Then
Darling Gideon, it was wonderful to see you again without blood on your shirt collar. I’d be delighted to meet your friend. I’ve heard so many delicious rumours about that theatre of hers.
We’re having a little fete next Friday. Please bring her along, if you’re certain she’s not afraid of heights!
Your boss hasn’t been to the Comédie-Française lately. Has he tired of me? I swear I shall fling myself from the grand staircase if that is so!
Yours, Sarah.
LUCIEN DROPS A HEAVY PURSEinto my hands. “My coffers are not bottomless, Gideon. You are trying my patience.”
“I apologise, Sir. Mademoiselle Macquart has expensive tastes. And as you did not wish me to hurt her, I must woo her if I’m to remove the collar from her neck.”
Wooing Arabella is proving a challenge. Night after night I return to La Petite Mort. I bring Belgian chocolates and bottles of fine champagne and silk scarves from theSamaritaine. She refuses the chocolatesand the wine but she accepts anything silky or glittering. It’s like trying to tame a crow, if that crow were also a fussy eater and kept trying to peck my eyes out.
And I am acting like a besotted dandy, lavishing gifts upon a courtesan who indulges his whims only because he opens his purse for her. It’s not even my purse.
But I cannot make myself stop.
Unlike the usual entanglement with a courtesan, I have not had so much as a kiss from Arabella Macquart in return. There was that one night when I knelt for her, and I felt certain she was about to kiss me, but instead, she gave me that smile, and a flash of tooth, and it must have been a trick of the light because she looked as though she had the most gloriousfangs…
I’m so enamoured with her that I’m hallucinating. But even if she did have fangs, I wouldn’t care. Fangs suit her. I hope one day she bites me.
I amsick.
Her reluctance only makes me want her more. Every moment in her presence is foreplay.
Each night as I walk to La Petite Mort, I tell myself that tonight will be the night. I will find a way to take that necklace from Arabella’s neck. I will complete the job and free myself and Jacob from Lucien’s debt.
But then I walk beneath that velvet curtain, and I see her dancing, and every rational thought flees my body.
“I’m not so concerned with you hurting her as I am with her hurtingyou,Little Prince.” Lucien glares as my fingers clasp over the purse. “But I am growing impatient. I have given you ample time and you have spent a king’s ransom at La Petite Mort and still not secured the collar.”
That damned collar. I’ve never once seen Arabella without those baubles around her neck. It’s the worst tease of all. I long to see her dark skin exposed without those glittering jewels.
She says the collar is her armour. She certainly looks invincible wearing it – an impenetrable fortress of desire. I don’t believe in magic or curses, but I can almost see the way Arabella weaves the necklace’s goodluck into her life, using the jewels to grow her business and to maintain her lifestyle of lavish clothing and expensive, disgusting red drinks.
The more time I spend with her, the less I want to do this job for Lucien. But I can’t refuse him. He’ll go out and find another soldier to do his dirty work, and that soldier may not take such an interest in Arabella’s welfare. After all, it’s easy enough to cut the jewels from a severed neck.
At least I can keep her safe.
But for how much longer?
Lucien is becoming suspicious. Soon his need for the necklace will outweigh the reasons for his caution, even though I understand neither.
I have to make a move.
Tonight.
“I have a plan.” I tuck the purse into the pocket of my coat and smooth my lapels. I’m dressed in my opera finery. Lucien frowns at my outfit. He knows how much I hate the opera. “Fear not, if this necklace is worth what you say, then you will still make a tidy profit from this job.”
Arabella descends the twisted staircase to greet me. She doesn’t smile, but the sweep of her eyes over my sharp suit tells me she approves. I live for these moments when I feel the heat of her esteem, like the sun peeking through the clouds after months of winter rain.
I drop coins into her hand. Payment for her time. I never ask for so much as a kiss, and she never offers. Kisses are cheap compared to what I want from her, but I would pay a king’s fortune for the rare glimpses of her true self, the woman she must hide to become the fantasy for her clients.
Unfortunately, my king’s fortune is running dry, as is my king’s patience.
Arabella wraps her strong fingers around my wrist, dark skin against light, and tugs me towards the confessional. I place my hand over hers. “Tonight I want to go out.”
