A Midnight Dance

by Lila DiPasqua

  “Very well, Sabine.” He cupped her breast. His thumb was so close to her beaded nipple. Her body railed. She wanted him to stroke it with shocking desperation. “I believe you think about it, though you don’t wish to. We made a strong carnal connection. The sex was intense and very good. You wanted me to fuck you. So much so, you kept coming back for more. In fact, you want to be taken right now, don’t you, Sabine?”

  He grazed his thumb across her nipple. She sucked in a sharp breath. But she didn’t push his hand away. And he noted it.

  “You don’t despise me as much as you say you do, chère.” He repeated the stroke over the sensitive tip. A soft whimper quivered up her throat. “What you dislike is the desire you feel for me. You don’t know what to do about it . . . Shall I refresh your memory?” He leaned in and licked her bottom lip. His thumb flicked her sensitized nipple. Her knees almost gave out. “Shall I give you what your body is begging for?”

  Dear God . . .

  He gently pinched her nipple. With a cry, she lurched forward, sealing her lips to his with a moan, long and low, a sound she couldn’t hold back.

  Snaking an arm around her waist, he hauled her up against him. Delving a hand into her hair at the back of her skull, he kissed her with savage hunger. She matched his fervor. She had no idea why she came to life whenever he touched her, but she reveled in it, in the feel of his beautiful body against hers, in his firm embrace, in his delectable taste.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him harder, vanquishing all reason, the kiss demanding, ravenous. Their tongues parried, the effect a heady rush.

  She matched his intensity stroke for stroke. Her fever mounting by the moment. She feasted on his mouth as if he were her only nourishment in days. Weeks was more accurate. That’s how long it had been since he’d fed her senses this way.

  She arched into him, the pull so strong, pressing herself against his stiffened sex.

  He growled with approval, slid his hands down her back, and gripping her bottom, ground her against him. Her delight erupted from her throat.

  It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  She needed skin—his against hers. She needed his hands touching her, touching all the places on her body that ached for him. She needed the fulfillment she knew he could give.

  She needed him. Now.

  Sliding her hands down his solid back to his waist, she fisted his shirt.

  He stopped, his mouth suddenly gone.

  Her eyes flew open. She was panting, bewildered. Her body beseeching.

  He was frowning, staring at the door behind her. With a low growl, he let his arms drop, releasing her from his embrace.

  No. Why?

  Then she heard it. Pounding. Only it wasn’t from her wild heart. It came from the other side of the wooden barrier.

  “Commander?” It was Raymond.

  Jules took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Your brother has arrived with a team of men.”

  “What the devil is going on?” Luc de Moutier asked, standing in the common room of the Laurent home. Though he was of similar build and height to Jules, that’s where the similarities ended. Luc’s blond hair and light green eyes were a sharp contrast to Jules’s dark coloring.

  Luc was damned sensitive about it, especially since he had a father he bore no physical resemblance to. Anyone who dared to mention it soon found himself at the sharp end of Luc’s sword on a dueling field. Most treaded lightly around this hotheaded younger brother. Jules had defused many a situation. The irony was that it was now Jules who was quick to storm, and Luc who quelled him.

  “What is this I hear about you being injured, about Paul Laurent’s daughter—who the hell knew he had one—and a generous capture lost—”

  “Paul Laurent had twin daughters, and I have men working on finding the silver. It will be recaptured soon. We will proceed as planned. This nightmare is going to end for us.” The sooner the better.

  Luc shook his head. “Well, at least you don’t look terribly injured, so I’ll take solace in that. I don’t suppose you want to explain what Vittry is doing outside?”

  “He and Laurent were friends. He’s well acquainted with the theater troupe.” And he’s eager to better acquaint himself with Sabine’s lush form. The possessive emotions that single thought incited stunned him. In fact, he couldn’t stomach the notion of Vittry’s hands on her. Especially now that he knew he was the Dark Prince. The endearing words from her journal had swirled through his head the entire time he’d been kissing her. And when she—unknowingly—began her usual tender caresses on the back of his neck, it inspired soft sentiments, the likes of which he’d never experienced during a carnal encounter. “He’s the Baron de Lor now. Sébastien . . . died three years ago.” It felt terrible to say. It felt even worse that Sébastien was gone for good.

  “Dieu, I’m sorry, Jules.” Luc placed his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. “It’s been one astonishing revelation after another. Nothing makes any sense.”

  “What are you rambling about?”

  “I encountered Corrine d’Autmarre in Clouquet while I was waiting for you.”

  “Corrine? Your former favorite?”

  “Yes. She insisted I return with her to her château. She said she had something she wanted to give me.”

  “No doubt.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Luc’s mouth. “In addition to several hours of erotic bliss, she gave me a letter.” Luc pulled it out of his doublet. “It was inside a trunk of my personal belongings she’d been storing since the arrest years ago. The trunk came from my ship. It was sent to her by her brother, Thomas, Baron de Brimot. He was formally under my command. After the arrest, I was never able to return to the vessel to collect my things. Brimot sent the trunk to his sister knowing it would eventually be returned to me.” He held out the letter. “Take a look.”

  Jules took it, noting it had their family seal pressed into the wax. “Is it from Father?”

  “I thought so, too, when I first saw the seal. I thought perhaps it was something he’d written before his arrest, or soon after. It’s undated, unsigned, and not from him.”

  Jules unfolded it.

  Luc, Monsieur de Moutier,

  What I am about to divulge is no hoax. Your father and your family are in great danger. You must take measures to protect the Marquis and yourselves. Trust no one. There is a conspiracy afoot. I will reveal more when I can. Until then, God be with you.

  “What do you think, Jules? Who could have written it?”

  Jules’s heart raced. In his hands was tangible proof of what he’d believed for years: Someone had intended to do his family harm, resulting in his father being falsely and deliberately condemned because of it.

  The author of the letter knew information—the author whose penmanship had a distinct flourish.

  He’d seen this handwriting before. And he knew where.

  19

  Jules ran outside the moment he heard shouts from Raymond, Luc on his heels.

  The sight before him arrested his steps.

  A caravan of carts accompanied by thirty men on horseback neared. He spotted Marc and Fabrice, and then to his amazement, his commander, privateer Captain Simon Boulenger. Judging by the blood and dirt smearing their faces and encrusted in their garments, there had been trouble.

  Out of the corner of his eye Jules saw Sabine gather together with her family and Vittry. The women’s mounting anxiety was palpable as everyone scanned the men looking for Vincent the actor and Sabine’s cousins, Robert and Gerard.

  Jules spotted them just then, slumped in one of the carts, looking gray-faced and battle-sullied. Knowing Sabine and the others were likely to race toward the carts at any moment, Jules strode forward barking out orders. “Raymond, keep everyone back. Luc, order your men to help, then come with me.”

  When Jules reached the caravan, it halted.

  “What happened?” Jules demande
d the moment Simon, Marc, and Fabrice dismounted and approached.

  “We had some trouble, Commander,” Marc advised.

  “And the silver?”

  “Recaptured—with but a small portion missing. The majority of it remains intact in the two chests.”

  Relief rushed through Jules.

  “Thank God,” Luc murmured beside him.

  “What sort of trouble did you meet?” Jules indicated the injured men with a nod of his head. “A band of vagabonds?”

  Simon shook his head. “No. Not these men. They were well armed with quality weapons and horses.”

  “It was an ambush, Commander. Well planned,” said Marc. “Had the captain not arrived when he did, it would have been an easy slaughter. We were outnumbered three to one. They specifically demanded you and the silver. They clearly knew we would be on the road from Paris with the chests.”

  “Merde, how?”

  Marc smiled. “We don’t know how, but we do know who.”

  “Go on,” Jules pressed.

  “Once the captain and his men arrived, we decimated the attackers. By the end, two were left barely clinging to life. They were questioned separately and both gave the same name before they died. The man who ordered the attack is the Archbishop de Divonne.”

  “The Archbishop de Divonne?” Luc repeated the name incredulously. “Our father considered him a friend.”

  Jésus-Christ. “I think we should consider him to be his betrayer. Who better than someone in his inner circle?” Jules said, his fury burbling in his blood.

  Simon nodded. “With the wealth you’ve been amassing, he must have feared you’d soon regain your rank and title. His fear was strong enough to want you dead.”

  Jules had spent years racking his mind, agonizing over every possible traitor, considering everyone his father had ever known. During his months of incarceration it was all he had to occupy him, to torment him.

  It had become his obsession.

  His private torture.

  Forbidden to reenter Paris once he’d been released, refused admittance to country châteaus he’d once been welcomed in, it had been impossible to learn the truth. The only one who’d been remotely willing to communicate with him was his father’s friend Valentin, Marquis d’Argon. More out of a sense of obligation to Jules’s father’s memory than anything else, his notes were sparse, always apologetic for not being able to do more, and clearly unwilling to do anything to rectify Jules and Luc’s situation. The Marquis was fearful of jeopardizing his privileged status. He didn’t want to do anything that might inspire disfavor from the Crown.

  Now Jules had the name—the Archbishop de Divonne—but not the reason. Luc’s letter had mentioned a conspiracy. Who were his accomplices?

  Hungry for revenge, every fiber in Jules being rioted for action, burning with the urge to ride out immediately and pay a longoverdue visit to the Archbishop.

  “If he wants you dead, then he wants me dead, too,” Luc surmised, frowning.

  Jules turned to his younger brother. “You may have avoided an attack, as you and your men were not in Clouquet, as expected.”

  “True. My little detour may have spared us. I must remember to thank Corrine for more reasons than one.”

  “Commander, if the Archbishop knew our stolen silver would be returning from Paris, do you think he was the one who took the silver the mademoiselle buried?” Marc asked.

  “I do.” Dieu, Sabine could have been attacked and killed. His stomach tightened at the thought. He was thankful that she’d buried the treasure instead of keeping it in her home.

  Luc’s green eyes were aglow with lethal intent. “What do you wish to do?”

  Jules smiled without mirth. “We will do what we are most proficient at. What we have spent years doing at sea. The Archbishop will have a visit like none he’s ever known.”

  But first he was going to have a conversation with a spirited blond woman about the letter that was tucked inside his doublet.

  Sabine fumed as she followed Raymond into the common room. Summoned by Jules and refused access to her cousins, she had a few choice words to direct at Raymond’s master.

  Raymond chose that moment to step aside, out of her line of sight.

  It was then she saw that Jules was flanked by his brother and Simon. The angry words scorching her tongue dissolved when she found herself standing mere feet away from Luc de Moutier.

  An ache welled up and pressed against her heart as thoughts of her sister rushed to mind. How utterly giddy Isabelle would have been to see the object of her long-held affection standing in her home.

  Seeing Luc made her want to run back to her family all the more. She hadn’t stopped reeling from her torrid encounter with Jules. Her anger at his highhanded ways combined with her unfed carnal hunger only made her more irritable and frustrated.

  She donned a cool expression and gave him a mocking curtsy.

  “You’ve summoned me, my lord-most-high? Will my lord tell me what he wishes from me? Or shall I simply continue to bask in his exalted presence?”

  Jules tightened his jaw.

  Simon chuckled and sat down. “Oh, this is going to be entertaining.”

  “Naturally, I would rather be here than attend to my cousins’ and Vincent’s injuries,” Sabine continued, “which is just as well since I have been forbidden to see them. Imagine my joy at having the privilege of breathing the same air as Jules de Moutier, nobleextraordinaire, charmer of women and wielder of a mighty sword.” She thrust her fist straight up as if holding a blade.

  Simon’s mirth erupted from him.

  “This is the thief?” Luc asked.

  “Yes,” Jules responded tightly.

  Luc rolled his eyes. “I should have guessed she’d be blond.”

  Jules ignored the grating comment. “This woman’s real name is Sabine, Paul Laurent’s daughter,” Jules continued. “You can ignore her theatrics. She has a flare for the dramatic.”

  “Really?” Simon grinned. “I think it sounds as though the lady has issue with your ‘mighty sword,’ Jules.” He winked.

  It was Luc’s turn to laugh.

  He placed his hand on Jules’s shoulder. “I can assure you that no woman has ever complained about my brother’s ‘mighty sword,’ or his skill at wielding it.”

  “Enough. Both of you,” Jules snapped. “Lower your arm, Sabine, and sit down.”

  She crossed her arms. “Go to hell, Aristo.”

  Simon barked out a laugh. “Now those are words every commoner thinks, yet few have the courage to say.” Simon stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. “I like her.”

  Jules set his palms down on the table. “If you don’t sit your derrière down on that chair, I’ll place it there myself.”

  She glared at him.

  He straightened and walked around the table.

  Her heart lurched. She immediately sat, horrified that he’d make good on his threat.

  He stopped behind her, and then pushed her chair up to the table. Leaning forward, he set his palms back down on its wooden surface. His body surrounding her caused her nerve endings to quiver with awareness.

  “You are going to behave and be most cooperative,” he told her. “In essence, you are going to conduct yourself in a manner completely out of the norm for you.” Clearly, at the moment, he was making it easy for her to cling to her ire. “As for your cousins and Vincent, their injuries are minor. My men are questioning them about their little adventure. Consider yourself lucky that I haven’t had them flogged.”

  She gasped and shot him a look over her shoulder, her face now so close to his own. “If you are bent on revenge, then take it out on me. It was my idea to take your silver, not theirs.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. Right now, what I want from you is to look at this.” He placed something on the table and straightened. “What do you see?”

  She looked down at the creased parchment, the stunning sight hitting her like a physical blow.
r />   Snatching up the letter, she shot to her feet, unable to tear her eyes off the familiar handwriting, its recognizable swirls and strokes. She spun around to face Jules. “This is Isabelle’s handwriting! Where did you get this?”

  He placed his hands on his hips. “It was sent to Luc.”

  “When?” Hope bloomed inside her, growing stronger with each hard beat of her heart.

  “Years ago. It was sent to his ship, but he only just received it. It would seem Isabelle had learned some rather sinister information. Tell me, how is it possible that she managed to affix our family seal to the letter?” Jules demanded.

  His words didn’t shatter her optimism. In fact, upon turning the letter over and seeing the seal in question, gooseflesh raced up her arms. The feeling, the one that existed deep inside her heart, the one that told her that her sister was still alive, now roared. It was so strong, she felt giddy.

  “My father sent Isabelle to work as one of your servants. She would have had access to the seal. She worked at your country estate Château Serein. It was there, we were told, she perished in a fire in one of the servants’ outbuildings. But in my heart, I never believed it.” Sabine turned to Luc. “Please, you must help me determine when she could have sent this letter.”

  Luc glanced at his brother. Jules gave him a nod.

  “My ship came in for repairs and supplies in early May of ’53. Then, because it would be at least a month before I could set sail again, I went to Clouquet to stay with a friend. I was arrested there in early June.”

  She spun back around to Jules. “They told us that she . . . that the fire occurred in the middle of May. She wrote this letter afterward. I just know it. I feel it. She’s somewhere. Hiding. And I’m going to find her!” She marched up to him. “When you leave, I’m going with you. Together we’ll locate her. For a third of the silver, I’ll convince Isabelle to help you gain the information you want.”

  Jules’s brows shot up. “A third of the silver?” He gave a harsh laugh. “A third of the silver remains missing, thanks to you. Besides, I already have the name of the man I seek.”