Chapter Thirteen

A shiver ran over Violette's skin, and she curled in on herself under the covers, chasing warmth and clinging to the last shreds of her dream. A hand clasping hers, urging her to run, to escape through a long, dark tunnel… Someone she trusted instinctively, but sleep receded before she could make out who it was.

She opened her eyes. Shivers wracked her and her stomach rumbled. The servants had lit a fire in the hearth before she'd gone to bed but it had now gone cold. Was it morning? If so, she'd been locked in here for a full day. How long before Cransac came back?

Footsteps answered her question. Pushing aside the dread that threatened to weigh her down, she sat and threw back the covers.

The door opened, and the light of lantern flooded the room as one of the servants entered.

The urge to try something, anything, burst within Violette, obliterating rational thought. She leaped from the bed. "Please… Please, I need to send a letter. If you could—"

The girl didn't even meet her gaze. She simply set the lantern down on the nightstand before holding the door open.

"She's in there. Be quick about it, you hear?"

Cransac . Violette took a step back and curled her fingers around the bedpost. Cransac led in an elderly woman wearing a plain wool dress. The woman eyed Violette with a sharp, keen gaze, her wrinkled mouth set in a grim line.

Cransac crossed his hands over his belly. "I trust you slept well, my dear." He turned to the servant. "Did you make sure she ate?"

The girl nodded, and Violette tightened her grip on the post. Last night she'd been unable to stop herself from eating some bread and a small piece of cheese. The demands of her empty stomach had been too pressing, as if her body was stubbornly intent on maintaining its strength even when all hope for escape seemed lost.

"Very well," Cransac added. "Leave us now, and shut the door."

Find a way. It's not over yet.

"How old are you?" the old woman asked once the servant had gone.

Violette remained silent.

"Answer her, damn you, or I'll beat you bloody before we even start," Cransac grumbled.

Hateful, repugnant man. Fury sparked and spread within her, but she forced herself to keep it under control. Think. Don't act rashly.

"One and twenty," she replied between gritted teeth.

"When are your courses due?" the old woman continued.

Violette glared at her. What the devil did it matter? She forced herself to remember the last time her courses came. "Not for two weeks yet."

"Good. Lie down and spread your legs."

Her heart sprang in her chest and beat erratically against her rib cage. "What? Are you mad?"

A smug smile twisted Cransac's lips. "Come now, it won't take a minute. Need to make sure I'm getting my money's worth."

The woman advanced on Violette and grasped her wrist. Grey-haired though she was, her grip was firm and unyielding.

"It'll hurt more if you struggle. Believe me, I've done this often enough."

Violette pulled at her arm. "Unhand me!"

"Stupid little twit," the woman yelped. "You keep that up, and I'll ask the servants to pin you down while we take a look at your cunt. Is that what you want?"

Her fury burst free. "I said, unhand me !"

She let go of the post and tightened her fingers into a fist. Between the ribs. Do it. Now.

Her knuckles met the hollow in the old woman's chest and hit bone. Much easier to aim without a blindfold. The woman's breath came out in a whoosh, and she crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Violette tore free and ran toward the door.

"You filthy harlot!" A meaty arm wrapped around her waist. "You're mine, you hear?"

She struggled against him, trying to break free and reach the door, but he was too heavy. He slammed her against the floor, and all the air left her lungs.

"Would you rather we do it this way?" he barked. "Damn you to hell, I'll take a chance at deflowering you myself right here."

She sucked in a gulp of air. A voice resounded in her head, cutting through the red haze of panic. Make your enemy underestimate you. Lead him to expect one move and then…

"I beg of you," she whimpered. "Please, don't hurt me."

"Oh, you're begging now?" He loomed over her. "I should teach you a proper lesson so you know when to shut your mouth and when to open it."

She covered her face with her arms. " Please , I'll do whatever you want, I promise."

Cransac smirked. "That's better. Now be a good girl and—"

A single sharp kick between the legs cut him off cold. Right where Suzanne had taught her to hit. Hard. He doubled over and she scrambled to her feet. Kicked him again. Then ran to grab the lantern from the nightstand, and flung it at his face.

Run. Run now.

She burst into the corridor. They'd led her up to the room by the grand staircase. She bolted in the opposite direction. Staring straight ahead, not looking back to see if anyone was following her. The stairs. Find the servants' stairs.

How would she even get out? The door would be locked. Someone would see her. She was barefoot, in her nightgown, and it was freezing outside. She wouldn't get far.

Don't think. Just run.

At the end of the corridor a door lay half hidden in the wall panels. A servant's door. She pried it open with her fingers and reached a darkened staircase.

She hurried down the cold stone steps, arms outstretched to feel for the banister and the wall. Hurry. Faster. She tripped, caught herself, started down again.

And bumped into a large, solid body. A scream tore from her throat but a large hand clamped over her mouth to smother it.

"What the devil?" a low voice growled in the darkness.

A shuffling behind him betrayed the presence of another person. "A servant? Coming down without a lantern?"

Nicolas .

It couldn't be. But it was. She would recognize the smooth tone of his voice anywhere. She shook her head frantically against the other man's hand.

"If you start screaming again, it'll be the last thing you do, you understand?"

She nodded and the man released her. "Nicolas," she breathed. "It's me."

" Sacredieu ," he cursed. "Let's get out of here, Talloche. Hurry."

How had he found her? And who was this other man? No matter. Her body reeled with the need to get out of this horrid place, and she followed them, half-racing half-staggering down the stairs.

At the bottom, the door hung open, the lock smashed in. Two bodies lay on the ground, and the faint light of dawn coming from outside caught a pool of dark liquid on the paved floor.

Finally, they were out. Cold cut through her skin like blades. And she could see Nicolas now, his broad shoulders, his blond curls. He turned and caught her hand. Relief jolted through her, so strong it made her head spin. She squeezed his fingers. Yes, he was really there, leading her across the Place Vend?me to a waiting fiacre.

The other man—Talloche—bounded up to next to the driver and Nicolas slammed the door open, helping her inside. As soon as he'd closed it again, the carriage barreled off.

"Are you hurt?" Nicolas panted.

"I… I…"

She stared down at her feet. They were wet. Burning with the cold. She hadn't even noticed until now.

"Devil take it, you're barefoot. And freezing." He took off his coat and draped it over her. "Here, bundle up close to close to me. It'll keep you warm until we reach our destination at least."

She nodded absently. She still couldn't speak. It was all too much. Relief warred with dread as the realization of what she'd done washed over her.

"Emile," she said. "We have to find my brother. As soon as the Boneman hears about this…"

Nicolas wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to him, enveloping her in his warmth. "Malenfant is taking care of it."

"Malenfant? You're working with him?"

"Do not trouble yourself with that." His tone was soothing, but carried an edge. "All that matters is that you're safe now."

Safe . Emotion rose up within her like a gathering tide and spilled out onto her cheeks. Her throat tightened and expelled a sob.

"Did Cransac harm you?" Nicolas asked, his voice wavering slightly. "If he did, I swear I will go back and gut him like a pig."

She shook her head. "He didn't have a chance. He… I managed to fight him off. I remembered what you taught me."

Nicolas's thumb brushed the wetness of her cheek. "I have never been prouder of any student." He pressed his lips against her forehead. "Now you must recuperate. We will arrive shortly, and then you can rest."