Page 24 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“Goodnight, Étienne.”
I didn’t go. I waited a beat—taking in the flickering candlelight on her golden hair, the worn linen of her nightdress, the perfume of cognac, blood, and orange blossoms. Here, in this quiet moment past midnight, I felt an alien sense of comfort. It was unlike the plush rooms at Versailles, unlike my own château, even—with its haunting memories and ghosts of failure. It filled me with a painful longing—a hollow ache in my chest that I knew would linger long after Daphne’s orange blossom scent had faded.
Her eyes dropped to my lips, then, and her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. My restraint evaporated in an instant.Unable to stop myself, I pulled her to me and covered her lips with mine. Slanting my mouth over hers, I slid my tongue along the seam of her lips—a silent plea for her to open up to me. Almost straightaway, she melted into the kiss. When she opened her mouth and sighed, the sweetness of it overtook me, and I knew I was lost.
God help me—what have I done?
CHAPTER NINE
DAPHNE
October 17, 1765
Château de Champs-sur-Marne
Somewhere in theback of my mind, a voice called out to me,Wrong. This is wrong. You cannot trust a vampire—especially this one.I was dimly aware that I should be doing something—stopping this kiss.This isn’t kissing.It was unlike the perfunctory and invasive attempts of Henri. It wasincredible.Étienne brought his hand up to the back of my head and threaded his fingers through my hair, gently rubbing at the base of my neck. The pleasure of the touch rolled through me in waves. He tasted of cognac and something vaguely salty, but his lips felt so good against mine that I couldn’t focus on much besides the feeling.Dieu, how he felt.My body craved more but there was something stopping me from seeking it…
Do not trust the vampire. Remember all his women. Remember the blood. Remember Michel.
Finally, the thought beat back the surge of lust and I realized my mistake. I pulled away immediately, stepping back into thelibrary. Confused by my desire for the man who represented everything I stood against, I couldn’t help the force of my response.
“You kissed me!” I exclaimed. My fingers reached up to my tender lips as if to confirm the truth of the matter.
Étienne cocked a satisfied brow at me. “You kissed me back,” he said.
“I—I didn’t mean to! The cognac—and I haven’t been sleeping, and I forgot myself andyouforgotyourself!” I stammered.Damn it.I didn’t mean to sound so flustered. It made me even angrier. I fought for a steadying breath.
“It was a mistake,” I gritted out. “It won’t happen again.”
Étienne’s devilish grin slipped, and I could’ve sworn I saw a glimmer of hurt in his eyes. His face went blank. “A mistake. My apologies for being forward. As you say, it must have been the cognac.”
I nodded, still not satisfied.
“We’ll just forget it happened,” I said, somewhat breathlessly. “And tomorrow, we’ll resume our investigation. The sooner this is solved, the better.”
Étienne bowed rigidly and turned down the hall. From the darkness, he called back to me.
“Sleep well, Duchesse.”
I wondered if we both knew that was unlikely.
The following day,I slept in much later than usual. I finally roused myself in the afternoon, ate a belated breakfast, and hid in one of the front parlors. My mind returned to the kiss overand over—how my body wanted him, but my mind couldn’t trust him. Even if something happened to change that—which I reasoned was unlikely given his scandalous reputation and supernatural state of being—I was not the kind of woman to take a lover, and as long as there were doubts about Henri’s present whereabouts, I could not marry again. Besides, I was dedicated to The Order and in my experience, men didn’t tend to share well when it came to their lady’s attentions.It doesn’t matter!I chided myself.The kiss was a mistake—a weak moment. Do you want to end up another name on some libertine’s endless list of conquests? Certainly not.My pride wouldn’t allow it.
Still, I worried over the possibility that I’d started to care for him. It seemed truer now than when Philippe had first presented the possibility. One doesn’t aid in nursing a body back to health without forming some kind of attachment—an attachment that definitely needed severing.
I had to do it for the memory of Michel, for the sake of Philippe and Charlotte, for my duty to my king and to our dwindling human aristocracy. I had to admit that I felt less compelled to give him up for The Order now that they’d drawn a line in their support of my investigation.
I grunted.Give him up. As if you had him, Daphne.As if I wanted him.
Liar.
The rest of the day, I tried—and failed—to distract myself with letters, estate business, menu planning, and books before I finally gave up and went to change for dinner.
Eve helped me into my most somber-looking gray dress—a late mourning gown from when my parents had died, and then Michel not long after. It was severity in thread—soft wool with an infinity of tiny buttons. Wearing it made me feel serious and sad and hardhearted all at once. It would be impossible for me to think of anything affectionate when it came to Étienne, and withthe long sleeves and high neckline, I didn’t think there would be anything that would remotely arouse his libidinous interests.
After I finished dressing, I twisted my hair in tight curls on top of my head, covered with a largely unflattering cap, and comforted myself by hiding an excess of stabbing implements in my pockets and sleeves.
If I came across anyone who meant me harm tonight, I’d take a great deal of pleasure in venting the maelstrom of destruction that seethed beneath my tightly reined exterior.
