Page 43 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“I don’t need your protection,” I snapped. My temper had crept up on me, goaded on by the fear and mistrust of my own feelings. “I’m not a fool. The Order has wanted me out of the way since I took the emissary appointment—perhaps even since I first returned to Paris. We were enemies long before you showed up with your stake in hand.”
She watched me guardedly. Her breath hitched slightly when she whispered, “Enemies?”
“Apologies, Duchesse. I don’t know if there’s a better word for people who want you dead.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am not your enemy, Étienne.”
“Don’t you understand? If you’re with them, you will be.”
“No. I’ll tell them the truth. We’ll figure things out and you will be exonerated. I swear it.”
“And risk your life’s purpose?Please,” I sneered. “What happened to revenge against all vampire-kind? You say I’m not your enemy, Daphne, but I represent them—all of them. I’m fighting for their rights, not the least of which is the right to exist. Your work with The Order sets you against me. Besides, it won’t be long before they manage to convince you that we’re to blame for every evil in Paris.”
“You believe my mind can be changed so easily?”
I laughed cruelly and gestured at the rumpled sheets. “I believe you told me you’d rather fuck Lucifer himself than me.”
Anger flashed in her eyes, chased by regret. Whether it was for her earlier words or our intimacies, I didn’t know. Minutes of tense silence passed between us, until she finally stood and retrieved her clothes. The disappointment in her eyes made me feel a thousand kinds of wretched, but it was better this way. I half-hoped she would argue—hurl some acerbic insult that I rightly deserved, but she didn’t. I watched mutely as she dressed, pinned her hair up, and left the room without a word.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DAPHNE
October 25, 1765
Château de Champs-sur-Marne
Just a little further…almostthere…got it!I seized the book from the top shelf in triumph, then promptly stumbled off the library ladder when a shrill voice startled me.
“Mon Dieu,Daphne, what the Hell are you doing?” Charlotte yelled from the doorway.
I righted myself and dropped the book to the floor, then stepped down from my perch.
“Nothing! Well, reading,” I replied, feeling like a child caught misbehaving.
Charlotte strode into the library in a gown of vibrant chartreuse that glowed in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the pile of books I’d collected.
“Daphne,noneof these appear to be salacious novels. In fact, these are all religious texts and—What’s this?MalleusMaleficarum!Have you taken up an interest in the occult?” she said with a raised brow.
“No! Of course not.” I rubbed at my temples, trying to ward off the ache building in my head. Charlotte folded her arms in front of her and waited expectantly.
“Well, perhaps a bit,” I hedged. She gasped, her eyes sparking with excitement, and clapped her hands together.
“Fantastic! I’ve always wanted to learn how to cast a spell. What have you learned so far?”
I sighed as she fluffed her skirts out around her and sat upon the floor. She picked up one of the books and flipped through it. I collapsed to the floor beside her and closed my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a decent night’s sleep and I felt stretched and threadbare.
“Can we find a spell that will help my husband become a better lover? You know, help him keep it up longer.” She tossed the first book aside and picked up the second one. “Or perhaps there’s a spell that will help him be able to find my?—”
“Charlotte, please,” I begged. “I am not in the mood to hear of Philippe’s failings in bed.”
She set the book aside and studied me. “Darling, what’s wrong? You look positively dreadful. Shall I call for some tea?”
I sat up on my elbows and grinned at her. “Fancy a proper fucking drink?”
She leaned over, her expression grave, and felt my forehead. “Well, you don’tfeelfeverish. I can only deduce that you’ve well and truly cracked, and to that I say,it’s about fucking time.What shall we drink,ma chère amie?Brandy? Cognac? Whisky?”
“Oh, Hell. Let’s go drink some of my bastard husband’s good wine.” I grabbed the stack of books and we made our way downstairs through the kitchens to the wine cellar. I hadn’t had the bed removed yet and Charlotte’s eyes grew wide at the sight.
