Her Dark Knight (6 page)

Present Day

Lainie exited the office building and turned right. Lucheux followed at a discreet distance, intrigued by the sway of her hips and the bounce in her dark hair. She kept her head up and looked straight ahead, alert to every person who passed her, yet unaware of who followed. Stupid girl.

She was so much of what she had been and yet so different. Beautiful to be sure. Smart, strong. Maybe she’d been all those things centuries ago, but he’d been too much of a brute to notice. Now he was more discerning. Now he noticed. And like he did centuries ago, he admired her. So much so that a part of him wanted her for himself again. Forget his plan to use her to get to Chevalier.
Just take her,
a voice whispered in his head.
Keep her as yours.

He knew the moment she sensed she was being followed. She clutched the strap of her purse tighter. Her steps faltered and she nervously glanced over her shoulder. Large eyes fell on him, then moved away. He kept walking, not missing a step. Her fear spoke to a darkness inside him, exciting him. He slowed, putting distance between them, letting her think she was safe. He’d been smart in not introducing himself when she started working for him. It gave him an anonymity he would use to his advantage.

Of course that wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t approached her. Part of him feared she would recognize him. Yes, Giselle was correct when she said he feared that Madelaine and this woman were the same. The resemblance was uncanny and there was something about Lainie Alexander that called to him. Something he hadn’t felt for hundreds of years. However, she hadn’t recognized Giselle so chances were she wouldn’t him either. But he wasn’t willing to risk it so he kept his distance even though that evil voice urged him toward what could be a delightful, delicious confrontation.

She crossed the street and put her key in the lock of her building, pushed open the door and stepped in with one final, scared look over her shoulder.

He waited until the lights went on in her apartment before he jogged across the street and let himself into the building with his own key. He paused in front of her apartment door and put his hand to it, closing his eyes.

He had a duplicate key. He could enter. For a moment he let himself think of the possibilities. Of what he would do to her. Of her fear. Her struggles. The thoughts excited him. His blood hummed through his veins, pooling in his lower regions. He snatched his hand away, breaking the ties of a lust he had no business feeling if he wanted to accomplish his task.

He moved past her door and entered Giselle’s apartment without knocking.

Giselle looked up from tying the sash of a white, silk robe around her slim waist. She paused, one delicious knee parting the folds of the silk. He was already hard. Not for Giselle, but for the other woman. The one who’d always looked at him in loathing as if he were never good enough for her.

In a few quick strides he was beside Giselle, shoving her against the wall so her back was to him. He hiked up the robe, pulled his stiff cock out, closed his eyes and pictured Madelaine. He fondled himself, making his erection hard to the point of pain, then shoved himself inside Giselle with one brutal stroke. She was hot and wet and ready for him and she moaned as he pounded into her.

He hated her with a ferociousness that went bone deep and spanned centuries. He hated her, yet he couldn’t stay away from her and his weakness fanned the flames of his hatred. He took her hard, hammering into her until her hips hit the wall and she grunted with each thrust. It excited her. She loved sex like this and her excitement excited him, but it also disgusted him.

She came fast and furious, bucking against him so violently he was unable to control his own orgasm.

Afterward he didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Angry he’d given in to his lust, furious for being so weak he couldn’t control himself, he zipped up. Giselle leaned against the wall with a smile of satisfaction that made him grimace.

“Feel better?” she smirked.

He turned away, too sickened to look at her, and headed for the door, not knowing where he was going, but knowing he couldn’t stay here any longer.

“Christien returned the papers.”

Giselle’s words stilled his hand on the knob. He turned back to her. She was leaning against the wall, her white robe gaping open to reveal the valley between perfect breasts and the long length of one leg.

She blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy. No doubt she was still immersed in the aftermath of orgasmic sex. She would still be pulsing inside. The thought aroused him again, but he ignored it. She would want him to come to her while they spoke of Madelaine and he refused to.

“And?”

She shrugged. The silk slithered down one creamy shoulder. His mouth watered for more of her, but he viciously restrained the impulse. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, she was like a drug to him, a craving he couldn’t deny.

“She retrieved the papers and returned them to me.” She pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to the couch where she sat in the corner, one leg stretching the length of it. Half the robe draped to the floor and Giselle shifted, hiding her womanhood from him with a knowing smile.

“Do you have them?” He dragged his gaze from the closely shaved curls she’d blocked from his view. He was curious as to what Chevalier’s response was. He hadn’t tried hiding the fact that the papers were a scam to get Madelaine into Chevalier’s club. Lucheux tried to picture a confused Chevalier but the image wouldn’t come. He’d never seen the man anything but confident. Damn him.

“I left them at the office.” Her smile told him she knew of her power over him and gloried in it. His anger flared, but he tamped down on it. Their relationship defied convention and time. They were tied to each other in ways the average person wouldn’t understand and while he hated it, he also knew it was necessary. If he had known of this abnormal connection all those years ago, would he have agreed to become what he was?

He strode to the windows to stare out at a darkened Milwaukee. Behind him, he could practically feel Giselle’s bottled fury, the burning hatred for Madelaine she carried with her. It hadn’t been a pretty scene when he told Giselle to hire Madelaine, but he’d won in the end.

He pushed thoughts of Giselle out of his mind and concentrated on the plan he’d devised after seeing Madelaine Alexander’s picture in her hometown newspaper. The article describing the girl who fought off the government and lost had intrigued him. But the accompanying photo of the Countess of Flandres come back to life had possessed him. Immediately he knew she would be a powerful lure Chevalier wouldn’t be able to resist. As Giselle was to him, Madelaine would be to Christien.

She would be his downfall.

She hurt all over, especially between her legs where her husband abused her the worst. But the pain didn’t stop her from making her way to the keep the next morning to watch the knight and his men prepare to ride out. She kept close to the shadows of the castle, away from her husband’s men and the prying eyes of the meddlesome servants.

The knight was in deep discussion with his squire. His face was earnest, touched with the rays of the sun. Her heart twisted at the thought of him leaving. Such a strange reaction considering they met only once and only for a few moments. Especially strange considering the horrible punishment she’d endured for speaking with him. She shouldn’t want him to stay. He was a temptation she could ill afford, but a temptation nonetheless. He was comely to look at it but ’twas more than that. ’Twas the quiet strength beneath the enigmatic eyes. A strength she sensed he used for good rather than evil like her husband.

He laughed at something one of the men said and it startled her. ’Twas very rare to hear laughter inside these walls, and if her husband were around he would surely reprimand the knight. Nonetheless, he had a beautiful laugh, rich and full. She wished she could laugh with him, to share in the tale and feel happy.

As if sensing her perusal, he lifted his head, searching the area until their gazes locked. Instinctively she cringed against the rough stone of the castle wall, praying he wouldn’t approach. It was all well and good for her to look at him, but to speak to him would heap more punishment upon her and she wasn’t sure her body could endure more.

He made his way toward her, side-stepping the activity of the keep without looking away from her. Lord help her, she couldn’t look away either.

He stood before her and she was gazing up at him, his tall frame blocking everything. Everything but him. The words whispered through her head.
Everything but him.

Guilt dug its cruel fingers into her consciousness. A married woman should not look at another man, especially the way she knew she was looking at him.

He touched her hair and she realized she had forgotten her veil. Another indiscretion she would be punished for. Curiously, she didn’t care. When he was near it was almost worth the retribution.

“How are you this fine evening, madame?”

“I am well, Sir Knight, and yourself?” Had her husband ever asked in such a way that indicated he cared what she felt?

A small smile touched his beautiful mouth and she found herself raising her hand to those lips. Luckily, she checked herself and folded her fingers in the pleats of her gown instead.

“We leave tonight.”

Was there regret in his voice or was she hearing her own regret? “I know.”

He touched her hair again, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “I would have your name, Countess. So I may remember and think of you on the battlefield.”

“Madelaine,” she whispered, with little thought of consequences. “My name is Madelaine.”

“Madelaine. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

She shrugged the daring compliment away while inside she gloried in it. Before her marriage she’d heard everything a man could say to woo a woman but these words, spoken by this man, warmed her in places that had been cold as of late.

“And your name, Sir Knight? So I might remember as well?” Oh, she was bold. Bolder than was wise, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. Had to know.

“Christien.”

A true soldier of Christ. Surely she would go to hell for desiring a soldier of Christ.

He tipped his head to the side. “Say my name before I take my leave, Madelaine, so I may remember it upon your lips.”

Her gaze went to the lips he spoke of and her face heated. “Christien,” she breathed, almost afraid to speak it aloud.

He smiled, extracted her fingers from her kirtle and raised them to his lips where he pressed a kiss. “
Au revoir,
my Madelaine.”

Lainie woke with a start and glanced around, confused until she recognized her apartment in Milwaukee.

Not in France.

Milwaukee.

Twenty-first century.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned, shocked to see she’d only slept an hour and was still on her couch, fully dressed, the night relatively young.

Her gaze fell on the painting of a castle hanging on her wall. The castle stood high on a hill, the enshrouding mist lending it a mysterious aura. She’d discovered it in an antique shop in her hometown and had fallen in love with the mystery and romance of it. All those years ago she knew she had to have it and didn’t even quibble over the outrageous price she paid. Now goose bumps raced up her arms as she stared at it. No longer was it just a pretty painting that made her think of chivalry and jousts and knights in shining armor.

The castle in the painting and the castle in her dreams were the same.

Was it coincidence or did she dream the castle because she bought the painting? Except she’d had the painting for years and never dreamt about it before.

She thought of the dark, gloomy castle in her dream and of the dark-haired knight named Christien who walked into the hall, commanding the attention of the woman named Madelaine. Even now it made Lainie shiver in longing. A longing that transferred to the twenty-first century for a dark-haired, silver-eyed man who was not a figment of her imagination but very real.

With a strangled sound of frustration she surged off the couch.

This was bordering on the ridiculous. Since meeting Christien two nights ago, she’d slept, but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep and she woke more tired than before. The dreams were beginning to affect every part of her life and if she didn’t get it under control, she was afraid it would start affecting her work to the point where Giselle would notice and question her.

She had to stop this or she was going to go insane and everything she’d been working for was going to fall apart. She looked around her apartment, desperate to find something to take her mind off the dream.

She could clean. Her mother always said a good spring cleaning would clear her mind and the result would be an uncluttered home and an uncluttered mind.

But her gaze locked on the small table by her front door and the white card lying on top of it. Since Christian handed her the card, she’d been drawn to it. Once she attempted to throw it away, but ended up digging it out of the trashcan.

As she had so many times before, she felt its pull and walked over to the table to pick it up. The letters were embossed in gold as well as a small emblem of a knight on a rearing horse. Her mind flashed back to the dream. Maybe she got the image of the knight from his card and her mind created an entire story from it. It made sense. If she was the creative type. Which she wasn’t.

She turned the cream-colored cardstock over. Written on the back in spiky handwriting was a different phone number. His personal number, he said.

Why would a man who didn’t even know her, a man who seemed to be as important and popular as Christien Chevalier, leave her his private phone number?

Frustrated she tossed the card in the trashcan—again—and deliberately walked away, refusing to heed the irritating voice telling her to dig it out—again.