Marguerite's face burned red.
Donskoy did not even look at Marguerite; instead his eyes were sliding up Jacqueline's long white leg.
"Miss Montarri and I have personal matters to discuss, matters with which I do not wish to burden you, Marguerite. I won't be needing your company anymore today. You may go to your room."
"You don't wish me to come to the salon?" said Marguerite. It astonished her that she wanted it-that she did not relish being replaced. But she feared any rejection might last for more than just one afternoon.
"No," Donskoy replied. "I may not require your company tomorrow, either."
Marguerite rose reluctantly, catching Jacqueline's sly smile.
"Good day, Marguerite," said Jacqueline.
"Good day, Jacqueline," she replied, struggling not to sound too sour.
Marguerite turned and left. As she crossed the foyer beyond the sitting room, she heard Donskoy turning the key in the door of his red salon.
FOURTEEN
Jacqueline's laughter trailed away behind the salon's closed door. So, I've been dismissed, Marguerite thought, seething with resentment.
As Donskoy had instructed, she started back toward her chamber. Jacqueline brought out the worst in her; with each step, the prickle of anger at the nape of Marguerite's neck grew hotter. When she reached the door to her chamber, she stopped abruptly. Then she hoisted her skirts and spun on her heet, striding back down the hall to the stairs. She descended quickly, then padded across the foyer toward the drawing room. Trying not to be seen, she peered around the edge of the open door frame. The room beyond remained empty, as she had expected. And the door in the corner, which led to Donskoy's red salon, was still closed.
Marguerite entered the drawing room and crept toward the small arched door. When she reached it, she crouched and peered through the keyhole. Only the end of the red divan was visible. A green dress lay upon it, emptied of its bearer. Marguerite pressed her ear to the hole. She felt a cool stream of air-along with a rush of excitement. She could overhear the conversation almost perfectly. Donskoy was speaking.
"Marguerite will conceive soon," he said. "Mark my words. Zosia has seen it."
"Zosia?" replied Jacqueline contemptuously. "Bah! I've never understood why you trust that crone."
"What does trust have do with anything? I find her useful. But Zosia is really quite harmless, Jacqueline. I do not understand your irrational Fear of her."
"It is not fear, Milos. I am wary. I have not lived so long or so well without my share of wit."
"Indeed, my dear. You possess more than your share. After all, you command the intellect of many scores of women, as well as infinite charm."
"Quite true. So you might indulge a clever friend when she tells you to remain on guard, even in the midst of your delirium-a delirium, I might add, that your darling Zosia is all too eager to promote."
"Dear Jacqueline. Fretting makes you, too, an old crone, and all for no cause. Zosia serves me well; that is why I endure her. Her potions merely offer a means to entertain myself between your anxiously awaited visits. I remain fully in control."
"I do not require your idle flattery, Milos. Listen to what I say. You are too dependent upon Zosia and her brews."
"You are mistaken, my dear. I am dependent on no one, not even you."
"No? You live your life wallowing in the throes in some alleged curse, when half of the hex is just a dark fantasy fabricated by a conniving old Vistana."
"Ah, the crux of it surfaces again. Your own abnormal fears, your own hatred toward the dark-eyed dregs of this world. Do not attempt to settle your old scores through me, Jacqueline."
"If the subject weren't so painful to you, I might remind you of your own grudge against their kind. But that shouldn't be necessary-you can never forget, can you, Milos?"
"Enough, Jacqueline!" He paused, but the recovery was smooth. "Why must you pick at every scab till it bleeds? This is an old conversation, and my patience does know a limit. I shail tel! you again: Zosia is not a threat. Vistani witches lose their powers when they do not wander. She is like a tiger without teeth and claws, completely tame. We shall end this topic now, Jacqueline, before you sour my temperament completely. I enslave Zosia; the reverse is a fantasy. The old hag serves a useful purpose. Marguerite serves a useful purpose. And you, my dear, might also serve a purpose, if you could remember it. You did not come all this way to quarrel, did you?"
"No, indeed," replied Jacqueline. A little catlike growl rippled up from her throat.
"Then come closer."
"Why?" she purred. "So that you can enslave me too? So that i might know the merciful hand of Lord Donskoy?"
He chortled. "If you desire it. Come closer. You sometimes forget who is Lord, but I can be merciful. In fact, I shall allow you to punish me some more with your sharp little tongue."
"Hmmm. So tempting. But not yet," she teased.
"Why delay? You would not have that particular tongue but for me."
"For the game. Only with you can I turn my own condition into such a delicious diversion, and I insist on savoring the chance. How would you iike me to look tonight? A redhead, perhaps? A blonde? You appear particularly robust this evening. Perhaps it shall be many."
Still crouched outside the door, Marguerite gasped- half from jealousy, half from the picture Jacqueline's words conjured in her mind-then she clamped her hand to her mouth.
"Hmmm, Donskoy?" Jacqueline continued- "Tell me your pleasure."
"You present many interesting options, I agree. And it is so seldom that you grant me first choice."
"I am feeling generous," came Jacqueline's coy reply. "After all, you have had to endure the company of your parochial little wife for weeks. It's a wonder you haven't died of boredom. Shall I open the cabinet and choose one of your old favorites?"
"I alone open that cabinet," Donskoy said sharply. His voice carried an unmistakable warning. "I know you are itching for a glimpse of the old ledger. But mark my words, it's not to be."
"Donskoy, I am hurt. This is no time for business. Please, by all means, open the cabinet yourself. If I am itching, as you put it so vulgarly, it is only with the urge to entertain you,"
"Hah. The woman speaks of vulgarities as if they offend her."
There was a pause, a brief rustle. Unable to see what was happening, Marguerite imagined Donskoy tending the hearth.
Jacqueline continued, "Shall I make the choice simple, and go without? I shall lose my eyes, but I shall yet see your fire. And I shall lose my ears, but I shall yet hear your eager pleas for release. Pity, though; I shall be unable to speak." She gave a dark little laugh. "But perhaps you would like that, mon cher?"
Donskoy chortled juicily.
Marguerite grimaced in disgust
There was a sudden noise behind her. Startled, Marguerite fell over backward, turning her head sharply toward the sound. Griezellbub crouched just inside the drawing room. His throat swelled, and he made the hideous sound of the death rattle. When he had finished, he pulled his mouth wide, as if to grin proudly. Then he shambled out of sight.
Marguerite silently cursed the toad, then quickly returned her ear to the keyhole.
She heard Donskoy asking, "What are you doing, Jacqueline?"
"Didn't you hear that-that rattle? Your little bride might not be so dull after all. Perhaps she is eavesdropping. I'd accuse Ljubo or Ekhart, but they know better than to play the voyeur."
"It was probably Yelena," Donskoy said. "She wriggles about the keep like a worm in a salt barrel."