me to breathe easier, and I’ve returned the favor.”

  She rose with a small smile gracing her mouth. He caught her wrist and pulled her down, bringing her face close to his.

  Intent on making matters very clear, he said, “We are not even. You owe me. And you’d better pray my men recover everything you took. I don’t believe a thing that comes out of that pretty mouth. Nor do I think for a moment you’ve given up on stealing the silver,” he growled. “That silver is going to aid my family. I won’t permit anyone to come between me and my responsibility. My family’s honor means everything. Your family means nothing.” He released her wrist.

  He was expecting the usual anger to flare in her eyes. Instead he saw something akin to hurt, and to his astonishment—sadness—in their silvery depths. She smoothed her hands down her apron, turned on her heel, and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Worse, and even more maddening, she left him with an irritating sense of regret over his biting words.

  Two days later, Jules felt better than ever, thanks to the balm. He could move about and even dress himself without the level of agony he’d suffered before.

  Lying in bed, he was caught up in the vivid passages of Sabine’s journal. He should stop reading the thing altogether but he couldn’t seem to. Her writing was engaging. She was witty, intelligent, and her soulful thoughts often stirring. Definitely absorbing.

  Little by little the entries became less whimsical, the ugly unrest of the Fronde slowly pervading the journal as she described the events that led to the downfall of the theater.

  He read through more entries until at last he came to:

  Father says we must leave Paris. I feared this day would come. Starvation on the streets is rampant. The people have stormed the King’s palace. There is violence everywhere. As our beloved city is rocked by riots, as the number of patrons attending the performances has dwindled down to nothing, Father consoles himself with Madame de Riston. Louise weeps over it. Isabelle and I feel helpless. It is the worst feeling imaginable.

  Do you know what it’s like to lose everything you’ve ever identified with?

  That last sentence resonated in his soul. He understood all too well the horror of it.

  Will I ever see my Dark Prince again? How I wish he could save me from this fate. I don’t wish to leave! Isabelle and I were to be introduced to society this year. I have dreamed of it for so long. The nobles have ruined everything! I hate them! I know my Dark Prince is different. He outshines them all. I must hold on to my belief, with the greatest of faith, that we will be together. Somehow, someway, fate will intervene and we will meet—just as we are meant to. And it will be no ordinary meeting. It will be unforgettable. It will be extraordinary . . .

  The nickering of horses snared his attention. It was followed by a flurry of activity in the common room outside his door.

  He sat up in bed with only moderate pain and stuffed the journal under his pillow.

  “Sabine, the Baron de Lor is here!” he heard Louise exclaim. “Change into something more suitable. Hurry!”

  The Baron de Lor? Vit is here? Why would Louise want Sabine to impress Vit? Jules hadn’t seen him in five long years. Sébastien de Vittry was the last person Jules thought would have abandoned him. They’d been the closest of friends. But he had. Just like all the others.

  Why on earth was he here?

  Jules snatched open the door and stalked out of the house.

  Leon de Vittry, Sébastien’s younger brother, alighted from the carriage. Jules arrested his steps. Where was Sébastien?

  The driver climbed down along with the servants he’d brought with him, but no one other than Leon had exited from the interior of the carriage.

  If this was the Baron de Lor, then it meant Sébastien was . . . dead? Unlike his brother, who had only been an acquaintance of Paul Laurent, Leon had had a passion for the theater and a solid friendship with the playwright. For years.

  Leon immediately moved past the small gathering, straight to Sabine and kissed her hand. The wind tousled his dark hair. His dark eyes fixed on the woman before him, to the exclusion of the others standing nearby.

  Words from Sabine’s journal suddenly raced though Jules’s mind.

  . . . with hair and eyes so dark . . .

  Had the Dark Prince just arrived?

  18

  “I came as soon as I heard about your father,” Leon said. “I simply cannot believe he’s gone.” Eyes glistening with sorrow, he drew Sabine gently into his arms. “My deepest condolences for your tragic loss.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Leon was the only one who’d continued to visit after they’d left Paris. And he was yet another man she was indebted to.

  Thanks to her father’s attempts to reclaim his prior fame.

  She hadn’t discovered the loan until after his death. He’d borrowed a staggering sum from Leon. And squandered it away during his many trips to Paris.

  Leon stepped back. He was not as broad-shouldered, not as devastatingly handsome as Jules, but he did have features that were definitely appealing. Looking into his dark brown eyes, she was embarrassed by her inability to repay him; she had no idea when—or even how—she’d settle the sizable debt. It was this very reason she’d postponed advising Leon of her father’s passing. It was this very reason she couldn’t ask for more, despite their need.

  Once, not long ago, she’d greeted Leon wearing lovely gowns, in her family’s stately townhouse. Not in drab clothing and wooden clogs on a bleak farm.

  Leon placed a soft kiss against her forehead. “Everything will be all right,” he assured her in a whisper. “Louise.” Leon turned to her and kissed her hand. “My heartfelt condolences to you as well. To you, too, Olivier.” He placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Paul Laurent was a great man. I’ve come to pay him honor in a way that is befitting to his character. He always loved joviality. I’ve bro
ught food and wine, and we will have a fête in his memory, just as he would have wanted!”

  A delighted cry rose from her family. His gesture moved her. How she wished her heart held romantic feelings for this man. It would be far better than the sentiment and esteem she’d misplaced on her Dark Prince.

  “Olivier,” Leon said. “I expect to hear some music from his great composer. Now I know the pianoforte has been sold, but please tell me you still have your violin.”

  “No, he does not,” Jules responded, Raymond at his side.

  Leon’s head snapped up. His eyes widened. “Jules de Moutier?” He approached and stopped before Jules’s taller form. “Why, this is a surprise!” He smiled, and placed his hands on Jules’s shoulders. “I’m overjoyed to see you alive and well!”

  Grasping his wrists, Jules removed Leon’s hands. “Where is your brother?”

  Leon was clearly taken aback by Jules’s action and curt tone. Having never witnessed Leon lose his temper, Sabine wasn’t surprised when he responded calmly, “You haven’t heard, then?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Sébastien died. Three years ago.”

  “Died? He was young. Strong. Jésus-Christ, my age. How did he die?”

  “He’d been ill off and on for months. His stomach ailments worsened. Fever took him and . . . I lost my brother. For what it’s worth, he was most distraught over what happened to you and your family. He tried to see you many times during your detainment in prison, but could not get past the guards. On his deathbed he asked for you. I had no idea where to search.”

  Grief tightened in Jules’s chest. He was suddenly ashamed of the resentment he’d harbored. He’d felt betrayed and furious at Vit for turning his back on him. And he hadn’t at all. He’d rather be angry with him still, than know Vit was gone for good. He hadn’t even been there at his bedside when his closest friend was dying.