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.
Footsteps splashed through a nearby puddle, drawing to a sudden halt, the sound of frightened gasps punching through the darkness. Celine opened her eyes, locking on a single image.
Pippa, the color drained from her skin, her lips trembling, her features awash in unmistakable relief. Her hem was six inches deep in mud, and a branch had scratched the side of her left cheek, tiny trickles of blood sliding toward her chin.
This entire