Jules shoved Cyr against the wall.
His eyes widened. “M-My lord, what are you do—”
Jules pulled out his dagger from inside his sleeve, pinned Cyr to the wall by the throat, and drove it into Cyr’s thigh. Cyr let out a shrill cry in agony.
Slowly, Jules twisted the knife. “Where is she!”
Cyr shrieked and squirmed, his sweaty fingers clutching Jules’s wrist, but he couldn’t free himself from Jules’s hold any more than he could evade the blade slicing open his flesh.
Jules yanked the dagger out. Cyr’s knees weakened and he was back to blubbering.
“Where. Is. She?” Jules repeated, fear tearing him apart. “Who has her?”
“My lord . . . pl-please . . .” Cyr whimpered between pants, assailing Jules with wafts of his foul breath.
Jules raised his arm, poised to strike again.
“All right! All right! I—I’ll tell you!” Cyr cried.
“Everything!”
“Yes. Yes. I—I—I won’t leave any-anything out. I swear!”
Jules lowered his arm. “Speak. The truth.”
“I—I—I think Mademoiselle Laurent is with that devil, Vittry. I saw him here tonight. He has been on a quest to have her. He approached me some time ago. Told me he’d help me gain the position of tax collector for the King—s-s-said he had influential friends who’d see to it. In return I was to help him.”
“Help him how?”
“Once I had the appointment, Vittry told me I was to put pressure on the Laurent family—compound the interest on the taxes and raise it exponentially so—so that they couldn’t meet it. He wanted them in a desperate state. Vulnerable for him to sweep in and have your mademoiselle. Monsieur Laurent had sent one daughter to work for your father. Vittry wanted Sabine Laurent sent to him. It was all he talked about. Having her. Then when Monsieur Laurent died, he became most impatient for the girl. I was to have broken her that day I came to her home. But—But you were there. You weren’t supposed to be there. Monsieur de Vittry doesn’t like failure. He’s been looking for me ever since.” Cyr sobbed harder.
“You—You don’t know what he’s capable of, my lord. I believe he had his own brother killed . . . for the title, and was involved in the conspiracy against your father. He’d hinted at these things m-many times. M-My lord, Vittry is dangerous. Cold. Mad. He has this room . . . I—I—I’ve seen it. He does things to people in there. To women. Your mademoiselle is in great peril. An-And so am I. You—You’ve got to help me!”
Jules’s head was spinning. Terror had him in a vise. He couldn’t breathe. Vittry. Leon de Vittry. A name that began with “L.” Killed Sébastien. Brought down your father.
Dieu, he has Sabine!
Vaguely he heard Louise crying. Tears of fear.
Jules slammed the blunt end of the dagger against Cyr’s skull, and the whimpering man collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
“Vincent, tie him up!” Jules commanded and bolted for the hallway, his brother and Raymond on his heels. They raced down the servants’ stairs and through the kitchens all the way to the servants’ entrance. His sole thought was to get to Sabine. Save Sabine. He prayed she was all right. He prayed Leon had taken her to his townhouse in Paris. He prayed he wouldn’t get there too late.
They sped out the door, toward the stable, and made it halfway down the darkened alley when Jules abruptly stopped. Half a dozen men had stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight. They were a menacing bunch. Formidable. And fully armed.
Jules shot a glance behind him. Another group just as large in size and number had removed the possibility of retreat.
They had them surrounded.
Jesus-Christ, they’d walked into an ambush. They were three against twelve. Cold sweat rolled down Jules’s face. He drew his sword. Luc and Raymond did the same.
If he didn’t make it out alive, Sabine would die.
26
Sabine heard her own soft moan.
Her lids were too heavy to open.
It was too soon to wake up.
Cocooned in blackness, she slipped back into sleep. Jules was there to greet her. Smiling, looking so handsome, he held out his hand to her.
“Come now, Sabine,” he said, his voice different, but his form and face the same.
Eager, she tried to reach for him, but her arms wouldn’t move.
He lowered his arm. “Wake up.”
Wake up? Why? This dream was perfect. Why couldn’t they stay exactly as they were forever?
Why couldn’t she move her arms?
“Sabine . . . Wake up. I’m tired of waiting.” Again he spoke. But again it wasn’t Jules’s voice, and to her dismay, he was quickly fading from sight.
“Jules?” she murmured, her tongue feeling thick and foreign in her mouth.
“Not quite. Open your eyes.” The disembodied voice was sharp and pulled her out of the dream realm.
Her eyes fluttered before she finally managed to open them. Objects were blurred. Indistinguishable.
“There. That’s right.” A hand stroked her hair. “Wake up now.”
She blinked. And blinked again. Slowly, shadow and dark took on recognizable shapes. A simple wooden table across the room. A darkened room. Not much light. And she was lying on her side on what felt like a bed.
Where was she? Her thoughts as sluggish as her body, she struggled with her last memories. The masquerade ball. Dancing with Jules. The crowd. And . . . there was more. But with her mind so muddled, she couldn’t remember what.
She felt someone rise from the edge of the bed and then heard the sound of a chair being dragged. Suddenly there he was, seated before her, leaning his elbows on his thighs.
“Leon?”
His face close to her own, he caressed her cheek. “Yes, darling. Now you have it right. It’s Leon.”
“What’s happening?” The fog in her head was so thick, she couldn’t think clearly at all. What was wrong with her? “Am I sick?” She’d never felt so sapped of strength.
He chuckled. “No. Perhaps a bit sleepy. You’ll feel better soon. We’ve arrived at my château.”
Arrived? Yes . . . now she remembered. They were traveling to Leon’s château to speak to his servants. Briefly, she closed her eyes. A fresh wave of fatigue threatened to pull her back under. She forced her eyes open. “Are Viviane and Nicolas here?”
“No.”
Oh, no . . . “Have we missed them?” Get up. She had to find the elderly servants.
“No. We haven’t missed them, darling.” He grazed his finger over her bottom lip. “They don’t exist.”
It was as though someone had just splashed her in the face with cold water. “Pardon?” She tried to sit up but immediately fell back onto the mattress, realizing at that moment that her wrists were bound behind her back. “What—What is this?” She twisted and tried to pull her hands free, but the knots wouldn’t give. “Untie me,” she demanded. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Leon, but it isn’t amusing.”
“No game. This is real. A dream come true for me, actually. I’ve waited a very long time to have you all alone. And here you are . . .” He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “All mine.”
If his words weren’t frightening enough, the soft ominous tone of his voice was chilling. The memory of being in his carriage and drinking the wine he’d offered flooded her mind. Her stomach roiled.
He’d laced the wine.
It was then that the magnitude of the situation hit her like a physical blow. No one knows where you are. She was at his mercy. He could do whatever he wanted to her. The man before her in no way resembled the Leon she knew. She had no idea who this terrifying stranger was. Or what he was capable of.
What was he going to do to her? Rape? More? Don’t ask. Think!
He gripped her arm and hauled her up to a sitting position. Dizziness speared her right between the eyes. She squeezed them shut.
He dragged her lethargic legs off the makeshift be
d. Her feet hit the stone floor. One foot was colder than the other. She was missing a slipper.
“Look at me, Sabine.”
Praying this was a bad dream, she reluctantly opened her eyes. Her vitals clenched. It was still Leon. She was still bound in the darkened room.
And no one is coming to your rescue. Stay calm. Don’t panic.
He was watching her intently. His thighs were on either side of hers. They all but touched. She wanted to pull away, but didn’t, afraid it would raise his ire. He’d never lost his temper before. Then again, he’d never given any indication he’d do anything like this.
Carefully her fingers tested the knots. They were tight, secure, and impossible to undo on her own. She scanned the room. No windows. Two doors. The bed. One chair and the table. Two torchères were the only sources of light.
“Leon,” she began. Show no fear. But her heart pounded so hard, she worried he’d hear it. Reason with him. Bargain. Dupe him. Do whatever is necessary to escape what he’s got planned for you. Put on a performance. It was her only chance. It had to work. “We’ve known each other a long time. You were one of my father’s dearest fr—”
“Your father was an ass. I found it appalling that a man without a drop of noble blood considered himself so important. And was even treated as such. But the Aristos liked his ridiculous plays. I”—he jabbed his finger into his chest—“am of elevated birth. And yet a fool with a quill was extended invitations to the finest salons in Paris. Salons I couldn’t gain admittance to until I befriended him.”
“You used him, then,” she said, managing to keep her disgust from her tone. Keep him talking. She needed time to clear her head of the effects of the wine. She needed to quell her breathing. Did he notice it was more rapid than normal? Was it giving away the extent of her terror?
“Elevating my status has always been paramount. Befriending a playwright brought me in contact with powerful men who would never rub elbows with me before. Men with secrets and schemes. I’d no intention of living my life dismissed by my class or overshadowed by my brother. I loathed being the invisible second son.”
“How fortunate your brother died.” With this newly revealed aspect of Leon’s personality, she now had serious doubts that Sébastien de Vittry’s death was from natural causes.
The malevolent smirk that formed on his face confirmed her suspicions before his words did. “I make my own good fortune, Sabine. I had Sébastien killed. Does that shock you?”
There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. No longer guarded, a savageness glowed within their depths. Gooseflesh prickled her skin. She suppressed a shiver and weighed her words before responding. “No. It doesn’t.” It was no lie. Clearly, he was capable of anything. “I always thought you to be a very clever man. Now you have title and the respect you deserve. I’m glad. And I’m glad you used Father. I loathe him for sending Isabelle away. I’ve told you that before.” She’d repeated the sentiment on several occasions, but inside she no longer denied the truth. Isabelle had wanted to leave. No one forced her.
Leon cocked his head to one side. Slipping his fingers beneath her chin, he caressed his thumb against her face. “Hmmm . . . so you have.”
She suffered his touch, concealing her aversion. “There’s no need for the ropes, Leon. Why don’t you untie me? I won’t run away from you. You know how I feel about you.” She managed a smile. If she could at least coax him to unbind her wrists . . .
He returned her smile, then cracked the back of his hand against her jaw so hard she saw sparks of white light before slamming onto the mattress. An explosion of pain tore through her skull. She lay on the bed, stunned, her ear ringing.
“Don’t try to be clever. You’re not as clever as I,” he said. Viciously, he jerked her up by the arm. Tears burned in her eyes. Her face and head were in agony. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he hauled her to him. She gave a strangled cry. Their noses all but touched. “You chose a worthless Moutier over me. You’ve been whoring. Admit it.”
The terror was suffocating. Her breaths were ragged. It took everything she had to tamp down the hysteria rushing up her throat. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. “Leon—”
“Don’t deny it,” he warned. “I saw you enter Moutier’s camp with your cousins that night. I saw you spread your legs for him.” Tightening his hold on her hair, he gave her head a fierce shake. She choked back a whimper. “I watched Moutier claim your maidenhead. You enjoyed every moment of it, too. Later, I had you followed. You let him have you again and again and you begged for more. You gave him what was mine to claim. After all the time I spent on you, you let him fuck you? All I got was a handful of chaste kisses!” he bellowed. She flinched.
Oh, God. Say something to quell his vexation. Was it possible to garner empathy from a madman? Did he possess any? “Leon . . . I am truly sorry. I would never want to offend you. Or hurt you in any way. You and I are alike, don’t you see? We both had to do things . . . things that were necessary to improve our circumstances. I, too, was forced to make my own good fortune. I was in dire straits. Jules had a wealth of silver. With it I could pay my debts—my father’s debt to you. I struck a bargain with him. I simply wanted to escape poverty.”
“Don’t you dare compare yourself to someone like me,” he growled.
“Forgive me! I misspoke. I wasn’t suggesting that you and I are in any way equal. I’m not as clever as you. I lost the silver.” She knew exactly where the silver went now. “You have the chest I buried, don’t you?”
He released her hair. Her scalp throbbed. “I do,” he said with a good dose of boastfulness. He rested his elbows on his knees again. “You’ve no idea of the lengths I have gone to for you. To have you.” She didn’t like where this was going. “You were supposed to come to me.”
“My father had already borrowed a substantial sum from you. I couldn’t ask for more when there was no way for me to repay the original amount.” She took in a fortifying breath and let it out slowly. “I want you to know that I have always considered myself fortunate to have a man of your superior worth show interest in me . . .”
“Interested in you?” He laughed. “I don’t think you understand. The privileged treatment your father received was intolerable. I so despised his lofty airs and his unjust popularity that I decided soiling one of his precious daughters, whom he boasted would marry into the nobility, was not only a perfect idea, but just. I find it offensive that someone as common as you might outrank me through marriage. I thought being the whore of a nobleman was as high as you should rank. Sadly, you’ve already given your innocence to another. Whatever shall I do with you?” Though posed as a question, it wasn’t. He’d planned out exactly what he was going to do to her.
He moved his gaze down the length of her body, a nauseating leer. “You know, I’d forgotten how good you look in finery. I haven’t seen you dressed this way for some time.” He ran his finger along the top curve of her breasts, tracing the low neckline. “You have such pretty skin . . .”
She didn’t dare move. Barely breathed. Deter him from whatever path he’s heading down. “There’s more silver to be had, Leon,” she blurted. Appealing to his greed might distract him. “There are two more chests.”
“I know.” He didn’t so much as glance at her as he dragged his knuckles back the other way over her skin. “I intend to have it all. By now your lover is dead, as are his brother and everyone you were with at the courtesan’s home. I knew that once they noticed you were missing, they’d come looking for you. I had men waiting for them outside for their slaughter.”
“What . . .” It was a breathy sound, his words knocking the air from her lungs.
He met her gaze, his expression both malicious and smug. “They’re all dead. Every last one of them,” he assured, “even the men at the Moutier camp outside Paris who were guarding the two chests. The silver should be arriving soon. You see, when I want something, I get it.”
No. No. No! Jules was not dead. He wasn�
��t! And neither were Luc, Raymond, her family. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. It would be too much to bear. She needed all her strength to get out of this. Leon was a liar. There was no reason to believe anything he said. He was saying these things to break her spirit.
“Are you sad, Sabine?” he taunted. “How do you feel about me now?”
She loathed him. She loathed herself for being duped. For not seeing what he was sooner. For putting herself and everyone who mattered to her in such danger. “I am in awe of your accomplishments.” Careful not to move her arms and give herself away, she worked at the knots behind her back with determination.
“Really?” He looked suspicious. “What about the demise of your lover and family? No sense of loss there?”
Jules was a master swordsman and accurate shot, she reminded herself. He was all right. Everyone was all right. She was going to be all right, too. She’d see Jules again, her family and her sister. Stay strong.
She schooled her features and shrugged. “He was a means to an end. And Louise, Vincent, and Agnes are not my family. By ridding me of them, you’ve eased my burden.” She despised what she was forced to say. “Thank you, Leon. I’ve not sufficiently appreciated your many talents. I hope you’ll forgive me. You are truly a brilliant man.” Her fingertips burned as they abraded against the rope, desperate to loosen the knots. Time was of the essence. If she was to have a fighting chance, she needed her hands.
He grabbed her aching face. She froze. His fingers gouged into her cheeks. “I don’t believe your lies for a moment, but I will tell you about my many talents and just how great my achievements have been.”
“Please do,” she said, unflinching despite his severe grip. Painfully pulsing, her face felt bruised and swollen.
He released her abruptly and sat back, the corner of his mouth lifting. She braced herself, unsure of the extent of his misdeeds.
“I was behind the Marquis de Blainville’s arrest and ultimate execution. The man was despised by everyone. Yet none had the courage to do anything about him. Except me,” he proclaimed proudly.
A Midnight Dance Page 31