Page 218
“Monsieur Saint-Clair enjoys quite a reputation,” I say, reining in my surprise.
She lets the grape fall onto the table.
“He is merely a perverse man who loves to portray blasphemy and vulgarity.”
My eyebrows rise.
“Do not pretend to be ignorant of it. That man is Cendre d’Enfer. Count Nádasdy told me everything.”
I observe the fallen grape, glossy and sticky on the wood.
“You were at that exhibition.”
“You told me to accept Count Nádasdy’s invitation.”
Her lips curl slightly into a grimace. “As if there were not enough problems already.”
I step closer and notice the dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Dr. Norton said not to overindulge in the laudanum.”
She stares at me, her lips remaining sealed and her gaze stinging.
“See to it that everything is perfect, Evander. And reply to the Duke of Lestrieux. It is churlish to keep him waiting.”
“I have had the carriage prepared,” she says, turning slightly, her burgundy dress rustling. “Go to the Fairfax estate.”
“I have other things to attend to.”
“Mademoiselle Agnes sent you a gift, did she not? It is only courtesy that you pay her a visit now. You no longer seem to have a fever; therefore, go.”
“This, while waiting for the Duchess of Basel to arrive?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you not think of Agnes? This is merely deluding her—”
She interrupts me with a sharp gesture of her hand.
“Why do you think she harbors any feeling for you?”
“I did not say that, I—”
“Do not pretend, Evander, that other people interest you when they do not.”
She slides her hand slowly over a fold of her skirt.
“Do you truly believe anyone could ever feel such a sentiment for you?”
“That is not what I meant—”
“Not even he loved you.”
Rage mounts within me without warning.
“Do you think perhaps I was starved for his affection?”
Her lips curve into a thin, glacial smile.
