Page 67 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“Yes, yes—I’m awake, damn you!” I tripped out of bed and grabbed my dressing gown just as the door burst open.
My butler, Robert, stumbled in on the heels of Dr. Van Helsing, who pushed her way inside my bedchamber as if she’d been in my home a thousand times. I eyed the curvy, enigmatic doctor warily.
“Good evening, Monsieur l’Émissaire,” she said with a polite curtsy.
“My apologies, Monsieur,” Robert said. “The lady was most insistent that she see you immediately. She would not be detained.”
I nodded and dismissed the suffering man. “Thank you, Robert. All is well. You may return to your duties.”
“I am sorry to be so forceful, Monsieur, but I do have other patients to attend to.” Van Helsing bustled over to my bureau and started removing a series of instruments from her reticule.
“There must be a misunderstanding, Doctor. I did not send for your services. As you can see, I’m perfectly healthy. I’m sure you are aware, but I’m able to heal from most injuries with rest and blood.” I went to the wash basin and splashed some water on my face.
“Nevertheless, I have been retained with the express purpose of ensuring your physical health,” Van Helsing said. “I aim to do my job to the best of my abilities.”
“I don’t recall offering you employ?—”
She snorted a little laugh. “No, no, of course you did not! You wouldn’t, would you? Now, hold out your arm, please. I need to examine your blood.”
“Doctor, please. I’ve had a very taxing few weeks and I’m in no mood to play games. Who hired you to look after me, and to what end?” I held out my arm, anyway. Van Helsing took it and began turning it this way and that, finding a good place to draw blood.
She regarded me with an expression of pity. “Why, Madame de Duras, of course. As to what end, I’m sure I cannot say. I can only guess that she cares for you and wishes to ensure that you remain in rude health, and since I am the very best vampire doctor in all of Europe, she paid me a full year’s wages to periodically drop in on you every month or so—for check-ups and the like.”
“That is unnecessary,” I said. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”
Van Helsing tutted. She poked and prodded me in what was a very thorough, and thoroughly embarrassing, examination. Unsurprisingly, she proclaimed me fit and packed up her bag with haste. As she made to leave, she handed me a vial of virgin blood.
“Just in case,” she said.
“Wait. You…you said that she cares for me?” The supposition flustered me, but I didn’t know why.Of course she did.She was a good person, and we’d become friends—of a sort. Forced proximity often had that effect on people. I knew she cared for me, but ever the narcissist, I wanted to hear Van Helsing admit it aloud.
“A great deal, I should think. My services do not come cheap, Monsieur, and she did not bat an eye at the continued cost of maintaining your well-being.” She looked at me like I’d gone soft in the head. “Surely you knew all that, right?”
“Well, the Duchesse is a wealthy woman. Such sums are probably trivial to her,” I reasoned.
Van Helsing laughed again, her gaze perceptive. “My, my! What a fool love has made you, Monsieur.”
“It is not love,” I said reflexively. “Merely infatuation. Or, at best, a friendship united by shared trauma.”
“I did not examine your eyesight, Monsieur, but perhaps I should have. I did not think you were blind.” Van Helsinginclined her head with a grin and promptly hurried from the room, leaving me alone with my astonishment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DAPHNE
December 18, 1765
Château de Champs-sur-Marne
“Mon Dieu,are you really wearing that?” Charlotte gasped, referring to my plain dress. In the days since the affair in the bookshop cellar, I’d taken to wearing much more…simple attire. It wasn’t that I was avoiding society at Versailles, per se, but ever since Étienne had come into my life, I found myself less and less thrilled by the glitter of the palace.
Most days I spent at home working for The Order again. Étienne’s exoneration had been my first priority, and after that had been secured, I took advantage of their good favor to petition for some changes of my own. The Order had readily agreed; partly, I think, because of their embarrassment at being blind to Philippe’s true motives. I’d forced my way into a leadership position—organizing missions and investigations, managing my own network of informants, occasionally donning a disguise to enjoy a little espionage on my own.
This style of dress made it so much easier and more comfortable to get around, especially without panniers. The gown was a deep, emerald green velvet, reminiscent of the color of Étienne’s jacket at the garden party months ago. The memory of our first meeting sent a wave of sadness through me.
“I’m not going to court, Charlotte.”
“Well, no, but don’t you want to wear something with a bit more…you know…” She gestured expansively at my bodice.
