“Of course I am.” She sidestepped me, scrunching her face and waving a hand in front of her nose. I bristled. Surely I didn’t smell that bad. “Ansel just said she won’t leave until she sees me.”
Deliberately, I reached behind her, brushing my sweaty skin against her cheek, and grabbed my coat. She didn’t move. Merely turned her head to glare at me, eyes narrowed. Our faces inches apart, I fought the urge to lean down and inhale. Not to smell me—but to smell her. When she hadn’t been traipsing in the infirmary, she smelled . . . good. Like cinnamon.
Clearing my throat, I shoved my arms into my coat. My shirt, still damp with sweat, rolled and bunched up against my skin. Uncomfortable. “She shouldn’t be here. We finished our interrogation yesterday.”
And a lot of good it had done us. Madame Labelle was as slippery as Lou. After accidentally revealing the witch’s true name, she’d remained tight-lipped and wary. Suspicious. The Archbishop had been furious. She was lucky he hadn’t detained her for the stake—her and Lou.
“Perhaps she wants to extend another offer,” Lou said, oblivious to the precariousness of her situation.
“Another offer?”
“To buy me for the Bellerose.”
I frowned. “The purchase of human beings as property is illegal.”
“She won’t tell you she’s purchasing me. She’ll say she’s purchasing an indenture—for training me, beautifying me, providing me room and board. It’s how people like her slip through the cracks. East End runs on indentures.” She paused, tilting her head. “But that’s probably a moot point now that we’re married. Unless you wouldn’t mind sharing?”
I buttoned up my coat in tense silence. “She doesn’t want to buy you.”
She swept past me with a mischievous grin, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “Shall we find out?”
Madame Labelle waited in the foyer. Two of my brothers stood beside her. Expressions wary, they looked unsure whether she was welcome at this hour. The Tower—and kingdom—enforced strict curfews. She stood calmly between them, however. Chin held high. Her face—perhaps once exceptionally beautiful, but aged now, with fine lines around her eyes and mouth—broke into a wide smile upon seeing Lou.
“Louise!” She held her arms out as though expecting Lou to embrace her. I almost laughed. “How splendid to see you in such good health—though those bruises on your face look ghastly. I hope our gracious hosts aren’t responsible?”
All inclination to laugh died in my throat. “We would never harm her.”
Her eyes fell to me, and she clasped her hands together in feigned delight. “How wonderful to see you again, Captain Diggory! Of course, of course. I should’ve known better. You’re far too noble, aren’t you?” She smiled, revealing those unnaturally white teeth. “I do apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I need to speak with Louise immediately. I hope you won’t mind me stealing her away for a moment.”
Lou didn’t move. “What do you want?”
“I’d rather hoped to discuss it in private, dear. The information is quite . . . sensitive. I attempted to speak with you yesterday after the interrogation, but my escort and I found you otherwise occupied in the library.” She looked between the two of us with a knowing smile, leaning forward and whispering, “I never interrupt a lovers’ quarrel. It’s one of the few rules by which I live.”
Lou’s eyes boggled. “That wasn’t a lovers’ quarrel.”
“No? Then perhaps you’d be amenable to reconsidering my offer?”
I resisted the urge to step between them. “You need to leave.”
“Rest easy, Captain. I have no plans of whisking away your bride . . . yet.” At my expression, she winked and laughed. “But I do insist on speaking privately. Is there a room that Madame Diggory and I could use? Somewhere less”—she gestured to the Chasseurs standing at attention around us—“congested?”
At that moment, however, the Archbishop stormed into the foyer in his nightcap. “What’s all this commotion? Don’t you all have duties to attend—” His eyes widened when he saw Madame Labelle. “Helene. What an unpleasant surprise.”
She curtsied. “Likewise, Your Eminence.”
I hastened to bow, fisting a hand over my heart. “Madame Labelle is here to speak with my wife, sir.”
“Is she?” His gaze didn’t waver. He stared at Madame Labelle with burning intensity, lips pressed into a hard line. “How unfortunate, then, that the church locks its doors in approximately”—he pulled a watch from his pocket—“three minutes.”