I nearly laugh out loud and am very careful not to look at d’Albret. “If the opportunity arises, Your Grace, I would happily partake in the hunt.”
“Let us hope, then, that the opportunity presents itself,” she says graciously.
As we murmur pleasantries, a man-at-arms approaches and bows before Captain Dunois, then speaks quietly in his ear. The captain nods, then moves to Duval and takes him aside. “Your prisoner is awake, my lord.”
Duval turns to me with an eager gleam in his eye. “I must go and question him.”
“Surely I should come with you.”
“Surely you should not. How would I explain allowing either my young cousin or my mistress to be in the presence of such a criminal?” As he speaks, he searches among the gathered nobles. “No, you will stay here and play your part and keep your ears open.” He releases my arm and to my utter horror calls out, “De Lornay!”
“No!” I whisper to Duval, but too late. The young lord disentangles himself from a group of admiring women and heads our way.
Duval glances down at me in surprise. “You cannot just stroll about unattended. People may turn a blind eye to a discreet liaison, but a lone woman wandering on her own is no lady and will quickly find herself with a reputation that keeps her from the duchess’s presence.”
His words feel like the bars of a cage clanging down around me, and I suddenly feel trapped in a prison of silk and velvet. He looks faintly amused. “Do not act as if you’ve been consigned to the executioner’s block. Most women are quite fond of de Lornay’s company.”
“I am not most women, my lord,” I say, and I assume his snort is one of agreement.
De Lornay bows in front of us, and I am gratified when his eyes move past me, then sharpen.
Duval gives his friend a wry grin. “She cleans up nicely, does she not? I have something I must see to and I would leave her in your tender care.”
De Lornay’s dismayed look mirrors my own. "What, pray tell, am I to do with her?”
Duval waves his hand in the air. “I don’t know. whatever it is you do with your lady friends — ”
“Not that, surely,” de Lornay murmurs.
“Dance then.” Duval casts a worried look at me. “You do know how to dance, do you not?” he asks.
“Yes, but — ”
“Good.” Before de Lornay or I can issue another protest, Duval abandons us and walks away.
De Lornay and I stare at each other with twin expressions of distress before we both quickly look elsewhere. even as I plot an escape, the music starts up and the dancers move to the floor. with an ungracious sigh, de Lornay gives me a perfunctory bow. “Let us dance then.”
I dip a shallow curtsy but do not take his offered hand. “I appreciate this noble sacrifice you are making, but rest assured, it is not necessary. I have as little desire to dance with you as you do with me.”
He reaches out and snags my hand. “Nevertheless, Duval said dance, so dance we shall.”
I try to pull my hand away, but his grip turns to iron. I set my teeth and tug harder. “Do you always do what he tells you?”
“Always,” de Lornay says as he begins dragging me toward the dance floor. “I would ride into the fires of hell itself upon his command.”
Forgetting our tug of war, I glance at his face to see if he is serious. “Does he demand such things of you?”
De Lornay looks at me then with a fierce expression on his face. “If he did, I would do it gladly and welcome the chance.”
The music begins in earnest, and the other bodies around us fall into the steps of the dance. even though my mind still mulls over de Lornay’s fearsome loyalty, I move easily into the opening reverence. As I go through the steps of the dance, I cannot help but wonder why de Lornay dislikes me so very much. Indeed, I have never found dancing so painful. He glares at me over the other dancers’ heads and I am surprised our mutual loathing does not set their hair on fire.
when the music finally ends, I nearly shout with joy. De Lornay takes my arm and escorts me from the dance floor. “You dance very prettily.” For a lowborn assassin.
The actual words do not cross his lips, but I hear them all the same. I pay them little mind, for we have danced as Duval has commanded and surely now he will leave me to my own devices.
I curtsy with as much gratitude as I can muster. “Thank you for the courtesy you have shown me.” I keep my head down so he does not see the resentment in my eyes, and I begin to move away.
Once again, his hand clamps down on mine. “Oh, we are not done, demoiselle.”
I jerk my head up and snatch my hand away. "We most certainly are.”
He shakes his head. “Listen. The musicians are readying their instruments for another dance — a basse dance, I think. I am quite fond of the basse dance. Are you?”
I stare at him. Does he intend to blindly follow Duval’s orders until he returns? “No,” I say flatly. “I am not.” Then, before he can reach out and grab my hand again, I turn and leap away from him, putting as much distance between us as I can and hoping that he will not lunge after me and cause a scene.
I quickly worm deeper into the crowd and lose myself among the gathered nobles. As I move through the richly dressed and heavily perfumed bodies, I try to decide how best to make use of my hard-won freedom. I wish a marque of Mortain would appear on any one of these silly, vain nobles, but alas, it does not.
I spy François flirting with a venomous-looking lady dressed in peacock blue. His mother is in the far corner, laughing gaily and flirting with the half-dozen barons who surround her. Is that why Duval is so angry with her? Because she is not wasting any time finding a new paramour? If he was close with his father, then mayhap he considers it a betrayal of his memory that his mother is seeking a new bed to warm so soon after his death.
Madame Dinan, Count d’Albret, and Marshal Rieux have left the duchess and now stand together, buzzing among themselves like busy little bees. That could prove a most interesting conversation.
I shift directions and move toward them, determined to hear what they are plotting. I am nearly halfway there when a tall figure steps boldly in front of me and I must stop suddenly or plow right into him.
The French envoy Gisors looks down at me from his towering height. “Demoiselle Rienne,” he says.
“Milord Gisors.” I give a small curtsy.
“It occurs to me that I did not greet you as warmly as you deserved yesterday. You must forgive me, as I had weighty matters on my mind.”