Unfortunately, it was the insecurity behind her dark eyes that had remained the same.
She walked into the dining room to find Davien waiting for her, in a very similar position to the one she’d encountered at Shadowlawn—hands behind his back, staring out the window—but his attire was infinitely different. He wore a gold jacket and waistcoat with matching breeches instead of trousers. His strong legs were encased in white stockings, the buckled shoes on his feet so elegant that they nearly eclipsed her own. With a powdered wig covering his dark hair, he took on the perfect appearance of a fop.
It wasn’t until he turned those swirling, black eyes to her, did she know that no one would ever make that mistake. Even his movements were calculated and precise as he strode toward her. It wasn’t until he stopped a few feet away to lavish a deep, sophisticated bow in her direction, did she think to amend her opinion with a twitch of her lips.
“Ah,ma cherie,” he said in an exaggerated accent. “You are truly stupendous this evening. Surely no other lady in the theatre will compare to your exquisite loveliness.”
This time Cosette couldn’t keep a giggle from escaping. “Why, sir, you are a regular Sybarite, a true Casanova at heart.”
She knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment he stiffened, the lines around his mouth tightening. “You have no idea,” he murmured. “Shall we?”
She obediently sat to his left as he took the spot at the head of the table. It looked as though it had been polished recently, for she could nearly see her reflection in the gleaming mahogany. While everything at Shadowlawn magically appeared, tonight was different. A number of footmen entered with silver covered dishes and lifted the lids to reveal extravagant cuts of pork, freshly baked bread, steamed vegetables, and wine so dark and red that it was nearly the color of blood.
When that thought merely brought back Davien’s last hunting excursion, she quickly pushed it out of her mind and picked up her knife and fork as the servants left the room.
They were silent for a time as they ate, but finally the duke asked, “Why is it that you don’t carry a French accent, having been raised in a French orphanage?”
Cosette had never really considered that before, but now she paused. “I don’t know. I’ve been in England for the past seven years, so perhaps I have merely adapted to the environment around me.” She looked at him. “Why do you ask? Do you think it has significance to my . . . visions?”
“I wouldn’t think that it would matter.” He paused. “Unless you were used to hearing a certain accent in your head.” He steepled his hands before him and said, “This voice that you hear. What does it sound like?”
“I’m not . . . really sure,” she admitted. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I can’t really discern if it’s male or female, nor am I able to detect any sort of accent. It has a sort of . . . disembodied sound to it. Otherworldly.” When her hands started shaking, she lowered her silverware to the table and looked down at her plate where the enticing food now turned her stomach. She pushed it away. “It’s terrifying.”
Cosette gasped, for in the next instant, she found herself cradled in Davien’s lap. They were no longer at the table, but in their bedchamber, sitting in a chaise before the crackling warmth of the fire. “How did you—?”
He only smiled and said, “I brought us here to show you that you aren’t alone. You seemed to need reminding.”
She looked into those mesmerizing eyes, felt herself drowning in their endless depths. “If that’s true—” She grasped his lapels. “—then kiss me and make me believe it.”
Cosette could have sworn that she felt the beast purr before Davien lowered his head. She felt her lids slide closed, but just before their lips touched, he whispered, “Are you sure you want me to mess up your pretty—”
In answer, she leaned forward and closed the distance between them.
~ ~ ~
Davien wanted to grin in satisfaction. He might have, if it wasn’t the fact Cosette tasted so damned good. He enjoyed their talks, but this is what he wanted—this is what he’d missed. The taste of her, the feel of her—Cosette brought him back to life, reined in the beast that would otherwise demand more. Always more.
Even though his encounters with Cosette were brief, teasing embraces, it was . . . enough. For now. But Davien was afraid of what might happen the moment it went further than that. He couldn’t command the beast when he had taken over his mind, his body, his very soul, so how could he possibly protect Cosette if the beast completely assumed control?
Then again, that didn’t mean he couldn’t partake of a little of the pleasure that she had to give. And offer some in return.
Just the thought of diving underneath all those petticoats, to get lost in her scent . . .
The beast inside breathed heavily. Davien pulled away, setting her on the bed as he rose to his feet. “Lean back on your elbows.”
She blinked at him curiously. “Why?”
He grinned. “Because we wouldn’t want your lovely hair to get ruined.” When she merely stared at him, he laid a gentle hand on her cheek. “Don’t you trust me, Cosette?” When she nodded, he said, “Then do as you’re told.”
Slowly, she reclined. Davien dropped to his knees and situated himself between her legs, where they dangled over the side. “What—?”
Her voice hitched at the first touch of his hand on her stocking clad ankle. “Relax,” he whispered, before he moved upward, over the enticing curve of her calf, and higher, past the delicate, smooth skin of her thigh. When he reached the apex of her legs, that blessed part that was only his to explore, he brushed the top of her curls with his fingers, causing a shocked hiss to come from her throat. If she liked that . . .
He felt his grin widen as he slowly trailed his hand up her other leg, gathering the length of linen and satin as he went.
When she was exposed to him, he drank in her scent.
And began to feast.
