Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

DAPHNE

October 2, 1765

Chateau de Champs-sur-Marne

"Daphne, are you even listening to me?" Philippe complained. He seemed more ruffled than usual.

Truthfully, I was not. My mind had wandered back to the same place it had been for the last four days—étienne's carriage. I'd tossed and turned for the last three nights, poring over his words. Had The Order really tried to kill him before? Why would they? What had he done?

Was he right about me?

He'd been right about Jeanne. I'd seen it for myself. The vicious tears in the flesh of her throat—no vampire would have done that. I'd seen real vampire bites firsthand. My poor Michel . I shut my eyes against the painful memories.

Philippe crossed the room and knelt before me. Concern marred his face.

"Daphne, please. Talk to me. You've got to tell me what's going on. I can't keep The Order at bay much longer. Why haven't you killed Noailles yet?"

"I do not believe he is Jeanne's killer," I finally said. Philippe rocked back on his heels and stood.

"Why not? You read the report. She was bitten. Her blood was drained."

"Who wrote the report?"

Philippe lifted one shoulder. "Another agent. I don't know who."

"Well, whoever it was either wasn't present and was putting it together from rumors, or is deliberately trying to accuse the emissary. That report is all wrong, Philippe. Her blood was not simply drained. Her throat was ripped open. She likely bled out. The wound was no vampire bite—it was too savage. Inhuman, even. It looked like some kind of animal attack."

He narrowed his eyes. "How do you know? Did he tell you that?"

I'd been debating telling Philippe the entirety of the situation. I knew he wouldn't approve, but up until now, I hadn't told anyone, and I needed someone I could trust within The Order. I faced him, mustering my courage.

"We exhumed her body. I inspected her myself. étienne professes his innocence, Philippe, and I am starting to believe him."

He took the news like a physical blow. Eyes bulging, he gaped at me. "Daphne," he breathed. "That is—it's blasphemous! How could you?"

"Perhaps it is, but I wanted the truth, and now I have it. Well, part of it, anyway," I said, resigned.

Disappointment flowed off Philippe in waves and I found myself caught up in the tide. He stared at me in stunned silence.

"So, it's étienne now, is it?" he asked, shaking his head. "If you don't believe he is guilty, why haven't you informed The Order?"

"I don't think they'll listen to me. They might listen to you, though," I hedged.

Philippe sighed deeply. "Have you any other evidence of his innocence?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "But I hope to soon."

"Darling, you know I can't just go to them armed with your unsubstantiated suspicions. You know what they'll say. They'll say he has bewitched you, just like he bewitches every other woman—that you think his handsome face and his charm excuse the horrible things he has done. They'll say you've been compromised by your emotions, and I'll have nothing to show them to prove otherwise."

"I'll get proof," I insisted. Philippe cast me a doubtful look. "One other thing—he mentioned that The Order had sent agents to assassinate him before. What do you know of that?"

Philippe shrugged. "Nothing, really."

"What else is he accused of?" I pressed.

Philippe looked at me like I'd gone mad.

"Well, murder, for one! And treasonous slander. And adultery!"

Suspicious, I approached Philippe and stared hard into his eyes.

"Adultery is the currency of Versailles, Philippe," I said. "That doesn't warrant a death threat from The Order. What has he done? Is it his politics? Does it have something to do with his title?"

"How should I know?" he blustered.

"You've been with The Order for eight years," I pushed. "You were with them before the blood plague came to Paris. You're one of their most trusted members."

Philippe's eyes flashed and his temper flared. "Not even I know everything, Daphne. Besides, why do you care? He's a vampire , just like the ones that killed your brother. Or have you forgotten? Do you need to be reminded of the fact that it was but five short years ago that Michel was found murdered— drained —right outside your family's home?" He threw his hands up and began to pace the room.

Pain at the memory rendered me speechless. But Phillipe wasn't done.

"You were this close to poverty, Daphne, when the title and lands passed to a distant relation with no provision for you. The only thing that saved you was an ill-advised marriage to a wealthy, titled man no better than the monsters who took your brother from you! And here you are! Throwing yourself in with their kind. I simply don't understand it."

The utter ass—bringing up my past in such a callous, judgmental manner and then refusing to help me.

"I have not thrown myself in with their kind!" I snarled, outraged at his scorn. "And I don't know why you don't understand my hesitation. Does the truth matter so little to you?"

"Does it matter that much to you?" he countered. "He's just some vampire!"

I gritted my teeth, trying to force down my rising temper. I recognized we were at an impasse, and alienating Phillipe seemed unproductive and unwise, even if he deserved a very thorough chastening. Despite the fact that I held a title above his in society, he was still senior to me in The Order and enjoyed all the undeserved privileges of the patriarchy.

I went to the front window and stared out at the drizzly, pewter afternoon.

He stopped pacing, then blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Daphne. You know I'd do anything to help you, but with the Noailles assignment, I don't know if I can."

"Well, if I am on my own then, so be it," I replied in a wooden tone.

He made a noise of exasperation in his throat. "Even if I could, I doubt they'd listen to me any more than they would you. Noailles is on their list and I'm sure they have their reasons beyond Jeanne's death. I'm sorry, Daphne, but I can't protect you from The Order anymore. You wanted in, now you've got to figure your way of this mess. Find your proof, or find yourself facing their judgment."

With that, he picked up his hat and walked out of the room.

Frustrated, I stormed upstairs, my ire growing with every step. Certainly, he could refuse to help me, but how dare he shame me for Michel's death and for my marriage to Henri! I did what I had had to do to survive. I paced my bedchamber, punched my pillows, and threw a book across the room. The idea that The Order would suggest I'd developed feelings for étienne enraged me even further. Of course I didn't care for the rogue! I cared about the truth—and so far, étienne had been more honest with me than Philippe had. That was what mattered in all of this; the truth .

With renewed resolve, I went to my desk and drafted a missive to the vampire. It was time we continued our investigation.

When I dressed that evening, I donned one of Eve's simple gray dresses and pinned my dark blonde curls beneath a cap. I wrapped my shoulders in a brown wool shawl and strapped my flintlock to my thigh. I kept my dagger and a thin wooden stake in my pockets, though I hoped I wouldn't need them tonight. I wasn't sure where étienne was taking me, but I knew it wouldn't be anywhere near the world of Versailles.

He had responded promptly to my message, stating that he would be around after sundown to collect me. His terse response irked me. I wondered if he was still angry with me over our argument in the carriage. I hoped not. I only had the energy to deal with one intractable ass today and I'd already gotten my fill from Philippe.

Eve knocked at my door and informed me that Monsieur de Noailles had arrived. I braced myself for his broody temperament and went down to greet him.

He sat in the front parlor, staring fixedly into the fireplace. He was dressed in plain but well-tailored clothes, his hat resting idly on one knee. The warm firelight flickered across his sculpted features, casting him in a glow of amber heat. It struck me that he looked like one of Louis's golden statues come to life. I had the strange urge to reach out and run my fingertips across his lips to see if they really were as soft as the gossips said.

"If you're going to stand back there all night staring at me, Duchesse, perhaps you could make yourself useful and pour me a drink while you're at it," he said, his focus never leaving the flames.

I stiffened at his rudeness. "I can, if you require one. I was waiting for you to stand so that we may go."

"Go where?" he asked. "It is you who summoned me."

Still, he did not look at me. He seemed…strange, distant.

"Monsieur, are you well?"

He smiled cruelly and his tone dripped with sarcasm. "But of course, Madame. Why shouldn't I be well?"

"I'm sure I do not know, but you seem…not yourself tonight. I was under the impression that you had a lead for us to follow. Possibly related to Jeanne's missing ring?" I prodded.

I came further into the room and he finally looked up at me. I gasped when I saw his eyes—the honeyed hazel of his irises had changed to a deep, blood red.

Instinctively, I stepped back. "What happened to your eyes, étienne? Are you ill?"

He laughed acidly. "I am dead, Duchesse! But do you mean, ill besides being a vampire?"

He stood suddenly, his movements erratic and supernaturally quick. He stalked toward me and backed me up against the wall. Caged between his hard, muscular arms, I took in the rest of his appearance—the stubble on his sallow-skinned jaw, the tendrils of dark hair escaping his queue, the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I froze like a rabbit before a fox. He wouldn't bite me, would he? What was wrong with him? I reached for the wooden stake in my pocket.

He inhaled deeply and growled. Panic started to build inside me. My heart thundered in my chest. No, no, no. Please, no .

Come back to your senses, étienne.

"Shh," he whispered against my skin. "Calm your racing heart, little nymph."

I felt a hot, wet caress and realized he'd licked my neck. Unbidden desire ignited in my blood, warring with fear and shame.

"étienne," I breathed. I should stop him.

Soft kisses danced up the column of my neck and a firm hand stroked my back. When had it ever felt this good to be touched? I wondered.

Never.

Something isn't right. He isn't well. You must stop this, Daphne.

"étienne," I stammered, tears pricking at my eyes. "You are not yourself. Allow me to call a doctor for you."

"But I am myself, Duchesse," he drawled, dragging his lips up to my ear. "I don't need a doctor. You have everything I need."

He pressed his hips into me, and I felt the hard length of his arousal against my stomach. My knees nearly buckled and I grew wet with reflexive desire. No! We mustn't!

"Yes," he moaned, sucking on my earlobe and raining kisses across my jaw. "I can smell your passion, little nymph. I want you. Feel how desperately I want you. How I need?—"

He stopped abruptly, pulling back. His eyes paled to hazel again and he stared at me in bewilderment.

"Daphne?" he questioned. His feeble voice sounded miles away. "What are you doing here?"

His unfocused gaze shifted to his surroundings and he blinked in confusion. As quickly as he'd returned to me, he vanished again—the blood-colored irises were back. He took a step in my direction, then stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Help me," he wheezed. "I need…" he trailed off, falling to the ground. Curling his knees to his chest, he gagged, vomiting black blood and bile across the carpet.

Angrily, I dashed the tears from my face. Warily, as if I was approaching a wounded animal, I leaned forward and pulled him up, gently shaking him.

"What do you need? What happened? What, étienne?"

One of the footmen heard the commotion and came running into the parlor. He helped me attempt to rouse him, but it was no use.

étienne slipped into unconsciousness.