Page 12 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“I’m sorry,” I said. Flustered, my voice faltered. “For using your former title. I hope I did not offend.”
He raised a brow at me. A slow smile spread across his lips.The smug bastard.
“What I meant to say was that while I do not mind offending you in many other, justifiable ways, that particular barb was not meant as offense. Just a force of habit. I’m not used to interacting with people who don’t hold a title, you see,” I said with acid-laced sweetness.
The pompous grin on his face didn’t waver an inch, but he bowed politely and helped me into his carriage. I sat as far away from him as possible and stared resolutely out the window. How did he manage to come out on top of every interaction we had? Probably some kind of infuriating supernatural trick. It souredmy mood even further, which I would’ve thought impossible considering we were on our way to the graveyard to dig up the body of my friend.
“Are you certain this is truly necessary?”
“Mais oui, ma chère Duchesse.”His low voice was like velvet across my skin. Goosebumps rose on my flesh.
“You do not believe me,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But you will. I will prove it to you, and to do that, you must first see Madame de Pompadour for yourself.”
I shut my eyes and leaned back against the plush seat. The carriage pitched roughly over a hole in the road.
“It will be difficult,” he continued. “I know she was your friend, but this is essential. We must begin our investigation in the right place, however gruesome it may be.”
“I do not faint at the sight of blood, Étienne. I will do what must be done in order to bring justice to Jeanne’s killer.” I stared hard at him—at least, I thought it was him. In the gloom of the carriage, it was hard to tell.
“Is it that you are uncommonly brave, Madame? Or is it that you are used to such brutality?”
“Perhaps it is both,” I replied. He didn’t respond, but I had the distinct impression he was studying me. I felt at a disadvantage yet again.
We rode on in silence, until about a quarter of an hour had passed and the carriage slowed.
“We’ve arrived,” he said. He’d moved in close to my ear and I caught his scent. Surprisingly, he did not smell of blood and death. He smelled of soap, cedar, and peppermint—putting me in mind of winter gardens and snow-covered pine trees.
“I’m well aware you find my company distasteful, Madame, but for your own safety, I must insist you stay close to me. Your disguise may fool drunkards and blind men, but anyone with two functional eyes and a brain will quickly recognize your—ahem—charms. Keep your hat low, your head down, your hands in your pockets, and let me do the talking.”
As he spoke, his breath on my ear encouraged a blush that I felt creep all over my body. My nipples hardened beneath the painful linen bindings. Disgusted with him and with my body’s instinctive response, I pushed him away and surged forward, nearly tripping on my way down from the carriage. With supernatural speed, he seized my coat to keep me from toppling into the street.
“Careful, Duchesse,” he taunted, his golden eyes flashing. “We wouldn’t want The Order to lose one of their talented hunters.”
Chagrined, I followed him into the graveyard. Perhaps in another time, in another place, I would have delivered some kind of dressing down, but I found myself flustered by his presence, uncomfortable with my sudden ineptitude, and queasy at the thought of disturbing the resting place of my former friend.Forgive me, Jeanne.
Étienne led us further into the cemetery toward the only source of light—a dim lantern near a copse of trees. I’d been here back in the spring when they buried her and it had been beautiful, surrounded by flowers and greenery, flecked with dappled sunlight. Tonight, however, the clearing felt alien and malevolent. I tugged my coat close to me and fingered the pearl handle of my dagger. Its smooth warmth comforted me.
Étienne greeted his man, the gravedigger, who stood next to a pile of newly turned earth and poor Jeanne’s waiting casket.
“Give us some privacy, will you?” Étienne commanded. He flipped the lanky gravedigger a coin. The man nodded and walked some distance away.
Étienne bent to pry the lid to the casket open and I braced myself.God, help me. Please don’t let it be like last time—like Michel.
Étienne looked to me, waiting for my signal. I nodded and he pulled the lid away, letting it crash to the ground at my feet. I held my breath and opened my eyes. I was ill-prepared for the sight.
Oh, God, Jeanne Antoinette! What have they done to you?
CHAPTER FOUR
ÉTIENNE
September 28, 1765
Cimetière Notre-Dame
Belatedly,I wondered if I should have brought some smelling salts. I knew this would be unpleasant for Daphne, but even I found my stomach souring at the grotesque scene before us. Having witnessed more than my fair share of deathly horrors, it still pained me to see a beautiful woman struck down in the prime of her life by something so unbearably savage.
I peered at my companion, ready to catch her if she swooned. Her breath came in shallow gasps and her pupils had dilated considerably, but she seemed steady enough. Assured that she wasn’t about to keel over and fall into the open grave, I turned my attention to Madame de Pompadour’s decaying body.
