Anger lined Michael’s features. “You’ve been asked to leave . . . tonight?” His words sounded muffled to her. As if he were speaking into a void or at the end of a long tunnel.
Desperation clutched around her heart. “Let me go, Michael. Please.”
“Now is not the time for anyone to be walking the streets alone, least of all you.”
It was a cool declaration. But it seared through Celine like a brand, reminding her of the many deaths on her conscience. One by her own hand. “Get out of my way,” she said, her voice dangerously close to breaking.
“No.”
Celine shoved Michael with all her might. She didn’t stop to watch him fall. She simply raced toward the gate, her feet flying above the pavestones, her heart pounding at a frantic pace. The memory of what Bastien had said to her the night they first met echoed through her ears. He’d likened her to a lunar goddess who dragged darkness with her wherever she went.
She would bring no more darkness here. She’d run away once to begin a new life. She could do it again, without a single glance over her shoulder.
A firm hand yanked Celine off course, gripping her forearm tightly. Then it pulled her into a solid chest, clasping both her wrists behind her, forcing the air from her lungs. Michael towered over her, caging her with his arms, effectively rendering her immobile. He was stronger than he appeared at first glance, his body shifting beneath his wet garments like sinew.
“You little fool,” he snarled under his breath, fury sharpening his features. “You think you’re going to run away and everything will be as it once was?”
Celine glared up at him, drops of rain catching on her eyelashes. “Go to Hell.”
“Will you make sense in Hell? If so, then lead the way.”
“Sense?” she cried. “Tonight I was attacked by a creature that could fly. It taunted me. Said I belonged to it. Told me death was a garden and likened its work to the Battle of Carthage. Two nights ago, I was stalked by something that crawled up a wall and vanished in the wind without a trace.” Celine laughed, the sound bordering on crazed. “It knew my name. Tell me, Michael Grimaldi, does any of this make sense?”
Michael’s nostrils flared. He released her wrists, a veil of lethal calm descending over his face. “Why am I only now hearing of the incident from two nights ago?”
“Am I to report to you at every turn?” Celine laughed again. Pushed him away, her hands thrown in the air. “Besides, I sound like a lunatic. Like someone who lived in the dungeons of the Bastille for an age, deprived of sunlight and air and all that is necessary to survive.” Her chest heaved as she took in a ragged breath.
His expression unreadable, Michael stared down at her, his pale gaze steady. “What happened when the creature stalked you two days ago? How did you manage to escape?”
“Bastien.”
“Bastien?” Michael’s eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in his neck. “Why was Bastien there?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue. Perhaps you should stop behaving like a belligerent child and ask him. It’s possible he has a death wish, too.”
Michael opened his mouth to retort, but the clatter of an arriving carriage stole his attention, sparing Celine from having to partake further in the conversation.
A glossy black brougham halted just outside the iron gates of the convent. Emblazoned on its door was the symbol of a fleur-de-lis in the mouth of a roaring lion. For a stutter of time, Celine allowed herself to hope a broad-shouldered young man would alight from its confines, his eyes like honed daggers and his jaw like hewn stone. Dared to dream he would gift her this enchanted carriage, capable of taking her to the ends of the earth. Tell her to go anyplace she wished. Swore to follow wherever she went, even to Hell itself.
Ridiculous. A man should not have to grant her this kind of freedom. Celine should be able to take it herself. But she’d already tried to take it. Tried and failed numerous times, the world reminding her at all turns that her own liberty wasn’t hers to give, much less take. A woman absent money or prospects had no place in proper society. In such a society, a wife and daughter were legal possessions. Commodities used to curry wealth and favor.
Perhaps it was time for Celine to reject proper society.
As if to underscore the notion, the door to the brougham swung open and Odette bounded down its steps, dressed in trousers and polished Hessians, a military-style jacket draped across her shoulders. She raced toward Celine’s side, brushing past Michael with a look that would scald the sun.
“Mon amie,” Odette said, her expression grave, her eyes reddened around the rims.
Celine steeled herself, her shoulders all but quaking with gratitude. The fairy tales of her childhood had been filled with lies. No man had come to her rescue tonight, as they always did in the stories.
But her friends had. First Pippa with her épée. Then Odette with her carriage.
And just a moment ago, Celine had almost turned her back on them forever.
Before Celine could say anything, Michael glared down at Odette, his colorless eyes seeming as if they could pierce her through her heart. “Miss Valmont,” he said curtly. “Word certainly does travel fast . . . rousing even the most ardent of sleepers.”
“None of your nonsense tonight.” Odette glowered back at him, stone-faced. “My patience for mediocre young men has fallen dangerously low.” She looked to Celine, her features softening. “I came as soon as I heard.” Her gloved hands wrapped around Celine’s fingers. “What is it you wish to do? I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
Michael cleared his throat. “An unnecessary offer. I will arrange a place for Celine at police headquarters. It’s well insulated from potential intruders, and officers will be stationed nearby at all times.” He stood tall, water dribbling from the brim of his tweed cap. “I myself will patrol the streets around it twice a night, so there is no need for this dramatic display of concern. Return to your gilded abode, Miss Valmont. Leave the real work to those accustomed to doing it.”
Odette sniffed, the sound filled with derision. “Don’t be proud of that rejoinder, you sanctimonious prick. It’s work enough having to look upon you with a straight face.” Her sable eyes tapered to slits. “And perhaps we should let Celine make her own decisions, rather than informing her of yours, as you seem so keen to do.” She turned to Celine. “Mon amie, we can go wherever you like. Charleston or Atlanta. New York, if you prefer. Perhaps even San Francisco. And if you wish to stay in New Orleans, I can have a suite ready for you at the Dumaine within the hour.”
Celine nodded, her thoughts racing in a whirl. She could go wherever she chose. Flee this place and all its mounting terrors. Her eyes closed as she allowed herself to dream of a new life. A slate wiped clean once more.