Duval’s head snaps up, and his cold gray eyes zero in on the lovely woman by the fireplace.
The baron lowers his voice. “Being at court right now is too painful for her, as you well know.”
“So she keeps claiming,” Duval murmurs. There is an angry, bitter note in his voice that I have not heard before. I glance again to the fireplace. Madame Hivern sits with her head bowed, the very picture of pious contemplation — indeed, it is the same pose I adopt at the convent when I fear I have been caught whispering to Annith or Sybella.
“Baron, I would like you to meet my cousin Demoiselle Rienne.”
Geffoy smiles knowingly at the word cousin. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he says. An unsavory gleam appears in his eye. “Please make yourself comfortable in my home, my dear,” he says. "Will you be joining us for dinner, Duval? Or are you too exhausted from your journey?”
Duval’s eyes are still pinned on Madame Hivern when he answers. "We would join you and hear the news at court.” Surely the woman can feel him looking at her. why does she not glance up?
Almost as if hearing my thoughts, she lifts her head just then. Although her charming expression never changes, her hostility toward Duval is palpable.
"Excellent! I will have someone show you to your rooms so you may refresh yourselves.” The baron leans in close to Duval. “I will be sure you and your cousin have adjoining rooms, mais oui?”
His vile wink has my hand itching for my dagger. Perhaps sensing this, Duval grabs my elbow and escorts me to the stairs.
My chamber is large and well appointed. I cast a longing glance at the immense canopied bed that I cannot enjoy for hours yet. I sigh with regret, then turn to make myself ready for the evening. As I disrobe, my mind returns to the baron’s unease at seeing Duval, Hivern’s hostility, and Duval’s tightly controlled reaction. Mayhap I will learn something of importance tonight.
At least the mystery of what lies between Duval and Hivern will provide some small measure of entertainment during dinner. I cannot help but wonder how much of Duval’s wish to dine in the great room has to do with her. even from far away, I could tell she is very beautiful; her skin pale, her hair the color of spun gold and dressed in an artful style. The elegant Hivern has made me exquisitely aware of every lesson on court manners and womanly charms I have missed.
I catch my reflection in the small oval of polished silver hanging on the wall. we could not be more different. She has the feel of a delicately wrought treasure. I, on the other hand, am dark and serious; a faint frown draws my brows together. In my mind, I can almost hear the mocking laughter when the baron and his wife learn of my fakery and deception. I will not let that happen. I relax my scowl, which improves my looks somewhat but not nearly enough.
I dip the linen cloth into the warm water — scented faintly with rose petals, a true luxury — and take the opportunity to wash my face and arms and anywhere else I can reach.
I travel with only one gown grand enough for this evening, so with reluctance I put it on. I have not grown any more fond of it since I wore it last. And while I have no fancy headdress such as Madame Hivern wears, I do have my hairnet with the pearls. I smile at this reminder of the dark skills I possess that Hivern does not.
As I poke the last stubborn tendril of hair into place, there is a knock at my door. I open it to find Duval, ready to escort me to dinner. He takes in my greatly altered appearance, much as I take in his. He has changed from his riding leathers to an elegant black doublet with fresh white linen at his neck. I wonder briefly if black is a signature color for him. He eyes me thoroughly, and I grow a bit flustered under the warmth of his gaze. “I am not certain I would let my cousin appear in public in such a gown,” he says at last.
“Your cousin has no other choice available to her, milord.”
A look of resignation settles over his face. “And so our lots are cast.” He holds out his arm. “Come, let us join the others.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I gingerly place my hand on his sleeve. Annoyed by these courtesies I must endure, I look for a way to torment him. “Madame Hivern did not look especially pleased to see you,” I point out. “Nor the baron, come to that.”
He snorts, and the earthy noise catches me off-guard. “Madame Hivern and I do not see eye to eye on many things. The baron’s discomfort is somewhat newer.” Then he looks down at me, a faint air of amusement touching his eyes. “You do know who she is, do you not?”
I curse my own ignorance. It is even worse than being assigned to Duval’s care. “No,” I say shortly. “I do not.”
Duval gives a short bark of a laugh. “That, dear assassin, is the late duke’s mistress.”
I gasp in surprise. “The French whore?”