Page 8 of The Assassin and the Libertine
“Wrong. Oh, yes, it’s true enough that it came from the East. From somewhere around the Carpathian Mountains, in fact. And it’s true that there are no treatments and no cure. But it didn’t spread because of thefilthy peasantsand theirdeplorablehomes. It spread because they are deliberately infecting themselves.”
“What utter nonsense! No one would willingly choose such a life.”
I stared into her lovely violet eyes, so blind to the struggles of a country—a world—outside Versailles. Frustration clawed at me, loosening the tether of my self-control.
“You might if you were starving! If you had too many mouths to feed and not enough bread because of the grain blight, andyour beloved king had nothing to offer you but empty promises. No help, no charity, just taxes to pay for his foreign wars and the champagne at his garden parties, while he remains safely ensconced in his walled palace of decadence. How fortunate you are, Duchesse, that you’ve never had to put yourself in a position risking your very soul for a full belly.”
“You know nothing of my life,” she hissed, her eyes suddenly wild with emotion.
I seethed in silence for a moment, too afraid I’d given away my own secrets—my family’s secrets. Anger, desperation, and a sense of solitary forlornness flowed through me. I was fighting a losing battle with the king and the court, and this damned woman represented every part of my struggle—the ignorance, the entitlement, and every backwards aristocratic ideal. The beauty, the glitter, and the wealth were everything I’d once been promised that had been ripped away from me, only to be dangled in front of my face like some kind of poisoned apple when the king needed a vampire to control.
“I can’t believe you,” she breathed. “That cannot be true. I know they are struggling because of the grain blight, but surely they can find other ways to?—”
“To eat? Yes, they have found another way. Many of them have reasoned that it is easier,more economical, to sustain themselves on blood instead of bread. And I’ll tell you something else, Duchesse—they have not forgotten who has forced their fangs. A day of reckoning is on the horizon for Louis, for all of us. And damned if we don’t deserve it when it comes.”
Daphne gasped. “You speak of treason!”
Defeat weighed down my shoulders as I shook my head. My fangs retracted.
“I speak the truth.”
Unnerved by my emotional outburst and melancholy tone, she shifted uncomfortably on the bench and toyed with a ruffle on her skirt. After a moment, she recovered.
“And is this why you killed Jeanne? To visit some kind of twisted revenge on the king who has supposedly condemned your kind?” She shot to her feet with the allegation, but I saw the beginnings of doubt clouding her violet eyes.
I moved toward her slowly, stalking her. To her credit, she didn’t back away or flinch. She stood her ground, staring up at me defiantly. I heard her pulse quicken and smelled the anticipation in her blood.Exquisite.
“Madame de Pompadour’s throat was not bitten, Daphne,” I said softly. “It was ripped out.”
“What?” she uttered, horrified.
“I saw her body when they took her away that night. Her head had almost been severed.”
Daphne paled. “But why would you—you could have?—”
I rolled my eyes, my temper ebbing.
“In theory, yes, I could have. I possess the physical strength it would take to do such a thing to a body, but as I told you, I donothurt women. I only drink from them with their permission, and almost never from the throat.”
She stared at me in confusion. “Then, where…?”
“There are so many more delicious places where the blood flows. Would you like me to show you?” I offered, my voice a low rumble of desire.
I grinned lasciviously at her, loving the sound of her gasp. I was inches away from her, mesmerized by the blush blooming across her chest and cheeks. Suddenly, I was ravenous with hunger—but not for blood. Her lips parted on an intake of breath and my cock hardened to granite.Damn it, man. Get ahold of yourself.
I stepped back. Daphne blinked and straightened, and I felt a rush of pleasure at the thought that she, too, had been stirred by our encounter. That pleasure was swiftly followed by a jolt of panic—in the space of a few minutes, this woman had obliterated my carefully crafted sense of self-control. I’d have to be on my guard in the future. Clearly, she was much more dangerous than I’d anticipated.
She glowered at me.
“Are you so sure I’m to blame for Jeanne’s death? Why do you think Louis has not ordered my arrest, then? If everyone is so certain I killed his beloved mistress, why is it left to The Order to be responsible for my punishment?”
She turned from me and I knew I had her.
“Assuming you’re telling the truth—which, I’m still not certain of—you must have some idea who killed Jeanne.”
“I’m at a loss, I’m afraid,” I admitted. “But that’s why I have a proposal for you tonight, Duchesse.”
She folded her arms in front of her chest, likely to signal her displeasure, but it merely served to squeeze her breasts tighter against her bodice. I forced myself to meet her eyes.
