Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

éTIENNE

October 26, 1765

Rue Saint-Denis, Paris

"I think you've had enough this evening, Monsieur. Why don't you go home and sleep it off, eh?" The barkeep tugged the empty tankard from my clammy grip. My fangs extended and my eyes darkened.

"Another," I snarled at him. He sighed and waved to one of the curvy barmaids at the back of the tavern. Nervously, she brought me a fresh ale and hurried away before I could unleash my ire upon another undeserving person. A month ago, she would have been winking at me and refilling my drinks with overt displays of her impressive cleavage. I would have taken her to bed for pleasure and blood.

Not anymore , I thought sourly.

After Daphne took off into the afternoon, I fell into a restless sleep and promptly woke at sunset, tormented by growing fears that I'd been wrong, and somehow Henri or the thing bearing his voice had made its way to her. I rushed over to her chateau, but once there, refused to allow myself the pleasure of meeting her in person. Instead, I miserably patrolled her grounds, hunting and sniffing for any putrid whiff of the murderer's scent. When I was satisfied that he hadn't been there, and I'd caught a vexing glimpse of Daphne seated at her library desk, I turned from the estate and sulked all the way back to my own home.

I returned the next night and two nights hence to perform the same ridiculous ritual of ensuring her safety.

The evening of the fifth day, I decided to forgo my warped desire to prowl around her home and dressed instead to seek different company. I went to all of my favorite haunts—upper class gaming clubs, bourgeoisie taverns, even a few questionable brothels, but nothing appealed. Woman after woman solicited my attention, but each one left me feeling cold and uninspired. I sated myself with drink and went home hungry. The next night, I suffered the same disappointments.

Necessity forced me to find someone to feed upon. Shamefully, I found a bleeder with golden hair and light eyes, but even when I had her naked in front of me, I could not bear to pursue any carnal pleasure. Angry with myself, I told her to dress and drank what I needed from her wrist. Since then, I'd given up seeking pleasure with other women, at least until the damned duchesse Daphne was out of my system. I'd been enamored before. I knew it was only a matter of time and distance before she was forgotten.

Unfortunately, Daphne was not making it easy on me. She'd sent me several letters asking reasonable questions about our investigation. Where should we go from here? Damned if I knew. I suspected there was something much more demonic and less ghostly to le Duc Dépravé 's appearance, but I couldn't concentrate long enough to figure out my next steps. Every thought circled back to Daphne—to her strength and wit, her soft skin and shimmering hair, her beautiful violet eyes glittering with desire. It was infuriating. Trying to screw her out of my mind was supposed to work, to help, but then message after message arrived, smelling of orange blossoms and vanilla, and I'd inevitably lose an evening caressing myself with memories of her velvet heat.

It was pathetic.

So, I'd decided the only acceptable plan of action was to keep myself in the throes of a drunken stupor until enough time passed that I could think about anything other than Daphne. Daphne. Things were—it must be said—not going well, but I was immortal. I had all the time in the world.

"Monsieur, you look so hungry! Do you care for a bite?" The woman next to me stroked her neck seductively, showing off half a dozen bite marks in various states of healing. Her arms, too, were covered in scrapes and punctures. She grinned lasciviously with a mouth full of brown, rotten teeth. My gut churned and bile rose to my throat.

"Not tonight, my lady. Find another gentleman," I slurred. I stared into my ale.

"What's wrong, mon cher ? My blood is as sweet as any aristo's! Just a taste, then, on the house." She pouted and shoved her wrist under my nose. I pulled away from her and slipped off my chair, falling to the floor. The bleeder laughed heartily and extended a hand to help me up, but I batted her away. I supposed that was enough humiliation for one evening. I stumbled out of the tavern, tossing a handful of coins at the barkeep and one to the bleeder. I bowed unsteadily amid guffaws of drunken laughter from the other patrons.

"My apologies for my unseemly behavior, good people." Their laughter followed me out the door and carried a good way down the street.

I wandered the streets for a while, not wanting to go home. I didn't know if it was worse to have my sheets smell like her and dream in torment, or if it was worse to feel the tightness in my chest when, each day, her scent lightened a bit more. I swore and ran my fingers through my hair, yanking it out of my customary queue. This was madness. My immortal life was in danger from some obscured threat and here I was—one of the greatest lovers of Paris—reduced to a simpering pup over some prissy courtier who was completely wrong for me. No, you fool, you're the one who's wrong. Wrong for her!

"Get ahold of yourself, étienne!" I yelled. A few street urchins eyed me and backed away from my ravings. Pity, I thought. I could do with a good fight.

Unaware of the path my feet took, I found myself drifting aimlessly in the direction of Daphne's chateau yet again. I stopped to reorient myself, realizing I was near the Faubourg Saint-Germain and some of the wealthiest town homes in the city. I quickened my pace, worried that I'd be seen in my disgraceful state by some gossiping lord or lady out for a moonlit stroll. Because good fortune seemed to have abandoned me entirely, it wasn't long before I heard a familiar trill at my back.

"Monsieur de Noailles! Oh, Monsieur! Yoo-hoo!"

I stiffened and attempted to straighten my cravat, frowning at the spilled ale and blood on my waistcoat. My dark hair hung in loose waves around my face and I hadn't bothered to bathe or shave. I probably looked like some sort of wild man who'd only just found his way to civilization. Well, nothing I can do about it now , I thought with a grimace.

I turned and bowed to the Comtesse de Brionne and her petulant husband. He looked an impressive mix of haughty and irritated as his wife tugged him forward in my direction. She, however, seemed beyond delighted to see me, given my disheveled appearance. Her eyes flashed with humor and feminine conspiracies.

"Charlotte, it seems Monsieur de Noailles is having himself an unsavory evening. I suggest we continue on our way home and leave him to his debauchery."

"Nonsense, Philippe! One must always say hello to one's friends when out and about. Is that not so, Monsieur de Noailles?" She extended her hand to me to bow over, but her husband yanked her arm out of my grasp.

"Do not touch her," he hissed at me. "Carry on your way, Monsieur. Come along, Charlotte— now. "

The threat in his tone would have stayed many a woman, but Charlotte just whacked his shoulder with her folded fan.

"Philippe, please . I apologize for my husband's rudeness, Monsieur. He has just lost a tidy sum at the card game following the duc's dinner party and will be in an unbearable temper for the rest of the night." Philippe glowered murderously and I smothered my laugh.

"From whence do you come, Monsieur l'émissaire? Working late in the evening? Maybe leaving a new paramour? Or perhaps as my husband says—a night of well-earned debauchery?" Charlotte's tone was light, but the scrutiny in her gaze sent a fresh wave of hot shame through me.

"The latter, I'm afraid, though it was hardly well-earned. How fare you on this fine October evening?" I tried for the smooth coolness of my courtly tone, but it came out gritty and flat.

"Oh, fine, fine! You seem somewhat out of sorts, Monsieur, are you certain nothing is the matter? You look a little sick— or is it lovesick? " Her piercing eyes took in my rumpled appearance with a hint of sympathy.

I bristled. "No, Madame. I assure you that is not the case."

She eyed me for a moment, unmoved by my protest. I hid a grimace when her lips split into a wide, self-satisfied grin.

"Well, I wish you the best with your mystery lover. As I said, we've just come from the duc's little get-together. It was lovely, of course, but they served stewed fruit for dessert—can you believe that? Really, what are we, English ? I felt it was incredibly unpatriotic, don't you? I'm sure the other guests were scandalized, as well, don't you think, Philippe?" She laid a soothing hand on her husband's arm, but his icy glare did not stray from me. He gripped her arm tightly.

"Well, we've paid an acceptable call upon Monsieur de Noailles, darling, and it's time we let him return to his evening. Come along, Charlotte," he growled between gritted teeth.

"Philippe, mon cher , not so tight, please. You shall wrinkle my gown. Alors , Monsieur de Noailles, my husband is right! We must away, but do tell me, are you planning on attending the All Hallow's Eve masquerade next week? I understand it's meant to be a rather spirited evening," she said, giggling at her own joke. "I will be glad to have Philippe by my side, in case I become frightened. It is good, I think, to have one you love close by on such a night, don't you agree?" Her intense expression hinted at some secret meaning that the alcohol prevented me from understanding just then.

"I hadn't thought to," I answered. "I'm really quite busy at the moment. I don't know if I have time for?—"

"Well, that's very nice, Monsieur. Thank you for your time. Bon soir ," Philippe muttered. Charlotte glared daggers at him and yanked her arm from his grip.

" Philippe. Arrêtez! "

"Damn it, Charlotte, go get in the carriage! We will discuss your behavior when we get home. Let's go!" Without a glance at his wife, he whipped around and stomped over to their waiting carriage.

Charlotte turned wide eyes on me and flicked open her fan. Her hands trembled—no doubt at her husband's outburst—and she dropped the ivory accessory on the ground. Reflexively, I bent to pick it up and nearly fell backward when she bent down to meet me.

"Gather up your courage, Monsieur," she whispered. "If you do not attend the masquerade, I daresay you will disappoint some very important people."

" Mon Dieu , Charlotte! Get in here, now!" Philippe yelled from the darkness of the carriage.

"Oh, la! Monsieur l'émissaire was just retrieving my fan for me, darling!" Charlotte called back to him. "You know how clumsy I can be after champagne and sherry at dinner," she laughed. She gave me a dazzling smile and a saucy wink, then plucked her fan from my fingers and bustled away.

" Bon soir, Monsieur, et bonne chance! "

I swayed slightly and blinked at the retreating carriage. Already, my head was beginning to ache from the drink and Charlotte's unsettling insinuations. I turned around and walked back the way I'd come, seeking my waiting carriage back at the tavern. I tried to sort through the comtesse's words, but ale would not wear off until I fed. Forcing my despair down, I re-entered the tavern and beckoned to the bleeder from earlier. Without a word, she took me into a dingy room above the bar and sat on the bed. I stopped her from undressing and knelt before her, taking her wrist gently. When I'd drunk what I needed, I licked the wound closed and paid her handsomely. She smiled weakly and I made my way back out to my carriage, lost in thought.

The warm fingers of sunrise trailed across the sky and I felt painfully weary. One thought seemed to return over and over as I neared my home. Charlotte's teasing words were seared into my mind. Lovesick . What was she suggesting? That I was in love with Daphne? Impossible. She was a passing infatuation, that was all. Did it matter that I thought of her constantly, that I worried for her safety, that for the first time in my life, I found myself unworthy of a female? Of course not. Certainly, I wished for her safety and her happiness, but any gentleman with an ounce of chivalry in him would. Disappointment flared. I did want to protect her, but that job was not mine. She'd told me so many times that she could protect herself, no doubt because she'd been doing so from the moment she'd had to marry le Duc Dépravé . She'd had to guard herself against his cruelty and brutality before, and now she would have to do it all alone yet again because I couldn't bear to be near to her.

The memory of the scents in his awful bedchamber resurfaced in my mind. Henri, whatever he was, whatever he'd become, was dangerous. Just because he hadn't come for Daphne yet didn't mean that he wouldn't come for her still. The thought gripped me in a panic that I could not assuage. Damn it all.

If she'd been able to endure his cruelty for so long, surely I could endure the pain of being near her in order to help protect her, at least until we'd brought this whole horrible investigation to a close. She deserved that much.

I couldn't do that acting like an inebriated imbecile. It was time to straighten up and honor my responsibilities—to the country, to my reputation, and to Daphne. Then, when this investigation was finished and she was safe, I could well and truly move on.

Satisfied with myself for the first time in ages, I hurried inside my chateau and called for my butler and valet.

"Fran?ois, Robert, have a bath prepared downstairs immediately. Then while I rest, send for my tailor. I'll need something appropriate to wear to the All Hallow's Eve masquerade at the palace. Spare no expense—just tell him to have something ready for me by sunset on the thirty-first."

" Oui, Monsieur ."

" Bon. Merci, mes amis ." I stripped off my soiled clothes on my way down to my apartments. I entered my bedchamber and tossed the clothes to the side. My men followed and, to their credit, did not bat an eye at my carelessness. I'd managed to retain most of the staff after I'd been turned. A few of them had chosen to leave, understandably, but many of them felt a sense of familial obligation. My father had been well-loved, even in his dour twilight years of failing health.

"Do you wish for us to change the bed linens now, Monsieur?"

"No!" I barked, startling them and myself. Daphne's scent still lingered, but it would be gone in a few more days. She'd be safe by then and I could let her go—orange blossoms and vanilla and all. "No, thank you. When I am ready for new linens, I shall strip the bed myself."

"As you wish, Monsieur."

I nodded gratefully. Two footmen appeared carrying the large copper tub and started the laborious process of filling it. Sinking into the hot, lavender-scented water, I allowed myself to revisit the memory of Daphne's bath. I hardened, fantasizing about the episode ending differently. I should've checked my need and moved more slowly—kissed her and stoked her and made love to her until her cries shattered the steamy silence.

What a fool I've been about her. I groaned, gripping my cock and thinking of her passionate words. étienne, give me all of you. I need you . Desire arrowed through me, closely followed by the remembered pleasure. This was the last time, I told myself. It had to be the last time. I did not love her. I could not love her.

I should not love her.