The Secrets of Shadows Page 3

  Madame Louvre tilted her head curiously at Cosette’s puzzled tone. “You are to be mistress to His Grace, yes?”

  “Absolutely not!” Cosette returned, her cheeks growing warm with frustration and embarrassment. “I barely even know the man, and I certainly have no intention of . . .”

  “I’m regretful that you feel that way, Miss du Bouir.”

  Cosette spun around and found Blackburn himself, casually leaning against a desk that led toward the back room where alterations were made. He was dressed in a blood red waistcoat, black breeches and jacket, with a snowy white cravat. He looked as intimidating as he had last night, that dark, sensual gaze fixed on her face, holding her captive.

  He rose to his full height, standing well over six feet, and strode toward her with calculated steps. “Surely you will reconsider?” he said softly. “To refuse me will surely distress Madame Louvre, for she was so looking forward to the task at hand.”

  With a quick glance at her employer—correction, former employer—Cosette watched as the woman’s mouth pinched with haughty disapproval. At least that was more familiar. But either way, Cosette lost. If she accepted the duke’s offer she was making a devil’s bargain, but to refuse him would see her terminated, for the madame wouldn’t be pleased to lose that much money because of her.

  But what other choice did she have? She could turn around and walk out of the shop and hope she could find new employment, but honest work was hard to find, even in a city as large as London. And if the duke wished it, he could make it impossible for her. All he would have to do is whisper the right word in the right ear . . .

  And by the intense look he continued to direct at her, she had no doubt he would do everything in his power to make her his—in every way.

  Cosette had felt trapped and despondent in her life, but she had never been without her pride. She touched the locket beneath her worn dress and knew what she had to do. While it was the only thing she had, a link to a past that was cloaked in haze, she knew it would kill her to sell it, but it would be even worse to barter her soul for a few pretty dresses.

  She turned to the modiste. “I’m sorry, Madame Louvre, but this is one sale you’re going to have to do without.” Cosette ignored the astonishment on the woman’s face as she walked blindly out the door without even giving the duke another glance.

  ~ ~ ~

  Davien watched Cosette leave with no outward change to his expression, although that part inside, the one he thought was long dead, started beating again. It had been so long since anyone had raised their esteem in his eyes. He’d waited years to feel this way again, and nothing would stand in his way to obtain it.

  Not even Cosette.

  “Headstrong gel!” The modiste huffed after Cosette’s departure, although she turned to him with a pleading, simpering glance, “I do hope you will not let such ill manners reflect poorly on my establishment, Your Grace.”

  “On the contrary,” he replied smoothly, throwing a handful of notes down on the counter, to which Madame Louvre eyed greedily. “We shall keep my order as it stands. I have a feeling the lady will come around.”

  “Oh, thank you, Your Grace!” she gushed, quickly scooping up the money and shoving it into her bodice. “I shall see it completed in all due haste! You shall not regret coming to my shop, I promise you!” As she continued raving about her enterprise, chattering and bringing out bolts of material and fashion plates for his inspection, Davien listened with only half an ear as he went to the window and peered outside.

  He closed his eyes and let the beast within follow her scent . . .

  ~ ~ ~

  Cosette didn’t even know where she was heading when she left the dressmaker’s shop, only that she had to leave, to get away from the duke and those prying eyes. Even now, she could feel that stare on her, and it caused her to shiver. After one chance meeting he’d decided to upend her entire existence. She should be furious.

  And yet . . .

  She headed for the Whitechapel district. Surely, even at this hour, she might be able to pawn her locket. The money she would make off of it would surely keep her fed for a week, where she could hopefully find sufficient employment. As she headed for the bowels of the city, the area known for its cutthroats and scoundrels, Cosette felt the back of her neck suddenly prickle with alarm. She cast a wary glance around her, but she could see nothing of concern. Nevertheless, she hastened her steps and kept her head lowered, the sound of her worn boots against the cobblestones sounding louder than usual, but then, she suspected her imagination was playing tricks on her.

  She was about a block away from the tavern where Charlotte worked when Cosette caught sight of a worn sign indicating a jeweler’s shop. She thought she caught the flicker of light coming from inside, so Cosette sprinted across the street. Unfortunately, the door was firmly locked, so whoever owned the establishment was already gone for the night. Disheartened, she leaned against the side of the building and closed her eyes.

  She heard the scrape of a boot moments before a filthy hand covered her mouth and dragged her squirming body into a back alley. She blindly kicked out with her foot, connecting with his shin. Unfortunately, her victory was short-lived as she was abruptly backhanded across the face. Cosette was temporarily dazed, tasting the coppery tang of blood on her tongue, feeling the trickle at the side of her mouth.

  The man spoke, his fetid breath causing Cosette’s stomach to roil. “Stop yer fightin’, wench!” It wasn’t until he began to pull up her skirts, that she started her struggles anew. He grabbed her hair, pulled her head backward so hard that she saw stars. “Please, I’m not . . .”

  “Aye, that’s it. Beg fer it. I like tha’, I do.” He slammed her up against the brick wall, his breathing more heavy and harsh than before.

  Cosette realized then that any further pleas would fall on deaf ears as he began to fondle and grope her backside. She felt a sob rise up in her chest. Dear God, please just let it end quickly . . .

  Suddenly, a feral growl split the night air. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before, and the malicious intent sent chills up her spine. It also caught the attention of her assailant, who turned toward the sound. “Bloody ‘ell!” he cried, before he released her and stumbled out of the alley.

  Cosette’s vision blurred as she slowly turned her head. She wasn’t even sure if what she was seeing was real. A large, black wolf was standing there, its back curved and bristled, its yellowed teeth bared malevolently as it followed her assailant’s departure with cruel, dark eyes. Alone with the fearsome beast, Cosette could only breath a sigh of relief. She would much rather find her end by a wolf’s gnashing jaw, than raped by some putrid filth of humanity.

  Without even finding it odd that this beast might appear at the precise moment she needed its assistance, or that those eyes seemed vaguely familiar as they silently regarded her, Cosette whispered, “Thank you,” before she sagged against the building.

  As the wolf gave a mighty howl and bounded off in the direction of her assailant, the last thing she heard was a tortured scream as she drifted off into oblivion.

  ~ ~ ~

  Davien resumed his human form and walked over to Cosette, where she lay unconscious in the alley. It hadn’t taken long to dispatch her assailant. He was a pitiful excuse for a human, his groveling worthy of the stage. But at least now the beast was content.

  He bent down and gently assessed her injuries, feeling the beast stir anew when he saw the slight bruise on her cheek. Unfortunately, it was hard to kill someone who was already dead.

  Davien closed his eyes, and summoned his coachman by thought. Over the years he’d learned that shifting his identity wasn’t the only thing he could control.

  Within moments, Quinn pulled up to the alley with the carriage. After he carefully picked up Cosette, Davien climbed inside. He held her in his a
rms as they made their way to the outskirts of London where his sprawling estate fell over several hundred acres. Now that he had finally gotten what he’d come for, there was no need to remain in the city. After tonight, she was his.

  Shadowlawn was a sprawling, gothic style mansion built entirely of gray stone and slate dating back to the Dark Ages. Some might have called it a castle, though there was a sad lack of knights in shining armor standing guard, and instead of the telltale moat, it was surrounded on all sides by a tall cast iron barrier. There were no colorful banners beckoning the master home, not one servant to be found attending to his or her duties. The entire estate might have appeared abandoned if it wasn’t for the fact the grounds were carefully manicured. It was silent as a tomb, only showing signs of life whenever the unmarked, black coach passed through its towering gates.

  After they came to a stop, Davien strode up the marble steps, Cosette cradled in his arms. He went through the foyer and up the grand, red-carpeted staircase. He gently laid her down upon the massive, four-poster bed in the mistress’s chamber, the one directly next to his. He drank in every inch of her form beneath the shabby, serviceable gray dress, vowing that she would only be draped in silks and satins from now on.

  He felt a rush of savage need to mate with her, but he refrained. He had never forced himself on a woman before. In time, she would willingly come to him.

  It wasn’t until Davien began to tuck her under the downy coverlet, did a glint of silver abruptly catch his eye. It was a simple locket that had gotten tangled in her hair. He reached out to touch it, but quickly drew back when he felt a foreign sensation course through him, as if he’d just been burned. He glanced at his palm, expecting to see a mark on his skin, but there was nothing there, although the strange tingling still remained.

  He glanced at Cosette, but she continued to breathe steadily. However, this only proved what he’d known from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. They were destined to be together. Fated. And while she might fight it, she would eventually succumb, because she felt the same connection.

  The beast yearned to rise up inside of him, the room vibrating with inner tension, and Davien knew it was time to leave, for when the creature spoke, he was required to listen. But before he walked to the door, he allowed himself one last glance at Cosette. Her dark hair spread out around her like an ethereal vision, the brown, almond-shaped eyes that had haunted his dreams, closed and relaxed.

  With that picture in his mind, he left the room.

  Chapter 4

  The animal bared its teeth viciously. Emitting a low growl, it started to approach, but it suddenly stopped, having noticed the locket around her neck. Immediately, it bowed in respect to the talisman, while she remained motionless, both in fear and with a surprising sense of power. She didn’t know how, but suddenly it all became clear.

  She could control the beast . . .

  Cosette’s eyes flew open with a start and she sat up as the nightmare slowly dissipated. She came back to reality, her eyes finally adjusting to her dim surroundings. The first thing she noticed was the white satin coverlet she clutched to her breast. It was a far cry from the coarse, wool blanket on her simple cot in the workhouse.

  She tried to think where she might have been taken, but all she could remember was lying in that stank, damp alley after she’d been accosted. She glanced down with a sigh of relief. At least she was still fully dressed. She looked around her, and she saw nothing but finery. The mattress beneath her was soft and sat on a raised dais; the canopy above her draped with powder blue damask drapes, threaded with shots of gold and covered with tassles, and held up by heavy, mahogany posts at either corner. It was a bed fit for a princess.

  So why was she here?

  “You’re at Shadowlawn.” As if reading her mind, a deep timbre floated through the shadows.

  Of course. “Blackburn,” she breathed.

  “You don’t sound pleased to see me,” the voice mocked.

  “Why should I be?” she asked. “The only reason I’m here is so you can make me your mistress.”

  “If you weren’t so resistant to the idea,” he returned softly. “You might see that it’s a prospect that can benefit both of us. Our union is inevitable.”

  “I have no doubt it would benefit you,” she shot back.

  Cosette froze as she heard the rustle of clothes from the corner of the room. She clenched the counterpane in front of her as the indistinct form of the duke slowly took form. He came into sharp contrast as he drew closer, separating from the rest of the shapes in the room. He stopped at the foot of the bed, towering over her like some sort of avenging, dark angel who had arrived from the very depths of hell. His dark eyes were penetrating as he stared at her.

  He didn’t move, but she sucked in a breath when she felt a slight brush of air on the hair across her breast, as if he’d physically reached out and rubbed the dark strands between his fingers. “Enchanting,” he murmured, almost to himself, before he backed away again, melting into the far recesses of the room. “Where did you get your locket?” That hypnotic voice seemed to come from all around her.

  “Why do you want to know?” She waited for him to reply, but when she was met with nothing but silence, she absently fingered the delicate chain around her neck and sighed, “I’ve had it ever since I could remember.”

  “Did your parents give it to you?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, letting the locket fall back to the crevice between her breasts. “I never knew them.” She cleared her throat. “I’m an orphan.”

  “Hmm,” was the only response. “How long have you been at the House of Perpetual Hope?”

  “Nearly seven years.” She resented this inquisition, but she hoped that by abating his curiosity he would realize that she was a simple girl and whatever sort of infatuation he’d developed for her was completely irrational. “After I turned of age, I was cast out of the orphanage, and since I had seen all of France that I cared to at that point, I came to England to start a new life.”

  “And do you feel that you’ve succeeded?” he inquired quietly.

  If she would have noted any sort of derision in his voice, she wouldn’t have answered, but he seemed genuinely interested, so she said, “How can anyone like me truly succeed?” Picking at an invisible string on the coverlet, she added, “There are days when I feel I’ve merely traded one prison for another, but at least at the workhouse, I have the freedom to come and go as I please. Then, after I gained the seamstress position . . .” Her voice abruptly trailed off as she recalled that she no longer had that source of income to sustain her, and the reason for that interference was because of the man in this room.

  She crossed her arms and stared in the general direction of his voice. With a slight inflection to her tone, she asked, “What about you? What’s your story?”

  He was silent for a moment, as if considering her question, before he said, “I’m afraid it’s not something I’d care to share.” He scoffed. “And believe me when I say you wouldn’t care to hear it.”

  Cosette tilted her head. “You expect me to tell you all about my sordid past, but yet, you refuse to show me the same courtesy? In that case, I’m done talking.” Lying back down, she turned her back to him. “I’d like to rest now.”

  There was a stretch of strained quiet. Cosette might have thought that the duke had left the room, when she finally heard him moving toward the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for him to leave. She held her breath when she felt him lean closer. She anticipated the press of his lips, but they only grazed her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my dear Cosette.”

  It was a long time before sleep claimed her once more, for the area where his lips had met her skin continued to burn like a brand.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next time Cosette awoke streaks of bright pink and orange had co
lored the sky. It was the loveliest sunrise she had seen in a long time, but while she yearned to enjoy the scene, it was hard to take notice of the world beyond that windowpane with the inner turmoil churning inside of her.

  Cosette pushed back the covers, intending to leave as soon as possible. With any luck, the duke would still be abed and she could sneak away before he even knew she’d gone. No doubt Charlotte was worried sick at her absence, for Cosette had never stayed a single night away from the workhouse. She felt guilty that she had remained as long as she had, but the bed had been such a rare treat that she had let selfishness take over. Not only that, but her head had ached from her attack in the alley, and to best a man like Blackburn, she would need all her wits about her.

  Cosette was about to leave the chamber when she hesitated. A washstand with a bowl full of water was waiting for her, along with a bar of soap, and a white, fluffy cloth hanging over the side. She looked at the grime beneath her fingernails and decided that a bit of scrubbing was definitely in order. She picked up the soap and inhaled the flowery scent with a sigh. Another treat that was too impossible to resist.

  After washing every inch of skin that was exposed, she turned to find a silver hairbrush lying in wait on the carved, oak dressing table, along with a simple, blue ribbon. She quickly worked out all the snarls and tangles in her long, dark tresses, before carefully pulling it back and tying it at her nape.

  Only then did Cosette catch sight of her reflection in the mirror. She winced as she touched the purple discoloration on her cheek where she’d been struck. Her hands clenched into fists. She was tired of being the victim in this life. But no longer. The duke thought he might intimidate her to remain at Shadowlawn, but he would find out that she was not about to compromise her principles to be any man’s mistress.