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“She did not,” Lemoine said vehemently. “I personally searched her luggage, all five trunks.”
“Perhaps it was sewn into the lining of her garments.” Such measures were common for jewels. Why not poison?
Lemoine shook her head. “No. I confiscated all her clothing, even what she wore, and searched them all. There was nothing.”
“Well, that leads us to an unpleasant conclusion,” he said, draining his glass. Lemoine moved to refill it, but he covered the glass with a hand. He had his fill of wine. “Someone poisoned my bride with wormwood.”
“That’s harmless to humans.”
“Yes, and I’d detect the stink of it on her, ensuring I’d never sample the poisoned fruit.”
“It’s a warning.”
“Yes.” A warning to him, as Charlotte would never know she had been laced with wormwood. Someone had access to his inner circle, a supply of deadly herbs, presumably other weapons that could harm him, and the will to use them. “Investigate what she consumed and who had the opportunity. I do not care for these little games. I want them found.”
“Yes, Lord Draven.”
“And be discreet, Lemoine. None of your usual browbeating.”
“Shall I recruit Stringer? He has a softer touch.”
“Use your best judgment,” he said, knowing she was unlikely to ask for help.
That resolved, he turned his attention back to Charlotte. Her face glowed with mirth as she moved with the other dancers. As she moved, the fabric of her dress pulled against the curves of her hips and thighs.
“You should dance,” Lemoine said.
“In all your years, have you ever seen me dance?” Draven asked, his gaze fixed on Charlotte.
“No, but it is not outside of the realm of possibility.”
“I am far too busy keeping this place running for such indulgences.”
“Everyone deserves to have an evening off. Even you.”
She had a point. When the song ended and the dancers dispersed, Draven made his way to Charlotte, the crowd parting before him. He reached her just as the next song started. The dancers paired up with partners for the couple’s waltz.
He held out his hand. “I presume you know this dance,” he said.
“I am familiar.” She beamed at him, somehow smiling with her entire body, as they moved with the music.
“You will forgive me if I trample on your toes,” he said. “I am out of practice. It’s been…some time since I danced.” A century, at the least.
“Thank you for the warning but I find it unnecessary. You are exceptionally graceful, Lord Draven.”
“Are you attempting to flirt with me?”
She laughed. It wasn’t nervous or made brittle by tension. It was warm and comfortable, the laugh of a woman completely at ease in the arms of a monster. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear all the little noises she made. Gasps of delight. Moans of pleasure. All of them. They belonged to him now.
His hand tightened on her waist. Was this a trick? Dangle an irresistible treat in front of him and fill her full of poison. “How did you smuggle in the wormwood?”
Charlotte
The Aerie
Assembly Hall
Charlotte frowned. “I don’t have wormwood. Do you mean the tea in the hunter’s kit? That was wolf’s bane, I think. It’s meant to, ah, make me taste bad, but that was confiscated.”
