To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 8

8

1824 BLOIS, FRANCE

R achel waited near the river, her back pressed against the rough bark of an oak tree. She hadn't thought about how loud the rush of the water would be, otherwise she would've chosen a different spot. She wanted to know when Florent was approaching. Not that she was worried he wouldn't be able to find her—he'd had no trouble the last few times they'd met after dark—but because she hated the feeling of someone watching her.

She hadn't told anyone in the house about Florent, especially not Oren. He'd already pressed her about staying out in the gardens through twilight, at which point she'd decided to avoid him knowing altogether. For the past two weeks, she'd finished her chores early, helped in the kitchens, then enjoyed dinner with her girls and her nieces, Ghislaine and Matilde, and put them all to bed. By then, Oren was locked away in his study or in his room on the third floor with Maurielle. Nobody paid attention to her slipping out through the passageway meant for morning deliveries.

It wasn't wise to be out after dark. She understood Oren's concern. But her brother would never allow a working man like Florent to come calling at the house, and Rachel couldn't stop thinking about him. Florent was nothing like her husband. He was intriguing. Mysterious. She felt like she knew intimate details about his life and, at the same time, understood nothing about him.

Tonight she would ask what she'd been working up to since their last clandestine conversation in the woods. Rachel had walked past the clawed-up dirt, stone mill, and scaffolding surrounding the abbey. She'd searched for Florent's face in the slew of workers but never saw him. She wanted more than just whispers in the dark. She wanted to see what his life looked like. She wanted to meet his friends and, if she was being honest, hoped he'd want to show her off.

They weren't courting, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the idea of getting closer to him—of being valued by him—sent a shiver through her. Rachel loved her daughters. She was grateful for Oren and all he offered them for the summer, but the idea of true companionship was intoxicating. She missed sleeping next to someone. She missed hands on her waist and lips on her skin.

Florent seemed to look at her with more than simple interest, and she wasn't a child. She wasn't going to get herself in trouble like Oren would probably believe. Florent always acted like a gentleman, which was why she was sure he'd accept her request?—

"Good evening."

Rachel spun, her heart jumping into her throat. When she saw Florent smiling at her in the moonlight, her hand flew to her chest. "Do you find it funny to terrify me?"

Florent's grin widened. "Absolutely." He walked closer, and Rachel took him in. He was cleaned up today. While he was always freshly shaven, he didn't always arrive in clean clothes and boots. Tonight his shirt was crisp white, his trousers pressed, and his boots clean.

"What's the occasion?" Rachel asked, her back still up against the tree. She lowered her hand and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Is it a crime to want to impress you?"

Rachel's cheeks burned, and she was grateful for the shadows. "Always so charming," she teased.

Florent strode forward until he was so close Rachel caught the scent of freshly cut wood and the hint of herbs. He hesitated for a moment before brushing past her on his way closer to the river. Rachel's pulse sped at the brief touch.

"What is in your heart tonight?" Florent paused on the bank and crouched, running his hands over the tips of the tall grass.

She loved this question. He asked it of her every time they met after she'd bandaged him up. "Honeysuckle." Florent turned, his eyes alight. She'd thought for hours that afternoon about the answer she'd give, and a thrill passed through her at his obvious delight. "I stood under the vine this afternoon and watched the bumblebees bathe in the flowers. Three different hummingbirds stopped by, and at least four nectar moths."

"You counted?"

"I always count." Rachel walked down to sit in the grass next to him. "The scent was heavenly, and the hum of their wings made me feel like all was right in the world."

"How do humming wings have that enchanting effect?" He sat cross-legged, his knee almost grazing her hip.

"The bees don't worry about what's coming next. They simply get to work. I began to think, perhaps that's my problem. I'm always so worried about the future that I forget to enjoy each day."

Florent watched her, and Rachel turned her eyes to the river. Her heart was like a treasure chest that she filled to the brim with jewels of his attention. Ones she loved to admire but never knew how to wear.

She pulled her knees to her chest. "And you?"

"Dark eyes," he answered without hesitation. "Flushed cheeks. Hair pulled back tight in a twist that I'd love to let loose." Rachel's throat dried out like the apple slices they'd laid in the sun that afternoon. "And don't say I'm charming. I'm only speaking the truth."

Rachel fixed her gaze on the ripple of moonlight shifting in the water, the ache in her middle so intense, she nearly curled into a ball. She drew a long breath and exhaled, then turned to face him before she lost courage. "I'd like to meet you in the morning. See where you work. I could bring you biscuits or?—"

"Women aren't allowed on site." Florent looked amused, and that only hardened her resolve.

"I know. I don't want to complicate things. I could come over lunch if that's better. We could go to the café?"

Florent shifted in the grass. "And what about the girls?"

"I could ask Maurielle to watch them."

"She'd do that?"

Rachel shrugged. "She'd consider it, I'm sure."

"On such late notice?" He pushed forward and settled next to her, his thigh pressed against hers. Slowly, he lifted his hand and reached behind her head, grasping the pin that held her hair in a knot. "May I?"

Rachel's heart fluttered against her rib cage. She nodded, and he pulled, allowing her hair to pool in soft waves over her shoulders. This wasn't wrong. He wasn't asking to pull her trousers off for glory's sake, he only wanted to see her hair let out. She watched his eyes travel over her, tracing the swirls of her hair, then meandering back to her face.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

"Florent—"

"I want to see you at lunch, of course I do, but there's an unspoken tradition there with the other men. I'm barely proving my worth. Would you be willing to give me a couple of weeks more to settle in? Then I don't think they'd bat an eye at me meeting someone."

Rachel's resolve slipped through her fingers. Of course that made sense. Of course that was why he'd been meeting her alone. He was only establishing himself in a new place. She nodded. "That will give me time to talk to my brother. I want you to meet him, and I know it may go poorly at first. He has rigid ideas of who belongs in this family, and I don't agree with him. He's going to have to come around because . . ."

Florent reached out and lifted her hand from her lap, then turned it, placing the hairpin in her palm. "Because what?"

Rachel gazed into his eyes, his hand still cupping hers. Pleasure rippled through her at his touch, sending heat under her skin. She struggled to form words since the only thoughts in her head were far too forward to speak aloud to a man she'd only known for a few weeks.

Florent curled her fingers over the pin, then trailed his hand up the backside of her arm until his fingertips reached the ends of her hair. Rachel couldn't stand it any longer. The heat building at her center exploded into fiery need, and she reached for him, gripping his shirt and pulling him close.

Rachel's lips parted, her silent plea for him to cover her mouth with his. Florent curled his arm around her waist, and when she thought she might split at the seams, he finally acquiesced.

His kiss was hungry, and Rachel reveled in the rough brushes of his tongue, the pressure of his hand against her back. She wanted more. All rational thought fled at the taste of him. He was sweet and warm, and?—

Florent pushed back, breaking their mouths apart with a groan. “I must go.”

“But—”

“I must go.” He stumbled to his feet, and before Rachel could see straight, he disappeared into the trees.

She heaved for breath, her lips raw and buzzing. She pressed her palms against the flattened grass and squeezed her eyes shut. It was only then that she noticed the metallic taste of blood.