Charleston Past Midnight (2 page)

“Oh, Severin,
please
put away those dull architectural drawings that seem to occupy all your spare time. The guests will arrive any moment. Oh look, just there, out this window … I can see two boats coming up the river. You recall that papa asked that we welcome everyone into the drawing room for cocktails before dinner.”

With a reluctant sigh, I roll up the latest renderings my cousin Adrian recently shipped me from our native France. I’ve eagerly studied them since their arrival just two days ago and am still amazed by the creativity of the latest wave of French architects.
One day soon ….

Turning to face my radiant sister, I hold out my arm, “Shall we then, Sabine?”

She smiles brightly and tucks her white silk-gloved arm within mine. “I’m so excited, Severin! It has been over a year since we hosted a ball here. I do hope that some of the handsome, eligible men of Charleston will be in attendance this evening.”

I remain silent at my naïve little sister’s comment. Even though she is nineteen, a respectable age for matrimony, I hope that my wise father will remain vigilant and keep her best interests in mind. For the most part, the Americans we have had dealings with since our arrival in South Carolina nearly sixteen years ago have been honest and forthright. Yet there have been a few I would have liked to strangle on the spot for their arrogant and manipulative ways. Nonetheless, I consider my only sibling’s virtue to be of the utmost importance and I will do anything to guard her from harm until a future husband takes over the important position.

“Ah, there you both are.” My father’s low, French-accented voice calls out as we descend the long, curved staircase into the spacious foyer. “My Sabine, aren’t you a vision, my dear. Severin and I will have our hands full this evening responding to the fervent inquiries from your long list of suitors, I must say.

“Oh, Papa, please.” She blushes furiously as she brushes a raven black tendril away from her porcelain face.

I grin and look down at her as she runs her gloves nervously against the fine material of her cerulean blue gown. “Oh,
Maman
, there you are! Did you see the boats coming downriver from the city?”

My mother, all cool grace, smiles. “Yes, darling. I did indeed, now please calm yourself and remember to have an enjoyable time with our guests this evening.”

“Yes, of course,
Maman
.”

My father addresses us. “Some will arrive via carriage from nearby plantations—the footmen are prepared to accommodate them—but most are traveling by boat. I’ve asked that the dock master insert additional posts so that we can properly tether the vessels this evening. Also, Severin, please make time to speak with Mr. Anson. He is on the architectural review board for the city planners and it is my understanding that he is the personal acquaintance of two of your collegiate professors at the College of William and Mary. It will be nice to gain insight into them before you attend their classes this fall. I believe that he has a son about your age. The young man’s name is Sterling.”

“Yes, Papa, of course.”

“Very well. John, please open the doors so we can greet everyone as they come up the front staircase.”

“Yes, Mr. Beauvais.”

Many affluent families in the area harvest cotton, but ours is exclusively a rice plantation. John happens to be one of 75 slaves who live and work on the plantation. It takes manpower to keep the plantations running effectively and slaves are common in this area. I’ve always found the business of slavery distasteful, and after accompanying my father to one slave auction that was held in the old slave mart downtown, I vehemently refused to attend again. I believe that every man has the right to his or her individual freedom and that no one should have control over how they live their lives. I’m definitely against the majority in my thoughts. There are some plantations that I flat out refuse to visit anymore because of their reputation for administering frequent beatings. It is sickening to me how power and money can corrupt men.

* * *

“Then we are in agreement over our architectural tastes, Mr. Anson. If you don’t mind, there is a magnificent rendering I would like to share with you. It is of the recently completed Place de la Bourse in Bordeaux. Jean-Jacques Gabriel really has outdone himself with his latest neoclassical design. I would really enjoy seeing this style here in Charleston.”

“Well, Severin, I must say, after our extensive discussion this evening, we could certainly continue our chat until sunrise and never tire. I see where your passions lie. Yes, I would very much enjoy seeing your newly acquired rendering.”

“Excellent, Mr. Anson. I shall not be but one moment.”

I smile as I bound up the high staircase. My childhood dream of creating buildings seems closer and more obtainable with each passing day. The Neoclassical style is my favorite to date and I look forward to hearing his thoughts on the impressive design.

I’ve just started down the hall leading toward my room when I hear an odd bang followed by a distinctly feminine, muffled cry. Both are loud enough to cut through the violin music floating up from downstairs.

Would someone dare have relations in our home during a ball?
I stop and listen.
There is the cry again
. My heart nearly drops down into my stomach when I realize that the cry is coming from behind Sabine’s white door.

What the hell?

My legs can’t carry me fast enough down the long hallway. I throw open her door and nearly stumble inside from the force of my own forward momentum.

His wide back is blocking her from my view but I can see the fabric of her gown splayed out across the settee.

“Get away from her.
Now.
” My voice is nearly unrecognizable, the rage mounting inside me is venomous.

I watch the man slowly push back and see his right hand unlatch from Sabine’s mouth.

She gasps for air and cries out, “Severin! Oh, thank God!”

The assailant turns to face me. I blink and can’t believe my eyes.
Sterling Anson
. I struggle not to attack the man on the spot.

He smiles at me coldly while straightening his ruby red cravat. In an arrogant voice he addresses my sister, “Well then, another time Sabine.” He swiftly brushes past me and departs as if nothing at all occurred. Sabine’s begins to sob uncontrollably.

I shake with anger so fierce that I think my heart will explode within my chest. The only thing that keeps me from sprinting after him is concern for my sister. I have to know
exactly
what happened in this room before I mete out the unavoidable punishment.

“Tell me, Sabine, tell me what occurred.”

She’s pale and wide-eyed, tears streaking her flawless cheeks as she stumbles toward me. “H-he followed me upstairs. I came up to fetch my wrap and when I turned around he was inside my room. He closed the door and I couldn’t fight him. He is too strong. He pushed me down beneath him on the settee. Oh, Severin, if you had not come when you did …!”

“Enough!”

I turn and sprint down the staircase, knowing exactly what must be done to avenge this violation of my sister’s honor. Taking the steps three at a time, I quickly reach the foyer. I round the corner into the boisterous ballroom and spot the offender. My deep, booming voice cuts straight through the revelry.

“Sterling Anson, I challenge you to a duel on this very lawn!” The music halts and I continue, “You violated my sister’s honor and I will have vengeance. I will await you outside just before dawn. Should you refuse, I will stop at nothing to seek you out. You will suffer unbearable shame until you acquiesce.”

The large room is vibrating with tension and our eyes lock. He downs what remains of his mint julep in one long swig, slams the silver cup down on the wooden table beside him and sneers, “Done, Beauvais. And you’d best hope that you’re a damn fine swordsman.”

I
am
. Yet in this case it doesn’t matter, because he’s not leaving these grounds alive. I’m set on dealing him a thrust with my rapier that will make certain of this. I say nothing as I turn on my boot heel and stride away.
The next time we meet, he’ll be taking his final breaths.

Chapter Two

Present Day, 2:03 a.m.

24 Miles South of Charleston, SC

I
t feels as if every cell in my body has been taken apart and reassembled. Even my teeth and eyeballs are in total agony. My sole focus is dragging air into my desperate lungs without feeling
additional
pain. It’s a daunting task.

“Open your eyes.”

My thoughts seize up at the incredibly deep, silky voice.
I know that voice … from earlier
.
Those men … the danger … he helped me.

Strong arms are wrapped around my upper body as I slowly pry my eyes open. I can do nothing but stare up at him in stunned wonder.

Deadly grace. That is the best term to describe him as he stares down at me with not a foot of space separating us.

“How are you feeling?”

I’m incapable of answering the towering stranger’s simple question. In fact, it barely registers because I’m so consumed with his beauty. Not even in a painting or a men’s magazine have I
ever
seen such undiluted, striking masculinity. I didn’t believe it actually existed.

Mysterious eyes the color of the deepest oceans stare intently down at me. Greedy for more, mine roam around to focus on the rest of his features. Sensual, deep pink lips rest below a sleek, perfectly linear nose. The lower half of his jaw is shadowed with the darkness of a few days’ growth. Glancing farther up I admire his arched brows that match his ebony hair. The glossy locks are longer in the front, just grazing his cheekbones. I drag my eyes back to connect once again with his and see that a small grin has formed on those lush lips.

“You’re okay. Good.”

I drag in another deep breath, and still encircled in his hold, I look around trying to determine where I am and how the
hell
I arrived here. Wherever it is, it’s nowhere
near
the city because the only sounds around us are the never-ending melody of cicadas and bullfrogs.

The wet scent of humidity, floral-laced vegetation and something distinctly male washes over me. His scent is divine, like the first time you smell the ocean, so crisp and utterly addictive. I want to lean in closer, to familiarize myself with it, but I stand still, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of this magnetic stranger who undoubtedly has a merry go round of constant attention from adoring women.

Turning to the right, I strain to view my surroundings in the sliver of moonlight that provides the only source of light. Enormous, moss-draped oak trees cover a long shadowed avenue that leads to some kind of large structure or home. It’s nothing more than a dark shape off in the distance. Behind him is a dense forest.

This person saved me earlier, but could my fate with him be even worse? He crushed that guy’s arm earlier like he was breaking a twig.
Why am I way out here in the sticks? Did he drug me to get me here? Maybe he’s a wack-job serial killer?
With his looks he could just sit back, relax, and gather his prey. Maybe he’s another Ted Bundy.
Oh, hell!
I begin to panic and try to break away from his powerful hold.

“Calm yourself,” that impossibly low voice instructs me. His hint of an accent make the words sound incredibly sensual.

Did he just tell me to
calm myself
? He’ll regret that one soon enough. “Take your hands off me. I don’t know how you got me here or what game you think you’re playin’, but it ends
now
.” I do my best to steady my voice, to sound brave.

Those intense eyes track my every movement before he says too calmly, “Ask me nicely and I might.”

He chose the wrong girl to mess with tonight!
“Look, just because you saved me from some assholes earlier doesn’t give you the right to touch me
or
to tell me how to behave, got it? Now, I’ll ask one more time, then you’re gonna regret it. Get your hands off me.
Right now
.”

I’m pissed, but mostly at myself. I never should’ve stayed so late at that birthday party. But how was I supposed to know that those two jerks who harassed me during my shift the other night at Poco Loco’s would show up at the pub where the party was being thrown? It was my mistake that I didn’t ask the doorman to walk me the two blocks to my car—not like he could have. The place was heaving when I left.
Never again.

He seems amused as he lands me with, “You
are
a fiery one, aren’t you,
ma belle fleur
?”

Damn!
Why does his sexy voice have to match his jaw-dropping looks? I can’t think straight. I squirm harder, desperate to escape, knowing that deep down this guy is danger personified. Despite my best efforts, I get nowhere in his vice-like grip, not even a fraction of an inch.
Damn, this guy is super fit
. I’ll have to really focus if I want to get out of this hot mess.

He surprises me by saying, “Tell me your name, then, and I’ll release you.”

I huff out a breath and look off into the inky shadows. In an annoyed tone I say quietly, “Fine, it’s Calla. There, now make good on your word.”

My eyes flick back to his and he’s watching me closely as he says in that lush voice, “Calla. Mmm … I
was
right. “

His arms open wide and I’m free. I hate the fact that I miss his comforting hold. It’s been years since a man has held me in his arms, and even then it was never someone nearly as astounding as this guy.

I take a step back and ask curiously, “You were right about what?”

“You, your name. It suits you perfectly.”

I look away quickly, not wanting this stranger to see the embarrassment on my face from his compliment. I casually toss out, “Yeah, whatever, just tell me how I get to a road and I’ll be on my way.”