Page 3 of The Assassin and the Libertine
I stilled.
“What do you know of The Order? I always heard they were a myth.” I laughed. I knew they werenota myth, but it surprised me to hear the marquise discuss them so openly.
She shrugged. “Only the gossip, I suppose. Surely you’ve heard?”
“I haven’t.” Ihad.They’d sent two assassins after me already—one disguised as a cut-purse, and the other masquerading as a drunken brawler in one of my favorite taverns. I’d smelled the lies on their clothes before they’d had the chance to stake me. At least their blood had sustained me for a while. The intervening years of poverty between my father’s disgrace and my royal appointment had taught me that much—waste not, want not.
The marquise waved her hand dismissively. “You know, they’ve finally gotten sensible about the plague andexcommunicated the members of The Order from the lower classes. I mean, if it’s only the weakest peasants that suffer the infection, it’s right that the stronger elites should decide what to do about it. We have the intelligence, the funds, the breeding. Don’t expect me to listen to some dirt farmer about how to save my noble soul.”
She giggled venomously. My stomach churned with her snobbish blood. I swallowed my disgust and nodded.
“We should return to the party,” I said. “I believe I’m wanted for a card game.”
The marquise smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Thank you for the distraction,” she said as she turned for the door. “It was rather…animal.”
Instead of following her back to the party, I summoned my carriage and returned to my château. Only when I was safely ensconced in my familial home did I allow myself the pleasure of venting my rage by smashing my fist through the wall.
She didn’t care. None of them did. Despite my attempts to stop it—to prevent it from happening, nobody else could see what was coming. And many of them would pay with their lives.
CHAPTER ONE
DAPHNE
September 22, 1765
Palace of Versailles
I hurriedthrough the Hall of Mirrors as fast as I could, which was—unfortunately—notat allfast. It wasn’t the formal court dress that hindered my progress—I could run from one end of Paris to the other in stays and panniers, if I needed to. Nor was it the flintlock pistol, wooden stakes, and throwing knives strapped to my thighs. My stilted pace was all for the sake of propriety. My need to blend in with the other titled ladies of court was distinctly at odds with my real reason for attending the king’s party tonight. Running through the palace was not exactly the kind of behavior one would expect from one of the most notable duchesses of thetonne.
Since I wanted to avoid unnecessary notice,hurryingwas well out of the question and the best I could manage was an ambitious glide—possibly an assertive shuffle. I regretted the decision to delay my arrival until after sunset. I should have given myself more time to make a proper appearance, circulatewith the other members of court, and then ready myself to lay my deadly trap.
I paused in front of my reflection in the mirrored wall that led to the courtyard outside, frowning at the beads of sweat on my forehead. Darting a look at the stoic footmen in the room, I blotted my face with my handkerchief and opened my fan to cool myself.
Breathe, Daphne. It’s almost over. Soon, there will be justice for Jeanne—and vengeance for Michel.
I caught the eye of one of the servants and raised my chin haughtily, as if to say,Of course I wasn’t sweating! Duchesses do not sweat. They glow with the pleasure and privilege of nobility—even though none would dare make such a comment to me, particularly the footmen in the palace of Louis the Beloved.
As I made my way into the courtyard, a squeal erupted from behind a tower of champagne glasses.
“Daphne,chérie! You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting for over an hour already.”
I smiled at the mass of swirling blue silk careening toward me. My cousin, Charlotte, did not have the same issues moving in haste, though she had never been one to care much for propriety.
She kissed my cheeks and I embraced her tightly. After my brother Michel was murdered, Charlotte was my only remaining blood relative. She’d stayed with me for a time after his death, fussing over me in a way that helped to distract me from the abyss of my grief. She had become like a sister to me.
“Bon soir, Charlotte! I see you have swindled your husband for another new gown.”
“That’s not all,” Charlotte giggled, gesturing gracefully at the diamond choker around her neck.
I furrowed my brow. “Oh, no! What’s Philippe done now?”
Charlotte snorted with laughter, attracting the attention of several courtiers. Clearly, she’d had one too many glasses of champagne while waiting for my arrival.
“It’s an ‘I miss you’ gift he brought back from Venice. It’s beautiful, no?”
She twirled around, stumbling slightly. My arm shot out swiftly to steady her.
