A Midnight Dance (28 page)

“Good morning.”

Without the courtesy of a knock, Claude Cyr and the large man he’d brought with him had opened the door and stepped into the Laurent home.

Their presence sent a chill through Sabine.

Almost twenty years her senior, Cyr smiled. The man looked like a rodent, inspiring the same feeling of revulsion.

Josette immediately inched away from Sabine and closer to her sister and mother, distress etched across their features. Agnes and Olivier were out in the fields, unaware they had unwanted visitors. And Raymond, well, Raymond was always somewhere attending to the needs of his master.

Knowing she’d have to deal with these men by herself, Sabine schooled her features. Cyr thrived on fear.

It would only encourage him to escalate his intimidation tactics if he saw any on her face. Sabine didn’t have the luxury of expressing her own disquiet.

“It’s not the end of the month.” There was no need to pretend at pleasantries. She wanted them gone. The sooner the better.

“Now, is that any sort of a greeting?” Cyr said.

Sabine glanced at his companion. The scar on his left cheek added to his formidable look. “It’s the kind the tax collector gets,” she responded coolly, though her heart pounded.

“Such impertinence.” Cyr brushed something off the sleeve of his costly doublet. “Your time is about done. If you don’t pay
in full
this time, you will face the consequences.”

“Yes. Well, thank you for the reminder. If you will see yourselves out . . .” Silently she willed them to leave. Cyr didn’t bring the brute along for companionship. She feared what might happen the longer they lingered.

Cyr approached Sabine, stopping inches from her. Her heart lurched. A nauseating combination of sweat and perfume wafted off him. She fought the urge to step back and forced herself to maintain his gaze, his icy eyes vacant of empathy.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation you’re in.”

She understood it all too well.

“A debtor’s prison awaits you and your band of misfits if you don’t make good on your debt this time. I don’t think any of you will fare well there, especially you. Imagine how delighted the guards will be to see a woman like
you . . .
” He ran his knuckles down Sabine’s cheek.

She slapped his hand away, the ring he wore stinging her palm. “Get out of our home!”

He grabbed her braid near her ear and yanked her to him, wresting a cry from her throat. And from Josette.

He brought Sabine’s face close to his own. His vile breath assailed her nose and churned her stomach.

“Just who do you think you’re talking to?” He tightened his cruel hold on her hair. Tears gathered in her eyes. She clutched his wrist, desperate to disengage.

“Let go!” she cried, then quickly added a softer “please” to appease him.

“That’s a very pretty ‘please.’ ” Another waft of his foul breath hit her in the face and roiled her stomach. “But I see defiance in your eyes.” He gave her hair a vicious yank. She cried out. He was pulling so hard. The pain was unbelievable. Fearing he’d tear off her scalp, she savagely dug her nails into the flesh of his arm. He yelped in pain. She kicked him square on the shin with her wooden clog.

Cyr released her with a shout. She jumped out of his reach, her head throbbing.

A sword was suddenly thrust between them, its razor edge against Cyr’s throat.

“Don’t. Move,” a familiar voice said.

Cyr froze. His brutish companion gripped the hilt of his sword. The ominous whisper of his rapier unsheathing sent a shiver of dread down Sabine’s spine.

She looked from her assailants to her unexpected savior. Jules kept his focus on Cyr and the sword against his throat.

“Tell your man to put his weapon down or I’ll open your throat here and now,” Jules informed.

A bead of sweat appeared on Cyr’s brow. He moved nothing but his eyes. Upon seeing exactly who was holding a weapon to him, he exclaimed, “My lord!”

Jules frowned. “Have your man drop his blade, then identify yourself and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through the gullet.”

Raymond came rushing down the stairs. He immediately unsheathed his sword, poised to battle Cyr’s giant companion. Louise and her daughters, who’d been cowering in the corner, took the standoff as their cue to run from the room.

“Raymond,” Jules said. “It appears we have visitors.”

Cyr swallowed. “Roland, drop your sword!”

Roland didn’t move, sword still in hand.

“Do as I say, you fool!”

With an angry growl, the beast tossed his blade down. Raymond snatched it up and pointed both swords at Roland.

“My lord, it—it is I, Claude Cyr. I loyally worked for your family for years! Your faithful tax collector, my lord.”

Jules raised his brows and lowered his weapon. “Cyr?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s correct. Cyr.” The rodent’s smile was wary as he checked his fat neck for blood with a swipe of his hand. Looking relieved that none was present on his palm, his smile broadened. He gave Jules a low bow. “Your most humble servant.”

His demonstration of “respect” irked Sabine. It was as insincere and corrupt as the rest of him.

Jules replaced the sword at the tax collector’s throat.

“Taxes are collected monthly in the local parish. Why are you here and why would you attack this woman?”

He was defending her?
To his former tax collector?

“My lord, if you would lower your sword, I could—”

“Answer me!” Jules barked.

Cyr started. He cleared his throat. “A-As you wish. I’m here on the King’s business. Since your family lost . . . er . . . since the tragic
wrongful
charges against your father and the . . . change in ownership of these lands, I’ve been given the responsibility of collecting taxes for the Crown, an honor, I might add, as great as collecting for your prestigious family, my lord. I, for one, have never believed, even for an instant, that the charges against your family—”

“Enough gushing, Cyr. Get to the point.”

“Of course. It is my responsibility to make certain that taxes are paid on a timely basis. Unfortunately, it is not easy to collect from degenerates who resort to avoidance, schemes—all manner of trickery to escape paying their share.”

“So you collect taxes by brutalizing women?” Jules seethed. Though he’d been tempted to throttle Sabine several times, seeing the vicious assault shot hot rage through his veins.

“I collect by whatever means works. I must do my
duty
.”

“Collection of taxes is one thing, your methods, completely another. They’re
unacceptable
.”

“Really? It never bothered you before. How else did you think taxes were collected?”

Cyr’s words were jarring.

He lowered his sword and looked at Sabine. She stared back, indignation etched on her fine face. He realized he’d never wasted a moment’s thought on it. Never imagined that excessive means were used, particularly on women.

“My lord, these people are a blemish on society. Lazy. Cheats.”

Those were the very words he’d always used to describe the lower class, yet hearing them from Cyr’s mouth made Jules mentally flinch. Though Sabine and her family were definitely the latter, they were certainly not the former. With the exception of Louise and her two daughters, these people were not lazy. He’d seen how Sabine, Olivier, and Agnes toiled daily.

“They’re not inclined to pay unless one impresses upon them the importance of abiding by the law.”

Sabine lifted her chin and responded softly, “We don’t have enough to pay all the taxes owed to the Crown.”

“You see what I must deal with, my lord?” Cyr said. “Such blatant disregard for the law and disrespect for authority. They live on someone else’s land and yet don’t feel obliged to pay for the privilege! I’m forced to make these home visits—visits I’d sooner forgo—when the debt is significant. As it is in this case.”

“What is the debt?” Why the hell did he ask that? Why involve himself in matters that were none of his concern?

“Roland, bring the satchel.”

The large man lumbered over to the table. Pulling off the satchel slung on his shoulder, he set it on the wooden surface.

Cyr pulled out the accounting ledger. “Here, my lord, is the exact figure and the date of their last payment, which, as you see was some time ago. I have lumped the entire debt here, but in actual fact, half this amount is for Crown taxes and half for what remains unpaid in local taxes.”

Jules glanced at Sabine. “Is this the amount you owe?”

She moved to the table and glanced down at the figure on the open ledger. “Yes.”

Dieu
, it was considerable. He felt a stab of conscience—and it irked him. He wasn’t the one who had mismanaged funds. The Laurents had.

This wasn’t his problem, and he wouldn’t be lured into it.

His physical pain tormented him. His mood was foul. And he decided to vent a little frustration and exact a small measure of retribution for his family.

God knows Cyr had it coming.

“Cyr, a payment is going to be made today,” he announced.

Sabine’s eyes widened.

“Really? Wonderful, my lord. How much?”

“All of it.” Jules heard Sabine’s soft gasp.

Cyr looked just as astonished. “Why, that’s excellent! But bartering isn’t permitted when paying the Crown’s taxes, and since, in this case, it’s the King who’s owed the local taxes as well, I must insist the sum be paid in coin. Do they have the funds to pay in such a manner?”

“No. But you do.”

Cyr raised his brows. “Me? Why on earth would I pay their taxes?”

Jules yanked Cyr to him by the hair, jerked his head back, and pressed the sword against his throat once more.

Raymond instantly stopped Roland’s advance by placing the tip of one of his blades to the beating pulse at the side of the man’s thick neck.

“For the endless skimming you did each time you collected taxes for my family. And don’t”—Jules yanked the hair harder, enjoying the cry Cyr gave—“try to deny it.” Cyr’s eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. It gave Jules perverse pleasure to see the man so panicked, gripped with terror. He was one of many who would pay for betraying his father’s trust. “Shortly before my father’s arrest, he wrote to me and told me you were dipping your hand in deeper than was your due. He wanted to replace you. But he never got the chance. Me, I’m less merciful. I want to send you to hell.”

“My lord, please . . .”

“Admit you stole from my family.”

“I’ll—I’ll pay the debt! All of it! As you wish! In fact, I’ll write it in the ledger right now!”

“Not good enough. I want the truth! I want to hear how you took a position of trust and twisted it into a self-enriching role, amassing sizable wealth, judging by the look of your clothes and rings. SAY IT!”

“I—I took only a little . . .”

Jules pressed the sword harder.

“Yes! All right! I admit it. I stole. I’ll—I’ll pay it all back.”

Jules viciously tightened his grip on the man’s hair. Cyr screamed out. “Oh, that you will. You’ll leave your ledger here and I’ll make some calculations to determine what you owe me. Make no mistake, Cyr, I will reclaim my birthright and you will never cross a Moutier again. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely.” His profuse sweating added to his revolting smell.

Jules shoved him away, all too eager to distance himself from the man and his stench. Cyr stumbled back and clutched his throat as if to protect it.

“I’ll be in contact with you soon, Cyr.” He was going to keep the man unbalanced, hold the debt over his head. Cyr knew a lot of people and could be of use in Jules’s quest for justice. “Don’t try to avoid me, or I’ll hunt you down like the dog you are, and you’ll pay in more ways than one.”

“No, my lord.” Cyr said, visibly shaken. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Before you go, mark down in the ledger that the debt has been cleared.”

“Of course. But—But I don’t have a quill or ink with me. I didn’t expect . . . payment to be made.”

“Get him what he needs,” Jules said to Sabine. “And bring a parchment.”

She didn’t hesitate and rushed off. By the time she returned, Olivier and Agnes had torn into the house, clearly having recognized the horses outside, and now stood looking astonished by the scene before them—Cyr humbled and his henchman subdued by his own weapon.

Sabine set the items on the table.

Cyr wrote in the ledger. “There, my lord. Just as you willed.”

“Now write on the parchment that the taxes are fully paid, sign it, and get out of my sight.”

Cyr hastily obeyed, murmured a good day with a quick bow, and ran from the house with his giant plodding behind him.

The witch and Olivier exchanged looks.

Silence hung in the air . . .

A burst of laughter erupted from them.

“Have you ever seen Cyr so frightened? He practically pissed his breeches!” Olivier guffawed.

Incredulous, Sabine simply stared at Jules, her beautiful silver eyes holding his gaze. Her pretty lips were slightly parted; her breaths had quickened.

“I didn’t know anyone’s eyes could bulge like that,” Agnes exclaimed. Another fit of mirth gripped the two.

A smile tugged at the corners of Jules’s mouth as Cyr’s distraught face came to mind. But he held it back. Though seeing Cyr’s reaction was humorous, he wasn’t going to celebrate with these people. He wasn’t one of them.

They were as dishonest as Cyr.

He was determined to maintain distance, not to mention command with this lot.

The witch beamed. “You’re definitely my least-despised Aristo!”

Olivier walked up to Jules and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done a fine thing here today, son.” He smiled warmly. “And since you’re in a generous mood, I don’t suppose you’d see fit to return my violin?”