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 youreyes . . .” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tone that frightened her. “I have never seen their equal, but once before.”
