Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(45)

Count d’Albret smiles at me as if we are the closest of friends, as if we share some secret that Duval is not privy to. “Do not let Duval bore you with all his talk of politics and intrigue, demoiselle,” he says. “There are much finer pleasures to be had at court.” The leer on his face leaves little doubt as to which pleasures he is thinking of.

“My cousin is young and from the country, d’Albret. Surely you can do your hunting in more verdant pastures.”

“Nonsense, Duval. I just wanted to make her feel welcome at court. After all, it can be overwhelming, and she will quickly learn how serious and dull you are.” D’Albret turns to me. "When he leaves you in a corner somewhere so that he may discuss politics like an old man, I will find you, my dear.” And even though this promise will surely give me nightmares, he smiles as if he has just offered me the moon.

Duval stares steadily at the older man, his dislike rolling off him like fog from the sea. It is a wonder the count does not see it.

D’Albret winks at me. “Come find me when you grow bored.” And with that, he saunters off.

Once he is well out of hearing, I give voice to my outrage. “I cannot believe your father promised that man your sister’s hand in marriage. He is so old,” I say. “And vile!”

The look Duval sends me fair trumpets the words I told you so.

“Does he care anything for the duchess herself or is it merely the duchy he is after?”

Duval’s mouth quirks in disgust. “The duchy is his first and foremost goal, but I am sure being married to a young maid of Anne’s beauty and charm will be no hardship for him.” Something dark and dangerous shadows Duval’s face, but before I can question him further, he speaks again. “Now, come with me. I have one more person I would have you meet.”





Chapter Nineteen



The heat of Duval’s hand passes through the silk of my sleeve all the way down to my marrow. I am sorely tempted to throw it off, but I need his solid warmth to chase away the clammy chill d’Albret has left behind.

Duval leads me up a wide stone staircase, then down one corridor, then another. For the first time I get a feel for just how big the duchess’s residence in Guérande is. After leading me through many twists and turns, he stops in front of a thick oaken door and knocks. when there is no answer, he lets himself in.

The room is a sumptuous receiving chamber with several ornately carved chairs, thick velvet tapestries covering the stone walls, and a fire burning in the fireplace. "Why have you brought me here?” Duval lets go of my arm and prowls around the room. He looks behind the tapestries at the window, then strides to the small door in the far corner and confirms that it is locked. “Because I would have you meet our duchess face to face and see who precisely it is that you are serving.”

The main door opens just then and the duchess herself comes into the room. She is very young, but she holds herself with pride and not a little arrogance. Her forehead is high and noble; her cheeks still bear the slight fullness of her youth. Her brown eyes are keen with intelligence. It would be a mistake to underestimate her, yet because of her youth, I am certain many do.

She is followed by an older noblewoman whom I can only assume is her governess, Madame Dinan. She was strikingly beautiful once, and her bones still hold the truth of that beauty even with her hair gone white. It is hard to believe she shares any blood with Count d’Albret.

Duval bows low and I sink into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace; Madame Dinan,” he says.

“You may rise.” The young duchess’s voice is as clear and true as a bell. She turns to the other woman. “And you may leave us.”

Madame Dinan glances at Duval. “Your Grace, I think I should stay. It is not fitting that you are alone, with no chaperone.”

“You would keep me from speaking with my own brother?” the duchess asks sharply.

“I would keep you from nothing, Your Grace, only suggest you should have a chaperone, as is fitting.”

The duchess glances at Duval, who gives the tiniest shake of his head. "We have a chaperone,” she says, indicating me. “You may leave.”

The command in her tone is unmistakable, and Madame Dinan rears her head back slightly, nostrils flaring. “Very well, Your Grace. I will wait outside.” Her unhappiness with this arrangement is palpable, but whether it is because she resents being left out or because she is truly worried to leave the duchess with her own brother, I cannot tell.

The room is quiet until she leaves, then the duchess crosses over to the fireplace and holds her hands out to the flames. "Was that necessary, Gavriel?” she says. “It is hard for her to take orders from me.”

“I understand, Your Grace.” even though he is her brother, Duval remains formal with her, and I wonder if it is for my benefit. “But I wanted you to meet Demoiselle Rienne and learn from her own mouth who and what she is. It is knowledge best kept to ourselves for a while.”

The duchess tilts her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. “You do not trust Madame Dinan?”

“Someone called this estate meeting, Your Grace, and d’Albret is her half brother.”

The duchess wrinkles her nose. “Do not remind me! She presses his suit at every turn until I fear I shall scream.”

"We will find you a better marriage, I promise,” Duval says.