The Assassin and the Libertine (Les Dames Dangereuses Book 1) by Lily Riley & Mystic Owl

Author:Lily Riley & Mystic Owl [Riley, Lily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781648980886
Publisher: City Owl Press: Mystic Owl
Published: 2021-10-13T22:00:00+00:00

14

Daphne

October 25, 1765

Château de Champs-sur-Marne

Just a little farther…almost there…got it! I seized the book from the top shelf in triumph, then promptly stumbled off the library ladder when a shrill voice startled me.

“Mon dieu, Daphne, what the hell are you doing?” Charlotte yelled from the doorway.

I righted myself and dropped the book to the floor, then stepped down from my perch.

“Nothing! Well, reading,” I replied, feeling like a child caught misbehaving.

Charlotte strode into the library in a gown of vibrant chartreuse that glowed in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the pile of books I’d collected.

“Daphne, none of these appear to be salacious novels. In fact, these are all religious texts and— What’s this? Malleus Maleficarum! Have you taken up an interest in the occult?” she said with a raised brow.

“No! Of course not.” I rubbed at my temples, trying to ward off the ache building in my head. Charlotte folded her arms in front of her and waited expectantly.

“Well, perhaps a bit,” I hedged.

She gasped, her eyes sparking with excitement, and clapped her hands together. “Fantastic! I’ve always wanted to learn how to cast a spell. What have you learned so far?”

I sighed as she fluffed her skirts out around her and sat upon the floor. She picked up one of the books and flipped through it. I collapsed to the floor beside her and closed my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a decent night’s sleep, and I felt stretched and threadbare.

“Can we find a spell that will help my husband become a better lover? You know, help him keep it up longer.” She tossed the first book aside and picked up the second one. “Or perhaps there’s a spell that will help him be able to find my—”

“Charlotte, please,” I begged. “I am not in the mood to hear of Philippe’s failings in bed.”

She set the book aside and studied me. “Darling, what’s wrong? You look positively dreadful. Shall I call for some tea?”

I sat up on my elbows and grinned at her. “Fancy a proper fucking drink?”

She leaned over, her expression grave, and felt my forehead. “Well, you don’t feel feverish. I can only deduce that you’ve well and truly cracked, and to that I say, it’s about fucking time. What shall we drink, ma chère amie? Brandy? Cognac? Whisky?”

“Oh, hell. Let’s go drink some of my bastard husband’s good wine.” I grabbed the stack of books, and we made our way downstairs through the kitchens to the wine cellar. I hadn’t had the bed removed yet, and Charlotte’s eyes grew wide at the sight.

“Daphne, you know I’m one for a fair tipple most of the time, but if you’re sleeping in your wine cellar, it occurs to me that you may have a drinking problem.” She sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows. “Although this is damned comfortable.”

I handed her a dusty bottle of champagne, and she popped the cork with practiced efficiency.

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