The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(25)

Celine cleared her throat, bewildered by the onslaught of information. “This is the first I’ve heard of the count, and I was only . . . introduced to his nephew this evening.”

Odette tilted her head. “The count is not in the city at present, but I suspect Bastien should arrive at any moment.” She began scanning the plush carpet, her gaze weaving around the chair legs. “In any case, you should be on the lookout for Toussaint.”

“What?” Celine refrained from shifting backward. “We should be looking for something . . . on the floor?” After witnessing chess pieces offer their own surrender, Celine did not want to be caught unawares by naughty parlor tables or stools with errant senses of humor.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s really nothing at all.” Odette gestured once more with her hands, a reaction Celine had come to associate with agitation. “Toussaint . . . is Bastien’s Burmese python.” She rushed through her next words. “Really he’s completely harmless. The poor angel adores his rest and wouldn’t hurt a mouse.” She grimaced and bit her lip. “Zut alors. I meant figuratively, of course.” Odette brightened. “Just wait. Before you know it, you’ll all be the best of friends.”

It took a moment for her explanation to register, disjointed as it was.

Bastien’s Burmese python.

Bastien’s giant snake.

Though the serpent in question had yet to make an appearance, Pippa stifled a small shriek and jumped backward, scrambling for a chair or something upon which to stand. Celine remained rooted to one spot, a familiar rush coursing through her veins.

Odette cast them a rueful glance. “Occasionally, Toussaint does like to wrap himself around anything warm, but please know you have nothing to fear. I only mentioned him because—if you don’t know to look for him—he can be a bit . . . disconcerting.”

“A snake?” Pippa squeaked, looking for all the world as if she wanted to melt into the paneled wall at her back. “What kind of person has a pet snake?”

“Lucifer,” Celine said in a flat voice. “Lucifer would have a pet snake.”

A trill of laughter burst from Odette’s lips as she reached for her glass of wine. “Ah, you simply must tell me what happened when you were introduced this evening. How delicious!”

Celine sucked in her cheeks to marshal her retort.

Pippa’s blue eyes darted across the floor while she gnawed on her lower lip, her fingers toying with the golden cross around her neck. “We encountered Mr. Saint Germain on our way here. He wasn’t”—she hesitated—“as gracious as he should have been.”

“I’m unsurprised to hear that,” Odette said. “Bastien is like a character from a childhood nursery rhyme. When he’s good, he’s very, very good. When he’s bad, well . . . I’m sure you can finish the rest.”

Celine certainly could. But she refused to waste more time contemplating that wretched boy and his ridiculous pet snake. It would take effort, but Celine intended to put a swift end to . . . whatever worrisome interest this beautiful boy had managed to wake in her.

In truth, she didn’t understand it at all. They’d barely spent less than a moment in each other’s presence, and a handsome face was not enough to distract her from his many misdeeds. Before the night was through, Celine intended to have a firm rein on her emotions.

Nothing good ever came from letting them run amok.

Her gaze settled on a painting in a gilt frame across the room. She let her sight distort until its edges glowed molten gold. Celine hated how much her notice of a boy like Bastien brought to light how broken she was. In one short evening, he’d become a proverbial thorn in Celine’s side. A reminder that something inside her was not right.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it wasn’t a fascination with him at all. Perhaps it was the allure of the creature that lurked within her. Not too long ago, that creature had granted her immense power over a tormenter and freedom over her life.

But it had also made her a murderess.

Celine’s expression hardened. She would put an end to all of it. Immediately.

It would have worked. Later, Celine would swear she’d been on the cusp of victory, intent on shoving anything related to Sébastien Saint Germain deep into a dark abyss. To make him disappear forever.

All would have gone to plan.

If not for the high-pitched scream that suddenly tore through the room.





THE GHOST




Pippa’s bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the chamber, rebounding off the paneled walls, setting the golden tassels atremble. It rent the space in two, like a crack had split across the plush carpeting, Hell yawning in fiery fathoms below.

Truly it was an impressive achievement, that scream.

The moment it left Pippa’s lips, every member of La Cour des Lions leapt into action, their bodies tensed and alert. Odette scrambled to Pippa’s side, the glass of red wine in her hand tipping, its contents splashing on Pippa’s skirts. Before Celine could blink, a stylish man from the Far East moved swiftly toward them, brandishing a mother-of-pearl dagger. He halted at her shoulder, twirling his blade from one hand to the other. Boone sauntered into view while flipping an ice pick in the air. The two women with the dangerous rings posed like panthers about to spring, their fingers forming claws, as though their opulent jewels were really weapons instead of adornments. The victor of the recent chess match simply laid a pistol on the table before him, his bearded features cool and collected.