A Midnight Dance Page 9

  Carefully schooling her features, she offered him a small smile, dunked another piece of bread into the wine, and placed it in her mouth.

  Somehow she forced her gaze to the bowl of bread on her lap, focusing on her meal instead of the goings-on near the carts.

  What was she going to do now?

  Three chests of silver.

  By the time Sabine had finished forcing the food down her throat, the men had removed the chests from Jules’s last cart and were now loading provisions onto it. From her furtive glances, she was sure there were three chests still on one of Jules’s carts.

  Three chests of silver would be enough to live like royalty. An immense fortune. Her family would be safe. They’d want for nothing. She’d have everything she once had.

  Except Isabelle.

  With her ’Sabelle, she’d feel whole again. And alive.

  All she had left of her sister were memories she couldn’t bring herself to dwell upon, the stories they’d written together, and Isabelle’s precious journals. She’d left the journals behind when she’d gone to work at one of the Moutiers’ country mansions. She’d asked Sabine to hold on to the journals for her, promising she’d return one day, for she’d never abandon Sabine or her treasured journals for good.

  But seemingly, she had.

  Logic told her that after all these years, if Isabelle was alive, she’d have contacted her.

  Yet something inside her undermined logic. And it stemmed from the special bond she and her twin shared. If Isabelle was dead, shouldn’t she feel it?

  Why didn’t it feel as though she was dead?

  Was it wishful thinking? A desperate longing? Or was the feeling right?

  With the silver, she could hire an army to search for Isabelle. To hunt down every former servant the Moutiers had, and question them about her sister. About what happened the day of the fire.

  Raymond approached.

  She put down her bowl, giving him her full attention. He had a cloth folded over his arm.

  “Mademoiselle, please follow me,” he said, and walked away.

  Sabine’s stomach dropped. He was heading out of the camp. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay near the silver. Where she could watch it. Guard over it. Make certain it didn’t go away. Glancing at Jules, she noted he was still involved in conversation with some of his men.

  Raymond stopped some distance away, turned, and waited.

  What on earth did he want? Couldn’t he leave her be? If she balked in any way, she’d raise suspicions. And that was something she couldn’t risk.

  She rose. Her legs didn’t feel as shaky as they had when first she awoke. But worry over the chests of silver—her chests of silver—still gnawed at her.

  As she followed Raymond out of the camp, she watched the cart with the treasure out of the corner of her eye. Some of the men were placing canvas bags and pottery flagons onto it. Her flagons were nowhere in sight. Likely they’d been emptied and destroyed.

  She walked with Raymond along a narrow tree-lined path until they reached the river’s edge. He placed the linen sheet he had draped over his arm down on a rock and held out a cake of soap.

  “You may refresh yourself before we leave.”

  She took the soap. “Thank you.”

  Then he held out the old ribbon she used to tie her braid. There was only one place he could have retrieved that: the spot where she’d succumbed to Jules’s sexual allure. Her cheeks heated. Murmuring another thanks, she took it from him.

  He gave her a nod, turned, and walked away.

  Sabine looked around. She was alone.

  Eager to return to the silver, she stepped closer to the edge of the river, knelt down on the grass, and scooped up water. She splashed it over on her face and began bathing as best she could without removing her clothing, all the while fighting back the memory of Jules bathing her. It had taken a considerable amount of time to fall asleep afterward. The man had left her feverish and frustrated.

  Grabbing the linen, she dried her face and arms.

  Last eve, when sleep wouldn’t take hold, her mind raced, and she came up with a way to get Jules to stop at the inn in Delatour. She’d use her request to be lovers to her advantage. She was going to seduce him into it—later that day.

  Sabine combed her fingers though her hair, braided it, and secured it with the ribbon.

  Yesterday she’d entered the camp without knowing what she’d be facing. Today she knew what she had to do. And who was standing between her and the treasure.

  She didn’t have things in her life that made her happy anymore, but rescuing her family, and taking wealth from a Moutier, was going to feel wonderful.

  Drawing in a fortifying breath, she let it out slowly, rose, and turned around.

  “Hello, chère,” Jules said. She jumped back. He’d startled her so badly, her heart hammered.

  “You’re rather nervous this morning.” From his tone and his look, she didn’t know if he was trying to tease her again or if he was insinuating something. She swallowed down a spurt of fear. She was behaving like a lunatic this morning. And she was going to cease before all was lost.

  “You startled me. I was bathing ... I thought I was alone. I didn’t hear you. I didn’t know you were skulking around.”

  He lifted a brow. “Skulking around?” A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. He slipped his hand under her chin. “I don’t need to skulk. I’ve already seen your sweet form, Elise. And last night I was inside you. I think we can dispense with modesty.” Memories of how good he’d felt inside her, how good he’d tasted, flooded her mind, causing a wave of hot tingles to shimmer over her nerve endings. How did she respond to that? Her gaze fell to his mouth before she forced it back up to his eyes.

  “I’m finished my bath” was what tumbled out. Brilliant answer, Sabine. Mentally she groaned at the awkward utterance.

  He tilted her chin up a notch, bringing her lips a fraction closer to his. “Really?” His thumb lightly stroked her cheek. “What a shame.”

  She felt a quickening in her core. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? That now-familiar heat was spreading through her body. The very same heat that had kept her awake and needy in his arms last night.

  He’d said she was passionate. Perhaps that was it. Her physical reactions, these base needs, stemmed solely from her deprived existence. A passionate woman long denied. Clearly she was even lonelier than she realized. These physical responses had nothing to do with him at all. A small voice inside her balked at the notion.

  She silenced the voice, intent on moving matters along. “Are we leaving now?” She’d managed to keep her tone light, belying the havoc inside her.

  “After I’ve had a bath.” With his gaze fixed on her, he moved his hands to the fastenings on his breeches, untying them.

  Good Lord. Her senses were already awakened and highly attuned to him. And she was still agitated and on edge over the silver treasure she’d almost lost this morning. This was the last thing she needed.

  She’d hoped to somehow reach Delatour and avoid another carnal encounter between them. Yet as she watched, mesmerized at the male perfection disrobing before her, her body railed in protest over the plan.

  He pulled off his shirt and tossed it casually onto the grass. Sunlight warmed his strong shoulders, his chiseled chest. A long time ago, when she’d dubbed him her “Dark Prince,” she’d thought him to be as majestic as a mythical god. At the moment, every sublime inch of him was. She had the powerful urge to run her hands over his skin, wanting to feel all those beautiful dips and ripples beneath her fingers. Moving her gaze down his body, she caught sight of his erect cock boldly protruding from his breeches. A particular part of his anatomy he knew how to use with mastery.

  Her sex clenched hungrily.

  Sabine forced her gaze away. “I’ll leave you to your bath and return to the camp.” She stepped around him, eager to distance herself and snap the spell. He caught her wrist, halting her in her t
racks. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he applied a firm pressure. She sank down onto a rock she wasn’t even aware was there, her gaze dropping immediately to her lap. A more neutral sight.

  “Stay,” he insisted and straightened. “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” She kept her eyes averted, nervously plucking at a thread on her skirts, keenly aware of the pulsing between her legs that was worsening by the moment—his proximity the root cause.

  “Unless you feel you cannot resist me and might ravish me. In which case, I forbid you to leave.” She heard the smile in his tone.

  He was toying with her.

  Sabine bristled—at herself for her weakness toward him, and at him for his conceit. He knew his own appeal and his potent effect on women. At the theater, he’d moved about with his disarming smile and a casual confidence that bespoke it. He knew how to work females into a frenzy of need. If there was a man on this earth who could incite a woman to ravish him—he was that man.

  She shot him a look, her nose almost colliding with the tip of his generous sex jutting from his open breeches. She squeaked in surprise, jerking her chin down, looking away. A purely reflexive response. She dropped her forehead into her palm, mortified, wanting to kick herself for her laughable reaction. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen his shaft before. What was her problem? Her problem was that she hadn’t gotten so close to that part of his anatomy as to risk losing an eye.

  Jules de Moutier was used to women who were more sophisticated about such things. If he thinks you’re silly, he’ll become disinterested and cast you out.

  Dear God, he had to think her a complete idiot.

  “Elise.” Did she hear a restrained laughter in his tone? The thought only heightened her embarrassment. Warm strong fingers wrapped around her wrist. He pulled her hand away from her face.

  He’d lowered himself onto his haunches before her. The crest of his sex came into view once again. Good God. Will you stop looking at him there?

  She yanked her gaze back to his face.

  Jules fought to keep a straight face, amused by her antics. Her cheeks were pink, warmed by her adorable blush. She was so many different types of women. The alluring camp follower. The damsel in distress. The bashful ingénue. And he wanted to fuck them all. It was so damned enticing seeing her teeter between her passionate nature and her inhibitions.

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And it’s more than permissible to look,” he said, brushing an errant wisp of blond hair from her brow. “It’s what lovers do—look, touch, taste.” Her eyes had darkened and her nipples pressed hard against the inside of her chemise. All blatant signs of desire. And keen interest. Last night she’d asked him to be her lover. First, he’d coax away all her virginal shyness.

  Then he’d have her complete surrender. Unabashed.

  He couldn’t wait for the day to unfold.

  The sun wouldn’t set before he’d have her again.

  8

  “Did you enjoy your bath, my lord?” Raymond asked as Jules approached.

  The camp had quieted. Simon and his men were gone, and most of Jules’s men had left with him. Five men remained—five of Jules’s largest, most trusted and skilled swordsmen—not to mention one cart full of provisions with three chests of silver concealed beneath them.

  Jules’s attention was drawn to Elise. She was seated on a fallen tree on the opposite side of the camp, watching the men as some readied the horses, while others made a last check to ensure all items on the cart were secured.

  She observed the activity around her looking innocent enough, he supposed. But still . . . There was a slight stiffness in the way she sat that bespoke some inner agitation.

  “Your bath, my lord. Was it enjoyable?” Raymond asked once more.

  “Hmm? Yes, the bath . . .” Jules kept his gaze fixed on Elise. “It was fine.”

  He’d bathed while she sat on the shore. In fact, it had been a most enjoyable game—to catch her watching him bathe. He’d sensed it each time her curiosity had drawn her gaze to him. But with this intuitiveness he seemed to have where she was concerned, he could also sense her agitation—the very same agitation that had plagued her all morning. An agitation she was trying to hide.

  Her unease was beginning to give him pause. Was this simply nervous excitement over their arrangement? Or was it something more?

  “I thought you would have taken longer, my lord, especially with the lovely lady so near.”

  Jules took one last look at his blond forest fairy before he pulled his gaze away from her.

  “Raymond, do you think she’s behaving oddly?”

  “Oddly? What do you mean?”

  “She’s been jumpy all morning.”

  Raymond shrugged. “She is a woman alone in the company of men she is relatively unacquainted with. I would think it would be natural for her to feel some unease.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. The woman is virtually fearless. Yet she appears out of sorts.”

  Raymond smiled. “That probably has something to do with you, my lord.”

  Jules frowned. “How so?”

  “The lady is taken with you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you and she doesn’t quite know how to behave around you. She is not as experienced as your usual paramours. She did, after all, yield her innocence to you last eve. I don’t believe her behavior is out of the ordinary given how novel the situation is for her.”

  “Perhaps . . .” Jules glanced at Elise once more as he mulled over Raymond’s words. They didn’t sit right with him. “She certainly looks like a peasant in those clothes, but . . . she doesn’t speak like one.”

  “Didn’t you say her cousin was a schoolmaster? Obviously, she comes from a family with some education. She may even know how to read and write a little. It would certainly explain her finer speech.”

  “It would,” Jules conceded.

  “If I may offer an observation, my lord?”

  “Of course.”

  “Since the lady’s arrival, I’ve seen you behave more like—well, the way you used to be before . . . everything happened. The woman is beautiful. You find her company pleasing. Allow yourself to simply enjoy her. Experienced or not, the lady has no objections to you doing so.”

  Raymond was right. He was letting his general distrust play with his imagination, and he wasn’t going to allow his time with Elise to be marred by his ever-suspicious mind. Dieu, what possible concern could he have? That she’d steal his silver? The notion was laughable. Even if she knew the contents of the chests—which was impossible—she wasn’t much of a thief. Last night proved that.

  She met his gaze and offered him a small smile. Hair so pale, a face so fine, and a womanly form made for a man’s pleasure, that inspired an assortment of sexual fantasies. Ones he intended to fulfill. A sweet temptress who was drawn to him, drawn to sex. And all his for the next three days.

  He shoved aside his niggling doubts.

  There was no time like the present to stoke the delectable fire between them.

  Sabine was so tense, she was ready to scream. Normally she wasn’t prone to female hysterics, but Jules de Moutier was unsettling her on so many disquieting levels.

  She wanted to cover her face with her hands and groan her frustration, but he was watching her from across the camp and his men were nearby. It took all the acting skill she possessed just to maintain any level of composure.

  Bad enough he rattled her confidence every time he neared, but having him bathe close by—in all his naked glory—had been devastating to her inner peace. The devil that he was, he’d caught her every time she’d stolen a glance. And smiled.

  Once he even winked at her.

  The river and all the surrounding land had once belonged to Jules’s family. Rivers and forests were for the exclusive use of the lord of the land—though the lower class did their share of poaching and trespassing. It was one of the many laws imposed by the upper class. Including the Moutiers.

  Yet des
pite the land being confiscated by the Crown, Jules had waded into the river as if it still belonged to him. He may have lost his social standing at court because of the Fronde, but clearly not his aristocratic sense of entitlement.

  His bathing in the river was proof of that.

  Despite having been practically born with a quill in hand, she doubted she could adequately describe just how incredible he’d looked, his muscled body wet, water droplets running down his skin.

  Deep in conversation with Raymond, Jules ran a hand through his wet hair. There he was in all his male beauty. Sure to provoke sinful thoughts in the most pious nun.

  Couldn’t he have a hump?

  She forced her gaze away, reminding herself that he wasn’t the perfect prince she’d once believed him to be. He was a Frondeur. A traitor.

  And he and his kind had cost her her world.

  He’s also been surprisingly kind, shown unexpected concern, and offered his protection until Maillard, a voice whispered though her. Fiercely, she quashed it. Stealing the silver was paramount. Necessary. Just.

  The bit of consideration he showed didn’t come close to repaying what he’d cost her.

  Jules was approaching now, a smile upon his lips. By tomorrow, he’d no longer be smiling. Not after she’d taken every last piece of his silver and was nowhere to be found.

  She stood up and returned his smile.

  “It is time to go,” he said.

  “Of course. I’m ready.”

  The sun wouldn’t set before she had his treasure.

  She and her family were going to be wealthy. Rich beyond their wildest dreams.

  Oh, this was going to be so very good.

  She walked with him to the men on horseback and moved directly to the cart, noting there was a spot beside the driver for her.