Page 16 of The Agent and the Outlaw
I could tell by the straight, hard line of his jaw he did not share my amusement.
“A werewolf,” I repeated. “That would be preposterous.”
“Is it? And yet, we so easily accepted that there is a strange disease turning normal men into immortal parasites. We execute witches for consorting with the devil. The church has us believe that demons may escape Hell and walk among us.”
“Oh, demonsdowalk among us,” I cut in. “Of that, you may be certain.”
“But werewolves are beyond belief,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, no,” I answered. “But there must be some logical explanation.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps there is. For our purposes, it does not matter whether the fear is based in fact. Their caution will allow us some sanctuary since no supernatural creature is allowed entry.”
So, he does have a plan after all.
“How do they keep them out?” I wondered aloud.
“I’ve no idea. Walls. Armed guards. Prayers. Magical herbs and potions. Perhaps a battalion of forcefully opinionated aristocratic women who hurl unfounded insults all day. That would be enough to keep any man away,” he grumbled.
I laughed again. “How unexpectedly amusing you are, Antoine! You must forgive me for offending you. My intent was to goad you into revealing your plans, and I’m afraid you fell rather well for my tactics. I would never believe you to be unintelligent. I hardly know anything about you.”
I peered around him to see his face twist sourly and I stifled another giggle.
“Come now, we’ve quite a journey ahead of us. Surely, we can allow ourselves the small luxury of learning about each other. At leastsomething.It will help us pass the time,” I coaxed. “And, as an offering of peace, I’ll start. Though I keep it closely guarded when I’m not at Versailles, my surname isde Brionne. I amComtesse Charlotte Nicole Louise de Brionne. There, now. Your turn.”
Tartuffe’s hooves thudded softly on the hard packed dirt, as steady as a metronome. Long moments of quiet passed before Antoine replied. So long, in fact, that I’d almost forgotten I’d asked him anything. I’d become lost in the world around us—the dull gray of the sky obscuring the November sun, the silvery bare trees and dead, fallen leaves lining the road, the distant fields of green and gold. It was beautiful, really. Like the scene of some salon landscape painting in a parlor of moderate good taste.
“De Valle,” he said, somewhat suddenly. “Antoine François de Valle.”
“Well done,” I said warmly. “That’s a lovely name. I’m sure I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite recall where.”
He scoffed. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bandy it about in public.”
“Ah yes, because you’re in hiding. The soldiers hunting you and all.”
His posture had been rigid before, but now he turned to stone in front of me. It was impossible for me not to notice how he felt—the hard muscles beneath my arms. I’d wager he had a body like a Grecian marble of Zeus, or perhaps Ares. With that dashing scar, he would certainly be closer to the god of war. A pleasing shiver vibrated through me at the wicked imagery.
“Well, you needn’t worry, Antoine. You’ve never met another who can keep a secret as well as I can.”
“Because you’re a spy?” he tested.
“A spy! What utter rot. I told you, I’m acomtesse. I live a life of leisure. Don’t be so bourgeois, Antoine.”
A lie.One of many.
“A lie,” he echoed, his voice hinting at some dark humor beneath. “Don’t bother lying to me,Comtesse. If you’re going to pester me with your incessant prattling, at least have the courtesy to tell me the truth.”
“I am a paragon of honesty! But if you’re looking for other truths so you can better learn my impeccable character, I’ll graciously oblige. My favorite food is asparagus.”
“You’re teasing me,” he said. “Lying again. No one really enjoys asparagus.”
“I do. I like it so much that sometimes I have my cook prepare it for me for breakfast. Gently steamed with a poached egg on top and toast points on the side.”
My stomach rumbled at the thought. I reached into my pockets and pulled out one of the pilfered buns from breakfast, then offered one to Antoine. He took a bite and chewed slowly.
“Civet de sanglier,”he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
