The marquis rose at once, one jeweled hand dismissing the two gentlemen at his table with the languid authority of a man unaccustomed to disturbance.“Qu’est-ce que c’est, ma colombe?What torments you?”He came to her before she could answer, concern knitting the fine furrow between his brows.
“Only my heart.”Geneviève sank into a chair, burying her face in trembling fingers.The world seemed to narrow to the ache behind her ribs, a blade of astonishment and humiliation.
Settling on a chair beside hers, the marquis took her hands in his.“Who has dared wound my dove’s honor?”
“Caleb.”The word scraped from her throat.“He—he led me to believe.He spoke of kindness and promises; he kissed me under the palms and told me of a future.And then—parbleu!—he cast me off.He turned me away as though I were a beggar at his gate.”
Sobs wracked through her, and her father plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.“He seduced you?”The question was incredulous, the syllables a snarl.
She dabbed her tears.“Oui.He made me think he loved me.Then he spurned me, comme une femme de rien.He humiliated me in his own port, before his men.”
Silence fell like a drawn curtain.The marquis’s jaw worked.He fisted his hand until his knuckles blanched.Then rising, he stalked to the tall windows and stared into the night.When he slowly turned to face her, his expression was a promise of ruin.
“I am to meet him in an hour to exchange the woman for the Ring.”He let the words hang, each like a coin thrown upon a table.“I must have that relic, ma chère.And you shall have satisfaction.Personne n’outrage une Montverre impunément.When the Ring is mine, Capitaine Caleb Hyde will answer for this insult.He will not leave this island alive.”
Geneviève let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.The grief curdled into triumph; her eyes shone with a fevered light.“Oui, Papa.Make him rue the day he crossed Geneviève de Montverre.”
One brow rose over a sinister grin.“Rue, my angel.He will rue it.”
♥
Two brutish men, smelling of sweat and cruelty, flanked Desi, cinching her arms in a vice grip.Despite the pain, hope dared peek through the bleak future she’d accepted during her long hours imprisoned at the marquis’s estate.Her first thought when he had dragged her from her room was that he’d found a buyer for her already.But it had to be close to midnight and surely these transactions weren’t arranged so quickly and at such a late hour?But what did she know of the customs of this time?
When she’d asked the marquis, he’d merely snorted and gestured for his men to follow him.Now, as they traipsed through the jungle, shadowy branches reached crooked fingers toward her, silvery leaves laughed in the breeze as she passed, and she wonderedif maybe this was all a nightmare.
But the burning pain in her arms was too real.As were the sounds of the jungle, chatter of monkeys, call of birds, and buzz of insects, many of which flew into her face.
“Where are you taking me?”She forced a courage she didn’t feel into her tone and struggled against the men’s grips, but they only laughed.
The marquis swatted at a bug.“If you are a praying woman, I suggest you lift an appeal to the Almighty, for your fate hangs in the balance this night.”
A shudder ran through her as they emerged into a clearing, and the men dragged her up a set of chipped stone steps onto a wide platform.Yet when she realized she stood on an auction block, all hope fled, followed by a strange numbness.
Several minutes passed.Minutes in which the marquis huffed and groaned and sighed and continued to look at his watch.Finally, footsteps padded, leaves swished, and the one person Desi thought she’d never see again, stepped into the clearing.
Caleb.
He marched toward the platform with the confidence and courage of a leader of men.Not an ounce of fear or trepidation appeared on his face, nor in his eyes as they found their way to hers.Such reassurance, such care and affection poured from them that her knees weakened, and she thought she might fall.Lantern light flickered over his strong, stubbled jaw and shone on the hilt of his cutlass.A night breeze tossed his black hair behind him as he shifted his gaze from her to the marquis.
Emotion burned in her throat, behind her eyes, traveled down her spine, igniting both hope and fear—fear for this brave, kind man.And hope because out of all the men she’d ever known, he was the only one with the skill and wisdom to save her.
♥
Caleb pressed through the dense foliage, lantern in one hand, the fake ring clenched in the other.The jungle exhaled dampness and shadow, each step stirring the scent of loam and crushed leaves.Ahead, a scatter of lanterns winked like malevolent stars, leading him toward the old auction stone.There, Montverre and his jackals would be waiting… and Desi.
He had refused Alden’s company, though the man had argued fiercely.If things go awry, I need the Sentinel ready to fly, Caleb had said.And so he walked alone, though his pulse thundered like war drums.
Yet, beneath the dread, peace washed over him, warm as the tide.He and Alden had prayed upon the deck ere he departed, and though the odds sharpened against him like a host of blades, the Almighty’s nearness girded him.He whispered, “Lord, help me,” before stepping from the shadows into the clearing.
His gaze found her first.Desi stood atop the auction block where souls had once been bartered like cattle.The breeze tugged at her curls, tossing them like pennants of defiance, though fear shivered in her chest.Her chin was lifted, her jaw hard, her eyes, God help him, brave even in terror.They caught his across the darkness, shimmering with both courage and a silent plea.
Beside her, the marquis huffed, snapped a pocket watch shut, and shoved it into his waistcoat.“Vous êtes en retard, monsieur,” he drawled, lips curling.“You are late.”
“I am here now.”Caleb approached.Moonlight washed the yard, etching silver over the stones and timbers once steeped in misery.Weeds clawed the steps where eager buyers had jostled.Iron rings jutted like scars from the posts, relics of chains and curses.The air bore memory of sweat, despair, and the ghostly echo of cries swallowed by the night.Montverre had chosen well.This place was a mockery of justice, a theater of cruelty.
The marquis placed a hand on his hip.“Do you have the Ring, monsieur?”
“Bring the lady down, and I’ll give it to you.”Caleb’s gaze traveled over the marquis’s men—ten at least, with blades and flintlocks, all glaring at him, each poised like hounds on the leash.
