A Midnight Dance (47 page)

“Jésus-Christ,”
he growled. He drew her closer and pressed his cheek against the downy hair at her crown. “What did he do to you?” He wanted to know as intensely as he didn’t.

Torturous images of Sabine and what Leon might do to her had consumed him as he’d raced to Leon’s château. He’d agonized about the amount of time she’d been in Leon’s clutches and the hours still to go before Jules could reach her, praying all the while that he’d find her alive. Safe. Thinking up ways of torturing de Vittry, forcing a confession out him with as much bodily pain as possible for all his misdeeds, did little to alleviate his anxiety. The physical force he’d used on Leon’s man, Hubert, to gain information of Sabine’s whereabouts hadn’t satisfied Jules’s bloodlust. Nor had killing the attackers Leon sent to ambush him.

By the time they’d reached his château and found the secret rooms at the back of the stables, someone had already shot Leon dead.

Who? Why?
Merde
. He felt cheated. Enraged. Terrified.

Had Sabine seen the shooter? The gunman could have easily killed her regardless—yet spared her. This was obviously someone who was only after Leon.

A soft sound from Sabine drew his gaze to her face, covered in contusions and distorted by the swelling. For every bruise on her sweet form, he would have dealt twenty on Leon. Now he had no choice but to save his wrath, for there were others involved in this foul plot.

Simon Boulenger and Luc lowered themselves onto their haunches beside him.

“How is she?” Luc asked.

“She’s fine.” Though it was more a desperate wish than a certainty.

Simon indicated the other room with a jerk of his chin. “
Dieu
. . . I’ve never seen anything like it. What sort of madness is that?” Jules hadn’t even noticed when Simon entered the room or that he’d seen the other chamber and its disturbing items.

“I don’t know, but it looks like de Vittry was about to add to his morbid collection.” Luc touched one of Sabine’s tresses that had been clearly cropped.

“Indeed,” Raymond said from the doorway, holding up a lock of Sabine’s blond hair.

Profanity shot out of Jules. “We should have been here sooner!” He glared at Simon.

Simon raised his brows. “I reached Paris as soon as I received your letter requesting aid. And, I might point out, this is the
second
time I’ve saved your aristocratic ass. Without me and my men there tonight, the three of you would be dead.”

Jules sighed. “I’m sorry, Simon.” He shook his head. It was midday and he had yet to sleep. He was exhausted and overwrought. “You are right, of course. I thank you for everything you’ve done. For the employ. For the loyal friendship. And for saving my
aristocratic ass
two too many times.”

Simon smiled. “Apology accepted.”

“My lord,” Raymond said. Jules looked over at him. “If I may say . . . I found the missing chest of silver.” Still standing at the doorway between the two chambers, he indicated behind him. “And parchments. I believe they belonged to Isabelle Laurent.”

Jules was about to respond when something glinted on the ground near Raymond’s boots. “What is that at your feet?”

Raymond looked down, picked up the item, and brought it over to where the three men stood.

A ring.

Carefully easing Sabine down onto the bed, Jules then stood and took the ring from Raymond’s open palm.

“That’s Valentin’s ring.” Luc was incredulous.

The d’Argon family crest glared back at Jules. The significance of it being in this particular room came down on him with crushing force. He wanted to believe there was an innocent explanation—but couldn’t vanquish the sense of unutterable betrayal surging inside him. Valentin? Involved in all this? Not
him
.

“He couldn’t be part of all this, surely . . .” Apparently Luc warred with the notion, too.

Bile churned in Jules’s stomach. He felt ill.

He’d seen Valentin wearing the ring only days before. The discovery of the ring in this room meant that Valentin had been here recently.

Worse, it meant that he was privy to Leon’s gruesome practices, for he doubted Leon would admit a casual visitor or mere acquaintance into these hidden chambers.

Jules fisted his hand, squeezing the ring. “Question the servants. Find out if he was here last night. Who was here last night or recently.”

He opened his hand. The ring left indentations on his palm. How many times had Valentin told him what had been done to his father was unjust? Pretended to care? “Look over the parchments. See if they say anything that’s of use.” He handed the ring to Raymond. It felt heavy in his hand. In his heart. He couldn’t stand to hold it any longer. “But first, get Sabine a change of clothing. Anything the servants can offer is better than her bloodied gown.” Raymond turned to do as bidden.

Sabine stirred again, this time with a murmur. She was waking at last.

“I’ll have some of the men gather the servants.” Simon walked out.

“I’ll look over the parchments and together with Raymond interrogate everyone at the château,” Luc said. “Vittry’s body is in the stables.”

“Leave him there. I’ll get a confession out of Valentin first before notifying anyone.”

He’d get a confession before nightfall by whatever means necessary.

The moment they left, Sabine’s lids fluttered. Jules sat down on the edge of the bed and took her in his arms. Her lovely visage marred black and blue and swollen, she’d never looked so vulnerable. So delicate.
Dieu
, he should have never allowed her to return to her chamber unescorted.

At last she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Then she did something he’d never seen her do before: She burst into tears.

“Jules . . . He—He said he killed you . . .”

Lightly, he caressed her bruised face and pressed a soft kiss to her brow. “He didn’t kill me. We are both very much alive.”

She gulped hard but could not stop her weeping. “My—My family—”

“Everyone is all right. And safe. You’re safe, too. I have you. Vittry is dead. He’ll not hurt you ever again.” He cupped her uninjured cheek. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “She . . . she’s dead,” she stammered, copious tears flooding from her eyes.

“Who is?”

“Is-Is . . . sabelle. My ’Sabelle. He—He . . .
killed her
.” She sat up, flung her arms around him. Burying her face in his shoulder, she sobbed aloud.

He wrapped his arms about her. “I’m so sorry.” The words seemed insignificant given the enormity of her anguish. But what could anyone say that would lessen the pain or the loss she felt? Seeing her so racked by grief made him feel helpless and renewed his anger. Someone else had had the pleasure of sending Leon to hell. That there were others involved in this plot still to vent his wrath upon offered a small conciliation.

He gently rocked her while she cried, soaking his shirt with her sorrow. A lump formed in his throat. How he wished there had been another outcome. What he wouldn’t have given to find Isabelle still alive. To see the joy that would have brought Sabine.

He lost track of time, unsure how long she’d wept in his arms. When finally her crying ebbed, she gazed up at him with the most tortured look in those captivating eyes. Not since the day he’d watched his father’s execution had he felt this heartsick. “Leon said . . . that he was responsible for what happened to your father.”

Jules remained silent, allowing her to speak, determined not to add to her grief by letting her see the varying emotions raging inside him.

“He—He said . . . he was in partnership with Valentin, Marquis d’Argon.” Fresh tears welled forth. “He—He said . . . that they forced Isabelle to participate in the plot. They made her . . . They made her . . .” She broke down again.

He cupped her face. “Shhhhhh . . . I know Isabelle was not the sort of woman to harm anyone.”

“I—I love her . . .”

“And she knew it well.”

“I miss her so much . . . I—I must live the rest of my life without her.” She closed her eyes and softly cried.

“She’ll always be with you, Sabine. She lives in your memories and in your heart.”

She opened her eyes again, but a knock at the door stopped her from responding.

“Enter,” he bid. Two matronly servants bearing clothing, pails of water, and a washbasin stepped into the room. He considered having Sabine brought to the château to change, but doubted she’d want to be in Vittry’s home any more than she wanted to be in the stables. The best thing was to get her dressed and away from Vittry’s home altogether. As quickly as possible.

He coaxed her into letting the servants help her and promised to take her away from Leon’s château as soon as she was ready.

Outside the stables, Jules wasted no time, immediately joining in on the questioning of the servants—who’d been filed outside—by Luc and Raymond. Simon and the men stood nearby.

It quickly became apparent that Vittry’s hired help was very much afraid of him and that when he ordered that no one approach the stables—as he had last night—no one dared defy him. No one saw a thing.

“Leon’s only visitors were women. They came but never left,” Luc said, revulsion and disgust in his tone.

Jules had learned the same thing by those he’d questioned. “What about Isabelle’s writings? What did they contain?”

“Some poetry, a short story—lovely stuff, but nothing in connection to Valentin or Leon.”

Sabine’s blond hair caught the corner of Jules’s eye. Pale, except for the black and blue contusions, she approached, somber, her hair in a simple braid. Back in humble clothing. He hated to see it.

She stopped before him. He was about to ask Luc to give them some privacy but realized Luc had already stepped away and was talking with Simon.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. He could tell she was fighting to maintain her composure. She swallowed and he wondered if, like he, she had a knot in her throat. “I want to go home. Be with my family. See my cousins again.” Two tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Of course. I’ll have Raymond and a small party escort you back to Marie’s townhouse to fetch Agnes, Louise, and Vincent, then to the farm. I’ll meet you there after I settle the matter with Valentin. He’ll pay for what he’s done to both of us. I swear it.” He cupped her cheeks.

Grasping his wrists, she pulled his hands from her face. “Jules, what we’ve shared . . . we knew was temporary. You will have your justice. And I have my answers. It’s . . . over now.”

“Sabine,” he began, his heart rate quickening. “You are upset and understandably so. This is not the time to discuss this.”

“What future is there for us? You are about reclaim your birthright. Live the life you were born to live—have a wife with exalted bloodlines. We both know you have a duty to your family. That you are honor-bound.”

He felt as though he’d been cleaved in the heart. “We can be together in other ways.”

She shook her head. “I want the grand dream, though I know it’s impossible. I can live with nothing less.”

Not this
.
Not now
. Exhausted as he was from his mad ride to Vittry’s château, he feared he didn’t have the fortitude to do what was expected of him.

He forced himself to remember his responsibilities.

But words welled from his heart. Words he couldn’t utter. Wasn’t free to say. You can’t. You
can’t
. He forced himself to remember his father. The injustice of his senseless death. The horrific writhing at the end of the hangman’s noose while the mobs cheered and jeered as the rope choked the air from his lungs and slowly strangled the life out of him.

“Will you have Raymond escort me back now?”

The knot in his throat was so large, it took him a moment before he could speak. “Of course.”

She turned to walk away. The next thing he knew he had her wrist in his hand and had pulled her back. “Don’t go,” was already out of his mouth. His arm was already around her waist, holding her soft form against him. His hand touched her uninjured cheek. “Stay with me, Sabine. Don’t leave. Not like this.”

Tears streamed from her eyes. He knew that when she was out of sight, she’d collapse into total discomposure. As it was, he had but a fragile grip on his own composure.

She didn’t want to be a mere mistress and exist on the fringes of his life. She wasn’t going to change her mind. He sensed it. Knew it down to his marrow.

She was about to speak. He sealed his lips to hers, needing her kiss. Needing her. Just when he’d found her, he was going to lose her. For good.

His kiss was anguished. His heart felt it was rending in two. Being pulled apart in opposite directions.

She trembled against him. He trembled, too, but she didn’t push him away. He reveled in it. Maybe if he kissed her long enough, held her long enough, she’d reconsider. He deepened the kiss. She broke away from him and choked on a sob, leaving him bereft, her tears on his lips.

“I have to go,” she said, looking as shaken as he felt. She managed a small smile through her tears. “I know you will regain your position and lands now, and you’ll have the life you’ve wanted back.”

It didn’t sound as wonderful as it used to.

She stepped back. He caught her hand. “I’ll fulfill my promise. You’ll have a share of the silver and the Laurent lands will revert back to you,” he said, instead of those three words burning in his throat.

She nodded and slipped her hand from his grasp. He held his arms at his sides, though he wanted nothing more than to reach for her again.

“I wish you much happiness.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her hand covering her mouth. It was her only way to hold back her sobs.

Jules turned away, the pain inside him excruciating, unable to watch her leaving his life.

“Raymond!” he barked.

His man was by his side immediately. “My lord?”