Page 47 of The Assassin and the Libertine
I wandered the streets for a while, not wanting to go home. I didn’t know if it was worse to have my sheets smell like her anddream in torment, or if it was worse to feel the tightness in my chest when, each day, her scent lightened a bit more. I swore and ran my fingers through my hair, yanking it out of my customary queue. This was madness. My immortal life was in danger from some obscured threat and here I was—one of the greatest lovers of Paris—reduced to a simpering pup over some prissy courtier who was completely wrong for me.No, you fool, you’re the one who’s wrong. Wrong for her!
“Get ahold of yourself, Étienne!” I yelled. A few street urchins eyed me and backed away from my ravings.Pity,I thought.I could do with a good fight.
Unaware of the path my feet took, I found myself drifting aimlessly in the direction of Daphne’s château yet again. I stopped to reorient myself, realizing I was near theFaubourg Saint-Germainand some of the wealthiest town homes in the city. I quickened my pace, worried that I’d be seen in my disgraceful state by some gossiping lord or lady out for a moonlit stroll. Because good fortune seemed to have abandoned me entirely, it wasn’t long before I heard a familiar trill at my back.
“Monsieur de Noailles! Oh, Monsieur! Yoo-hoo!”
I stiffened and attempted to straighten my cravat, frowning at the spilled ale and blood on my waistcoat. My dark hair hung in loose waves around my face and I hadn’t bothered to bathe or shave. I probably looked like some sort of wild man who’d only just found his way to civilization.Well, nothing I can do about it now, I thought with a grimace.
I turned and bowed to the Comtesse de Brionne and her petulant husband. He looked an impressive mix of haughty and irritated as his wife tugged him forward in my direction. She, however, seemed beyond delighted to see me, given my disheveled appearance. Her eyes flashed with humor and feminine conspiracies.
“Charlotte, it seems Monsieur de Noailles is having himself an unsavory evening. I suggest we continue on our way home and leave him to his debauchery.”
“Nonsense, Philippe! One must always say hello to one’s friends when out and about. Is that not so, Monsieur de Noailles?” She extended her hand to me to bow over, but her husband yanked her arm out of my grasp.
“Do not touch her,” he hissed at me. “Carry on your way, Monsieur. Come along, Charlotte—now.”
The threat in his tone would have stayed many a woman, but Charlotte just whacked his shoulder with her folded fan.
“Philippe,please. I apologize for my husband’s rudeness, Monsieur. He has just lost a tidy sum at the card game following the duc’s dinner party and will be in an unbearable temper for the rest of the night.” Philippe glowered murderously and I smothered my laugh.
“From whence do you come, Monsieur l’Émissaire? Working late in the evening? Maybe leaving a new paramour? Or perhaps as my husband says—a night of well-earned debauchery?” Charlotte’s tone was light, but the scrutiny in her gaze sent a fresh wave of hot shame through me.
“The latter, I’m afraid, though it was hardly well-earned. How fare you on this fine October evening?” I tried for the smooth coolness of my courtly tone, but it came out gritty and flat.
“Oh, fine, fine! You seem somewhat out of sorts, Monsieur, are you certain nothing is the matter? You look a little sick—or is it lovesick?” Her piercing eyes took in my rumpled appearance with a hint of sympathy.
I bristled. “No, Madame. I assure you that isnotthe case.”
She eyed me for a moment, unmoved by my protest. I hid a grimace when her lips split into a wide, self-satisfied grin.
“Well, I wish you the best with your mystery lover. As I said, we’ve just come from the duc’s little get-together. It was lovely, of course, but they servedstewed fruitfor dessert—can you believe that? Really, what are we,English?I felt it was incredibly unpatriotic, don’t you? I’m sure the other guests were scandalized, as well, don’t you think, Philippe?” She laid a soothing hand on her husband’s arm, but his icy glare did not stray from me. He gripped her arm tightly.
“Well, we’ve paid an acceptable call upon Monsieur de Noailles, darling, and it’s time we let him return to his evening. Come along, Charlotte,” he growled between gritted teeth.
“Philippe,mon cher, not so tight, please. You shall wrinkle my gown.Alors, Monsieur de Noailles, my husband is right! We must away, but do tell me, are you planning on attending the All Hallow’s Eve masquerade next week? I understand it’s meant to be a ratherspiritedevening,” she said, giggling at her own joke. “I will be glad to have Philippe by my side, in case I become frightened. It is good, I think, to have one you love close by on such a night, don’t you agree?” Her intense expression hinted at some secret meaning that the alcohol prevented me from understanding just then.
“I hadn’t thought to,” I answered. “I’m really quite busy at the moment. I don’t know if I have time for?—”
“Well, that’s very nice, Monsieur. Thank you for your time.Bon soir,” Philippe muttered. Charlotte glared daggers at him and yanked her arm from his grip.
“Philippe. Arrêtez!”
“Damn it, Charlotte, go get in the carriage! We will discuss your behavior when we get home.Let’s go!”Without a glance at his wife, he whipped around and stomped over to their waiting carriage.
Charlotte turned wide eyes on me and flicked open her fan. Her hands trembled—no doubt at her husband’s outburst—andshe dropped the ivory accessory on the ground. Reflexively, I bent to pick it up and nearly fell backward when she bent down to meet me.
“Gather up your courage, Monsieur,” she whispered. “If you do not attend the masquerade, I daresay you will disappoint some very important people.”
“Mon Dieu, Charlotte! Get in here, now!” Philippe yelled from the darkness of the carriage.
“Oh, la! Monsieur l’Émissaire was just retrieving my fan for me, darling!” Charlotte called back to him. “You know how clumsy I can be after champagneandsherry at dinner,” she laughed. She gave me a dazzling smile and a saucy wink, then plucked her fan from my fingers and bustled away.
“Bon soir, Monsieur, et bonne chance!”
I swayed slightly and blinked at the retreating carriage. Already, my head was beginning to ache from the drink and Charlotte’s unsettling insinuations. I turned around and walked back the way I’d come, seeking my waiting carriage back at the tavern. I tried to sort through the comtesse’s words, but ale would not wear off until I fed. Forcing my despair down, I re-entered the tavern and beckoned to the bleeder from earlier. Without a word, she took me into a dingy room above the bar and sat on the bed. I stopped her from undressing and knelt before her, taking her wrist gently. When I’d drunk what I needed, I licked the wound closed and paid her handsomely. She smiled weakly and I made my way back out to my carriage, lost in thought.
The warm fingers of sunrise trailed across the sky and I felt painfully weary. One thought seemed to return over and over as I neared my home. Charlotte’s teasing words were seared into my mind.Lovesick. What was she suggesting? That I was in love with Daphne?Impossible.She was a passing infatuation, that was all. Did it matter that I thought of her constantly, that Iworried for her safety, that for the first time in my life, I found myselfunworthyof a female? Of course not. Certainly, I wished for her safety and her happiness, but any gentleman with an ounce of chivalry in him would. Disappointment flared. I did want to protect her, but that job was not mine. She’d told me so many times that she could protect herself, no doubt because she’d been doing so from the moment she’d had to marryle Duc Dépravé. She’d had to guard herself against his cruelty and brutality before, and now she would have to do it all alone yet again because I couldn’t bear to be near to her.
