Page 40 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“Safe,” I repeated. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You are safe here with me. With Étienne.”
I rested my cheek atop her silky blonde curls and stroked her arms and her back. Eventually, her taut muscles loosened, and her breathing slowed to a deep, steady rhythm. I blew out all but one candle on my bedside table and leaned back against the downy pillows. Sleep claimed me almost immediately.
When I awoke some hours later, Daphne was curled against me. The candle had burned out at some point, but I could see well enough in the dark. Her eyelids fluttered in sleep and she murmured something unintelligible. I pushed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead. Startled, she opened her eyes and tensed, but relaxed when recognition dawned.
“Étienne.”
She didn’t pull away, but continued to stare at me.
“So, it was not a nightmare,” she said.
“No.”
She rolled away from me, wincing at her bruises, and stretched her arms above her head. Her panic appeared to have diminished slightly, and she blew out a breath.
“You know, I never really believed he was dead. I just hoped he was. After he fled to Italy, I hoped he’d debauch himself into oblivion. Yet, it seems the rotten bastard was too ill-tempered to simply lay down and die, and now his ghost will haunt me…just like his memory.”
“Why did he leave?”How could he leave you?
“I’m surprised you don’t know. The king offered him the emissary position—your position. This was a couple years ago, before the court was fully aware of your turning. No one wanted the emissary post, least of all my wastrel husband. Henri left the country before the king could order him to take the post. I haven’t heard from him since. Well, until tonight.”
I turned onto my side to face her. She continued to stare at the ceiling. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and I wiped them away with my thumb.
“What is he, Étienne? A ghost? A vampire? A demon?” she wondered, her voice barely a whisper.
“I do not know,” I admitted.
“Whatever he is, I’m still married to him. He was a monster before, and now…”
The realization gutted me.She is taken. She is not mine. She cannot be mine.
She turned to look at me, the despair on her face devastating.
“You weren’t injured in the cellar, were you?”
I pursed my lips to avoid lashing out. I was angry at her foolishness—she could have been killed and here she was worrying about me—but now was not the time to chastise her. I swallowed my ire and brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“No. Nothing lasting, at least.”
“What is it like? Being able to heal so quickly. Is it painful?”
“No. It is…well, it’s hard to describe. Would you like me to show you?” I’d never spoken of my abilities with anyone, but a thread of mutual vulnerability now stretched between us in the dark.
“I don’t know; I do not want to be a vampire,” she said.
“That is not what I’m offering, Duchesse.”
“What do you offer, Étienne?”
“A taste.” My fangs lengthened. “I cannot heal all wounds, but bruises are an easy feat. Show me your side where you were kicked.”
I expected protests, denials, disdainful refusals—everything but compliance. Perhaps it was the blackness of the room that made her feel comfortable; perhaps it was the traumatic experience we’d just shared, or—as my anxious mind suggested—the eagerness for physical strength and power over her husband, our new enemy. Whatever it was, she nodded to me and sat up on her knees to begin disrobing. The slow, sure movements of her fingers on her buttons were a sweet torment that I found unbearably arousing. I would watch them play out over and over in my head when I thought of her, marveling at the sainted restraint I exercised in keeping myself from ripping her clothes off. She untied her skirts and petticoats, letting themfall to the floor beside the bed. At last, she knelt before me in her stays and chemise, and paused.
“Do you need help with your stays, my lady?” My voice sounded husky and strangled.
In response, she turned her back to me to allow me access to her laces, which I undid with trembling fingers. When the last lace had been loosened, she let out a small breath of relief as the garment fell away. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
I’d seen her nude form in her chambers, but here, now, in her sheer chemise, she was baring herself to me of her own free will. It was the single most erotic moment of my wretched life. I wanted to make her crest with pleasure—to bury myself in her in a thousand different ways. I bit the inside of my lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing myself to focus.
