‘Does anyone else know I am here?’ I asked.
She slid her hand over my chest and rested it on my stomach, tracing small circles with her fingers. ‘Don’t be absurd. Catherine would be furious if she knew. We are only supposed to grant our favours where she directs, and at present my attentions are engaged elsewhere.’
‘Not with your husband, I presume.’
She laughed. ‘Of course not. What purpose would that serve? One of Navarre’s confidants, if you must know. But these great men don’t like to feel they are sharing their mistresses with all-comers. Hence the need for discretion.’ She allowed her hand to drift lower until her fingers folded decisively around my slumbering cock. ‘So do you know yet who killed her?’ Her voice was thick and smooth as honey. I closed my eyes.
‘No,’ I said, though this was a lie. Now I believed I did know. ‘Do you?’
Her hair brushed my chest. ‘I told you,’ she said, her words muffled as she disappeared under the covers, ‘all the girls are afraid. We don’t know who to fear. We want to find this man as urgently as the King does.’
I lay still as she wriggled down and worked on me with her mouth, but my thoughts whirled, my senses straining for any tell-tale sound outside the bed curtains. Despite her best efforts, my body remained tense and unresponsive. Eventually she emerged, brushing her hair out of her face. I could just see the glint of her eyes in the dark.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Sorry. It’s not you. I have a lot on my mind.’
‘Your mind is never easy. Something troubling you?’ She ran a finger along my upper lip. ‘You know, you can always tell me. Perhaps I can help.’
‘It’s nothing.’ I offered a wan smile. ‘Nothing a good sleep won’t cure, at least.’
She sank back on to the pillow beside me. I could tell she was piqued.
‘That was a lot of effort to smuggle you in, if all you want to do is sleep.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ I said coldly.
‘Oh, Bruno.’ She let out an extravagant sigh and flung her leg over my thigh. ‘I shouldn’t have started talking about murder. I don’t suppose that helped. But I’m glad you’re here. Get some rest. There’s always the morning.’ She kissed me lightly on the brow and burrowed her face into my neck.
‘Good night,’ I whispered, but I lay awake staring at the canopy overhead long after her breathing had settled into the gentle rhythm of sleep.
I woke into a chilly dawn, the room strangely lit by a gleam of snow outside filtering through a gap in the drapes. Gabrielle still slept, her limbs thrown out carelessly, one arm across my hips. I eased myself out from under it – she stirred, made a small animal noise in her sleep, settled back again – and slipped out through the bed curtains, scrabbling to find my clothes in the half-light. I dressed hastily, pulling on my boots, still damp from last night’s snow. I had to find my way out of the Tuileries and across to the Louvre before the households awoke. Now that I was sure I knew who had killed Joseph de Chartres and Léonie de Châtillon, I needed to take that information to the King before Catherine guessed that I had it; thereafter it would be in his hands. I also needed to beg for royal protection; Henri was the only person now who could stand between me and Guise. I had little doubt that the Duke would have someone waiting for me the moment I tried to return home.
I crept to the door and found, to my dismay, that it was locked; I remembered Gabrielle locking it behind her last night but I had been half-asleep and had not noticed what she did with the key. The robe she had discarded with such a flourish lay in a heap by the fireplace; I rummaged through its folds but found nothing. I cast around the room, trying to guess where else she might have hidden a key. The fact that she had not left it in the door only quickened my anxiety; had she wanted to make sure I could not leave? I heard the rustling of sheets as she turned over and an idea struck me; poking my head back inside the bed curtains, I slid my hand under the pillow beneath her head until my fingers touched metal. I tried to work in further so I could ease the key out, but at that moment she rolled back towards me, the weight of her head trapping my hand. I gripped the base of the key between the tips of my first and second fingers and, holding my breath, pulled it out in one swift movement; I saw her eyelids flicker as I did so, and just as I withdrew, I heard her sleepily mumble my name in a question.
I reached the door, unlocked it, was almost through when her tousled head appeared through the curtains, her expression somewhere between angry and puzzled.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Quick errand,’ I said, the door already open. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘No – you can’t.’ She spoke sharply; almost immediately she seemed to realise her error, and a slow smile curved across her face. ‘I mean, you can’t leave me unsatisfied, Bruno. Come back under the covers. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.’
But I had seen the flash of panic on her face that only confirmed my suspicions. She had already jumped out of bed with surprising speed. I glanced down at the key in my hand and in an instant made my decision.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered, as I slipped out of the door and turned the key in the lock behind me.
‘Bruno!’ She pounded on the door from the other side. ‘For God’s sake!’
But I was already halfway down the corridor. It was not ideal; she would probably wake the household before long, but if I had time
