Page 6 of The Duke of Cups (The Highwaymen #3)

WHEN HYACINTH GOT back to the house where she was staying, no one was awake. Actually, she realized, as she went through the hallway back to her own bedchamber, no one was there.

Seraphine’s door was open, and her room was dark and empty inside. Her husband’s room was similarly empty. Champeraigne’s room was empty, too, but then he wasn’t due back for some time, so he wasn’t expected to be there.

It was good, as far as that went, since she didn’t have a ready story for what had happened to her that evening. It also wasn’t going to be good when the carriage was gone, the horses gone. What was she supposed to say about that?

She decided to say nothing, to just feign ignorance of the entire thing.

She’d come back on horseback, on a borrowed horse from the brothel, supplied by Dunrose.

He, annoyingly, had insisted on accompanying her here, saying that a young woman alone would be in danger, and she said that he posed more danger than anything she could think of, and he said it was lucky that he needed her alive and intact, then, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t sure what was so loathsome about Dunrose, that he was a highwayman, that he was so dismissive and rude to her, or that she still found him ridiculously attractive?

Why did he have to look like that, like some kind of elfin princeling?

Why did he have to smile in that haughty way of his, looking her over like she was some morsel he could taste any time he had the inkling to do so? Why, why, why?

When he’d said he wanted to marry her—

Well, no, he hadn’t said that. He’d made several stupid, mocking proposals, however, and she had not thought, at the time, that she wished to marry him. (She did not.) But she could not help but consider the idea of marrying him, how tidy that would be, really.

He knew everything. If he would take her on, it would really be quite convenient.

But that was foolish. He didn’t wish to marry her. Of course he didn’t. No, the odds of someone like the Duke of Dunrose falling ruinously in love with her were very low.

She fell into bed and rolled around, feeling unsettled, before falling into a light sleep. She woke in the morning light to Seraphine coming home.

Hyacinth got out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown over her nightdress. She padded barefoot into the hallway as Seraphine was going into her room. “Oh, there you are, mon chaton ,” called the older woman. She was always calling her that. It meant “my kitten” in French. “Come in, if you wish.”

Hyacinth went into Seraphine’s room and settled down at the foot of the bed while Seraphine’s maid helped her undress.

“How was the ball?”

Hyacinth sighed. “How was your night?”

“Well as can be expected, I suppose. I could have stayed, breakfasted with him, all of that, and I think he might have liked it, but I was too exhausted, I must say. Sometimes, I really just wish to order a man up, like a servant, and then send him off when I’m done with him.

” She rolled her head on her shoulders, groaning a bit.

“I wanted my own bed. Of course, the sun is coming up now. I’m too old for this business, mon chaton. ”

“Why do you do it, then?”

Seraphine turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

“I only mean,” Hyacinth said quickly, trying to take the sting from her words, “is it because of Champeraigne? Or do you enjoy it yourself?”

“Oh, mon chaton , men should never be allowed to rule you. It is useful, sometimes, if they think they rule you, but if you allow them to become too accustomed to such an idea, they get very angry when they realize you are not their toy or their puppet. So, no, it’s best to keep them from thinking that they tell you what to do.

The comte and I have something else, though, something different.

It’s not like with other men. He’s…” Seraphine shrugged.

“Well, no one else quite understands me the way he does.”

“Oh,” said Hyacinth, her face falling. This was not quite what she had hoped to hear. She wished for Seraphine to confirm the version that Dunrose had given her, to say that Champeraigne badly used her and that Seraphine would like to be free of him.

Seraphine allowed her maid to drape her nightdress over her head, and Seraphine wriggled into it. Sighing, she wandered over to the bed, calling out to her maid that would be all. She sat down on the bed next to Hyacinth. “However, my dear, I must say, he’s different these days.”

“Different in what way?”

Seraphine sighed. “He has always been touched by darkness, but then, so have we all. I liked to think that the darkness would not stain our souls, even as we bathed in it, but I suppose I knew that was going to happen.” She reached out to touch Hyacinth’s face.

“I wonder if it’s because I have you, and he has nothing like this.

Not even a wife. Never even married. He is responsible to no one, nobody at all.

He likes to think he’s free, but it means everything is meaningless, when no one is counting on you. ”

Hyacinth wasn’t sure what she thought of that statement. No one was counting on her, not exactly, though she did feel as if she should stop being so dependent upon Seraphine. Even so, she did not think her life was meaningless.

“He only has greed, I think, these days. And he fears damage being done to himself, of course, but he doesn’t truly fear it. I think some part of him wishes to die. I think some part of him wishes he’d been killed on the guillotine.”

Hyacinth drew back, eyes wide.

Seraphine laughed. She fell backward onto the bed, chuckling to herself. “Oh, yes, I know. That sounds mad. But I think it is true. He has despised himself for some time.”

“No one would wish to die on the guillotine,” said Hyacinth.

“Well, it’s quite better than an ax, of course,” said Seraphine. “That was the entire reason it was created, to cleanly cut off a head in one go instead of taking several strikes to get it off. That…” She shuddered, making a face.

“I suppose,” said Hyacinth. “If one must die, to do it with less pain is better than with more. But no one wishes to die.”

“There was a woman he was in love with,” said Seraphine. “Before me. She died. He escaped. I don’t think he ever would have fallen into my bed if he hadn’t committed the sin of rescuing himself and leaving her behind, you know?”

“He didn’t even try to save this woman?” said Hyacinth.

“He was bid to save me, by my husband, who was his closest friend,” said Seraphine.

“And anyway, I have never thought he would have been able to do anything for that woman. Her name was Celeste. If he’d gone after her, he would have died, too.

I have told him a number of times, but he never listens.

I don’t know if he ever really loved her, anyway.

She was pretty, I suppose, pretty and empty-headed and very sweet.

When men are young, their blood boils. Or rather, I suppose, their blood all goes to the roots of their pricks, and they are led by them, by their erect pricks—”

“Oh,” said Hyacinth, mostly to herself. “ That’s an erection.”

Seraphine laughed. “What am I saying in front of your sweet, innocent, virgin ears?” She sat up and covered both of Hyacinth’s ears with her hands. She kissed Hyacinth’s forehead. “Forgive me, forgive me, mon chaton. ”

“It’s fine,” said Hyacinth. “So, you were always his second choice, then? ”

“Oh,” said Seraphine, laughing.

“He truly loved Celeste, wishes he could die for his sins against her—”

“No, no, it isn’t that way,” said Seraphine. “But I do suppose he has little left within him that motivates him towards righteousness. Would he have been that way for her? I couldn’t say, I suppose, but I wouldn’t have him any way other than the way he is.”

“Truly? How could you love a man like that?”

Seraphine sighed, her gaze going unfocused. She looked off over Hyacinth’s shoulder, thinking that through. “It is hard to explain, I suppose.”

“He isn’t a good man, I know that,” said Hyacinth.

“Oh, there are no good men, mon chaton ,” said Seraphine, with a little smile.

That couldn’t be true. There must be some good people in the world, mustn’t there?

“Nor good women, for that matter,” said Seraphine. “Are you not aware of the scriptures? ‘All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’”

“But that doesn’t mean we are all bad,” said Hyacinth.

“Does it not?” Seraphine smiled helplessly. “I have heard many a lecture from the pulpit, all about how naturally sinful and wretched each of us are.”

“Yes, I suppose,” said Hyacinth. “Even so, there are levels of such things.”

“Perhaps, yes. Levels,” said Seraphine. “But I have done awful things, too. So many awful, awful things. But we do that for each other, he and I, you see. When he does something awful, I forgive him, though he cannot quite forgive himself, and the same for me. I need him, you know. Someone must accept me. He always does, no matter what.”

Hyacinth thought about that. She supposed it made sense, but also…

well, wasn’t it a good thing that people rejected others when they did very awful things?

It was a deterrent against doing the awful things in the first place.

Of course, she supposed that the deterrent didn’t really deter that well, in the end.

It wasn’t as if people ever really did stop killing ea ch other.

She took a deep breath. “But most of those awful things that you do, aren’t you really doing them for him? ”

“No,” said Seraphine. Then she laughed. “Maybe sometimes.”

“And isn’t he worse than you? What do you do in the end besides lie with men other than your husband?”

Seraphine tilted her head to one side. “He is a very bad man, mon chaton . You are quite right. He does not deserve me. But then, I have never met a man who does. He’s very smart, almost as smart as me, you see.

And by this time, we’ve been through quite a bit together, so I am hopelessly entangled with him, forever and ever. ”

Damn everything to hell, Hyacinth wished she wouldn’t say that.

Could she get out of killing the man?

Well, likely not. She didn’t think that Dunrose would have any qualms about revealing her secret if she refused. And even if she could ruin him, too, well, what did that matter if she was destroyed in the process?

She must at least play along, she supposed. Maybe when it came time to poison Champeraigne, some brilliant exit strategy would occur to her. For now, her best option was to keep Dunrose happy and to at least pretend to be willing to do his bidding.

“If you’re wondering what happens if it comes down to a choice between you and him, however, mon chaton , you must know I shall always choose you.”

Hyacinth was surprised by that. “What? Why?”

“Because he can take care of himself, and because you need me, and because you deserve it much more than he does. He knows this, so no worries. I do not save him. He does not save me. We are not that way with each other.”

“But if you don’t save each other, then…” Hyacinth furrowed her brow. “I suppose I don’t understand.”

“I would rather you never did,” said Seraphine.

“Hopefully, you can have an easy sort of relationship with a man, one that is just like everyone else’s.

It is a strange thing when one begins to create one’s own protocol for how she will be with a man, to do it in her own way, to her own particular preferences.

Empowering in some ways, but it also makes one feel as if she cannot quite enter into a fellowship with the rest of humanity, cannot simply take their definition of what love should be from everyone else.

What sort of strange creature must make up her own rules, after all? ”

Hyacinth had nothing to say to that.

“Oh, I have been up all night and I am growing maudlin. Ignore me, I must say. But leave me to get a few hours of sleep. We shall have luncheon together later, though, I promise.”

“Of course, Seraphine. I shall take my leave of you.”

“Good night,” said Seraphine, lying back down on the bed. “Well, good morning, anyway.” She laughed softly, rolling over, giving Hyacinth her back.