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“No, stay, citoyenne,” Robespierre said, when she made to depart. “It is I who should apologize. This is a festival, not a stateroom.” He bowed to both of them in turn. “We will speak more tomorrow, Citoyen Chevalier.”
“Of course.”
When Robespierre had moved away, the actress handed him one of her two glasses. “I had no idea you were so well acquainted with Robespierre. What lofty circles you move in, citoyen.”
She raised her glass and drank, and he followed suit. “We are all equal now, citoyenne. There are none loftier than any other.”
“Well said. Might I toast to equality?”
“I can think of nothing better to drink to.”
She toasted again, and they both drank. Then she wound her arm through his. She was warm and fragrant, but he did not want this closeness. She was too tempting. He didn’t trust her. “Do you know, it was actually the promise of equality that drew me to acting,” she said.
“Was it?” he asked, sipping his wine again and considering how best to be rid of her. “How so?”
“An actress plays many different parts. One night I may play a servant girl and the next a duchess. I can be all things—at different times, of course.”
“That is not true equality,” he said. Was it his imagination or had he slurred his words? The voices in the room had grown louder suddenly, so it was possible he had been speaking louder than he’d intended and with less precision.
“No, it is not. It was just an illusion, but I do enjoy my illusions. Shall we step outside for some air, citoyen?”
She’d led him to a door, and he stared at it in some confusion. What door was this?
“You look warm,” she said, her hand touching his cheek.
“I do feel a bit overheated.”
Her fingers on his cheek had sent a frisson of pleasure through him. Now he reached out and returned the caress. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, though he knew he acted in poor judgment. He touched her hair, her jaw, her lips. When he tried to pull her close, to kiss her, she held up a hand. “Outside, my love.”
He would have followed her anywhere, which was strange because he didn’t particularly like her. But he allowed himself to be drawn through the door and into the cold evening. Something about the cold air cleared his mind briefly. He looked down at his glass, the liquid all but gone.
“You drugged the wine,” he said, his voice sounding far, far away.
“It won’t harm you,” she said. “You shall simply take a nice long nap.”
“Will you lay with me?” he asked, his eyes already closing. Why had he said that? He wanted nothing to do with her.
Hands—strong hands, not those of a woman—grasped him and lifted him, and then he knew nothing but darkness.
