Wicked After Midnight(99)

Bonchance held out his hands. “Now, mademoiselle. Let’s stay civil and reasonable.”

Legrand’s lip twisted up. “I hate questioning women. So melodramatic.”

Anger flared, my cheeks blazing hot. “So when women are kidnapped, you treat them like criminals? This is clearly a case not only of misogyny but also of racism. Were I a human man, you’d be clapping me on the back and handing me a cigar. But because I’m female, a Bludman, and, in the words you’re too cowardly to speak and which aren’t actually true, a whore, I don’t deserve justice?”

They both stared at me, mouths open.

“Mademoiselle—” Bonchance began, and I almost felt sorry for him.

“Tell me, either of you. Tell me you think that because of who I am, because of what I am, I deserved it. I dare you.”

“We didn’t mean—”

“Tell me,” I said clearly, turning to let my eyes bore through the window in the door, “that every word I just spoke isn’t true, and I will cease to be, as you say, melodramatic.” I sat down daintily. “And I’ll wait for that lawyer now, while I compose my remarks for whichever reporters would consider my little story worthy of their time.”

After a long, dangerous, and painful pause, the speaker squawked, “The mademoiselle is free to go.”

Bonchance opened the door, and I flounced out of the room like the queen of goddamn England. Now I just had to discover who had kidnapped me and where he had planned to take me. I had to find Cherie and prove all those self-righteous good-old-boy hypocrites wrong.





24


Back at Paradis, I ignored Charline and all my curious coworkers and went straight to the tailcoat I’d stashed in my armoire. There had to be something I’d missed. Gentlemen always left a signature of their grandeur in this world.

I stretched the garment out on my bed, running my fingers along the seams and searching for a tailor’s mark, a tag, a button, anything. It was well made and of the latest fashion, but tiny white stitches showed where the tailor’s tag had been torn from the lining. I sniffed at the thick fabric, scenting oil and hot metal and an unsavory, magic funk. It was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. An odor clinging to the cuff made me gasp—Bludman and pine and vanilla. Cherie. I put my lips to it, breathing it in.

“Did you just lick a coat?”

I spun, hands curled into claws, as Vale swung his other leg over to sit on my windowsill. “Do you ever knock?”

He grinned. “Not if I can help it.”

His fingers drummed on the sill as the gauzy white curtains billowed around him, highlighting the deep gold of his skin and the brightness of his eyes. He was back in his brigand’s gear, all black and shadows, and I unconsciously licked my lips, remembering what it felt like to pull him close by tuxedo lapels and devour him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” I asked.

He shrugged. “My anger burns off easily, like clouds on a sunny day. And you’re not drunk or drugged, so I’m hoping you took my warning to heart.”

“You’re not my boss.”

The grin deepened, quirked, took on a new meaning. “Didn’t say I wanted to be.”

I looked down and swallowed hard, all my earlier bravado fled. “Thank you for the book.”

“De rien, bébé. I’m glad it pleased you, even if I didn’t.”

“You did, but . . .” The apology was on the tip of my tongue, but something held it back.

“I didn’t come here for thanks, you know.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and jumped right back up, suddenly skittish. “What do you want, then?”

He stood, took a confident but tentative step. “Just this moment or in general?”

“Your choice.”

“You want to have this discussion now, bébé? Might be easier after a bottle of wine.”

But after my outburst at the police station, I was done with being misunderstood. “Tell me the truth, Vale. Why did you offer to help me find Cherie?”

“You know why. Because I have a soft spot for lost girls. And so I would have an excuse to keep seeing you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Everything.”

I blushed and turned away, twisting the tailcoat between my black fingers, aware now more than ever how other I had become. In the police station, I’d been furious at their prejudice, at their assumptions. But now, faced with the truth about someone who had no such qualms, I felt strange and unlovable and desperately alien. And so close to my goal yet so very far away.

“What did you think would happen once we’d found Cherie?” I asked.