“I cannot.”
No matter how much I might wish to.
“As you wish.” Gideon leans back in his chair, that carefree grin back in place. This time, it looks a little uncertain, as if he’s realised for the first time that he’s playing a game and he’s unlikely to win. “Perhaps another time.”
I don’t reply. There will never be another time for me and the daylight.
Gideon moves on, his mind whirring over a series of topics so fast that I can barely keep up. He talks about arriving in Paris from his family’s country home, about his brother’s financial woes, about what he was doing during the brutal suppression of the Commune (cowering in a cowshed outside of the city, probably eating rats), about SarahBernhardt and how she should be our queen, and about me, peppering me with questions that leave me breathless.
I thought I’d left behind such petty, human emotions, but Gideon’s candour makes me long for my youth, when I believed in things like love everlasting, family loyalty, and men who were kind and good.
Too soon, Séraphine pokes her head into our private room and informs me that the curtain has come down and did I wish her to put out the oil lamps?
I rise from my chair. I hadn’t even noticed the musicians stopped playing. “No, you go on home. I will see to it. Please escort Monsieur Rougon to the entrance.”
“I would like to walk you home,” Gideon says. “It’s dangerous out on the streets for a lady.”
I crack my knuckles. “I am more concerned for the safety of anyone who crosses me.”
“I believe that.” Gideon takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss over my knuckles. “You are a formidable, evil temptress, Arabella. You may be the queen of sin, but I wish fervently to be your favourite.”
I bow my head, not giving him an answer. I don’t trust myself to speak.
It’s always better to keep a man guessing, hoping for another scrap of your attention. I’ve already broken too many of my own rules tonight.
Gideon’s hand slips from mine, and I have to fight the urge to grab it again and press it to my cheek.
He heads downstairs with Séraphine. She tosses her head back and laughs at something he says. A bolt of jealousy pierces my chest. Séraphine will happily lie on her back for a bit of extra cash, and I doubt Gideon Rougon can resist her charms.
It’s for the best,I tell myself as I listen to Séraphine’s grating laugh.I will break him. This unnatural hunger gnawing at my stomach will drain him dry.
And if I took him to bed, there’s a tiny chance… a faint possibility… that he could break me.
I won’t allow that.
The door closes behind them. I’m alone.
I brush my fingers over my collar. My eyes flutter closed, and I remember the queen who last wore these jewels.
Cleopatra fell in love, gave up her power to a man, and her story ended in tragedy. I cannot allow that to be me. I won’t lose my empire over pretty aquamarine eyes.
A great weariness overcomes me. I dart downstairs and step backstage, heading for the dressing-room. I’m eager to return to my lodgings and bathe. Maybe I can wash the scent of Gideon from my skin—
What is that?
I’m drawn to a bouquet of lilies sitting on my dressing table. Jacques must have placed them there for me, from one of my admirers. My head swims as a cloying sweet scent touches my nostrils.
I must truly be going mad. How can I smell Gideon when he’s no longer here?
I take a step closer to the bouquet. A note hangs from the ribbon, and it says only one word.
MINE.
My heart thuds.
The flowers lookwrong. My hand flies to my mouth as I see—
They are drenched in blood.
