The Secrets of Shadows Read online

  He could see no outward differences to any other woman. She had the appropriate curves that appealed to any man, from her full lips to those dark eyes, even that heavy, dark hair, which fell down her back in waves. But as he stood there, studying her, he felt it again, that single vibration of awareness that caused the beast inside of him to stir. She had awakened that primal side of his nature, even though he thought that part of him was long diminished. It was more than sexual, although he could easily imagine her warming his bed. No, she called to that long dead part of him that he never imagined to feel again. She was . . . life, and in that moment, he knew that he couldn’t let her go.

  But how to convince her?

  Davien spoke, pitching the deep timbre of his voice into an intimate seduction. “If you want this back.” He held up her bag again. “I propose an exchange.”

  She frowned, wary. As she should be. “What sort of exchange?”

  He was pleased to hear her voice was strong and sure, even though the fear was still present. Like a predator toying with his prey, he said smoothly, “Allow me to escort you home.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I don’t live far from here.”

  He smiled, slow and sure. “I insist.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Cosette weighed her options. While it was true she desperately needed the articles inside that knapsack, she could simply tell the modiste that she had been robbed, which wouldn’t be that far from the truth. She would receive a thorough scolding, perhaps even lose her position, but wasn’t it better than losing her virtue?

  It truly was all she had left.

  “No, thank you.” She turned on her heel, prepared to leave everything behind.

  "Don’t be unwise.”

  Cosette gasped at the warmth of his breath on her neck, but when she spun back around, he hadn’t moved a single muscle.

  “You’ll be drenched in a matter of moments,” he added. As if some higher power decided to add credence to his statement, the sky suddenly lit up with a bold streak of lightning, followed by a ground-shaking clap of thunder.

  She rubbed her arms from the gooseflesh that had broken out. It had nothing to do with the impending storm. “I’ll be fine,” she returned adamantly. “It’s but a short walk to the workhouse.”

  A dark frown appeared on his face. “You would subject yourself to such a place?”

  Cosette’s eyes narrowed as she lifted her chin a notch, her pride overruling any trepidation. “And where might you suggest I go, sir? I have no family to take me in. At least there I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. It’s all anyone in my situation can truly ask for.”

  “There are other ways to make ends meet,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.

  She glared at him. “Nothing that would appeal to a proper lady.” She gestured to her bag. “Now if you would just return my bag to me . . .”

  “I believe I gave you my terms,” he interrupted with a lazy lift of his dark brow.

  As if summoned internally, his black, unmarked carriage came into view; the horses that had nearly ran her down earlier, now completely docile and waiting for their master to return. She bit her lower lip, flinching as another clap of thunder sounded, this one even closer. It would be a downpour in a matter of moments, and besides the fact she was already soaking wet and starting to shiver, she had lost precious time if she were to get any sewing done tonight.

  She straightened her shoulders and stared at the enigmatic stranger. He made her feel . . . things that were better left alone. A man like this would only cause her pain and bitter anguish. But even against her better judgment, she sealed her fate with her acquiescence. “Very well.”

  The man moved quickly. His greatcoat flew out around his ankles as he spoke curtly to his driver, before holding the carriage door open for her. Cosette cast a nervous glance at the servant, but he stared straight ahead in silence. Without another glance at the man standing so close, Cosette climbed inside. She was instantly greeted with luxurious, red velvet seats. She sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. The stranger settled himself, and then gave a brief tap of his cane on the roof. With a slight jerk, they began to move.

  For a time, the only sound was the pattering of rain on the carriage roof, and the clopping of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones. Cosette hated the eerie quiet inside the elegant coach, but she was too nervous to even attempt polite conversation, especially when she could feel that intense, probing stare on her the entire time.

  She cast a nervous glance in her companion’s general direction, but he was steeped in shadow, so her gaze fell to his cane, which he was twirling every so slowly in front of him; the silver tip glinting with an almost sinister air.

  Her knapsack sat securely on the seat next to him.

  “I am the Duke of Blackburn.” His husky voice finally broke through the silence. “Might I have the pleasure of your name?”

  Cosette felt her breath catch at his admission. This was the infamous heir to Shadowlawn? Naturally, she had heard rumors surrounding the dormant estate, but none of it compared to the mystery shrouding the man before her. Blackburn was the sole heir to a vast fortune, whose father had perished under rather suspicious circumstances. No one had heard from the heir for years until recently, when he had been seen in the company of some rather nefarious gentleman.

  Everyone in London knew about the Order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wyncomb, although they claimed to be a secret society, as most of its members were highly respected lords in Parliament. It wasn’t until certain, immoral activities had been leaked to the public, did the organization earn their nickname of the Hellfire Club.

  Now, here she sat with one of the most notorious men attached to the Order, his reputation alone claiming that his heart was as black as it was wicked. She considered ignoring his request, but something compelled her to reply, “My name is Cosette du Bouir, Your Grace.”

  “Ah, you’re French,” he purred. When his mouth curved into a satisfied smile, she couldn’t hold back a shiver, absently rubbing her arms in the process, as if the old wives’ tale was true that a rabbit had just ran over her grave.

  "Are you chilled, Cosette?" That deep voice rumbled. “Perhaps I might warm you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “Come now,” he coaxed. “There’s no need to be coy with me.”

  Cosette turned her head away, but when she felt his strong hand gently lift her gaze back to his, she couldn’t help but gasp. She could see his features clearly now, the blue-black hair cut fashionably short instead of tied back in a queue, the strong line of his jaw with the slight shadow of a beard, the thick slashes of his eyebrows above those bold, daring eyes. She hated to admit it, but he was truly a handsome man. He scared her, but oddly enough, it didn’t diminish his appeal.

  Suddenly, his expression changed from one of simple reflection to something deeper, more . . . daunting. “The shape of your eyes . . .” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tone that frightened her. “I have never seen their equal, but once before.”

  Cosette was uncomfortable with the way he was raking his gaze over her, as if he could delve into her deepest secrets, but when she tried to pull back, he held firm. “Let me go.”

  “Not until you tell me who you really are,” he whispered.

  “I already told you . . .” She began, but he cut her off with a growl.

  “I will gain the truth from you, one way or another.”

  With a flash of his eyes that caused her to gasp, he pulled her to him with such force that she was caught off balance. She had to brace her hands on his chest, but the contact of that hard, warm body wasn’t nearly as shocking as the feel of his mouth on hers. His lips were hard and unforgiving as they ground down on hers, until they gentled slightly with an expertise
that caused Cosette to respond, however unwillingly. She parted her mouth to suck in some air, feeling suddenly breathless, and unknowingly granted him greater access.

  When his tongue swept inside to mate with hers, the contact was sizzling. She moaned as a surprising wetness broke out between her legs. In spite of her response, the demons of her past abruptly rose up to choke her. Cosette pushed the duke away from her at the same time she reached for the door handle, and leapt from the moving vehicle. The jump to the cobblestones temporarily jarred her, although she quickly recovered. She held her sodden dress up with one hand and pounded through the rushing water clogging the street.

  The rain lashed at her viciously, but she didn’t slow down until she saw the faded sign of the workhouse. It was like a beacon in the storm, when it was often the reason for her distress. Only when she was safely within reach of the front door did she finally stop and sag against the steps. She stood there, her hair hanging down about her shoulders in a wet, scraggly mess, and her breath coming in short pants.

  As she glanced at the gate, she blinked as the duke’s intimidating outline emerged from the gloom. He stood perfectly still and unruffled as if the storm didn’t even faze him. She could feel that hot stare upon her, the imprint of his mouth still tingling through her body. She gently touched her lips with her fingertips before she turned and ran inside.

  Reaching her cot, she started shaking when she stripped down to her shabby bedgown. She hung up her sodden dress over a string by the wood stove in the hopes it might dry before morning, and laid down on her makeshift bed, pulling her threadbare blanket up to her chin. Most of the populace was asleep at this hour, but she was used to the crowded, sleeping unfortunate all around her. It was a more difficult task to remove the duke from her mind, even though she closed her eyes tightly against that haunting image—the one that still caused her blood to heat with awareness.

  Her teeth chattered. Not only was her precious bag lost, but there was a pounding in her head that she hadn’t felt for nearly seven years, ever since she’d left the orphanage and all its bad memories behind. Since then she had been given a brief reprieve from the horrible blackouts that had plagued her since childhood, the episodes occurring only few and far between. But now, after one chance encounter with a mystifying nobleman, it seemed they were returning with a vengeance.

  She held her head in agony as it began to slowly split apart in pain. She concentrated on her breathing and tried to keep the darkness at bay, knowing what would happen if she gave in to the oblivion.

  Chapter 3

  Cosette awoke at dawn the next morning, feeling more drained than she had in months. Even after the darkness had taken over, she had been restless the remainder of the night, with horrifying dreams that caused her to thrash about on her straw mattress until her simple, woolen covering was a twisted mess around her. She had to wonder if those nightmares were merely a premonition of what was to come, for something told her she hadn’t seen the last of the Duke of Blackburn.

  Since there was only one person in this hell on earth that she trusted, Cosette quickly got dressed and went in search of Charlotte Kingsbury for some much needed advice.

  Like Cosette, Charlotte was an orphan, although Scottish in origin. After immigrating, her parents had opened a bakery in London, but following their deaths, she’d fallen on hard times and hadn’t been able to pay for the upkeep of the shop, eventually losing it. While Charlotte had tried to find employment within the nobility, without a letter of recommendation, even a lowly, but respectable position as a scullery maid was hard to come by, so she’d been forced to enter the workhouse a month before Cosette arrived. Since they were only a year apart in age, they had formed a close bond over the years.

  The only difference was that Cosette had chosen to earn a wage by toiling away with a needle and thread, while Charlotte had chosen a different path as a tavern wench. Naturally, working around a bunch of rowdy customers made Cosette fear for her friend’s safety, but Charlotte would merely shrug and say she had it all in hand, that she wasn’t intimidated by the patrons of The Lion’s Share.

  Charlotte was the first to speak as Cosette joined her in the breakfast line for their daily dose of cold porridge, which was really closer to the consistency of gruel. “Are ye feelin’ well this mornin’, Cosette? Ye look a mite peaked.” She shook her long, reddish brown hair. “You’ve got t’ quit workin’ so late fer tha’ horrid modiste. She’ll have ye in an early grave.” Charlotte’s green eyes were chiding, yet full of genuine concern.

  Cosette didn’t reply as a spoonful of thin, yellow liquid was poured into her bowl. After they took their seat at one of the many, crude wooden tables, she replied, “You know sewing and my virtue are all I’ve got.”

  “I’ve said it before, an’ I’ll say it again.” Charlotte waved her spoon in the air. “Ye canna always come t’ th’ tavern with me. I make most o’ me money on tips an’ I’ll make sure none o’ th’ toffs bother ye.”

  They had gone through this conversation more than once. “We both know I’d be terrible at it. Besides, I enjoy what I do.” She sighed. “Or rather, I used to. I ran into a . . . complication last night.”

  Charlotte’s smooth brow instantly drew together in a frown. “Wot happened?”

  After a quick glance around to make sure they weren’t being overheard, Cosette still leaned across the table and whispered, “I met the Duke of Blackburn.”

  Her friend’s mouth dropped open in true astonishment. “How did tha’ come aboot?”

  Cosette briefly explained how his coach had nearly run her down. She omitted the kiss, for she certainly couldn’t explain something she didn’t understand herself.

  When she was finished, Charlotte gave a low whistle. “Bloody ‘ell.” Then, when her natural curiosity appeared, she asked, “So what’s ‘e like? Are th’ stories true?”

  Cosette stirred her spoon around in her bowl, until the smell finally turned her stomach and she pushed it away, untouched, even though it was more than she would likely have to eat all day. “For the most part.”

  “Then wot’s the problem?”

  After a brief pause, Cosette said, “He has my knapsack.”

  “Th’ devil!” Her friend gasped in outrage. “Why would he be wantin’ t’ hold on t’ that?”

  Cosette shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Charlotte’s green eyes narrowed. “Well, I dinna like it. Perhaps I ought t’ be goin’ with ye t’ work tonight in case he decides t’ bother ye again.”

  Cosette shook her head firmly. She knew as well as Charlotte that to lose out on any sort of income was foolhardy.

  “Then at least let me give ye some money t’ hire a hackney.” When Cosette would have refused, the other girl returned decisively, “Just fer tonight.” Charlotte reached out and took her hand. “Please? It’s really fer me, ye know, so I dinna have t’ worry about ye.”

  Cosette finally relented. “Fine. But there’s truly nothing to fret about. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

  But even as she tried to convince herself of the fact, she could tell by the considering look that Charlotte wore her friend didn’t quite believe it either.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cosette completed her usual chores about the workhouse, but when it was dusk, time for her to leave for Madame Louvre’s shop, she felt a fluttering of nervousness in her stomach. She stepped out of the workhouse, half expecting the duke to still be standing there. Of course he wasn’t, so she flagged down a hackney. She waited while he bit down on the coin for authenticity, until he waved her aboard. The hired conveyance was poorly sprung and not nearly as fancy as the duke’s carriage, but at least she was able to breathe easily until she arrived at the modiste’s shop.

  The driver deposited her at the front door, but he barely waited long enough for her to shut the door, before he spit on the g
round and drove away. She ignored his behavior, for it was rather commonplace, and tried to brace herself for the inevitable, tongue-lashing that would ensue when the madame found out about her bag.

  The little bell above the door tinkled, announcing her arrival, but as the madame noticed her, Cosette was stunned to see that the slightly pudgy, rouged face was split into a wide grin. She paused before Cosette and bestowed a kiss upon each of her cheeks. “My darling girl! You have made me a very happy woman this day!”

  Cosette was taken aback by such a warm greeting when all she normally got was a blustery attitude at best. “What?” she asked dumbly.

  The middle-aged woman merely threw back her head of salt and pepper hair, pulled into a neat bun, and gave a hearty laugh. “You silly creature, to tease me so!” Madame Louvre chided. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the Duke of Blackburn so easily, no? His Grace has just supplied my humble shop with a wonderful order for a trousseau! I shall be busy for nigh on a week! And he offered a tidy bonus upon a timely completion!”

  As she chattered on, Cosette found herself momentarily speechless. She was wracking her brain for any mention of an engagement, or ward, or anything that might necessitate his putting in an order of that magnitude, but the sight of her knapsack lying innocuously in the corner diverted her attention.

  She instantly walked over and rummaged through the contents, but she could tell that everything was accounted for. “He returned it?” she murmured, more to herself than anything, but the madame instantly picked up on it and replied.

  “But of course, mademoiselle!” the woman said brightly, before her happiness dimmed somewhat. “Although this does put me in a slight bind, since you are the duke’s new paramour, and I shall have to find a new seamstress right away . . .”

  Cosette’s mouth fell slack. “What did you say?”