A Midnight Dance (24 page)

During the hunt for her, his rage had acted as a balm, allowing him to push past the brutal punishment of his horse’s every gallop. Yet seeing again the unscrupulous blonde who’d caused him such enormous grief, knowing she’d lied and schemed throughout their time together, vaulted him into levels of ire he hadn’t known since he’d unjustly lost his father and family honor.

Jésus-Christ
. He was a thousand times a fool.

He’d been duped by a group of actors, a witch, and some boys!

How laughable was that? Worse, he’d been captivated by a female of lowly origin and somehow touched by her false ways. He was a seasoned officer. A veteran in battle who’d survived based on his abilities, wits, and instincts, his very acumen responsible for his naval successes and survival. And yet he’d allowed a baseborn ingénue to do something no one else had managed to do—lower his guard.

Merde,
how that seethed in his soul.

But it wasn’t just her deception and his enormous stupidity that stirred his rancor. He actually mourned the loss of Elise Marquette, loathing that she was nothing more than a fabrication created to beguile and betray him.

Staring out past the fields to the forest, Jules gnashed his teeth.

The little fraud had awakened not only his body, with the stunning passion that burned between them—but also his spirit. She’d actually drawn out his former self, dissolving his anger and bitterness with her wit, her smiles.

Yet with her actions, she’d tainted the experience—just as she’d tainted his meal.

How could he have known such soul-satisfying sex with such a faithless woman? The little bitch had even taunted him about it and called him a debauchee.
Morally unrestrained
. Jules snorted.

That was laughable coming from a female who’d traded her virginity for silver.

Who the fuck was she to judge him?

He’d sooner cut out his tongue than tell her that something had happened during their time together, something that hadn’t happened in years—he’d made a connection with a woman that wasn’t strictly physical. She’d accused him of being unaffected by those outside the noble class. But she’d affected him.

He could just imagine the roars of laughter from his former peers if they were to learn that he’d been fascinated by someone so déclassé.

Merde
, he’d even given her a lover’s trinket. Was there a greater imbecile than he?

The door opened. Jules immediately released his side as sounds from the commotion of the search and protest of the thieves wafted out.

Raymond exited. “My lord, are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“My lord, you must rest. You have ridden for days with broken—”

“Nonsense. The binding I have on is all I need. Return inside and—”

“Commander!” Marc shouted from within the house.

Jules and Raymond immediately reentered the stony abode.

Sabine and her lot stood near the corner of the room.

Standing before the table, broken pottery and flour at his feet, Marc poured at least fifty flour-dusted silver coins out of a cloth pouch and onto the wooden surface.

“Commander!” Daniel entered the kitchen with a similar pouch. Emptying it, he added to the silver coins on the table.

Serge descended the stairs holding four pouches and placed them next to the pile of silver. “These are filled with our coins, Commander. Fabrice and I have searched the rooms upstairs and have found two trunks. Both are locked. We couldn’t locate the key.”

“They hold some old books and clothes. Nothing that would interest you,” Sabine said.

Jules ignored her. “Bring them down here.”

“There isn’t any silver in them. I assure you!” she argued.

“Yes, your assurances are ever so believable,” Jules retorted dryly without looking at her. It only infuriated him more to have her in his sight. And his side was tormenting him enough.

Four men carried the two trunks down and set them before Jules.

“You have six pouches of silver. Take them and go.” Her agitation was clearly mounting. “There isn’t anything of value in the trunks,” she insisted.

“If there isn’t anything of value in the trunks, then why are they locked?” Jules tossed at her. She remained silent. “Break the locks off,” he ordered his men.

“No, wait!” The witch rushed forward, but Raymond caught her arm, arresting her advance. “You don’t need to break the locks,” she said. “We have the key.”

Jules wasn’t about to give them any more opportunities for trickery. “Fabrice, I saw an axe outside. Get it,” he ordered. The burly man left to do his bidding.

“She isn’t lying, my lord,” the old man stated. “There is nothing that will interest you in the trunks. You go to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Fabrice returned inside and approached the first trunk. When he raised the axe, Jules glanced at Sabine. She looked down at the floor.

One powerful downward stroke broke the lock off. Fabrice pulled open the lid. Colorful fabrics stared back at them.

Once again Jules glanced at Sabine. Her gaze was still cast downward, denying him the ability to see her face or read the look in her eyes. Not that it would make a difference. He didn’t believe her expressions or words one whit. The savage pain permeating his side was a potent reminder of the consequences of trusting Sabine Laurent.

Fabrice sifted a hand through the fabrics. Gowns. Two of them. Fine ones for someone who could afford quality. As Fabrice tossed each one onto the floor, Jules watched his group of captives closely.

They’d all adopted stoic expressions, except the witch and the young girl. The witch looked horror-stricken and the girl silently wept into her hand.

“There are only ladies’ things in here, Commander,” Fabrice informed him once the trunk was empty and its contents strewn about. In addition to the gowns, two pairs of shoes and some stockings were on the ground.

“You see,” the old man said. “Nothing of value.”

“Open the other one,” Jules commanded, his gaze on Sabine. Eyes still downcast, she remained quiet.

After breaking off the second lock, Fabrice pulled back the lid, revealing a number of books.

Fabrice began tossing out the leather-bound volumes, adding to the clutter on the threadbare rug. When he grabbed a larger book, the young girl gave a small muffled cry.

That spiked Jules’s curiosity.

“Give me that,” Jules said. Fabrice handed him the book. Opening it, Jules scanned the pages. Its author had a distinct flourish to his penmanship.

He held up the book before the band of delinquents, pushing aside the stabbing distress the movement cost him. “What is this?”

His question was met with silence.

“Answer me!” he barked.

Everyone lowered their gaze except the young girl. Her watery eyes, still leaking out tears, remained fixed on the book.

“Very well. Since you said the contents in the trunks are of no value—despite the costly gowns—we’ll burn them. Starting with this book.”

Sabine’s chin shot up.

The young girl screeched, “NO!” then wept harder.

“Josette, compose yourself,” Sabine scolded, then met his regard firmly. She was acting again, schooling her features, hoping he’d believe she wasn’t as affected as the younger female.

Yet he’d noted that she’d paled slightly. And that she wouldn’t look at the book in his hand.

He approached the sobbing girl, clenching his teeth against the brutal pain that tore up his side with each step.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t toss this book into the fire, Josette.”

“Josette is young, and you and your men are frightening her,” Sabine said. “That is the way of it, isn’t it, Aristo? Those with noble blood always prey on the powerless. Shame on you for tormenting a child. Why not question one of the adults in the room? Coward!”

The clever blond conniver was trying to goad him, trying to divert the conversation away from the young girl—and more particularly, the book. Trying to gain some control over the situation. And he wasn’t going to let her.

Given how severe the pain in his ribs was, he didn’t know how much longer he could maintain his ruse and not give away his injury. Though his men were well aware of it, he refused to give Sabine any advantage over him by letting her learn the extent of the damage she’d wreaked upon him.

He needed results. Fast. Though nothing would be sweeter than to force the information from Sabine, focusing on young Josette would bring about a much-needed rapid conclusion—whether the notion sat well with him or not.

“What is this book, Josette?” Jules pressed.

Cheeks dampened, the girl looked at Sabine. Jules placed a finger against her jaw and turned her face back to him. “Look at me. Only at me. Answer my question, Josette.” He kept his voice gentle yet firm, knowing that if he scared her too much, she’d be in hysterics and of no use to him.

Josette’s eyes widened. “S-Sabine?” The name slipped past her trembling lips even though she couldn’t see her while his hand restricted the movement of her head.

“Josette,” Sabine warned sternly, yet he noted the slight panic in her tone. “You’ll not answer any of his questions. We owe him nothing. And he’ll get nothing from us except the few coins from the pouches and our scorn.”

Jules gave the girl a look of darkening dismay. “It seems Sabine doesn’t appreciate the danger she’s placed all of you in, Josette, for that is foolish advice. Take a look at these men.” He stepped aside to give her an unobstructed view. “Your family has stolen from them as well. Do we look as though we’ll simply leave, content with a few pouches of
our
silver?”

The girl swallowed.

“Stop terrifying her,” Sabine demanded.

“Be silent!” Raymond barked, clearly sensing Jules was running out of time. The pain in his side was mounting by the moment.

“Why don’t you tell me where the silver is, Josette? I can tell you know,” Jules urged. “If I don’t get the answers to my questions”—he tossed a glance to each thief before returning his attention to the girl—“this book meets with a fiery end. And that will be just the beginning. You don’t want to see that happen, do you, Josette?”

“No. Please don’t, my lord,” Josette pleaded. “Sabine, d-do something . . . You can’t let him burn it. It’s ’Sabelle’s journal!”

Jules’s brows shot up. “’Sabelle? The sister who’s passed away? Well now.” He walked over to Sabine, miraculously maintaining a normal gait. The news gave him the burst of vigor he needed in order to break the woman who’d broken not only his ribs, but also his trust.

Oh, how delicious this was going to be
. . .

“I believe this”—he held up the book in front of her—“would be something of great value to you, Sabine.” To her credit, she didn’t so much as flinch. Standing stock-still, she simply glared at him.

But her racing heart gave her away. It beat so violently, he could see her wild pulse in her slender neck, belying the mask of composure.

“I think this would be as valuable to you as my silver is to me,” he continued. “I propose a swap. I give you your sister’s journal and all her other items here on the floor, and you return to me the silver you stole.”

She held her tongue.

“I’m going to need your decision.
Now
. Which do you value more?” He placed the book in front of her face so that there was no avoiding it. “The silver. Or your sister’s journal?”

“Sabine?” the witch spoke up. “I think you should tell him where the silver is.”

“Tell him, Sabine,” the old man beseeched.

“Yes, Sabine, tell me, where is my silver?” Jules prompted. She stared at the book.

He had her. He’d cornered the little liar. And none too soon. Sweat beaded his brow. The longer he remained standing, the more uncomfortable the binding around his ribs became. He needed to loosen it. Quickly.

Pulling her gaze from the volume, she met his. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes blazed at him. He’d never had a woman look at him with such hatred. Good. The sentiment was mutual.

“Without the silver, we are done,” she said softly.

He dug his fingers into the book cover, his patience and tolerance about at an end.

“We’ll think of some other way to pay the taxes,” the old man offered. “Don’t let him burn ’Sabelle’s things.”

“Choose!”
he commanded. “The book. Or the silver?”

She raised her chin slightly. “We’ll split the silver. You get half. We keep the other half. Then you leave us alone.”

The sheer audacity of her statement yanked a hollow laugh from his throat. “Did you hear that, Raymond?”

Raymond frowned. “I did, Commander.”

“Why, how
magnanimous
of you, Sabine,” Jules growled, “to allow me to have half of MY SILVER!”
Merde!
He’d never known anyone with such gall or who’d dare push him when he was clearly in an explosive state. It was his duty to fix what had happened to his family.

He owed it to his father. It was a matter of honor.

And nothing—absolutely
nothing
—more was going to be taken from him!

He stalked over to the hearth. It took all the self-discipline he possessed to keep himself erect and not double over in physical agony.

Holding the book near the fire, he said, “You have until the count of five to tell me where my silver is.”

For an instant, her lips parted with a soft gasp and her eyes flashed fear.

Finally a crack in the brave façade.

It’s what he needed. It’s what he’d use, for he knew—no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she deserved it—he couldn’t bring himself to beat her or any of her pathetic lot into submission. In battle he was capable of ferocity. But violence against this group—women, an old man, and a child—was another matter. It went against every fiber of his being.