Chapter 2
Cosette du Bouir lifted her face to the sky, where a chilly, Heavenly shower was pouring down. She loved the rain, relished the fact that it was pure and free of the smoke and filth from the city. The simple joy of washing with fresh water was a luxury few and far between. What she wouldn't give to bottle up a jug of it and take it to the cramped workhouse she lived in to use for her next bath.
Heaving a sigh, Cosette clutched her knapsack full of thread and miscellaneous sewing material. She knew she must get back in order to start this arduous project before any more time lapsed. Darkness had set in long ago, and if she were to get these dresses finished for Madame Louvre to earn an extra shilling or two, she shouldn't waste one precious minute. Such frivolities as playing in the rain were something she could ill afford. She would gain little sleep as it was, staying up half the night making dresses for London’s spoiled debutantes. Whereas the morning would bring the tedious task of oakum picking, her hands constantly raw from the coarse hemp rope just so she could earn a small ration of food and an uncomfortable night tossing about on a bed of straw at the House of Perpetual Hope at Bishopsgate.
She forced herself to slow her step, ignoring the slight chill that seeped into her bones as she let the drizzle saturate her worn, woolen cloak. She imagined another life, one other than the poverty stricken existence she was cursed with. Then again, when you were an infant left on the doorstep of a Catholic orphanage in France, there was little you could do but survive.
Absently, she touched the silver locket that hung around her neck. Other than this single adornment, she had no link whatsoever to her past. The necklace itself held no clue, for there were no portraits within and only a vague inscription on the back that read, ‘To Mine . . . Be Mine.’ She’d always kept the small hope that someday, it would be the key to unlock the mystery of her true identity, but as the years had passed, she had started to give up the hope of ever learning where she truly belonged.
As she came up on the banks of the Thames, Cosette paused to look out over the black, inky waters. A gust of wind had her pulling her threadbare cloak tighter, as if the action could further protect her from the growing storm. Even then, she invited the cold to penetrate her brain, so that she might grow numb to the realities of her life. But when the guilt of lingering too long overcame all else, she reluctantly began to walk briskly in the direction of the workhouse, preparing herself for a long, sleepless night.
Lost in thought, Cosette didn’t notice the black coach until it came barreling around a corner. She froze in fear, her lungs faltering, as her gaze riveted on those rippling muscles that drew steadily closer. The horses, four midnight black stallions, reacted in immediate surprise at something blocking their path. They threw their powerful forelegs in the air, their razor-sharp hooves pawing at nothing, while puffs of heavy smoke poured from their nostrils.
The driver of the coach, noticing the danger, pulled back hard on the reins. He struggled to take charge, the entire conveyance finally coming to a shuddering stop. The horses were still breathing heavily, anxious as they pranced in place, mere feet from where she stood.
Cosette watched, spellbound, as the carriage door creaked open. A silver-headed cane preceded a tall silhouette. He stepped to the ground looking like the devil himself as he stood beside his carriage, dressed entirely in black. But it was his hollow, dark eyes that caused panic to abruptly take hold.
When he took a step toward her, she turned and ran, fear giving her feet wings. She dared not look behind her as she fled, easily imagining the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the wet cobblestones after her. She ran past brick houses and shops closed for the night. Her stays began to tighten like a vice but still she ran from the terror that threatened, until her lungs felt as if they might burst if she drew another breath. She wasn’t sure how long she was in flight, but when stars began to dance in front of her vision, she veered into Hyde Park.
Something grabbed hold of her cloak.
Cosette felt a scream rise up in her throat as she struggled with her captor. She fought a wave of terror, flailing about like a mouse caught in a trap, until a worn section of her cloak ripped away. She instantly spun around, nearly fainting in relief as her vision finally caught up to her petrified brain. There, flapping like some sort of brazen flag on the low hanging branch of a tree was the damning piece of her shredded cloak, the material still in its grasp.
She held a palm to her breast to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest. Now that the threat had passed, she took a moment to inspect the damage to her cloak with a sigh. It had already been repaired more times than she could count, for Lord only knew she couldn’t purchase a new one.
After chiding herself for her skittish nature, Cosette snatched the material from the branch and bent to retrieve her bag of sewing supplies, only to find it was nowhere to be found. She was sure she’d been in possession of it before her flight away from the carriage, but perhaps she’d dropped it during her fight with the tree. She glanced around to search for it, only to feel her blood slowly recede.
A shadowy, male figure stood a short distance away.
Cosette felt her knees go weak. She swallowed, taking in the perfectly tailored attire with the stylish greatcoat and its many capes. He eschewed the popular fashion that many men preferred of the day, wearing full-length breeches, and instead of buckled shoes, he wore black boots normally found on the feet of Hessian soldiers. But Cosette knew it wasn’t this man’s clothing that she found so arresting. It was those haunting, obsidian eyes that appeared to bore right through her soul.
As if he had no soul of his own.
He didn’t say a word, just leaned against the tree that had snagged her cloak; one leg crooked just slightly at the knee, appearing completely at ease. And while she could have sworn he hadn’t been there a moment ago, that wasn’t nearly as alarming as what happened next. She watched, transfixed, as he brought forth his left hand and swung it slowly back and forth. A ruby, signet ring danced on his pinkie finger as he taunted her with the very thing she desired.
Her bag.
~ ~ ~
Davien watched the indecision warring on her face as she contemplated what to do. It was obvious that whatever was inside this bag was important to her, but he could smell her fear on the wind, and it was keeping her at a firm distance. He should just give it to her and be done; return to his miserable existence and not give her a second thought.
And yet . . .
There was something about her that called to him. She was different from the rest. He could feel it. While he had taken notice of plenty of females before, in an effort to appease his animal pleasures and satiate the beast inside of him, he had never bothered to give any particular one a second glance.
So why was he hesitating with her?
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.”
