The Courtesan Read Online Free PDF Page B

snapped. Why did Cass persist in believing that Gabrielle must have been in love with the man?
    “If I had a heart, which I don’t,” Gabrielle went on. “I would never have given it to Nicolas Remy. The captain was far too solemn and earnest for my taste, one of those noble fools, all honor and duty. Every inch the soldier, no courtly manners whatsoever and—and very little experience of ladies.”
    “Then he must have been entirely bewitched by you.”
    “Perhaps he was a trifle smitten. I didn’t want him to be.” Gabrielle’s throat constricted as she recalled, “I was not even particularly kind to him.”
    Not particularly kind. A glaring understatement. Gabrielle’s heart ached at the memory of the way she had returned Remy’s sword to him, the one she had stolen to fight off the witch-hunters.
    “The morning he left Belle Haven, I—I didn’t even say good-bye,” Gabrielle faltered. “I never saw him again. He was here in Paris that St. Bartholomew’s Eve in the summer of 1572.”
    Cass lowered her glass, her thin face going solemn at Gabrielle’s words. “The night the Catholics went on a rampage, murdering Protestants? Not the best place for a Huguenot soldier to be.”
    “No, it wasn’t,” Gabrielle agreed, her eyes welling in spite of herself. She rubbed her knuckles fiercely across her eyelids. “Remy was killed during the massacre, but by the time I—that is we—my sisters and I learned of his death, we could not give him a decent burial. He’d already been tossed into one of the mass graves.”
    Her grief and anger over that was still so sharp, Gabrielle stalked back across the room, hugging herself tightly. Remy had been a valiant soldier, the most honorable man she’d ever known. He had deserved a far more fitting end, to be laid out like a knight of yore in gleaming armor, his sword clutched in his hands. Not dumped like refuse in a pit, no gentle hands to clean the blood from his face, no one to whisper a prayer.
    Damn the Dark Queen for so callously bringing about his destruction. Damn the jackals who had cut Remy down and then so dishonored his body. Damn them all to hell.
    And most of all, Gabrielle thought wretchedly, damn herself for never being able to love Remy as he had deserved.
    She turned back to Cass, disturbed to see the woman pouring yet another drink. She had lost track of the amount of brandy Cass had consumed in such a short period of time, certainly enough to put any ordinary woman under the table.
    Cass’s hand still appeared remarkably steady, but her nose and cheeks were getting flushed. She lolled against the back of her chair, saying, “What happened to the gallant captain is very sad to be sure, but the massacre was over three years ago. You say you didn’t love Remy. Why not simply forget the man and let him rest in peace?”
    “Because he is giving me none! It is perfectly absurd.” Gabrielle tried to laugh, but the sound came out strained and hollow. “I can’t get Remy out of my head, can’t stop remembering. I even dream about him. He is haunting me and it is growing worse of late.”
    She dragged her hand back through her hair. “The other day I fancied I saw him in a crowd and made a fool of myself chasing after a stranger. Then earlier tonight I imagined I saw him out in the courtyard, by your gate.”
    “And so you would conjure his spirit to do what?” Cass demanded. “Ask him to leave you alone?”
    “I don’t know,” Gabrielle said miserably. “To tell him I did try to find him and give him a proper burial. And to beg his forgiveness. I could have saved him, Cass. I knew how—how much he cared for me. I could have seduced him into staying on Faire Isle, safe in my arms.
    “But I didn’t,” she added in a broken whisper. “I just let him . . . go.”
    Cass shook her head. “It never works, Gabrielle.”
    “What?”
    “Seeking forgiveness from the dead.” Cass sounded so bleak, Gabrielle wondered if the woman spoke from