Bisclavret

Chapter 23

After dinner, Henri meets me at my chair to lead me from the room, leaning down as I slip my arm into his to whisper in my ear. "Make an excuse and go to bed early."

I nod, not trusting my voice to answer. Am I going to bed early for training? Or something else?

He leads me to the ladies drawing room and leaves me with a bow, his energy retreating with him as I make my shivering way toward the marquise to beg off for yet another night.

I can tell from her face she's disappointed. "Really, Belle, I'm beginning to think you're a wallflower. You aren't letting the duchess scare you away, are you?"

I shake my head. "I'm just not very fond of large crowds, and with all the champagne and talk of war, I'm not feeling very social. I still haven't heard from my father and sisters."

Her face falls at my words, and I feel a tug of guilt in my chest. "I understand. I'll see you at breakfast."

Livy catches me as I make my way toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"To bed," I tell her. "I drank too much champagne, and my head is spinning."

She frowns, concern writ across her features. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Another stab of guilt slices through me. "No, Livy. Stay, have fun."

Her eyes narrow as she sweeps her gaze over the room. "I'll stay. But not to have fun. I think one of us should be here to keep an eye on that woman." From her tone, it's obvious she means the duchess.

I place a hand on her arm, bringing her gaze back to mine. "Remember to mind your tongue. You have your reputation to protect."

"I am sweetness incarnate," she says, mimicking de Vergeronne's ingratiating smile.

I shake my head and let her go. "I'll see you in the morning."

We part ways, and I make it out of the door without having to speak to anyone else. The hallway is clear, and some tension leaves my shoulders as I turn toward the stairs. I hear the door of a nearby powder room open as I pass, but I keep walking, hoping to avoid further delays. Footsteps echo behind me, fast and furtive, and a yank on my arm has me reeling back around.

The Duchess de Vergeronne grips my elbow with a strength that belies her petite frame.

Oh, hell.

I try to tug free, but she only digs her fingernails in, looking up and down the hall to confirm we're alone. With a jerk, she brings me down to her level, and I brace myself for whatever nastiness she has in store for me.

"Stop struggling, you little idiot," she hisses, and something in her tone makes me still. This isn't the catty, haughty woman from earlier; she looks almost desperate now. Her eyes burn into mine as she drops her voice so low I barely catch her words. "I know you probably hate me, but believe it or not, I'm trying to help you."

I stare at her, utterly confused. How in heaven could public humiliation be helpful?

She steps closer, squeezing my elbow for all she's worth. "If you value your life, your very soul, you will run screaming from the baron and his son and never look back."

A noise sounds nearby, and she drops my arm and hurries away.

I stare after her, my heart slamming against my ribs. What just happened? What was that? Footsteps echo through the hall, and I realize I can't just stand here with my mouth hanging open in shock. I force myself toward the stairs, hoping with all my might that anyone watching from inside the walls will think the stunned expression on my face is from another slew of insults.