on his arm.
When they were free of the prying eyes and the gilded confines of the Duc’s apartment, the tension in Devlin’s body began to ease. Justine was almost disappointed. She had been enjoying the taut feel of his biceps under her hand.
Devlin closed his eyes and inhaled the warm spring air.
“They call you ‘le chardonneret du Roi’ , the King’s goldfinch.”
Justine nodded. “your English king called me his ‘French
canary’.”
He rolled his eyes. “Charles, on occasion lacks imagination.
You are much more than a pretty voice.”
90
“Am I?”
“You are, I think, a woman of great fortitude. When your parents died, leaving you with the care of a baby sister, you could have scraped out a living doing any number of things. Instead you ended up the mistress of the King.”
She snorted. “That was not my intention, I assure you. All I
wanted to do was sing.”
He smiles. “They say you stole a dress from some mantua-
maker. ” . .
“From the finest dressmaker in Paris,” she assured him.
“And then you ambushed poor Lully outside the Tuileries
one afternoon and convinced him to let you sing for him.”
She stiffened. “I do not know this word ‘ambush’.”
He laughed, knowing that she knew the meaning exactly, and continued on. “And when the King first saw you and heard your voice, you and your sister never wanted for anything again. It is an amazing story.”
“And do you not think less of me for making my fortune in
such a way?” After all, her own sister did.
He gave her an odd look. “There is no shame in being the mistress of a king. It’s a position of great power and influence. I think less of Louis for letting you go.”
“He needed a spy at the English court. When he asked me if
I would go, I could hardly decline.”
“And Madame de Montespan?” he asked.
91
“When I returned, she had taken my place.”
“Did that not sting a bit?”
Justine shrugged. “When a woman is out of sight, she is out
of mind. It is the way of kings . . . and men.”
He stopped and turned to her. “You have not been out of my
mind since last night.”
“Such attentiveness must be quite useful for an assassin.”
He ignored her waspish comment and instead reached out to touch her hair. She had abandoned her wig after the opera and instead wore her own hair pulled back in loose curls. “Your hair is nearly silver in the moonlight,” he said, twining one long curl around his finger.
She looked up at him, not knowing what to say to that. He took advantage of her silence by leaning in and brushing his lips to hers. She sighed against his mouth and he accepted the invitation, pulling her into his arms. Her head whirled with the feel of his hard body against hers as he kissed her lips, her cheek, as his tongue stroked down across the pulse hammering in her throat. She was completely lost to him until she felt the sharp scrape of teeth against her neck. Suddenly she was no longer in Devlin’s arms. In her mind she was transported back to the night two years ago, the night when five vampires had caught her alone in the gardens of the Tuileries Palace. She pulled herself from Devlin’s embrace and hit him on the jaw as hard as she could.
His hand flew to his face as he stumbled back. “What the
bloody hell was that for?”
Justine’s fingers touched her neck and came away with
blood. “You bit me!”
92
He rolled his eyes. “I did not bite you. It’s a tiny scrape and
it was an accident.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a liar, vampire, and you
will never touch me again.”
She turned and walked away, fury firing her every step. He
caught her in a few strides, spinning her around to face him.
“Justine, let me turn you,” he pleaded.
“You’re mad,” she whispered. “I will not sell my soul to
you, not even for the promise of that beautiful body.”
“What about for your sister? Will you sell your
When they were free of the prying eyes and the gilded confines of the Duc’s apartment, the tension in Devlin’s body began to ease. Justine was almost disappointed. She had been enjoying the taut feel of his biceps under her hand.
Devlin closed his eyes and inhaled the warm spring air.
“They call you ‘le chardonneret du Roi’ , the King’s goldfinch.”
Justine nodded. “your English king called me his ‘French
canary’.”
He rolled his eyes. “Charles, on occasion lacks imagination.
You are much more than a pretty voice.”
90
“Am I?”
“You are, I think, a woman of great fortitude. When your parents died, leaving you with the care of a baby sister, you could have scraped out a living doing any number of things. Instead you ended up the mistress of the King.”
She snorted. “That was not my intention, I assure you. All I
wanted to do was sing.”
He smiles. “They say you stole a dress from some mantua-
maker. ” . .
“From the finest dressmaker in Paris,” she assured him.
“And then you ambushed poor Lully outside the Tuileries
one afternoon and convinced him to let you sing for him.”
She stiffened. “I do not know this word ‘ambush’.”
He laughed, knowing that she knew the meaning exactly, and continued on. “And when the King first saw you and heard your voice, you and your sister never wanted for anything again. It is an amazing story.”
“And do you not think less of me for making my fortune in
such a way?” After all, her own sister did.
He gave her an odd look. “There is no shame in being the mistress of a king. It’s a position of great power and influence. I think less of Louis for letting you go.”
“He needed a spy at the English court. When he asked me if
I would go, I could hardly decline.”
“And Madame de Montespan?” he asked.
91
“When I returned, she had taken my place.”
“Did that not sting a bit?”
Justine shrugged. “When a woman is out of sight, she is out
of mind. It is the way of kings . . . and men.”
He stopped and turned to her. “You have not been out of my
mind since last night.”
“Such attentiveness must be quite useful for an assassin.”
He ignored her waspish comment and instead reached out to touch her hair. She had abandoned her wig after the opera and instead wore her own hair pulled back in loose curls. “Your hair is nearly silver in the moonlight,” he said, twining one long curl around his finger.
She looked up at him, not knowing what to say to that. He took advantage of her silence by leaning in and brushing his lips to hers. She sighed against his mouth and he accepted the invitation, pulling her into his arms. Her head whirled with the feel of his hard body against hers as he kissed her lips, her cheek, as his tongue stroked down across the pulse hammering in her throat. She was completely lost to him until she felt the sharp scrape of teeth against her neck. Suddenly she was no longer in Devlin’s arms. In her mind she was transported back to the night two years ago, the night when five vampires had caught her alone in the gardens of the Tuileries Palace. She pulled herself from Devlin’s embrace and hit him on the jaw as hard as she could.
His hand flew to his face as he stumbled back. “What the
bloody hell was that for?”
Justine’s fingers touched her neck and came away with
blood. “You bit me!”
92
He rolled his eyes. “I did not bite you. It’s a tiny scrape and
it was an accident.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a liar, vampire, and you
will never touch me again.”
She turned and walked away, fury firing her every step. He
caught her in a few strides, spinning her around to face him.
“Justine, let me turn you,” he pleaded.
“You’re mad,” she whispered. “I will not sell my soul to
you, not even for the promise of that beautiful body.”
“What about for your sister? Will you sell your
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