Page 25 of The Assassin and the Libertine
ÉTIENNE
I layin my wine cellar bed for a while that evening, going over the events of the previous night in my mind. It was troubling to suddenly feel so unsure of myself; I’d thought the kiss was something we both wanted. While I knew Daphne had built an emotional fortress to protect herself, I’d sensed her desire and had felt it in her response. She’d wanted me as much as I’d wanted her.
…but what did that mean?
I hadn’t been thinking about a future with her, or a future with any woman, for that matter. Women were delicious, wonderful playthings for me—food, pleasure, and tools to achieve what I needed to in court. With the disgrace to my name, the loss of my title, my inability to father children, and most importantly—the inevitable separation by time itself, if myparamour refused to infect herself with the plague—I had little to offer any woman beyond a few nights of passion. Frustratingly, I was beginning to feel that Daphne deserved more than that.
It didn’t matter. I was recovering from a physical and mental shock, and I needed more than a few delicate porcelain bowls filled with donated blood. My lusty pursuit of this woman was likely the result of the euphoria I’d been experiencing from drinking virgin’s blood. After our investigations ended, I’d go out and get somethingproperlysatisfying and leave the damned duchesse Daphne to her melancholy.
As I was contemplating the strange turn of events my life had taken, someone knocked at the door. The butler Gaston entered with a set of shaving implements and a pitcher of warm water. He offered to help me shave, but I declined his assistance. After everything that had happened, I felt decidedly less comfortable allowing a stranger to hold a blade to my throat. He stood patiently by the door while I washed, lathered, and dragged the sharp blade over the light growth of whiskers I’d accumulated in my convalescence. When I was finished, he spoke.
“Her Grace instructed me to assist you with your dress tonight. If you’ll follow me to the duc’s bedchamber, we’ll find something appropriate for you in his wardrobe,” he said.
“Do you think the duc would object to my use of his clothes?”
Gaston glanced at me, eyes wide in surprise.
“His Grace is…gone,” he said, fumbling for the right word.
“Yes, so I heard. Whatexactlydoes that mean, I wonder?”
Gaston didn’t answer. We reached a sumptuous bedchamber decked in dark wood and burgundy velvet. It reminded me of the color of Daphne’s gown the first night we’d met. The room seemed a tad stale, as if it hadn’t been opened in some months. There were strange, lingering scents in the air that I struggled to name: faint wisps of opium smoke, the cloying reek of vomited brandy, the musk of ancient lovemaking, and—disturbingly—themetallic tinge of old blood. I’d smelled rooms like this before—in the dank basements of brothels that specialized in pain over pleasure. I couldn’t imagine Daphne willingly submitting to such debasements and I started to understand her fears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my fangs lengthened.
“What happened in here?” I growled. On some level, I already knew. A rush of protective indignity coursed through me when I imagined what Daphne had endured.So, the gossip about le Duc Dépravé had been true.
A deep sorrow filled Gaston’s gaze.
“We do not discuss it, Monsieur.” Shame and regret radiated from him.
“Just tell me this, then,” I bit out. “Is the duc dead?”
If he isn’t, I will amend that promptly.
A long-suffering sigh escaped him while he pulled ornate jackets, breeches, and matching waistcoats from a large ebony armoire.
“We do not know, Monsieur. But we do not think he will be coming back.”
“Why not? He has one of the most influential duchies in all of France, a fortune almost as vast as the king’s, this exceptional château, and a rather formidable wife. Even with the requisite carousing of the aristocracy, they’re usually quite dedicated to at least some of the responsibilities of the peerage. Siring an heir is the most pressing one that comes to mind,” I grumbled, then remembered Daphne’s words from the night before. Her refusal to carry on the duc’s bloodline.Brave girl,I thought.Considering procreation was the only important preoccupation of titled women.
I selected a charcoal-colored velvet coat adorned with silver embroidery. Despite the duc’s obvious predilection for depravity, his taste in clothing was impeccable. He’d obviously enjoyed the slighter stature of the nobility and the coat was tightacross my chest and shoulders, but I thought it would do for our outing tonight.
“You look very fine, Monsieur,” Gaston said, offering me a selection of shoe buckles to choose from. “Most satisfactory for l’émissaire vampire.”
I arched a brow at him. “You know who I am?”
“Bien sûr.” His reply was tight with stifled affront. “You’ve been a guest with us for some time now, Monsieur.”
“Ah, so Madame has told you about me?”
“No, of course not. Her Grace does not share everything with us. But we know—all the same. We’ve been with her since she came to this house and we are loyal to her,” he said tersely. He finished tying back my hair in a silver ribbon.
He offered me a matching hat and shiny ebony walking stick, which I took with a nod.
“It is possible that you know my reputation,” I said a touch more defensively than I would have liked. “But I assure you I’m not here to take advantage of your mistress.”
“As you say, Monsieur.”
I made to leave but stopped at the door.
