A Midnight Dance (29 page)

He’d taken the damn thing away yesterday. The man’s relentless playing drove him mad.

Jules glanced down at Olivier’s hand on his person then met his gaze and lifted a brow.

Olivier’s smile dissolved. He immediately removed his hand. “Sorry.”

Jules sheathed his sword, his side feeling like it was ready to split in two. “No, I am not in a generous mood, and no, you may not have your violin. Your debt hasn’t been canceled. It’s been transferred. To me.” His words vanquished the joviality of the group.

Jules turned and made his way to his room, feeling no satisfaction from killing the joy. In fact, to his surprise, he disliked the sudden sobering.

Sabine knocked on the door and entered her room.

She found Jules seated on the edge of the bed, baldric and shirt off. Down on his haunches before him, Raymond worked on the knot in the binding.

The sight of Jules’s beautiful chest had its usual carnal impact on her senses. Her body warmed and she felt that familiar quickening low in her belly that he alone inspired. She missed having his solid strong body pressed against her, the feel of his skin.

She missed him, more than she could ever admit.

Jules met her gaze. His jaw tightened. “Well, at least you knocked this time. I suppose that’s an improvement.” He looked tired and no doubt his injury was causing him great discomfort. She should be rejoicing over his suffering.

But the truth was—her only joy had come from being in his arms. He’d surprised her on many levels during that time together. Just as he’d surprised her with Cyr.

She stopped before him and folded her hands. “May I have a private word with you?”

He studied her silently.

“Please,” she added, her tone free of the sarcasm or biting edge she’d adopted around him. A tone she disliked. In fact, she was tired of the arguments altogether.

She didn’t want to spar with him anymore.

Since returning to her staid existence, she found herself wishing more and more that she could recapture the bliss she’d known as Elise. In the dead of night, lying on her cot, knowing he was nearby, she couldn’t seem to kill the longing. Or the memories of the time they shared. Day by day, the longing only got stronger. She ached to touch him. She ached for his kiss, his body inside hers.

She longed for the magic he possessed.

He was the only one who had the power to make the sorrow disappear and infuse her with joy.

As he gazed up at her, there was no trace of pleasure in his eyes over her presence—as there had been for Elise. She grieved the loss of that look, and his smile.

He gave Raymond a nod, dismissing him.

Raymond left and closed the door.

“All right. We are alone. What is it?” he said as he tried to untie the knot in his binding.

“I want to thank you for what you did. For stopping Cyr.”

“I didn’t do it for you. My motives were strictly personal. Damn this knot . . .”

She knelt before him, brushed his hands away, and went to work on the knot. “I know. But you have removed my family from imminent danger. And for that I am grateful.” She untied the binding and unwound it.

Freed from the restraint around his chest, Jules took in breath and was instantly frustrated that it gave him only mild relief.

Slowly, he lay back and closed his eyes. “I’ve told you, you owe me now—the silver and the debt.” His side throbbed painfully. He cursed his own stupidity at thinking with his cock. He’d never be suffering like this if he hadn’t bedded Sabine Laurent.

Jules felt a gentle swipe and slick coolness against his skin. He snapped open his eyes. Looking down at his injured ribs, he saw that she’d applied the balm on it.

“Merde!”
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her from dipping her fingers back into the bowl she held and applying more.

“This will help,” she assured calmly.

“How? By killing me?”

“Don’t be absurd. You saw me use it on myself. If you want, I can do so again—”

“No!” Good Lord. Anything but
that
.

“Then lie back and relax. It
will
begin to soothe and you’ll feel better.”

Dieu
, she was right. Already the throbbing was easing and there was a warm tingling sensation where she’d spread the balm.

He reclined against the pillows, relishing the first moment of real relief he’d known in weeks. If the balm was truly tainted, he didn’t care. Basking in its blessed effect, he released her wrist.

“It feels rather pleasant, doesn’t it?” She smiled and lightly spread more over his tortured side.

The balm felt incredible, but so did the soft caressing strokes of her hand. Watching her at her task, he caught her eye. She blushed slightly and returned her focus to his ribs.

Her pulse was racing. He could see its rapid beat in her neck. Her breathing had quickened, too. He was affecting her. Touching him was inflaming her. The realization stiffened his cock. He closed his eyes briefly.
Jésus-Christ
. . . He was going to start panting like a dog if she kept this up. But what she was doing felt so good.

He didn’t want her to stop. Ever.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry you were injured this way,” she said. He was surprised by the apology and the tone. She spoke as sweetly as she had in bed, freshly sated from an intense release. Her cheeks were pink, and he watched as she bit down on that lush bottom lip. He was gripped with a powerful urge to pull her close and do the very same thing to that lush lip. “I only did what I did to help my family.”

He wasn’t going to fall for this again. Not the gentle tones. Or the empty amiable words. He’d heard them before. In the forest when she stirred his compassion and he’d agreed to take her to her “cousin.”

This was merely a ploy to lower his guard.

“There,” she said and placed the wooden bowl back on the nearby table. “Now we are even. Your actions allowed me to breathe easier, and I’ve returned the favor.”

She rose with a small smile gracing her mouth. He caught her wrist and pulled her down, bringing her face close to his.

Intent on making matters very clear, he said, “We are not even. You
owe
me. And you’d better pray my men recover everything you took. I don’t believe a thing that comes out of that pretty mouth. Nor do I think for a moment you’ve given up on stealing the silver,” he growled. “That silver is going to aid my family. I won’t permit anyone to come between me and my responsibility. My family’s honor means everything. Your family means nothing.” He released her wrist.

He was expecting the usual anger to flare in her eyes. Instead he saw something akin to hurt, and to his astonishment—
sadness
—in their silvery depths. She smoothed her hands down her apron, turned on her heel, and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Worse, and even more maddening, she left him with an irritating sense of regret over his biting words.

Two days later, Jules felt better than ever, thanks to the balm. He could move about and even dress himself without the level of agony he’d suffered before.

Lying in bed, he was caught up in the vivid passages of Sabine’s journal. He should stop reading the thing altogether but he couldn’t seem to. Her writing was engaging. She was witty, intelligent, and her soulful thoughts often stirring. Definitely absorbing.

Little by little the entries became less whimsical, the ugly unrest of the
Fronde
slowly pervading the journal as she described the events that led to the downfall of the theater.

He read through more entries until at last he came to:

That last sentence resonated in his soul. He understood all too well the horror of it.

The nickering of horses snared his attention. It was followed by a flurry of activity in the common room outside his door.

He sat up in bed with only moderate pain and stuffed the journal under his pillow.

“Sabine, the Baron de Lor is here!” he heard Louise exclaim. “Change into something more suitable. Hurry!”

The Baron de Lor?
Vit is here?
Why would Louise want Sabine to impress Vit? Jules hadn’t seen him in five long years. Sébastien de Vittry was the last person Jules thought would have abandoned him. They’d been the closest of friends. But he had. Just like all the others.

Why on earth was he here?

Jules snatched open the door and stalked out of the house.

Leon de Vittry, Sébastien’s younger brother, alighted from the carriage. Jules arrested his steps. Where was Sébastien?

The driver climbed down along with the servants he’d brought with him, but no one other than Leon had exited from the interior of the carriage.

If this was the Baron de Lor, then it meant Sébastien was . . .
dead
? Unlike his brother, who had only been an acquaintance of Paul Laurent, Leon had had a passion for the theater and a solid friendship with the playwright. For years.

Leon immediately moved past the small gathering, straight to Sabine and kissed her hand. The wind tousled his dark hair. His dark eyes fixed on the woman before him, to the exclusion of the others standing nearby.

Words from Sabine’s journal suddenly raced though Jules’s mind.

 

 

Had the Dark Prince just arrived?

“I came as soon as I heard about your father,” Leon said. “I simply cannot believe he’s gone.” Eyes glistening with sorrow, he drew Sabine gently into his arms. “My deepest condolences for your tragic loss.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Leon was the only one who’d continued to visit after they’d left Paris. And he was yet another man she was indebted to.

Thanks to her father’s attempts to reclaim his prior fame.

She hadn’t discovered the loan until after his death. He’d borrowed a staggering sum from Leon. And squandered it away during his many trips to Paris.