The Belles (The Belles #1)(104)

“She would slip draughts into our tea, or lace our rose creams with something to make us sick so we wouldn’t spend time with other people or go places she didn’t want us to. She always gets what she wants.” She pauses and fakes a giggle, so I mimic her. “And I’ve always obeyed.”

“She can’t get away with this anymore,” I say.

“She can, and she will. She’s just started manipulating you, Camille, and the more you fight back or resist what she wants, the worse it will get.” Claudine drops her head. “I’m not strong enough to fight her.”

“I won’t let her get away with it.”

“She’s talking about how she’d like to be able to change her look with the snap of a finger if she steps into a room and sees someone more beautiful than she is. She’s trying to figure out how to make this possible. She’s experimenting—”

“We have to stop her.”

“I don’t have the courage.” Claudine shakes her head. “I’m leaving. After her wedding. I just wanted to tell you to have Madam Du Barry hire a taster for your food. You’ve been kind to me, and I wanted to return the favor.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. Just away from here.”


After Claudine slips out, I slam skin-color pots and pastilles on the table. I throw one at the wall. It shatters, leaving its gooey contents behind like a spatter of blood.

“In a bad mood?” a voice says from behind.

“Auguste?”

I whip around. He stands beside the dressing screen.

“How did you get in here?”

“I have my ways,” he says, closing the gap between us. His jacket and shirt hang open, his cravat is a loose tangle, and his sailor pants are worn at the knees. He smells like cologne and champagne. Stubble peppers his jaw, and his eyes look tired, like he’s been up all night. He removes his jacket.

“You got past Rémy.” The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

“And Claudine. I saw her in the hall,” he says. “The first time I visited you, I figured out there were ways in and out of these apartments without being seen. There would have to be. Gods forbid if there was a siege. There would have to be some way to get valued people out secretly.” He lifts his hand to touch my cheek. “Are you all right? I read in the papers about the poisoning.”

I let his hand rest there for a moment too long before stepping away. The softness and the heat linger. “I’m better. I’m fine.”

“I sent you a postballoon. You never answered.”

“I’ve received over four thousand letters and balloons. I’m still opening them.”

He touches my shoulder, the pad of his thumb grazing where the fabric meets the skin.

“I’m very busy, Auguste. I have an appointment with the queen.”

“Maybe I should leave, then.” He sounds disappointed.

There’s a pinch in my stomach. “You don’t have to just yet.” I can spare a minute. Just one.

“No. I should go.” He gives me a sheepish look. “Truth is, I’m a little afraid of you,” he says.

I laugh, presuming he’s joking. His expression tightens. A wrinkle furrows his brow. “I’m afraid of this.” He motions his hand between us, like he’s running it along a ribbon that connects the two of us.

I turn my back to him. “I’m not sure what you mean.” I clutch my skirts to stop the tremors in my hands. I feel each one of his footsteps as he nears. I feel the warmth of him like a heat-lantern, the sensation pushing through the back of my dress. I feel his breath hit the top of my Belle-bun.

“Have you ever wondered about love?”

“Love?” I say, barely able to get the word out.

He rests his hands on my waist and pivots me around. The scent of him wraps around me, and I inhale. I let him pull me forward. He places his fingers right above my breast. His thumb presses into my skin. He takes my hand and puts it to his chest. “You feel that?”

“Yes.” His heart is racing.

“Love is when hearts beat together.”

I pull away. “I have that with my sisters.”

“Have you ever wanted it with someone other than them?”

“I’m not allowed to entertain that idea. It would be dangerous.”

“Another rule?”

“A reality.”

“I’m going to leave,” he says. “Leave court, I mean.”

My heart plummets, even though it shouldn’t. Is Sophia chasing everyone away?

“Why?”

“I’m taking myself out of the running to be one of Sophia’s suitors.”

“Why would you do that?”

He touches my face. Fingertips drift over my forehead, down my cheeks, and across my lips.

My pulse races. A blush rises in my cheeks. The warmth of the heat-lanterns and his body are making me sweat. He presses the answer to my question against my lips, and I taste it, wrapped with the faint flavor of the rose pigment I smeared on my mouth and the cinnamon he must’ve taken in his tea. The kiss is soft at first, then harder. He opens my mouth with his tongue, and I let him.

My heart flutters. All of the things Du Barry warned us about—our blood, our arcana, our gifts—are forgotten. There’s me. There’s him. There’s a meeting of our mouths, our skin and bodies. He pushes deeper. His hands drift up and down my back. I tug his hair. The world is this room around us, and all I want to do is feel this over and over again. I could kiss him for a thousand hourglasses. Even if Du Barry says it will damage my arcana.