Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

DAPHNE

October 17, 1765

Chateau de Champs-sur-Marne

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice called out to me, Wrong. This is wrong. You cannot trust a vampire—especially this one. I was dimly aware that I should be doing something—stopping this kiss. This isn't kissing. It was unlike the perfunctory and invasive attempts of Henri. It was incredible . étienne brought his hand up to the back of my head and threaded his fingers through my hair, gently rubbing at the base of my neck. The pleasure of the touch rolled through me in waves. He tasted of cognac and something vaguely salty, but his lips felt so good against mine that I couldn't focus on much besides the feeling. Dieu, how he felt. My body craved more but there was something stopping me from seeking it…

Do not trust the vampire. Remember all his women. Remember the blood. Remember Michel.

Finally, the thought beat back the surge of lust and I realized my mistake. I pulled away immediately, stepping back into the library. Confused by my desire for the man who represented everything I stood against, I couldn't help the force of my response.

"You kissed me!" I exclaimed. My fingers reached up to my tender lips as if to confirm the truth of the matter.

étienne cocked a satisfied brow at me. "You kissed me back," he said.

"I—I didn't mean to! The cognac—and I haven't been sleeping, and I forgot myself and you forgot yourself! " I stammered. Damn it. I didn't mean to sound so flustered. It made me even angrier. I fought for a steadying breath.

"It was a mistake," I gritted out. "It won't happen again."

étienne's devilish grin slipped, and I could've sworn I saw a glimmer of hurt in his eyes. His face went blank. "A mistake. My apologies for being forward. As you say, it must have been the cognac."

I nodded, still not satisfied.

"We'll just forget it happened," I said, somewhat breathlessly. "And tomorrow, we'll resume our investigation. The sooner this is solved, the better."

étienne bowed rigidly and turned down the hall. From the darkness, he called back to me.

"Sleep well, Duchesse."

I wondered if we both knew that was unlikely.

The following day, I slept in much later than usual. I finally roused myself in the afternoon, ate a belated breakfast, and hid in one of the front parlors. My mind returned to the kiss over and over—how my body wanted him, but my mind couldn't trust him. Even if something happened to change that—which I reasoned was unlikely given his scandalous reputation and supernatural state of being—I was not the kind of woman to take a lover, and as long as there were doubts about Henri's present whereabouts, I could not marry again. Besides, I was dedicated to The Order and in my experience, men didn't tend to share well when it came to their lady's attentions. It doesn't matter! I chided myself. The kiss was a mistake—a weak moment. Do you want to end up another name on some libertine's endless list of conquests? Certainly not. My pride wouldn't allow it.

Still, I worried over the possibility that I'd started to care for him. It seemed truer now than when Philippe had first presented the possibility. One doesn't aid in nursing a body back to health without forming some kind of attachment—an attachment that definitely needed severing.

I had to do it for the memory of Michel, for the sake of Philippe and Charlotte, for my duty to my king and to our dwindling human aristocracy. I had to admit that I felt less compelled to give him up for The Order now that they'd drawn a line in their support of my investigation.

I grunted. Give him up . As if you had him, Daphne. As if I wanted him .

Liar .

The rest of the day, I tried—and failed—to distract myself with letters, estate business, menu planning, and books before I finally gave up and went to change for dinner.

Eve helped me into my most somber-looking gray dress—a late mourning gown from when my parents had died, and then Michel not long after. It was severity in thread—soft wool with an infinity of tiny buttons. Wearing it made me feel serious and sad and hardhearted all at once. It would be impossible for me to think of anything affectionate when it came to étienne, and with the long sleeves and high neckline, I didn't think there would be anything that would remotely arouse his libidinous interests.

After I finished dressing, I twisted my hair in tight curls on top of my head, covered with a largely unflattering cap, and comforted myself by hiding an excess of stabbing implements in my pockets and sleeves.

If I came across anyone who meant me harm tonight, I'd take a great deal of pleasure in venting the maelstrom of destruction that seethed beneath my tightly reined exterior.

éTIENNE

I lay in my wine cellar bed for a while that evening, going over the events of the previous night in my mind. It was troubling to suddenly feel so unsure of myself; I'd thought the kiss was something we both wanted. While I knew Daphne had built an emotional fortress to protect herself, I'd sensed her desire and had felt it in her response. She'd wanted me as much as I'd wanted her.

…but what did that mean?

I hadn't been thinking about a future with her, or a future with any woman, for that matter. Women were delicious, wonderful playthings for me—food, pleasure, and tools to achieve what I needed to in court. With the disgrace to my name, the loss of my title, my inability to father children, and most importantly—the inevitable separation by time itself, if my paramour refused to infect herself with the plague—I had little to offer any woman beyond a few nights of passion. Frustratingly, I was beginning to feel that Daphne deserved more than that.

It didn't matter. I was recovering from a physical and mental shock, and I needed more than a few delicate porcelain bowls filled with donated blood. My lusty pursuit of this woman was likely the result of the euphoria I'd been experiencing from drinking virgin's blood. After our investigations ended, I'd go out and get something properly satisfying and leave the damned duchesse Daphne to her melancholy.

As I was contemplating the strange turn of events my life had taken, someone knocked at the door. The butler Gaston entered with a set of shaving implements and a pitcher of warm water. He offered to help me shave, but I declined his assistance. After everything that had happened, I felt decidedly less comfortable allowing a stranger to hold a blade to my throat. He stood patiently by the door while I washed, lathered, and dragged the sharp blade over the light growth of whiskers I'd accumulated in my convalescence. When I was finished, he spoke.

"Her Grace instructed me to assist you with your dress tonight. If you'll follow me to the duc's bedchamber, we'll find something appropriate for you in his wardrobe," he said.

"Do you think the duc would object to my use of his clothes?"

Gaston glanced at me, eyes wide in surprise.

"His Grace is…gone," he said, fumbling for the right word.

"Yes, so I heard. What exactly does that mean, I wonder?"

Gaston didn't answer. We reached a sumptuous bedchamber decked in dark wood and burgundy velvet. It reminded me of the color of Daphne's gown the first night we'd met. The room seemed a tad stale, as if it hadn't been opened in some months. There were strange, lingering scents in the air that I struggled to name: faint wisps of opium smoke, the cloying reek of vomited brandy, the musk of ancient lovemaking, and—disturbingly—the metallic tinge of old blood. I'd smelled rooms like this before—in the dank basements of brothels that specialized in pain over pleasure. I couldn't imagine Daphne willingly submitting to such debasements and I started to understand her fears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my fangs lengthened.

"What happened in here?" I growled. On some level, I already knew. A rush of protective indignity coursed through me when I imagined what Daphne had endured. So, the gossip about le Duc Dépravé had been true.

A deep sorrow filled Gaston's gaze.

"We do not discuss it, Monsieur." Shame and regret radiated from him.

"Just tell me this, then," I bit out. "Is the duc dead?"

If he isn't, I will amend that promptly.

A long-suffering sigh escaped him while he pulled ornate jackets, breeches, and matching waistcoats from a large ebony armoire.

"We do not know, Monsieur. But we do not think he will be coming back."

"Why not? He has one of the most influential duchies in all of France, a fortune almost as vast as the king's, this exceptional chateau, and a rather formidable wife. Even with the requisite carousing of the aristocracy, they're usually quite dedicated to at least some of the responsibilities of the peerage. Siring an heir is the most pressing one that comes to mind," I grumbled, then remembered Daphne's words from the night before. Her refusal to carry on the duc's bloodline. Brave girl, I thought. Considering procreation was the only important preoccupation of titled women.

I selected a charcoal-colored velvet coat adorned with silver embroidery. Despite the duc's obvious predilection for depravity, his taste in clothing was impeccable. He'd obviously enjoyed the slighter stature of the nobility and the coat was tight across my chest and shoulders, but I thought it would do for our outing tonight.

"You look very fine, Monsieur," Gaston said, offering me a selection of shoe buckles to choose from. "Most satisfactory for l'émissaire vampire."

I arched a brow at him. "You know who I am?"

" Bien s?r ." His reply was tight with stifled affront. "You've been a guest with us for some time now, Monsieur."

"Ah, so Madame has told you about me?"

"No, of course not. Her Grace does not share everything with us. But we know—all the same. We've been with her since she came to this house and we are loyal to her," he said tersely. He finished tying back my hair in a silver ribbon.

He offered me a matching hat and shiny ebony walking stick, which I took with a nod.

"It is possible that you know my reputation," I said a touch more defensively than I would have liked. "But I assure you I'm not here to take advantage of your mistress."

"As you say, Monsieur."

I made to leave but stopped at the door.

"And I did not kill Madame de Pompadour."

" Oui . As you say, Monsieur," he said, his expression unreadable.

I didn't know why, but it bothered me immensely that Daphne's household thought ill of me. They likely believed I was as much of a villain as the duc. As much as Daphne does.

My mood was dark as I went downstairs. Damn The Order. The sooner I can find Jeanne's murderer, the sooner I can put this mess behind me. It might be time for me to take an extended trip abroad and leave Paris entirely. Perhaps ride out the winter months in the south of France, or even Italy. Even if I couldn't enjoy the sunshine, I could enjoy the warmth of an evening, or the smell of the sea. They were better substitutes for light than the stifling candlelit ballrooms of Versailles.

Daphne cleared her throat behind me.

"Are you ready?"

Even with her drawn expression and her severe gray attire, she was still the most luminous thing I'd seen since I'd been banished from the sunlight. Her self-assurance and confidence emanated from every curve of her body in a way that seemed positively magnetic. The determination in her violet eyes hid every other emotion I knew she kept contained, daring me to try to rile her—to remind her of our kiss. I would not. We had work to do—and she was not for me. I could not afford to let her presence distract me and keep turning me into some mindless, rutting beast. I was above that.

"Indeed. After you, Duchesse."

We got into her waiting carriage and crunched down the gravel drive. She stared out the window, avoiding conversation, until the feel of the street changed, and we rumbled into the louder, grittier neighborhoods around Paris. Sounds and smells changed to an earthiness that I doubted Daphne had experienced before.

"We're going to the jeweler first," I said. "Perhaps you should wait in the carriage for me."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I don't want to worry about protecting you while I'm trying to focus on getting information from this man."

"Protecting me?" she scoffed. She stuck her hand in her pocket and I heard the unmistakable click of a pistol cocking.

I rolled my eyes. "Are you any good with that thing?"

She cut her gaze to me disdainfully, then flicked her wrist. A small silver dagger shot forth and embedded itself in the seat half an inch to the left of my head.

"Almost as good as I am with that thing," she said with a cheeky smile.

"Very well, then. I suppose I should have known better. No offense meant."

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "No offense taken. I am used to being underestimated."

The carriage stopped outside a small shop on the main street. We got down and knocked on the door, seeing only darkness inside. Some minutes passed with no one coming to let us in.

"Perhaps they're closed for the evening?" Daphne suggested. "It's very late."

"No, it isn't. Most of the shops and vendors have changed their hours to keep pace with their increasingly vampiric clientele. You'd be hard pressed to find an establishment that closes before midnight around here." I gestured to a sign by the door—a hastily scrawled, We welcome our immortal brethren.

Daphne's brows rose in surprise, but she said nothing. Finally, the bobbing light of a candle broke through the gloom and a corpulent man in a leather apron unlocked the door.

"Ah, Monsieur l'émissaire! How fortunate to see you here this evening. And I see you brought a new—ah—friend!"

" Bon soir , Georges. Duchesse de Duras, allow me to introduce the finest jeweler in all of Paris—Versailles included," I wheedled. I hoped that Daphne would take my wink as instruction to follow my lead.

She did, indeed. Tilting her chin up haughtily, she sniffed.

"We shall see about that." She offered Georges her hand to kiss and I noticed him instantly eyeing the necklace of expensive black pearls at her throat. His piggy eyes sparked with hunger.

Georges led us into his shop and went around lighting all of the candles. Jewelry and unset gemstones glittered up at us from velvet-lined cases atop a counter.

"How may I be of assistance, Your Grace?"

When he turned to open another box of necklaces, she caught my eye and I nodded to her encouragingly. If she could get information out of him without me having to use force, so much the better. Besides, I was curious to see how well this lady agent handled herself.

"I'm looking for something special—very special. I have a new gown being made for an upcoming ball at Versailles and it's in the loveliest shade of pink. A soft pink, like the inside of a shell, you know. Normally I would pair a pink gown with my pink diamonds, but I feel as though I need something new and dazzling. Something to win the right amount of attention from His Majesty, you understand. I couldn't go to the court jeweler, of course—he is already designing pieces for several other ladies and I simply cannot wait. I thought I was forsaken! Then, as luck would have it, Monsieur l'émissaire told me that he knew of just the man to accept such a commission." She blushed prettily and gently touched his arm. He reddened to an unflattering, mottled purple and stared up at her with pure adoration. He was hooked.

"Of course, Madame, of course! I am at your disposal. What sort of piece do you have in mind? A necklace? Some new earrings? A new brooch for your bodice, perhaps?" He licked his lips and stared at her breasts. Anger and a fierce possessiveness crept through my veins.

"Oh, la! No, I have all of those things. A ring, I think. A ring with a pink pearl at the center. I will be just like Madame de Pompadour; God rest her soul. Pearls—they come in pink, do they not? I have seen them in every other color at court. Have you ever done something like that before? With pink pearls, I mean?" She ran her fingertips along the black pearls of her necklace, drawing his attention—and mine.

"Pink pearls? Yes, yes. They come in pink. They are rare, though, Madame. It would take me some time to acquire the necessary?—"

"Oh, but I don't have the time, Monsieur. I simply must have it as soon as possible. I will, of course, be happy to pay for any trouble you have in trying to find the very best materials. In fact, I will double your usual fee. My husband, the Duc de Duras, is rather generous with both his pocketbook and his oversight." She arched a brow suggestively and leaned forward. I'm certain both Georges and I cursed the high neckline of her dress.

"Perhaps, Georges, you might find the gems at a more ready source," I offered. "I know that Madame de Duras is—shall we say—less than particular about the provenance of her jewels."

Daphne nodded emphatically. "You must understand how important it is for me to present myself at court in the height of fashion. And I will do anything to get what I want." Her long lashes fluttered, and a coy smile spread across her lips. God, she was magnificent. My cock twitched in the duc's too-tight breeches.

Georges' attention was fixed on Daphne's mouth. I had a sudden urge to remove his eyes from his skull.

"I have employed such methods before, Madame," he oozed. "Don't you worry your pretty head over that. I understand you perfectly. I have—perhaps—heard of something that may help expedite the process. But it is not yet in my possession. Give me seventy-two hours to attempt to acquire it," he rasped, clutching at her hand. He was beginning to sweat, and his breath was coming in heated pants.

"You have thirty-six," Daphne snapped icily, breaking the spell of sensuality. "Or I shall take my custom to another jeweler. Oh—and this should go without saying, but this arrangement is entirely confidential. I shall remain anonymous. If I find out you've told anyone about this, I will deny everything and have your tongue cut out for slander. Do you understand?"

Georges nodded vigorously and bowed.

"Of course, Your Grace. Of course. You may trust Georges!"

Daphne smiled coldly at him and left. I tipped my hat to the quivering man and followed her out.

When we were alone in the carriage, I let out a bark of laughter.

"You did not need to be so rough with him at the end, Duchesse."

She bristled. "He does not have it, and yet he will try and sell it to me! The ring of my brutally murdered friend. Without a thought to her memory, he will try to find someone to dig her up and take it, and then sell me something that was once so precious to her. I do not regret dashing his ill-mannered hopes. Besides, he was entirely inappropriate to a lady in mourning attire."

I knocked on the carriage roof to signal our driver.

"He's just trying to earn a living, not an easy thing to do in these times. I'm sure if he had the meager luxury of not worrying about feeding himself or his family, he would leave a dead woman's jewelry alone."

"Perhaps," she said stiffly. "It's still wrong."

"So, in your estimation, it is wrong to take from a dead woman in order to feed oneself, and it is wrong for the peasants to become vampires so they do not need to eat. What do you suggest they do, Duchesse? Wait for the scraps from your table?"

"It cannot be so dire," she insisted. "I refuse to believe that there are no alternatives to surviving than to rob graves and drink the blood of the living. I myself have had to think laterally in order to avoid destitution."

I could not help but laugh.

"As the emissary between a largely impoverished vampire class and the declining human nobility, let me assure you, Duchesse, that the destitution of the aristocracy is very different from the destitution of everyone else."

"An empty belly is an empty belly regardless of the body's social status."

"The difference is that you had the opportunity to marry a wealthy, titled duc. Most other women do not."

She continued to stare out the window, but I saw a flash of anguish in her eyes. She was quiet for long moments, and when she spoke, it was so low I almost missed it beneath the noise of the street.

"Had I known what kind of man was saving me from hunger, I would have starved to death a thousand times."