Page 13 of The Assassin and the Libertine
She was further gone from the last time I’d seen her, but her wounds remained pristine. I leaned in to inspect them.They weren’t like anything I’d ever seen—they were certainly unlike any vampire bite I’d known.
“It looks like…” Daphne’s whisper sounded unsettled. “It almost looks like she’s been attacked by a wild animal—a wolf, perhaps. The edges of the wound are jagged and rough, as though the flesh has been ripped away. It would suggest fangs in the upper and lower jaw, as opposed to the neat insertion of a single pair of canines common in vampire bites.”
I stared at her, unable to mask my astonishment. She was studying the body as intently as possible, though a sheen of sweat had broken out across her worryingly pale brow. Her voice shook as she continued.
“Étienne, her ring.”
“She isn’t wearing a ring, Daphne,” I said, gently prodding the casket to feel for some misplaced jewelry.
“Exactly. Where is her ring? Most of her jewels were given back to the king after her death, all except for one ring that she never removed. It was a large pink pearl surrounded by diamonds—the first gift that Louis ever gave her. It was very precious to her, but I do not see it. Do you think grave robbers could have claimed it?” She wavered a bit on her feet. I needed more time to look around, but I wasn’t sure how long Daphne’s strength would hold out.
“Steady, Duchesse,” I urged. “If you swoon now, I’ll be forced to lay hands on you and carry you home.”
That startled her enough. She snapped her eyes to mine and choked on an incensed huff.
“I am not going to swoon,” she bit out.
“Too bad. I was rather looking forward to carrying you back.”
I searched the rest of the coffin—no ring. She was right. It could have disappeared at any time, but I doubted grave robbers. They would have taken the simple burial shift—it was silk, after all—as well as the ribbons tying back the dead woman’s hair. Daphne clearly suspected the killer had taken the ring and though I was loath to admit it, I agreed with her.
I’d hoped to find something else that would point toward a suspect, but other than convincing Daphne I hadn’t killed the king’s mistress, I was no better off than when we’d started this morbid little adventure. I scanned the body from head to toe looking for clues.
Something nagged at me—some peculiarity that I couldn’t quite place. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, allowing my heightened sense of smell to paint parts of the scene I could not see. I smelled death, of course, and rot. I smelled the decay before me but also something else. There was a bitter musk in the air that I’d never encountered. It wasn’t quite an animal, I didn’t think, but?—
I leaned down next to the gaping wound in Jeanne’s neck and breathed. Yes, this was where it was coming from. It must have been the scent of the killer. Bitter, sour, smoky, almost sulfuric.Fantastic. Now all I needed to do was walk around, sniffing everyone in Paris until I found the same odor.No problem at all.
Daphne was motionless, staring at me with revulsion.
“I think I know what the killer smells like,” I explained. “There is something odd about her neck—the way it smells, even in death.”
She nodded and crossed herself. I went to bring the gravedigger back to put Jeanne in the ground again and caught Daphne wiping a tear from her cheek. At my notice, she dropped her hand and straightened, her gaze turning instantly icy. My dead heart gave a curious little squeeze and I led her away.
When we reached the shadowy comfort of my carriage, I handed her my gold flask. She considered me a moment, her face inscrutable. I shrugged and started to pull away, but she finally reached for the flask. Without asking about its contents, she took a long pull on it. When she saw my surprised expression, she gave a tired half-shrug.
“I figured it was either blood or brandy, but you don’t seem the type to carry around an expensive flask full of blood.”
“I am fortunate enough to find willing sources when I require them,” I admitted, taking a drink of the sweet brandy. I imagined I could taste her lips on the flask and heat spread through me.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing me the time to drink in her lithe body, wrapped in those ridiculous masculine clothes. Who would’ve thought that a woman wearing breeches could be soerotic? The way they clung to her shapely legs and followed every sinful curve of her bottom?—
“We should take you home,” I said. I needed distance from her to clear my head and think. “I imagine your husband will be worried.”
She barked a laugh and snatched the flask from me again, drinking deeply.
“I didn’t realize you had such a scathing sense of humor,” she seethed.
When she recognized the confusion in my face, she was taken aback.
“My apologies, Duchesse. Has he passed on?”
“You mean, you really don’t know? How can that be? You worked out I was with The Order, but you managed to avoid the gossip about my marriage? It’s all anyone’s talked about for the last two years.”
Frustration rose. “My presence at court is not the same as it once was. I am seldom privy to the gossip of thetonne. When I am around the ladies of the nobility, we usually aren’t engaging in idle conversation.”
I’d said it to shock her, but the night had taken its toll on her caustic façade. She had dimmed, somehow—softened beneath the weight of her own sadness.
“You are right, of course. Forgive my offense yet again. People do not often speak to me about my husband, preferring instead to delight in the scandalous rumors. No, Étienne. My husband does not worry for my safe return and he does not wait for me at home.” She trailed off, a thousand miles away. Her manner made me uncomfortable, as if teasing her now would be like kicking a puppy. I tried for my courtly charm.
