“You—you—” Tremblay’s eyes bulged, and a vein appeared on his shiny forehead. “Fille de pute! You cannot do this to me. You cannot—”
“Come now, monsieur, I do not have all day. The prince has returned from Amandine, and I do not want to miss the festivities.”
His chin jutted obstinately. “I—I do not have it with me.”
Damn it. Disappointment crashed through me, bitter and sharp. Coco muttered a curse.
“I do not believe you.” Striding to the window across the room, Madame Labelle peered down. “Ah, Monsieur Tremblay, how could a gentleman such as yourself leave your daughter to wait outside a brothel? Such easy prey.”
Sweating profusely now, Tremblay hastened to turn out his pockets. “I swear I don’t have it! Look, look!” I pressed my face closer as he shoved the contents of his pockets toward her: an embroidered hand cloth, a silver pocket watch, and a fistful of copper couronnes. But no ring. “Please, leave my daughter alone! She is not involved in this!”
He made such a pitiful sight that I might’ve felt sorry for him—if he hadn’t just dashed all my plans. As it were, however, the sight of his trembling limbs and ashen face filled me with vindictive pleasure.
Madame Labelle seemed to share my sentiment. She sighed theatrically, dropping her hand from the window, and—curiously—turned to look directly at the portrait I stood behind. Tumbling backward, I landed squarely on my ass and bit back a curse.
“What is it?” Coco whispered, crouching beside me. Babette released the button with a frown.
“Shhhh!” I waved my hands wildly, motioning toward the parlor. I think—I mouthed the words, not daring to speak—she saw me.
Coco’s eyes flew open in alarm.
We all froze as her voice drifted closer, muted but audible through the thin wall. “Pray tell me, monsieur . . . where is it, then?”
Holy hell. Coco and I locked eyes incredulously. Though I didn’t dare return to the portrait, I pressed closer to the wall, breath hot and uncomfortable against my own face. Answer her, I pleaded silently. Tell us.
Miraculously, Tremblay obliged, his vehement reply more dulcet than the sweetest of music. “It’s locked away in my townhouse, you salope ignorante—”
“That will do, Monsieur Tremblay.” As their parlor door clicked open, I could almost see her smile. It matched my own. “I hope for your daughter’s sake you aren’t lying. I will arrive at your townhouse at dawn with your coin. Do not keep me waiting.”
The Chasseur
Lou
“I’m listening.”
Sitting in the crowded patisserie, Bas lifted a spoonful of chocolat chaud to his lips, careful not to spill a drop on his lace cravat. I resisted the urge to flick a bit of mine at him. For what we had planned, we needed him in a good mood.
No one could swindle an aristocrat like Bas could.
“It’s like this,” I said, pointing my spoon at him, “you can pocket everything else in Tremblay’s vault as payment, but the ring is ours.”
He leaned forward, dark eyes settling on my lips. When I irritably brushed the chocolat from my mustache, he grinned. “Ah, yes. A magic ring. I have to admit I’m surprised you’re interested in such an object. I thought you’d renounced all magic?”
“The ring is different.”
His eyes found my lips once more. “Of course it is.”
“Bas.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face pointedly. “Focus, please. This is important.”
Once, upon arriving in Cesarine, I’d thought Bas quite handsome. Handsome enough to court. Certainly handsome enough to kiss. From across the cramped table, I eyed the dark line of his jaw. There was still a small scar there—just below his ear, hiding in the shadow of his facial hair—where I’d bitten him during one of our more passionate nights.
I sighed ruefully at the memory. He had the most beautiful amber skin. And such a tight little ass.
He chuckled as if reading my mind. “All right, Louey, I shall attempt to marshal my thoughts—as long as you do the same.” Stirring his chocolat, he sat back with a smirk. “So . . . you wish to rob an aristocrat, and you have, of course, come to the master for guidance.”
I scoffed but bit my tongue. As the third cousin twice removed of a baron, Bas held the peculiar position of being part of the aristocracy, while also not being part of it. His relative’s wealth allowed him to dress in the finest fashions and attend the fanciest parties, yet the aristocrats couldn’t bother to remember his name. A useful slight, as he often attended said parties to relieve them of their valuables.