Page 1 of The Assassin and the Libertine
PROLOGUE
DAPHNE
January 17, 1765
Paris
I watched him,patiently, from behind my carved ivory fan. He appeared to be a capable servant—unobtrusive, almost preternaturally aware of the needs of the duc’s guests, and just on the attractive side of plain in his dark gray livery. When he finally flicked his gaze to me, I lowered my lashes flirtatiously and drew my fan across my lips—an open invitation for a clandestine dalliance. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.
From the edge of the stifling ballroom, a gong sounded, announcing dinner. Gentlemen paired off with ladies, making their way into the dining room.
“Madame, shall we go in?”
The fat, thick-headed, wealthy lout at my elbow held out his arm. He’d been trying to monopolize my attentions all evening, despite my thinly concealed distaste. He reminded me of an overfed leech, pawing at me with his slimy, limp appendages andgrinning with his yellow, toothy mouth. I covered my grimace with a wan smile.
“Monsieur le Vicomte,” I answered. “Please, do go in and find your seat. I need a moment to refresh myself. I’ll be along shortly.”
The leech eyed me up and down, offering a prurient wink. Unable to suppress my disgust much longer, I turned from him before he could see my expression.
The smell of food wafted in through the open doors. I hadn’t eaten all day, but truthfully, I was not hungry—fordinner.
I left the gilt opulence of the ballroom and made my way down a candlelit corridor, discreetly checking the rooms for errant partygoers and trysting courtiers. I required absolute solitude, and fortune appeared to be on my side tonight. The duc’s Parisian townhouse was impressive—if a little dated with all itsbaroqueenthusiasm—and seldom in use. Like some members of court, he lived almost year-round at Versailles. Years before, King Louis XIV’s paranoia had set that precedent for the aristocracy.If you wish to feel the warmth of the Sun King, you must remain within his orbit.
How suffocating. I was almost glad my husband had fled to Italy in disgrace, despite him leaving me to the absent mercy of the wolves of Versailles. At least I was free to maintain my own residence—and more importantly, I was free of him. The thought of my vile, abusive husband soured my stomach.
It seemed that King Louis XV, the Beloved, had a more relaxed view of things.But for how long,I wondered. France was changing at the speed of infection. The king could not continue to ignorela peste du sangthat was starting to seep through the streets of Paris. The blood plague was upon us and I feared what was happening to the people of France.
Several doors down, I found what I was looking for—the duc’s empty study. A few candles flickered inside, castingdancing shadows upon the gold brocade of the walls. Hopefully, young Giles had accepted my invitation and I wouldn’t have to wait long.
I perched on the edge of the large desk, careful not to bend my panniers, and adjusted my navy skirts around me. The dark color was somewhat unfashionable this season, but I wasn’t at Versailles and tonight I favored a gown that was a touch more utilitarian. The pastel palette of the court was hellacious for us moreactivemembers of the nobility. The stains could be murder.
Movement outside caught my eye, and I went to the window to observe. Snow had started to fall in soft, downy clumps. I watched the flakes drift gently onto the balcony terrace and smiled to myself. I flung the doors open, letting in a flurry of frigid air.
I almost didn’t hear the soft click of the door closing behind me, but I’d been waiting.
Without turning, I spoke out to the snowy balcony.
“I’m so glad you came, darling Giles. I’ve been waiting all evening to get you alone.”
Strong arms circled my waist, turning me to him and pulling me back inside the study. His eyes glittered fiercely, hungrily.
Without a word, he crushed his mouth to mine. His hands roamed my body, seeking the softness of skin beneath the silken layers of my gown.
“I don’t have long,” he grunted. He pushed me roughly against the wall, attempting to lift my heavy skirts.
“Oui,I know,ma cher.Neither do I,” I murmured. He’d found my legs beneath the copious underskirts and ran a cold hand up my thigh. I grabbed him by the shoulders and reversed our positions, pressing his body to the wall with my hips. He gasped in excitement and fumbled for the buttons of his breeches. I kissed him softly.
Dispassionately.
With him distracted, it was almost too easy for me to stab him through the heart.
He pushed me away—bewildered, pained—as smoke curled from the small wound in his chest. I slid the thin wooden stake out, wiped the blood on his livery, and tucked it back in my garter for my next assignment.
Only then did his fangs distend.
“Putain de salope,”he hissed. His skin turned a mottled grey and he slumped to the floor.
Itsked. “Oh, Giles. How long did you think you could carry on like this—feeding your way through the duc’s housemaids? Six young girls are dead already, Giles. Six! Did you think we wouldn’t notice a rotten littlesanguisugein our midst?”
