A Midnight Dance (33 page)

“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.”

“Isabelle has information you need. She can be of great help in clearing your family name. It would be foolish to dismiss the potential aid she might provide. One third of the silver for my sister’s information. What say you?”

“I say you bargain without leverage. I don’t need to pay you anything.”

Raising her chin slightly, she held his gaze steadfast. “I will succeed in finding my sister and lifting my family out of poverty. You either work with me, or I work against you. Before you utter another word, consider this: The last time I was this determined, I lifted your entire capture right out from under your nose and the noses of all your men. What is it worth to you to keep me in your sight? To forge an alliance with me so that I don’t interfere with your plans?”

He glowered at her. “I could have you and your lot kept here under guard.”

She smiled. “I suppose that’s an option. However, should you choose to leave some behind, make no mistake, Aristo, I will outsmart them.”

Jules’s expression hardened, her words clearly hitting their mark. “Gentlemen, I’d like a private word with Sabine.”

Sabine’s heart thumped madly as the men left. Anxiously, she awaited his reply. He was not going to deny her what she wanted. If he placed himself between her and her goals, she’d best him, or die trying.

Jules sat down on the edge of the table and returned her regard. Tension thickened the air.

“I admire your tenacity,” he said at last. Gone was the tightness in his tone. His response took her by surprise. “You’re the one who shoulders the responsibility for your family’s well-being. That,
chère
, is something I understand. My
noblesse oblige
is no less burdensome. But we carry the weight of our familial obligations nonetheless. You and I are not so different.”

She expected to have to argue, finagle. She hadn’t expected to hear him express his understanding. Or . . .
admiration for her efforts?

“You are struggling to regain your former life,” he continued. “I understand that, too. I understand loss. The anguish of it. You lost a sister. I lost a father. Though you may not have cared for him, he was condemned for a crime he didn’t commit. After being stripped of his rank and title, he was hanged on a public gibbet. Luc and I were arrested and left to languish in prison for months not knowing our fates. In the end, we lost everything we ever identified with.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. Her chest tightened, his words twisting around her heart. Resonating in her soul. She could easily identify with his sense of injustice and depletion.

“I’ve come to understand why you despise nobles the way you do. Why the subject of taxes is so abhorrent to you. I don’t condone Cyr’s methods, but understand this: The lower class is made to pay in coin, but nobles are forced to pay in blood. In battle. The funds collected through taxes are used to raise and supply armies. We have a duty to the King.” His tone hardened when he added, “A King who is young and foolishly swayed by lies, even though the Moutiers have loyally served the Crown—with swords and sons—for generations.”

He rose and approached her. “You may not like nobles, but that is my world. It is everything I am. Where I belong. Where the Moutier name belongs. I will stop at nothing to restore its former prestige. Your loyalty to your family is just as zealous. For that reason, I don’t trust you.”

She looked up into his handsome face. They
were
alike. She couldn’t deny it. They’d both experienced the same kind of pain and shared the same driving determination to reclaim what fate had snatched away.

At the moment, as she gazed into his fathomless eyes, she felt a deep connection with him. Greater than ever before.

Not since Isabelle had anyone understood how she felt inside. Not
truly
. Not unequivocally. Not the way he did. It made her want to sob. It made her want to put her arms around him.

It made her ache.

He’d been humbled. But it didn’t break him. And he’d share the ordeal with
her
.

She was deeply moved. Tender emotions flooded her heart and she cautioned herself against them. She had every confidence he’d regain his former elevated status. Before her was the future Marquis de Blainville. Just as unattainable for her as he’d always been. Even when her father had planned to marry his daughters into nobility, he’d never set his aim as high as a Moutier. Much less Charles de Moutier’s heir.

The lands and fortune he stood to reclaim would make him one of the richest, most prominent men in the realm. And it would be expected that his wife would have the same exalted pedigree.

“I understand your duty,” she croaked, forcing the words past the knot in her throat. “Isabelle
is
alive. All I want is my sister back.” Then she could live again. Get through the rest of her life, come what may. “I could help you. I can act, speak different languages, skills that could serve you in your mission. I must speak to the man who you think betrayed your father. I must question him about Isabelle. We can aid each other in fulfilling our goals.”

He lifted a brow. “You’d wish to work together with someone who is a
dreaded Aristo
?” There was the barest hint of humor in his eyes and voice.

His gentle teasing drew a small smile from her. “Sometimes you are not so dreaded. Much of the time we spent together in the forest and at the inn, you were . . . charming. Quite wonderful, in fact,” she said sincerely.

His brows shot up. “Good Lord, you weren’t just speaking
the truth
, were you?” His words and gorgeous smile pulled a laugh out of her.

“Yes, you arrogant man . . . Don’t get used to it,” she teased back.

Jules caressed his thumb against her soft cheek. “I appreciate your honesty.” Reluctantly he released her cheek. “I’ve decided to take you with me, after all.”

Her eyes widened and filled with joy. “Thank you!” She smiled, brilliant and beautiful. Seeing it pleased him more than he ever expected.

He had no choice here really. She was as clever as she was lovely. Leaving her behind under guard definitely wouldn’t do. Until he had a confession from the Archbishop and his life and silver back, he couldn’t afford any additional complications. He had enough obstacles in his path without adding this sly sweet temptress.

It was best to keep her close and under his watchful eye.

Yet there was another reason for bringing Sabine along. Though he didn’t believe Isabelle was still alive, she clearly needed closure. He knew from her journals just how close these twin sisters had been. How much Isabelle meant to Sabine.

It was likely Isabelle was killed in the fire on purpose because she knew too much.

He wanted to put the ghost of Isabelle Laurent to rest, for Sabine’s sake.

“You will do as you’re asked at all times, and if I think, or remotely suspect, that you’re scheming in any way to take the silver . . .”

“I won’t! I swear!” she declared.

“Good. Then we have an agreement.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll help you gain back what you lost, and you will give back what I lost. You’ll help me locate Isabelle, and once your heritage is restored, you’ll return the Laurent lands.
All
of the lands that once belonged to my family. And I want you to forgive our debts and provide a modest sum to ease our burdens.”

Jules scrutinized her comely face. He chose his words carefully. “I’ll help you where your sister is concerned, and
if
you are instrumental in the return of my confiscated lands and title, then I’ll return your lands, free and clear, with a sum as compensation for your assistance.” That would hopefully keep her from plotting against him.

Her smile reappeared. “Agreed! I’ll tell my family to pack—”

“Your
family
? Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

“Only Agnes, Vincent, and Louise. I want them there when we find Isabelle. They’ll be of great help to you, you’ll see.”

“I’ve already sampled their ‘help.’ ”

Stubborn determination formed on her face. “You have your brother. I want some of my family with me. This is not negotiable.”

Merde
. He disliked
this
situation for its disagreeable familiarity. Moreover, he disliked any situation he was constrained to accept. He wasn’t pleased to have any of his thieves accompanying him.

“Well, what is your answer, Aristo? Are we going to be allies or enemies?”

“The witch’s potions stay here.”

“Fine.”

“And all personal effects will be searched before we leave tomorrow morning.”

Elation lit her face. “Agreed.”

She was looking far too confident for his liking. It was time to tip the scales back in his favor.

“Then I guess we have a bargain finally. My congratulations to you, Sabine. It would seem you’ve thought of everything.
Except . . .
”

Her delicate brows furrowed slightly. “Except what?”

He lowered his head, stopping just short of touching her enticing lips. “How will you keep your hands off me?”

Two weeks later, Leon de Vittry sat in the library of his château before the lambent flames crackling in the hearth, swirling his brandy in his goblet. The hour was late. The servants abed. The château was still. Tranquil. A sharp contrast to the storm that brewed inside him.

Tipping back his head, he downed the amber liquid.

Leon glanced up at his grandfather’s portrait and took in the old man’s pompous stance. The mockery etched across his arrogant features only spiked Leon’s ire. He knew that look. Too well. He’d suffered it most of his life. From his kin. From his peers.

Nothing was more wretched than being born the second son.

Living in the shadow of the heir.

Living in the shadow of Sébastien de Vittry.

While the heir apparent had been doted upon and lavished with attention and the finest of everything, Leon had been treated as invisible. Sébastien had carried himself with a superiority and indifference that Leon admired. And despised.

The only thing his brother had ever done for him was to die. Leon smiled. The sounds of agony, the writhing, as Sébastien approached death’s door had been as sweet as he’d always imagined they would be.

Sébastien may have had looks and brawn. But Leon had intellect.

And patience.

He’d learned to don a deceiving mask, a benign manner, and consequently had been underestimated—by everyone.

Now he had a title. Wealth. And an impending marriage to a woman he’d have never had as a wife if his brother hadn’t been removed from his path.

It wasn’t that Leon cared a whit about the stupid woman. What mattered was that he’d forged an alliance with one of the most prominent families in the realm. Even the terms of his marriage contract had been shrewdly negotiated, promising him a sizable dowry—the amount of which he gleefully intended to leak for the benefit of the gossipmongers who used to ridicule and dismiss him as insignificant.

After all he’d endured, he deserved
everything
he had. But there was one thing he still desired.

Leon rose, strode over to the decanter on the side table, and poured himself another ample goblet of his fine brandy.

One thing he’d wanted for a long time, but still didn’t have.

Sabine Laurent—Paul Laurent’s angelic blond daughter. How many years had he fantasized about having her naked, on her knees. About the brutal markings he’d leave on her flawless skin—his perfect canvas—as he forced her to succumb to the dark delights that pleased him. Nothing gave him more of a euphoric rush than to see the helplessness in a woman’s eyes, the heady terror. He wanted Sabine that way, completely under his control.