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 colored 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.
