Page 45 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“Oh no! Was it horrible? He didn’t take advantage of you, did he? I will kill him myself if he did!” Charlotte gripped the wine bottle threateningly in her hand and burgundy droplets splashed out onto her skirts.
I took the bottle and drank, shaking my head.
“No, it was...oh, Charlotte, it was wonderful. I felt things I’ve never felt with any man. But I fear I did something wrong because afterwards…he just shut down on me. Now I’m afraid that I just became another name on his list of mistresses. Women of the court to use and toss aside.”
The tears flowed more freely, and Charlotte tutted affectionately.
“You poor thing! Why do you feel like you did wrong?”
“I don’t know!” I wailed. “All I know is that we made love and then he just went cold! What if he’s lost interest in me because he finally succeeded in getting me into bed and the chase is over? Either that or…well, I’ve only ever been with Henri and his tastes wereunusualto say the least—what if it’s because I am horrible in bed? He was likely disappointed with me, otherwise he wouldn’t be avoiding me, right? I’m so furious with myself, Charlotte, I could just explode! I was doing so well resisting him and his charms and in the midst ofoneweak moment...” I growled and gulped the wine. Charlotte patted my back.
“My darling, I’m certain you performed admirably. Men just behave this way sometimes—they don’t have much experience dealing with anything beyond their own set of immediate needs. Goodness, if I want a bit of a cuddle after sex with Philippe, you’d think I was asking for the moon. He was probably overtired, or hungry! Men can be such strange creatures, to say nothing ofsupernaturalmen. Don’t fret over it.”
She took the bottle and drank. I blubbered a bit more and she leaned her head onto my shoulder.
“Do you want me to punish him? I could have him ousted from thetonneor spread vile rumors about him. I could tell the women at court that he hasla grande veroleand his manhood has become black and shriveled.”
I wiped my face and giggled. “No, but thank you. I suppose I’m just embarrassed about it all. And it feels strange…being with a man who isn’t Henri. And rather regretfully, there was nothing shriveled about him.”
Charlotte cackled and nearly spilled the bottle of wine. We dissolved into drunken fits of laughter and my tears were soon forgotten.
On a sigh, Charlotte tossed the second empty bottle across the room.
“Alors,tell me about your ghost. Is it his room? Your château isn’t haunted, is it?”
“No. Charlotte, you must never repeat what I’m about to tell you. Our very lives may depend on it.”
“Cross my heart.”
I took a deep breath. “I am investigating Jeanne’s death.”
“For The Order?”
My jaw dropped. “Charlotte! How did you—what do you know of The Order?”
She laughed. “If you think Philippe is smart enough to keep that big of a secret from me, you seriously underestimate me,chérie.I have known since we were married, and I know that you are also with them. Do not worry! I have kept it to myself for this long. Your secrets are safe with me. Now, go on. Tell me of the ghost.”
My shock waning—of course Charlotte would figure it out, Philippe has no talent for espionage and Charlotte has a mind like a whip—I cleared my throat and continued.
“Right. After Jeanne was murdered, they believed Étienne was responsible?—”
“What utter rot!” she interjected. “That man seduces women, he doesn’t murder them. If he murdered women, there would be fewer pussies for him to?—”
“Yes, well, there was a report of Jeanne’s death and it saidvampire bite. I was supposed to administer justice on their behalf, but?—”
“You mean stake him?”
“Yes, Charlotte,pleasestop interrupting. I’m getting to that.”
She selected another bottle of wine and sat primly at the foot of the bed. I told her everything about the investigation and about Étienne, from our first meeting in the hedge maze to the graveyard, to his poisoning, to our encounters with the jeweler, Josephine, and the drunks, and finally the black magic bookshop basement. I told her about making love to him, though I left out the part about his healing abilities. For some reason, divulging that felt like a betrayal of something strangely sacred. When I finished, the third bottle of wine sat abandoned on the bedside table and her face was a pale, inscrutable mask.
“Well?” My nerves crackled as I worried about how she would respond.
“I cannot believe you’ve been through all that in the last few weeks,” she said. “Firstly, I retract my earlier defense of Étienne’s behavior. He is certainly an ass. Secondly, this book you found in the basement—what was the title again?”
“Pseudomonarchia Daemonum.”
“You must be dealing with a demon of some kind,” she said, her brows furrowing.
