Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

DAPHNE

October 19, 1765

Chateau de Champs-sur-Marne

I didn't have much hope for a lead from the jeweler, Georges. If Jeanne's ring had made its way to some black market jewelry merchant, I suspected we would have had some inclination about it by now. We were no closer to Jeanne's killer.

After our outing into Paris, we'd returned to my chateau to regroup. We decided our next move would be to hunt down the woman who'd poisoned étienne. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if she had been on assignment from The Order. As far as I knew, I was still the only female member, though I supposed she could have been hired or coerced by one of the other male agents. Either way, we needed to find her and question her.

In an effort to regain some of my lost influence with The Order, I'd also sent them a message about what I'd learned in Paris—the late hours of the merchants and their willingness to do business with the vampires—and told them I suspected a change in the attitudes of the people. Were the other agents aware of this? If so, what was the plan to deal with it? I left out several details, not wanting to damn the unfortunate Georges, but made it clear that my investigation was progressing regardless of their assistance. I hadn't received a reply, but I didn't really expect one, either.

étienne had refused to tell me where our investigation would take us tonight and had become somewhat agitated in response to my questions, so we'd been careful to avoid each other for the rest of last night and the first part of this evening. While I didn't know what to expect, I was sure we would find ourselves in yet another dark and dangerous part of the city, so it seemed silly for me to be bathing now, but I didn't care. Relaxing in the hot water helped me shore up my courage—and I'd spent so much time worrying over Jeanne's murder, The Order's grand plan, and étienne's recovery, this was my first opportunity to enjoy time to myself and let my swirling thoughts still.

At least, I had been enjoying it until my infuriating houseguest knocked on my door.

"Go away!" I shouted.

"I've come to apologize," he called. "I'll tell you where we're going tonight, but I'm not going to yell at you through this door."

"Well, it will have to wait," I replied.

"We're already losing evening hours—I don't believe it can," he said, and forced the door open.

I shrieked and ducked beneath the bubbles, covering as much of my nudity as possible. His face lit with a pleased grin.

"There had better be an exceptional reason why you're here," I growled. "Otherwise, I'm going to call Dr. Van Helsing again and have her put the quicksilver back in your blood."

étienne chuckled and sat on a chaise opposite the tub. He stretched his long legs out before him and leaned back, making himself comfortable. His manner was no longer dark and brooding—rather, he seemed extraordinarily gleeful.

"We're off to the Maison des Nymphes on the Rue Saint-Denis," he said, his eyes never leaving me. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was… uncertain about allowing you to accompany me. You are, after all, a duchesse."

"Rue Saint-Denis? We're going to a house of ill-repute?"

"The finest in all of Paris," he winked.

"And you're worried that will offend my delicate aristocratic sensibilities?" I scoffed.

"Certainly not. I'm worried you'll offend the ladies within. I must insist you be on your best behavior," he drawled, eyeing me up and down.

If the water was warm before, I was set to bring it up to boiling in my ire.

"We're going to a bordello that you patronized, and you think I'm the offensive one?" I gritted out.

"Well, you do have a firm set of opinions and a rather sharp tongue, Daphne. Not that I'm complaining. In fact, I rather like your tongue."

Lust heated his gaze and he smiled wickedly.

The audacity of the man!

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Monsieur. If you're referring to that mistake in the library, I've quite forgotten it. And just because you had the misfortune of succumbing to your poisoning in my house does not give you leave to address me like one of your mistresses or your meals. Now, gather up your arrogance and get out."

" My arrogance?" he laughed. "Duchesse, you are quite possibly the most arrogant woman I've ever known."

"And yet—remarkably—still less arrogant than nearly every man on Earth."

"I can't argue that," he conceded, standing up. Just when I thought I'd won, he proved me wrong and started to disrobe.

"Did the poison damage your hearing, étienne? I told you to leave."

His eyes sparked as he casually unbuttoned his cuffs. "Have you really forgotten it?"

"Of course. I remember the cognac and nothing more," I grumbled. Liar.

He took off his shoes and pulled his linen shirt up over his head. I opened my mouth to yell at him again, but froze, strangely mesmerized by his bare torso. Taught, sculpted muscles flexed beneath smooth, pale skin. A thin trail of dark hair descended from his bellybutton into his breeches, hinting at some dark, secretive virility. Infuriated with myself, I found it impossible to look away. Henri hadn't looked like this. There wasn't an ounce of softness to étienne, merely hard planes and smooth angles. My fingers fidgeted with the desire to touch him.

Beneath the blood rushing through my ears, his voice carried like a devilish hymn.

"Do you like to watch, Duchesse?"

His movements slowed as he caressed his abdomen and stepped toward me. His hands were on the buttons of his breeches, undoing them one by one. I needed to leave—to put a stop to this, go get dressed, and find Jeanne's killer. Restore my place in The Order. Figure out what the blood plague was actually doing to my city.

Why wasn't I leaving?

étienne's breeches slid down his hips and to the floor. My breath shuddered on an exhale as he stood before me, naked, sinfully handsome, visibly aroused. He grinned down at me, fangs extended, hazel eyes glowing. He stepped into the large copper tub facing me, and began a slow, predatory drift in my direction.

Get out , my brain screamed. Get out of the tub, Daphne. This is wrong. He is a libertine and a rake. He will throw you over when he is done, and you will be just another one of his conquests.

I stood abruptly, water sloshing down my naked body. Modesty forgotten in the face of my anger, I stepped from the tub and pulled a towel from the chaise. Instantly, étienne was behind me again, pressing his hard body against my back. His arms snaked around my waist.

"Have you not come to care for me, Duchesse?" étienne whispered against my neck. "At least a little?"

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"No," I breathed.

He chuckled at the lie. Merde.

Soft, wet lips pressed against the back of my neck. Desire and wild curiosity paralyzed me. I couldn't believe he'd had the temerity to enter my bedchamber in the first place, let alone the brazenness to strip before me and insinuate himself in my watery sanctuary. I fought to ignore the heady thrill I felt at the press of his hard cock against my backside. It was almost dizzying feeling how much he wanted me.

What would it be like? To be with a man who wasn't Henri, to feel intimacy without pain and humiliation, to have a man touch me with more than his own pleasure in mind, to be worshipped and caressed, and not used or brutalized.

His cool body sent little shockwaves of pleasure through me when he brushed against my skin. He ground his hips harder against me and he let out a guttural moan that made heat pool at my core. When my lips parted, the bridled tension between us snapped, and he whirled me around to crush his mouth to mine.

His kiss was rough with urgency, his soft lips covering mine entirely. He was a man dying of thirst in a desert and I was his only oasis. I'd never felt such passion before, having long believed that after Henri, that part of me was a cold hearth full of ashes. My desire rekindled, some distant joy erupted within. Perhaps there is hope for me yet .

My thoughts of protest seemed to dilute in the ocean of lust swirling between us. He shoved one hand into my hair, scattering pins across the floor. He pulled at my curls gently, massaging my scalp with his fingertips. I whimpered at the exquisite pleasure of it. His lips left mine and he kissed my jaw, working his way down. His other hand stroked my breast beneath the towel, lightly at first, then with more insistence. He rolled my puckered nipple between his fingers and I became a bottomless pit of sexual need.

Then, came that eerily familiar, warm wet stroke along my neck as he licked me.

Just like his night of madness—his poisoned mind . The shame of that night returned to me—the thought of wanting him even when he was sick and disturbed. Dieu. What did that say about me? It says you will probably suffer the same fate as your brother—too easily seduced by a man who will turn you out when he's done with you.

I flinched and froze. As quickly as it had come, my lust evaporated. He stopped immediately, pulling away with a question in his eyes.

"Daphne, what?—?"

I pulled away and shoved him back—hard. His eyes widened with shock and offense.

"I cannot do this," I ground out through gritted teeth. Shame and guilt powered my anger and I stood before him, wrapping the towel tightly around me like some kind of armor against my own desires. "I will not do this. I will not be another woman who lines up before you to be fucked and feasted upon. I will not fall prey to your charms just so you can use me and take from me and then discard me like some forlorn, dried-up husk of a woman. I am more than food. I am more than a warm place to put your cock. I am more than some gossip-trading courtier looking for a tryst. My purpose on this Earth is greater than your base needs, Monsieur, and you shall remember that from now on or so help me God, I will stake you and not bother to brush your dust from my skirts."

"Daphne, wait! What happened?" he called, but I had already stormed from the room.

It occurred to me in some vague part of my mind that I was—perhaps—overreacting. Perhaps I was punishing étienne for the sins of Henri and the tragedy of Michel's death, and that I was frightened—not because étienne was a vampire, but because he'd awoken things in me that I'd long assumed dead or destroyed. Yes, all of these things whispered through me, but the most resounding thoughts were sheer instinct. Protect, endure, survive.

Eve helped me dress in a plain gown of lavender silk. Like last night, I pinned up my curls and comforted myself with a variety of weapons tucked against my body. When I met étienne in the drawing room downstairs, he said nothing—simply nodded and escorted me to the waiting carriage. His expression was unreadable, but his manner was dark, as if he were being followed by a little black raincloud. It didn't do much for my own feelings of anxiety, and a whisper of regret went through me.

We drove down a street in a shabby neighborhood of Paris, lined with prostitutes calling out to men. Unbeknownst to étienne, I was already familiar with the area, having had to come collect Henri from countless dens of iniquity when he'd rendered himself senseless from opium or alcohol. My stomach soured when I remembered it. I felt overwhelmed by regret and shame. When I'd refused to allow Henri to torture me and torment the ladies of my household, he inevitably wound up here, visiting his evil upon women too disadvantaged to say no. It broke my heart and made me feel sick at the same time. I only just managed to convince myself that my queasiness had nothing to do with the jealousy over étienne coming here to be with other women.

"Why have we come here?" I demanded. "Is your would-be assassin a prostitute? Is that how you feed?"

He laughed at me then. A warm, full-throated chortle that crinkled his eyes and showed his dazzling white teeth. I would have felt abashed if some part of me wasn't charmed by how sweet and boyish he looked in a light mood.

"What an inappropriate question! Are you jealous, Duchesse?"

"Don't be absurd. I simply want to know why you've brought me here."

"If you're uncomfortable, you are free to wait in the carriage. In fact, perhaps that would be best. I don't need you upsetting the ladies with you in all your state ," he said with a grin. The carriage pulled up to a large building at the end of the street—a once-grand home that had been turned into a modest hotel.

étienne got out of the carriage. When I made to descend, he stopped me on the step.

"I meant what I said, Duchesse. I won't have you insulting or upsetting the women here." The good humor had left his face and his hazel eyes bored into mine.

Since I didn't trust myself to speak without some sharp retort, I merely nodded and followed him. Instead of approaching the front door, he went around to the side and entered through the kitchen.

"étienne! You've come to visit me! And have you brought me sweets?" A blur of chestnut curls and matching brown wool hurled itself at him and jumped into his arms. The girl—likely no more than six—was covered in flour, which resulted in a soft puff of white enshrouding the two.

"Marie, mon Dieu! You are covered in enough flour to bake an entire loaf of bread," étienne laughed, reaching in his pocket for a gold coin. He palmed it and made it appear behind her ear. She squealed a giggle.

"I don't have sweets on me today, but this will do—our little secret, okay? Where is your maman? " étienne kissed the girl's cheek and stood.

"She is upstairs in the sewing room. Come, I'll take you—and your pretty friend!" Marie danced from foot to foot as if she had more energy than a swarming beehive.

"Manners, Marie! This is the Duchesse?—"

I cut him off. I bent to the girl and stuck out my hand.

"Daphne, chérie . My friends call me Daphne." The girl beamed at me and shook my hand. étienne eyed me warily, but he said nothing.

Still gripping my hand, Marie tugged me through the house, which was humbly furnished, but clean, warm, and comfortable. Up the small staircase lay several rooms on either side of the hallway. The lilt of feminine laughter sang from every closed door. If this was a brothel, it was unlike every brothel I'd ever entered. What was this place?

Marie paused before a large oak door, brushed some of the flour from her cheeks and dress, and knocked politely.

" Entrez-vous! "

" Maman , étienne is here! And he has brought a Daphne!"

A round woman with soft red curls pinned on top of her head turned from her sewing. It looked like she was stitching a small repair in the skirt of a buttercup yellow dress. She smiled at Marie and étienne, then stood to greet me with a polite curtsy. Marie scampered back through the hallway, closing the door behind her.

"I imagine, Madame, you should be addressed as more than just Daphne," she said. Warmth shone from her smile and she had startlingly familiar hazel eyes. It couldn't be…

"Perhaps elsewhere. But here, tonight, I am just Daphne."

"I am Josephine," she said. "Welcome to the Maison des Nymphes . But I'm sure étienne has already told you that—if he has brought you here."

I glanced at étienne, who was watching our interaction with guarded interest. When I didn't reply, she tutted and whacked étienne's shoulder.

"This imbecile is my brother."

I gaped. étienne rolled his eyes.

"Half-brother," he corrected.

Josephine tutted again and waved her hand. "Half, quarter, cousin, whatever. Half-brother by blood, but full brother indeed."

Seeing my confusion, she threw a withering glare at étienne.

"You did not tell her, mon frère? Oh, you are impossible! Fine—I shall do so." She settled down on a chair in the corner and motioned for me to do the same.

"Josephine, please don't. We are in a bit of a hurry," he grumbled.

"So, you bring a woman of your own here for the first time and you tell her nothing? Quel crétin! What are you on about? Are you ashamed all of a sudden?"

"You know I'm not. We just don't have the time tonight and Daphne is not interested in our family dramatics?—"

"Yes, I am." I interrupted and grinned at Josephine. "Tell me, please, Madame."

"Josephine!" étienne cautioned.

She ignored him. "Our father, you see, was the Vicomte de Noailles. At least, he was born and raised as the vicomte. étienne is the only legitimate heir, but we have at least six half-siblings, three of whom live abroad. Papa had so many mistresses around the world, we are forever finding new relations. It wasn't as bad as it sounds, of course. He was not a bad father, really—not as bad as some men. We were always provided for, even if we were just his bastards. But then he suffered that humiliating loss at the Battle of Dettingen and the king was so angry…"

"Yes, étienne told me. I'm so sorry," I said. Josephine patted my hand.

"Well, as you would imagine, funds became a little short. étienne was off in Italy or England at the time—I don't remember which—so it was just me, Noelle, Anne, and Eve left here in the city. We'd never had much to begin with, but then we had even less. We had but one way to make ends meet—to start selling our company."

My jaw dropped. She spoke of prostitution openly, without shame or regret. étienne, however, was less than pleased. His jaw clenched and he strode to look out the window.

"Well, we were doing okay—not great, but okay—and étienne came home to find his identity seized, his entailment demolished, our father on his deathbed—the shock, you know, the poor thing—and his impoverished half-sisters running a brothel. You can imagine his temper!"

"Enough. She doesn't need your life story, Josephine," étienne growled.

"You mean, you don't want her to know your life story, eh?" Josephine teased. "He must really fancy you then, chérie ."

He turned from the window to fix her with a glare. " Josephine ," he warned.

She sighed. "Another time, then. Alors , mon frère. Why are you here tonight? It cannot be good."

"The woman from earlier this month—the new arrival. Is she still here?"

"The blonde one? Brigitte? No, I'm afraid not. She packed up and left in the middle of the night a little over a week ago. No note or anything. Just picked at her dinner—didn't eat much, the little mouse—went to bed, and then poof . Gone the next morning."

"You didn't go look for her? What if she's in trouble?" I asked.

"It is a common thing, Madame. The young girls come here looking for a place to stay. Sometimes they want to work as a light-skirt or a bleeder—we give them a safe place to ply their trade—but many of them find other work. Laundry, sewing, even a few governesses. They come here to find a degree of comfort and security while they get on their feet. But many come and go, just as easily. It is their choice. We do not indenture them here. Brigitte was not the first—nor dare I say the last—to come and go so quickly."

"What's a bleeder?" I asked. Josephine turned disbelieving eyes on me. étienne scoffed.

"You do not know, Madame? But they are all over the city—there are so many now. Perhaps even more than the light-skirts." She was baffled by my ignorance.

Embarrassment pinked my cheeks. "I'm afraid I don't get out much in the city."

étienne threw the explanation over his shoulder at me as he began pacing. "A bleeder is a common term for a woman who sells her blood. A blood-whore, if you will." He glared at me in irritation, then turned back to Josephine. "You have no idea where she went? Did she have family? Where did she come from?" Seemingly unable to stand still, he resumed his pacing.

Josephine arched a brow at him. "You know as well as I that the women here are free from the shackles of their past, étienne. I knew almost nothing of the girl, except that she was anxious to make your acquaintance."

"She was?" I asked. "Was she particularly interested in him?"

"Of course! All the ladies are, especially the new ones. They hear the stories from the older girls, and all have the same hopes that the dashing vampire emissary will one day come and fall madly in love with his meal," she chuckled. "The saps. Incurable romantics, the lot of them."

étienne crossed his arms and harrumphed.

"Well, whose fault is it that these poor girls have such notions? I try to divest them of their false ideas that you are anything but a tried-and-true rogue, but they don't listen. Anyway, why are you asking after her? Has something happened?"

While étienne stewed in frustration and embarrassment, my mind worked.

"That's what we're trying to ascertain. May we see her room, please?" I asked.

"Suit yourself. Lucky for you I have not had time to clean it and turn it out properly. We haven't had need of it yet, but inevitably, some new wretch will show up on our doorstep soon." Josephine put her sewing down and led us out to the hallway. At the far end was a smaller staircase that wound up to an attic with low ceilings and a small bed. A cacophony of noise erupted below, and Josephine excused herself to go determine the cause, leaving étienne and I alone.

"Well?" he challenged tersely.

"Well, what?" I started opening drawers in a small bureau to see if Brigitte had left anything behind.

"Aren't you going to ask me a thousand insulting questions about my family? My past? My failings as a brother and as the heir of an unseated vicomte?" He sounded petulant. I recognized it as the irritation commensurate with a close sibling relationship. It lent him an air of vulnerability and—more than that— humanity .

"No."

The drawers were all empty. I went to the small writing desk to see if she'd left any papers or letters.

"No?" étienne asked in an incredulous tone, and did I detect a hint of disappointment?

"Well, yes, actually. When you were here with Brigitte?—"

He cut me off with a laugh.

"Oh no, Daphne. I didn't come here for her. I sent for her. She came to me. I wouldn't feed or…do anything else here. Certainly not in Josephine's home."

"What else do you know of her? Did you converse at all? Were there other clues to her identity or anything?" I felt the underside and the back panels of the writing desk. Nothing .

"We didn't speak much," he said. "We had other things to do."

My exasperation grew. étienne smirked at me. Peevishly, I went to the small bed and felt around the sheets and pillow. Still nothing .

I swore. This was proving to be another dead end.

"Can you give me nothing that would help? This woman tried to kill you, étienne. I'd think you'd be a little more interested in finding out more about her," I muttered.

He sat on the bed, thwarting my search of the sheets and blankets.

"Very well. She was blonde, her name was Brigitte, and she tasted strange," he said unhelpfully.

"That'll be the quicksilver, I wager. And she didn't say anything else? Nothing seemingly innocuous about a previous customer?"

"Daphne, there's nothing here. My interactions with her were minimal and professional. She obviously didn't live here long enough to leave anything behind."

"Get up," I said with a spark of inspiration. "Get off the bed. I want to check something."

He sighed and stood. I hefted the lumpy straw mattress off the bed frame.

"You're really not going to ask me anything about Josephine? About this place?"

My annoyance finally won out.

"étienne, if you wish to tell me about your past—your father, your sisters, your turning, this home for wayward women—please do so. However, I will not pry. I believe in what Josephine said. One should be free from the shackles of one's past, if given the chance. My only interest right now is in the truth—in this woman Brigitte and her vendetta against you, in Jeanne's killer, and in the blood plague devastating our city. So, if asking you questions you do not wish to answer will only derail me with falsehoods, then I will not waste time for either of us."

Ignoring his piercing gaze, I studied the bottom of the mattress. There, in the lower corner was a small seam that did not belong. A three-inch long tear that had been hastily stitched back together. Hands shaking in near triumph, I took out my dagger and slit it open.

A small, black leather pouch fell out and landed on the floor.

étienne picked it up and sniffed it.

"It's him," he said, stunned. "It smells of Jeanne's killer."