A Midnight Dance (49 page)

Valentin jumped. “I—I intend to do the right thing, Jules. I’ll speak to the First Minister and even the King himself and admit what I have done. I’ve already admitted everything to my wife. I’m prepared to face the consequences of my actions.”

Jules pressed his palm against the wall and leaned his weight forward. He hung his head. “Please get him out of here,” he croaked out, Isabelle’s parchments burning in his other palm.

He heard the shuffle of feet and then quiet.

Luc approached. “Jules . . .”

Jules placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You were right. I didn’t want to believe you. I didn’t want to see the truth about him. I ignored everything, including your pain. I’m so very sorry, Luc. I’ve not been a fool. I’ve been the greatest of fools.”

The corner of Luc’s mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “It is difficult to see the truth when he concealed it from you. If it is any conciliation, you were the only one he treated with any decency. You, my brother, brought out the best in him.”

Jules shook his head. “It was only an act. All this was his doing, Luc.
He
brought this misery down upon us. He went after a good man, Valentin, and completely corrupted him. His wickedness infested many lives, causing unspeakable agony, leaving four bodies in its wake. Valentin will be added to the death count. He’ll be executed for his crimes against his peers. A man who, if not for our father, would have led a quiet decent life, never harming a soul. He was right when he said Charles de Moutier, Marquis de Blainville, may not have been a traitor to the Crown, but he was a traitor to everyone around him.” Jules clenched his teeth. His sense of obligation toward the man dissolved. “He got what he deserves.”

“And now you will have what you deserve.” Luc squeezed his shoulder, his smile brightening. “You will have title, lands. And you will do things differently than Charles de Moutier.”

He finally had his answers. Yet he didn’t feel any of the satisfaction he’d imagined. In fact, he felt disgust. Distaste for the prominence he’d sought.

Everything he’d chased after, now meaningless. Empty.

“I
do
intend to do things very differently, Luc.” He knew exactly what he wanted in his future. And how he wanted it to be.

Sabine heard the horses’ hooves before she saw them.

Her family instantly stopped their work in the fields.

Josette rushed forward and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Sabine, it’s your Aristo!”

Sabine’s heart lurched.
Jules is here! He only came to deliver the silver
, she reminded herself. Yet her insides danced at the thought of seeing him one more time.

Robert and Gerard ran up to stand near Josette. Sabine tried not to run but walk around to the front of the cart, where half a dozen men on horseback now patiently waited. She saw Raymond, then a smiling Luc.

Her pulse quickened the moment she spotted Jules. All masculine grace, he dismounted and approached, the wind caressing his dark hair. In his costly clothing, he looked every bit the regal prince. She clasped her hands, the urge to throw her arms around him unbearably keen.

He stopped before her, scrutinizing her face. “You look well. How are you?” he inquired, his soft voice rippling through her heart.

She still had nightmares of her time in Leon’s chambers. “I’m well,” she said instead.

“Valentin confessed. It would seem that my father was as dishonorable as they come. But he was not a traitor to the Crown. Valentin told them as much and pleaded for the reinstatement of our land and status.”

“And did they grant you that?”

“They did.” He glanced around at the curious onlookers. The rest of her family had gathered close. Jules nodded to Raymond. He stepped forward and handed Jules a scroll. “By royal decree”—Jules handed her the scroll—“the land that once belonged to the Laurent family has reverted to them, including the village and surrounding property.”

Agnes let out a jubilant squeal.

Jules stepped closer. “I have your silver with me,” he said.

“Thank you . . .” She clutched the scroll to her heart, wishing it were he that she held close.

“There is more.”

“Oh?”

“A townhouse has been purchased for you and your family, fully staffed and furnished. I know how much you, Louise, and Vincent love Paris.”

She was moved and overwhelmed by his touching gesture. Tears filled her eyes. Yet she wouldn’t cry as she’d done the last time he’d seen her. “That is most generous of you . . .”

“It’s my way of thanking you and your family for all you have done for me and Luc.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m happy for you, Marquis de Blainville.” She smiled.

A slight frown furrowed his brow. “I want nothing to do with that title. A new title was created by the Crown, since the other was dissolved. Luc is the Marquis de Fontenay.”

“But . . . what about you?”

“I am sick of France. I’m leaving for the West Indies.” Her stomach dropped.

“The West Indies?” She’d never see him again. Not even a chanced glance. Nothing at all.

“Yes. I’m told it’s quite beautiful there.”

She looked down at the scroll in her hands. “Well, then . . .”
Don’t go.
“Have a safe journey . . .”

Footsteps approached. “Sabine?” She looked up at the sound of Luc’s voice.

“I wanted you to know I received your sister’s journals. I’ve started reading them. She was an extraordinary woman. I’m honored to have them. Thank you for giving them to me.” He smiled then kissed her hand and returned to where her family had gathered a short distance away. Isabelle would never get to learn more about Luc, but Luc could learn about the woman who’d adored him from afar. She felt it was right for him to have them.

“One last thing,” Jules said. “There is the matter of an item you stole from me.”

Perplexed, she said, “I have nothing of yours.”

“Not true.” He lowered himself onto one knee. She lost her breath. Her family collectively gasped. “You have my heart. And it is yours. I love you,” he said. “And I wish to have children and grow old with you. Will you marry me?”

She covered her mouth with trembling fingertips. Two tears spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Her ears.

A dream come true
. . . She laughed, cried, and shook.

“Sabine, what say you?” he asked, looking anxious for a response and utterly adorable kneeling on the packed dirt.

She dropped to her knees and flung her arms around his neck, raining kisses on his face. “YES!” His lips . . . “YES!” His face and lips... “YES! YES!”

She was going to be his wife. He’d be all hers.

Her family erupted in boisterous hoots and cheers. Jules laughed, caught her cheeks between his palms, and gazed into her eyes. “You’ll come with me to the West Indies?”

“Yes!”

“You’d want an Aristo as a husband?” He was grinning. “I’m now recognized as one and can purchase a title at any time.”

“I want you, Aristo or not. Here or at the ends of the earth.”

He nuzzled her neck and said softly in her ear, “I have one more thing for you.” He rose, helped her to her feet, and motioned Raymond over.

Raymond stopped before her, holding a yellow box tied with a rich purple bow.

Jules untied the bow and opened the lid. The contents made her gasp.

Jules was smiling, “Your new lucky glass slippers.”

She had to swallow hard before she could speak. Having read her journals, he got the slippers just right. A perfect replica of the ones she’d once owned all those years ago. And lost.

Returned to her by her Dark Prince.

She threw her arms around Jules. “I love them! I love you. I always have . . .”

Angling her head, he brushed his lips against hers. “Forever.”

“Forever,” she concurred before he possessed her mouth in a long searing kiss, sealing the pledge.

 

The balmy evening breeze swept into the room, fluttering the white bed curtains. Jules climbed into bed with a smile, noting that his beautiful wife had doffed her night chemise. Sabine returned his smile and snuggled her warm lush form against him, his cock stiffening by the second. After a year and a half of marital accord, he still couldn’t get enough of her. And he knew he never would.

“Is your daughter asleep?” Sabine murmured, her hot mouth grazing his neck, a tantalizing trail.

He’d carried their ebony-haired baby to the nursery and laid her down in her cradle, amazed at the amount of love such a tiny child could inspire. But like her mother, she’d captured his heart. “Mmmm . . . yes, Isabelle is fast asleep with a gluttonous smile, most content after her nursing.” He cupped Sabine’s breasts and gently thumbed her nipples, delighting in her gasp. “Now these are all mine.”

“Until the next nursing.” Her silver eyes shone with mischief. “You’d better hurry.”

He could smell her arousal. She was already wet for him.

He pressed her down on the bed, pinning her under him, and lodged the head of his shaft at her opening, but didn’t penetrate her despite the alluring wet heat. “We have a lifetime. No need to hurry,” he teased, knowing it would rile his impatient wife and make her hungrier.

She thrust her hips upward, trying to draw him in, but he easily evaded her, countering her movement with a tilt of his hips.

She sighed, adorably frustrated. “You wouldn’t want to be remiss in your conjugal duties, would you? I may despair that you don’t want me,” she baited. How he loved matching wits and wiles with her.

Stroking the length of his hard cock along her slick folds, he said, “I think you know very well how much I want you.”

She caressed the nape of his neck. “Maybe you only want me for my silver?” A smile graced her sweet lips.

He plunged inside her, making her gasp. “I don’t need the silver. I’m already a rich man, thanks to my very beautiful, all-toospirited, silver-eyed wife.”

 

Seated at her writing table, a dark-haired woman stared at the journal entry before her. One she’d written mere months ago.

 

Isabelle’s heart constricted, tears gathering in her eyes. News had just reached her of her sister’s marriage—and to whom. It left her reeling. And overjoyed. Sabine had made her dream come true.

It was time to put an end to their separation. Now that Leon was dead, it was time to come out of hiding. Closing the journal, Isabelle placed it back inside her desk. She had a letter to write. A sister she desperately missed to reunite with.

Dipping her quill into the crystal inkwell, she wrote:

 

Antechambe
r—The sitting room in a lord’s or lady’s private apartments (chambers).