Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(74)

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

And me.

“What do you want me to say, Célie? She’s my wife. Of course I like her.”

Célie rocked back as if he’d slapped her. “What’s happened to you, Reid?”

“Nothing—”

“The Reid I know would abhor that woman. She is everything you stand against—”

“You don’t know her.”

“I obviously don’t know you either!”

“Célie, please—”

“Do you love her?”

I held my breath, fingers biting into the doorjamb. There was a heavy pause. Then—

“No.” He exhaled heavily, looking down. “But I think—I think maybe I could—”

“But you said you loved me.” She backed away slowly, eyes wide with shock and hurt. Tears slid down her cheeks. “You asked to marry me! Me—not her!”

“I— Célie, I did. But Lou . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I won’t hurt her.”

“You won’t hurt her?” She cried in earnest now, patches of color rising to her pale cheeks. “What about me, Reid? We’ve known each other since we were children!” Her tears soaked her bodice, ruining the black silk. “What about Pip? What about your oath?”

Reid’s hands hung limp at his sides. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“I’m sorry too, Reid,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry I ever met you.”

I inched away from the door, numbness creeping down my limbs. I shouldn’t have been here. This moment hadn’t been meant for my eyes.

Back in the ballroom, I stood apart from the crowd, my mind still reeling.

Reid had loved her.

I shook my head, disgusted with myself. Of course he had. He’d said as much in his stupid journal—which I never should’ve read—and even if he hadn’t, he was a young, attractive man. He would’ve had his choice amongst any number of women if he hadn’t devoted his life to the Chasseurs. The thought rankled more than it should’ve. As did the thought of Célie’s lips—of anyone’s lips—pressed to his cheek.

Célie reemerged several moments later, wiping her face as inconspicuously as possible. She ducked her head before anyone could question her, heading straight for the antechamber. I swallowed the lump in my throat as Reid too reappeared. Watching as he searched for me, I debated following Célie.

How could I face him after what I’d heard? After learning what he’d given up?

Do you love her?

No. But I think—I think maybe I could—

Could what? Love me? Panic clawed up my throat at the word. Just as I’d lifted my skirts to flee toward the carriage, however, Reid spotted me in the crowd. I waved awkwardly, cursing my sudden insecurity, as his blue eyes met mine and widened. He started forward, politely excusing himself from the many aristocrats who tried to stop and congratulate him along the way.

I shifted my feet—intensely and horribly aware of my thunderous heartbeat, my tingling limbs, my flushed skin—when he finally reached me.

He took my hand. “You look beautiful.”

I flushed further under his gaze. Unlike the prince’s haughty appreciation, Reid was almost . . . reverent. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

“Thank you.” My breath caught, and he tilted his head, eyes searching mine in silent question. I looked away, embarrassed, but Coco chose that moment to swoop down on us.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries. She never did with Reid. “Tell me, Chasseur Diggory, who was that lovely woman you were with earlier? Your sister, perhaps?”

I glared at her pointedly, but she ignored me. Subtlety had never been Coco’s forte.

“Oh—er, no,” Reid said. “That was the vicomte’s daughter, Mademoiselle Tremblay.”

“Close personal friend?” Coco pressed. “Her-dad-is-friends-with-your-dad type of thing?”

“I’ve never met my father,” Reid answered woodenly.

But Coco didn’t bat an eye. “How do you know one another then?”

“Brie.” I forced a smile and reached for her hand, squeezing it mercilessly. “I think I’d like a little time alone with my husband. Where’s Ansel?”

She waved her other hand behind us dispassionately. “Probably beating his chest and challenging that other Chasseur to a duel.”

I looked back to where she waved. “What other Chasseur?”

“The pompous one. The asshat.” She pursed her lips in concentration, but she needn’t have bothered. I knew exactly to whom she referred. “Jean Luc.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the usual male condition. Ansel didn’t want Jean Luc playing with his new toy.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, my female paramours are never so much trouble.”

My grin was genuine now. Poor Ansel. He didn’t stand a chance against Jean Luc—or Coco. “Perhaps you should go referee.”

Coco studied my hand clasped around Reid’s, and the feverish complexion of my cheeks. The way he stood close. Much too close. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should.”