Page 39 of The Assassin and the Libertine
That bone-chilling laugh came again. I scanned the room frantically, but couldn’t find the source of the voice.
“What do you want?” I shrieked, louder this time. The demonic wind was picking up in the cellar, lashing my hair against my face and whipping my skirts around. I edged along the wall toward Étienne, who was still slumped on the floor. When I reached him, I covered his body with mine protectively.
“Daphne, go! I’ll be fine!” he mumbled.
“In the name of God, what are you?” I whispered, more to myself than to our invisible attacker. Abruptly, the wind ceased, and the foul odor disappeared. A heavy stillness pressed in upon us. I helped Étienne to his feet and just as we turned to the stairs, a familiar cloying perfume floated through the room. It was a scent I knew intimately, and it frightened me a thousand times more than any supernatural entity.
No longer rasping, the disembodied voice drawled in a frigid baritone.
“Oh,ma petite Daphne! Don’t you recognize the voice of your own husband?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ÉTIENNE
October 20, 1765
Rue des Oubliés
The terrorin Daphne’s eyes was unlike anything I’d ever seen. The blood drained from her face and she froze, too stunned to move. That cold, evil voice laughed again, and I didn’t fancy waiting around to see what else it had in store for us. I tugged hard at Daphne’s arm, yanking her forward up the stairs. I smashed the door at the top of the stairs with my foot, showering us in tiny wooden splinters. As I hauled Daphne through the streets toward my waiting carriage, I could still hear the dark laughter taunting us from a distance.
The sky was paling to a fair lavender by the time I reached the carriage and threw Daphne inside. Dawn was upon me and if I didn’t get underground soon, things would become dire indeed.
“Daphne.” I knelt before her in the carriage. Her face was still pale—her gaze unfocused and her teeth chattering.She is in shock.
“Daphne, we need shelter. You’re going into shock and I need to get underground. My home is nearer to us than yours, so I’m having my driver take us there. When you’re recovered, I’ll send someone to escort you home. Do you understand?”
She didn’t respond, merely stared ahead at a fixed point behind me. I stripped off my coat and wrapped her in it, laying her back against the carriage seats. The ride seemed to take ages, but we finally arrived at my château. I scooped her up and carried her inside.
My father’s château was one of the few things left of my family’s once grand legacy. When I returned to France after my travels abroad, much of the grandeur of my family home had fallen into disrepair—the result of my father’s decimated fortune and his broken spirit. After his passing and my royal appointment, I labored tirelessly to restore the upper floors to their former magnificence and took the opportunity to renovate the cellars into a comfortable suite of apartments for my vampire needs. For my own safety and for my self-indulgent sense of privacy, few outside of my architect and household staff knew of my secret chambers. I usually entertained others—notably women—in the upper part of the house.Not today.
I carried Daphne to the door hidden behind a floor-length tapestry and opened it. Another set of stairs descended below ground, though this one was not so dark. Candlelight flooded the corridor from dozens of glass fixtures that I insisted remain lit while I was at home. Sometimes, if I closed my eyes, it almost felt like my memories of sunlight.
I brought Daphne into my bedchamber and set her on the bed. Her eyes had closed at some point, hopefully in a dreamless sleep. I tucked her in beneath the thick silk coverlet and went to my wardrobe to change. I washed quickly in the basin—tomorrow I would indulge in a long, hot bath. For now, I needed the healing power of sleep to mend my wounds and refresh mymind. I’d pulled off the borrowed jacket and waistcoat, as well as the shoes, when I heard Daphne stir. She sat bolt upright and let out a ragged, shattering scream.
She babbled incoherently, unable to form intelligible words in her panic. Tears streamed down her cheeks when she at last mouthed the name like an oath.
“Henri!”
I rushed over to her and seized her shoulders.
“Daphne, he’s gone! You’re safe now, understand? It’s just us. We are here in my home, far away fromle Quartier Sanglant. Be easy, Duchesse. You are safe.”
Wild-eyed, she continued to sob.
“He isn’t gone, Étienne.He isn’t gone.”
Her body shook and she fisted her hands in her hair, then brought them down to hold herself. She rocked back and forth, whispering prayers I’d long since forgotten.
Cautiously, I put my hands on her tear-streaked cheeks.
“Daphne, look at me,” I soothed.
With effort, her wide violet eyes met mine.
“You are safe,” I repeated. “It’s just us here. Safe.”
“Safe,” she whispered. The word slowly took root and she ceased rocking. I climbed into the bed next to her and put my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I dared. She drew a shaky breath and nuzzled against me, her eyes drifting closed again.
