Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

DAPHNE

December 23, 1765

Chateau de Champs-sur-Marne

I couldn't help but laugh as étienne barreled through the house, heading straight for the wine cellar. Some months ago, he'd shown up at my home after a failed poisoning attempt, and I was compelled to set up a makeshift bedchamber underground where he could recover. In the following weeks, I had never quite gotten around to bringing the large bed back upstairs. It had worked out well for us—after our engagement, we'd made use of it more than a few times.

The entrance to the wine cellar was through the kitchen. étienne plunked me down on the kitchen table to open the heavy door to the cellar but was disappointed to find it was locked.

"Merde! Daphne, why is this door locked? You never lock the wine cellar." His voice carried an edge of petulance.

"Oh no, I forgot! With the réveillon feast coming up, I had several cases of champagne delivered and my butler, Gaston, is keeping them under lock and key until Christmas Eve." I frowned.

étienne's eyes flashed, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Don't you dare break down that door," I warned. "There are beds in the rooms upstairs."

"But all those rooms have large windows, and it'll be sunrise in a few hours," he practically whined.

"We could go back to your place," I suggested.

The look he gave me was a cross between intense longing and sheer frustration. I pulled his face down to mine for a passionate kiss, reigniting the fire he'd stoked in the carriage.

"Eh, laisse faire," he grunted, pushing me back on the kitchen table. He jumped up and rolled atop me, pinning me down beneath his lithe, muscular body.

"étienne!" I laughed. "Please. I often eat at this table!"

"Oui, chérie! And so shall I." He tugged my skirts and chemise up to my waist and slid his cool hands up my thighs. Any thoughts of protestation died as he set his tongue to me, lapping at my sex until he had me writhing. My need for him was almost blinding. I threaded my hands through his thick, dark locks to keep him where I needed him, and he rewarded me by darting his tongue across the apex of my pleasure. Desire built in my body like the slow crescendo of an operatic symphony, and when he slid his fingers inside me, the cymbals crashed, and I sang my final aria. He nipped gently at my thigh and drank from me, as was our custom, which sent me down another valley of pleasure. When he was done, he licked the small wound closed and rolled over to lay next to me.

"Delicious," he said. His fangs had retracted again. "I'll never tire of that."

"I should hope not," I said with a faint smile.

"You haven't had dinner this evening, have you?" he asked, worry creasing his brow. "You look awfully pale."

"I'm fine," I said. "Perhaps a little hungry."

étienne jumped off the table. "Say no more, Duchesse. Allow me to further satisfy you."

"I'm sure there's some leftover roast from the midday meal," I said. "Or perhaps some bread and cheese."

étienne went to the pantry and returned with some of the day's leftovers, as well as an armload of other ingredients.

"Cream, sugar, eggs, vanilla, the oranges for the réveillon dessert table…what are you about, étienne?" I asked.

He winked at me, took off his coat, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Sit and eat your meal. I'll make you dessert."

I tucked into the roast and cheese and watched him whisk his ingredients together over the stove. When he was done, he poured the mixture into two small dishes and took them to the kitchen door that led to the back garden. He stuck the two bowls of sweetened cream into the snow and came back inside. I raised a curious brow at him, but he merely smiled and cut into one of the oranges.

"Mon Dieu! These oranges are red!" he said upon seeing the crimson fruit.

"They're a new variety imported from Sicily," I said. "They're called blood oranges."

"Non. Vraiment?" He licked the juice from his fingers, spurring another wave of desire in me.

"Yes," I said, coming over to taste the fruit. "I thought you might like them."

"They are good," he said. "But not as delicious as you. Somehow, you always seem to taste of orange blossom and vanilla. That's why I'm making you this dessert; it's a treat inspired by you."

I finished my meal, and we sat in front of the kitchen hearth in companionable silence. The fire crackled and popped, and I brought out two glasses of brandy for us to enjoy. After a while, étienne went out to the snow and brought the custards back in. I watched with fascination as he topped them with orange slices, sprinkled sugar over them, and held them under a red-hot pan plucked from the fire. The sugar melted and burned to a lovely caramel color.

"Where did you learn how to make this?" I asked.

"When I was a boy—before I turned—my family cook was renowned for her patisseries. I had such a sweet tooth when I was young! She made the most delicious desserts for me, but this one was always my favorite. Crème br?lée , she called it. Of course, I had to add my own twist just for you, ma petite orange," he grinned.

He slid the dish toward me. I picked up a spoon.

"Wait," he whispered. "This is the best part."

He tapped the delicate sugar glaze on the top, cracking it and dipping his spoon in the orange-scented custard. He held it to my lips and my mouth watered—the fragrance of warm vanilla, tart orange, and creamy sweetness was too much to resist. He placed the spoonful on my tongue and I nearly swooned.

"It's unbelievable," I gasped. I reached for my own dish, but étienne stopped me.

"It is my treat, Duchesse," he said. He dipped a finger in the dessert and held it up to my lips. I sucked it off and he stifled a growl. His fangs lengthened and his eyes flashed with that fire again. I smiled knowingly at him as he began to unbutton his waistcoat and then his breeches. I couldn't unlace my stays fast enough.

It was some time before we finished dessert.

The following morning, I woke to find myself tucked cozily in my own bed. étienne must have brought me upstairs before returning to his chateau for his daytime rest. I yawned and rang for a bath. I was still covered in remnants of last night's crème br?lée à l'orange. While I was in the bath, I mulled over the list of names The Order had given me. I knew everyone on the list—not intimately, of course, but well enough. Of all the names, only a few hadn't been invited to my Christmas Eve party, and I called for Eve to send out invitations to them immediately.

Who would be foolish or greedy enough to steal such high-profile items? The stolen jewelry was well-known at court, so the thief wouldn't be able to sell it as-is; they'd most certainly have to break it down into singular stones. Would the average aristocrat be smart enough to figure that out?

I stared hard at the list. Right away, I was able to eliminate a few suspects I didn't think were imaginative or resourceful enough to carry out such bold crimes. Three names remained—all families that had recently suffered embarrassing financial losses, or so the gossips said. At the top of my list were the Marquis and Marquise de Balay. Not for any personal reason or petty jealousy, I thought to myself. I knew the marquis had serious gambling debts and that the marquise was unparalleled in her ability to navigate the politics of court with selfishness and malevolence. Her star had faded of late, partly because of her idiotic husband's gambling debts and partly to do with her outmoded attitude of disdain toward the growing vampire population in France. Embarrassing the court with a series of brazen jewel thefts was not beyond comprehension when it came to the devious couple.

Following the Balays were the Comte and Comtesse de Cagné, a pair of desperate aristocrats I knew would stop at nothing to improve their influence but didn't have the wealth required. Then there was Madame Catherine, the embittered wife of a lauded French war hero who did not return from his last battle. She was a ferocious and virulent gossip, who didn't let something as insignificant as the truth derail her from her aims.

They all had motives, as well as the intelligence and opportunity to carry out the thefts. Most disturbing was they all shared the same sense of disgust at the king's slowly changing attitude about the blood plague. They resented the shifting power dynamic and despised vampires—but not enough to ignore a coveted invitation to dine with one at my réveillon.

The Order wanted me to catch this criminal, and to do so I needed to set an impossible-to-resist trap.

I lay in the large copper bathtub devising my plan until the water had gone cold and most of the morning was over. I dressed plainly and went to the library, where I was unsurprised to find Charlotte bent over an account book. She had her own estate not far from mine, but after the recent fiasco with her husband, she preferred to spend her days with me. Even though I had étienne now, it was lonely here during the day and I was glad for the company. She looked up when I entered.

"Daphne! I'm glad you're up. How did it go last night? What did The Order want?"

I poured myself a cup of chocolate from the still-warm pot on the sideboard and took a long, fortifying sip before answering her.

"It was only a little better than I expected," I sighed.

"So…no death threats, but an evening surrounded by irritating old men?"

"Precisely," I snickered.

"And the Christmas Eve party?" she prodded. "Are we still allowed to carry on?"

"Yes. In fact, it's encouraged. They summoned me about a jewel thief who seems to have some kind of set against the king. We're to uncover the culprit and keep everything as discreet as possible. The fewer people know about this, the better," I explained.

"What do you have in mind?"

"We're going to lay a trap. You and I will be the bait. I'll need you to wear your rubies tomorrow night. I'm going to wear my mother's diamonds."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "You're going to wear l'étoile d'Or? "

I nodded. I'd only worn the necklace once in my life—during my first appearance before King Louis at Versailles a decade ago. The famous necklace was a chain of seventy-two perfectly cut white diamonds that encircled a 36-carat yellow diamond. It was an ostentatious display of wealth, which was why I normally kept it locked away in the family vault. It was also why I intended to bring it out to catch the attention of our burglar. No jewel thief worth his salt would be able to resist such a prize.

That afternoon, I filled Charlotte in on the rest of the plan's details. We would divide the suspects between us—étienne would watch Madame Catherine, Charlotte would charm the Comte and Comtesse de Cagné, and I would keep my eyes on the Balays. Once we'd finished preparing ourselves for every eventuality, I sent word to étienne.

I strolled to the large library window that overlooked the grounds. It should be about sunset, but a fierce snowstorm had rolled in, whiting out the sky and covering everything in thick, sparkling powder. Charlotte went over to the fireplace and poked idly at the blazing logs.

"I can't remember the last time we had a white Christmas," she mused. "Every one of them over the last few years has been wet, gray, and muddy. Not very festive, if you ask me."

"No," I agreed. "But we haven't had many festive holidays over the last few years."

"That's true. Perhaps we will now. You've still got me, and étienne, of course."

I smiled at her. Charlotte could always cheer me out of my melancholy.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "And failing that, I suppose, you've still got your bastard dead husband's whole wine cellar to drink through. Should we go make a celebratory start on that?"

"That is, without a doubt, the best idea of the day."