Page 6 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“I think,ma chère Duchesse, we have a few things we need to discuss.”
CHAPTER TWO
ÉTIENNE
September 22, 1765
Palace of Versailles
She was much strongerthan she appeared. No match for the supernatural strength the plague had bestowed on me, certainly, but still, much stronger than I expected. While I didn’t put much stock in the usefulness of the women of the court beyond slaking certain appetites and exerting occasional influence upon their more dim-witted husbands, I could at least acknowledge when some ornamental ninny possessed something outside the ordinary. I’d seen the duchesse watching me over the last several months but hadn’t considered her a proper threat until recently. I realized now, clutching her arm, I had miscalculated—an oversight I soundly regretted. As my father had often warned, “Never underestimate a woman.”
Especially one sent to assassinate you.
I had to hand it to The Order—of all the ways they’d tried to deliver me unto Death, this was the most…enticing.
Her soft peaches-and-cream complexion, wide violet eyes, and pert rosebud lips set in a furious pout gave her the appearance of a wrathful angel boiling over with self-righteousness. She was unable to free herself from my grip, so I allowed myself the luxury of an intimate perusal of her full form—partly because it unsettled her, but partly because I found herfascinating.My gaze raked lazily over her, from the top of her powdered curls, down the graceful column of her neck, to her luscious breasts straining at the top of her neckline. I tracked down the crimson silk of her bodice to her trim waist, ensconced in those unseen stays, and wondered what her undergarments might look like. Would they be silk? Would they be adorned with ribbons, rosettes, or lace? Would they match this daring, provocative gown? I hardened at the thought.
“If you wish to speak with me, Monsieur,” she spat. “Then perhaps you might release my arm so that we can converse properly.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to release you,” I murmured in her ear. “Perhaps I don’t feel like being staked tonight, despite yourorders.” I breathed in her scent—orange blossom and vanilla. I wondered what she’d taste like.
I saw her eyes widen momentarily. So, now she knew that I knew her allegiance to The Order. When the moment of shock wore off, she huffed in irritation and gritted her teeth.
“Then go on and break it.”
I stepped back, stunned. She hadn’t offered it as a careless challenge. Her expression was determined, not daring.
“I beg your pardon?” I relaxed my grip on her arm but did not let her go. A quick glance across the courtyard told me we were beginning to attract attention. The disappointed moue of the Marquise de Balay told me that people would be gossiping already.
The beast has found his next diversion.
Cursing silently, I tugged her into the king’s ridiculous hedge maze, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the idiotic aristocracy. After so many clandestine trysts out here, I knew the ins and outs of the garden labyrinth almost as well as my own château.
She practically growled at me in response, exciting something embarrassingly primal in my blood. I was trying to sort out whether I wanted to feed on her or fuck her.Probably both, provided she doesn’t plunge a stake into my heart.
“Break it, then,” she repeated, steel in her gaze. She struggled and I tightened my hold on her.
She hissed at me in disgust and tried to pull away again.
“If you know that I’m with The Order, Monsieur, then you’ll know why they sent me. You may break my arm to escape death at my hands tonight, but I assure you, I have had worse and it will only buy you a few hours reprieve.”
I enjoyed that the spoiled little minx had spirit, but her comment ignited a spark of dread and anger.She’d had worse than a broken arm? She was a beautiful woman, and a duchesse, for God’s sake.
Infuriated, she continued.
“Allow me to tell you how this will go. You will break my arm, I shall scream, the guards will come running, and even with your monstrous strength and speed, they will catch up to you—probably in the daylight hours when you need your rest. And because you’ll have brutally injured the Duchesse de Duras—when you arenot, in fact, her husband—our beloved king will have your head cut off and my task will be accomplished regardless of the function of one arm. So, either let me go or break my arm. It matters little which.”
I tugged her further into the maze, impressed by her vivid imagination and the speed at which her mind worked. Yet again, her words gave me pause.
“When I am not, in fact, your husband—what do you mean by that, Madame?”
“None of your damn business, you brute!” Her cheeks flamed near the color of her gown. In her fury, she’d obviously admitted more than she would have liked. She kicked at my shin, but I sidestepped it. I twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her forward. She let fly a string of curses that I hadn’t heard many ladies use. With her free hand, she produced a wooden stake from one of her pockets, which I knocked away. She uttered a muffled scream of frustration.
“Let me go, you oversexed bloodsucker!”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the insult.This is too much fun.
Finally, we neared a stone bench at the center of the maze. Few other revelers would make it in this far, which guaranteed us a modicum of privacy.
