“A mistake that cannot be repeated.”
“Fine.” He fishes out a battered purse from his pocket and tips coins into his hand. “What will it cost for you?”
I laugh. “I don’t go to bed with theatre guests.”
“When we go to bed together, Arabella Macquart, it will be because you beg me, not because I have paid for the pleasure.” He grins as he holds out a pile of coins in his fist. “I wish to spend the evening in the pleasure of your company, even if I have to pay for the honour.”
As if I would ever beg a man for anything.
I’d like to slap that self-righteous grin from his smart mouth, but the coins he casually drops into my palm are heavy and real. And I need them.
I spent most of my savings to pay Dupin, but it was a worthwhile expense. Now, I know for certain that my old sire has not somehow returned from the dead to claim what he feels is his. The creepy words and blood-soaked flowers were definitely Astor’s style, but they must be from an admirer of one of my other ladies. I have offered Jacques an extra purse if he conducts a discreet investigation locally, asking around in the coffee houses and bistros of Montmartre about someone obsessed with the courtesans of La Petite Mort.
Whoever is writing these messages and leaving these gifts, we will find them, and I will deal with them.
But at least it is not Astor. Even a vampire as old and sadistic as Lord John Astor dies like a dog in the end.
In the meantime, I have my expenses and my new dress to pay for. And an evening with Gideon is more interesting to me than the cardinal’s lecherous plans. I slip the coins into the folds of my dress and wrap my fingers around Gideon’s wrist, pressing them a little firmly so that he remembers I have power over him here. I lead him to an empty confessional.
“What do you wish to do with our evening?” I ask as Séraphine brings our drinks. “Will you pepper me with more annoying questions about my personal life?”
“Will you refuse to answer them again?”
“I am in the business of creating enchantments, Monsieur Rougon. I am a blank canvas upon which men paint their dreams and fantasies. Knowing my history rather spoils the illusion.”
“Not for me.” He speaks with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
Perhaps my corset is too tight.
That must be it.
Gideon smiles, his face brighter than the freshly replenished oil lamps. “But no, I don’t intend to unravel your mysteries tonight, Mademoiselle Macquart. I thought you might like to play a game.”
“Are we not already playing a game?” I tilt my head to the side, enjoying the hard line of his jaw as he struggles to figure me out.
“If we are, I’m losing.” He withdraws a backgammon box from the recesses of his suit. It’s a beautiful set, inlaid with ivory and precious woods. He tips out the little pieces onto the velvet board and arranges them. “Do you always wear those jewels, even when you’re not performing?”
I answer him with a question of my own. “When you fall asleep at the foot of your master’s bed, do you keep a blade or pistol at your side?”
“Lucien isn’t my master, and yes, of course. This is a dangerous city, and he is a man with enemies.”
“Thisisa dangerous city, and I am a woman with enemies.” I stroke my fingers over the jewels. “This collar is my blade.”
Gideon purses his lips. He doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s a man. He’s never had to do the things I’ve done.
“Are you performing tonight?” he asks.
“No. I take three nights a week off the stage to rest my body.”
“It’s a pity. You come alive when you dance.” His gaze falls to the collar around my neck. “Not that you’re not alive now. I just mean, you are different under the lights. I feel as though I can touch the moon when I watch you. Where did you learn to dance like that?”
I throw the ivory dice and move two of my men. Gideon shakes the dice and gets a double four. I watch his hand as he moves his four men, taking note of the tiny bones beneath the surface of his skin and the pulse of blood at his wrist. His honey and red cherry scent fills my nostrils, and I imagine drawing his wrist to my lips and supping my fill until we’re both moaning for more…
“Are you alright?” Gideon tilts his head to the side. A golden curl flops over his eye. “You look like you’re about to faint.”
“Forgive me, I haven’t eaten enough today.” I sip my drink. The blood does little to sate my hunger for the man across from me. “Dancing is not something you learn. It’s something youare. The music is in your veins, in your bones. I have always danced. I will always dance. That is something no one can ever take away from me. But if you mean, where did I learn to dance for men, to tempt and tease, to bring them to their knees, hoping for a taste of me? This I learned in Egypt, from my mother.”
I snap my mouth shut.Why did I say that?I slam my men down on the board, sending two of his men to the bar at the centre.
