Chapter 7: Secrets and Lies

I awoke to a cool gray dawn with Baron d'Arcy's arm draped possessively around my waist. His even breaths ruffled my hair; he was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that had wracked me just hours before. Carefully, I extricated myself from his embrace and slid out of bed. As I dressed in a light robe, I watched him fondly for a moment. Nicolas looked gentler in sleep, the worry lines smoothed from his brow. Despite the calculated nature of our relationship, I did care for him in my own way. But caring would not stop me from doing what I must.

Standing by the window, I resolved that my brush with his jealousy would only make me more careful, not deter me. If I were to rise in this unforgiving society, I could not rely solely on one man's favor. I needed connections, influence, wealth of my own. And so, I would continue courting the Marquis de Beaumont's interest—but under a shroud of utmost secrecy.

Thus began a new chapter of deception. I spun lies as deftly as I spun the curls in my hair each morning. To pacify Nicolas, I made a show of contrition and devotion: I curtailed my public outings for a time, spent afternoons reading poetry or playing the pianoforte in my parlor (activities he had encouraged to refine me further), and every evening he visited, I lavished him with undivided attention. I became the picture of a contented, kept woman. In truth, this was the smoke and mirror designed to let him drop his guard.

Meanwhile, I communicated with Marquis de Beaumont through discreet notes and intermediaries. A sympathetic dressmaker I'd befriended delivered my scented letters to the Marquis's townhouse. In them, I wrote that though I was flattered by his interest, I valued discretion above all and could not risk open courtship. The Marquis, eager to pursue, agreed to rendezvous on my terms.

The first secret meeting I arranged at a small hunting lodge on the outskirts of Averinne, which the Marquis often used for his amorous exploits. I donned a simple traveling cloak and left my home under the guise of visiting a nearby convent's charity bazaar—a story my dutiful maid, Claudine, conveyed to Baron d'Arcy's coachman when he inquired after me later. Claudine had become my co-conspirator by necessity; I chose her myself from among the servants Nicolas hired, favoring a clever girl with no strong loyalty to anyone but the coin I paid her.

At the lodge, Etienne (for we soon dispensed with formal titles in private) swept me into an ardent embrace the moment I arrived. "I feared you'd toyed with me and would never come," he murmured into my neck, relief evident in his voice.

I smiled, twining my arms around him. "I keep my promises. But you understand why I must be cautious, don't you?" I pulled back to search his eyes, letting a hint of vulnerability show. "If the wrong people learned of our liaison... it could ruin me."

He, of course, imagined I spoke of polite society's censure, not another lover's wrath. The Marquis brushed a thumb over my cheek. "Your secret is safe with me, beautiful V. I shall be as silent as the grave."

With that assurance, I allowed our lips to meet in a deep, languorous kiss. Unlike Nicolas's seasoned technique, Etienne's kisses were hungry, impatient with youth. It was flattering to enthrall a man so completely. He had become nearly obsessed through our letters and brief café flirtation; now, with me in his arms, he was eager to possess what the letters had promised.

That afternoon, I gave the Marquis what he desired, letting him believe it was born of reciprocal passion. We tumbled together on a plush bear-skin rug before the lodge's fireplace, our clothes hastily shed. He was all fervor and compliments, marveling at his luck in finding me, declaring me an angel, a temptress, a dozen other flowery names that amused and pleased me in equal measure.

Though I had already been thoroughly satisfied earlier by Baron d'Arcy, I played the part of a woman starving for the Marquis's touch. I gasped and clung to him as he entered me, cried out his name at the peak of our lovemaking, and generally stroked his ego as perfectly as I did his body. In truth, his technique was unrefined compared to my Baron's, but what Etienne lacked in experience he made up for with enthusiasm and the advantage of youth. When he carried me to the heights of pleasure a second time, some of my cries were genuine.

After, as we lay entwined on the rug, he fed me grapes from a tray he'd prepared and spoke of his plans to host me at his estate in the countryside, once spring came. I smiled and purred, resting my head on his chest, all the while calculating what this alliance might yield. The Marquis was a rising star at court; he boasted of an upcoming appointment that would have him managing royal finances. Such information was not mere pillow talk; it was power. If I played my cards well, I could glean useful intelligence through him—knowledge I might leverage later, perhaps even to assist Baron d'Arcy, further binding that tie.

It struck me then that I was balancing two men who each believed I was theirs alone. I would have found it laughable, were the stakes not so high. One misstep could bring everything crashing down. Yet, the danger itself exhilarated me. Each secret rendezvous with Etienne, each lie I told Nicolas about where I'd been or why I was tired, was like walking a tightrope—and I found I had a talent for keeping my balance.

I became adept at managing my time and affections. Mornings and many nights belonged to Nicolas; I learned the patterns of his schedule, the nights he had late meetings or when he traveled to his country villa, and used those absences to pencil in meetings with Etienne. Claudine would cover for me at home, turning away anyone who came calling with excuses that "Madame V is indisposed today."

There were close calls that set my heart pounding. Once, the Baron surprised me by returning early from a trip, arriving at my townhouse while I was out riding in the Marquis's open carriage at the far end of the Bois du Soleil. When I returned, flush from an afternoon of stolen kisses among the trees, I found Nicolas waiting at my door, concern etched on his face. My mind raced for an explanation even as I sank into a graceful curtsy as though startled by his presence.

"V, darling, you're flushed. Are you unwell? Claudine said you were resting," he asked, taking my hands.

Thinking on my feet, I wove a tale of feeling stifled indoors and going for a solitary ride to clear my head, then feigning embarrassment for not informing him. I even conjured a headache to justify an early retirement that evening, to mask any lingering scent of Etienne's cologne on my skin. Nicolas's worry melted into fond reproach; he chided me to take a footman next time for safety and kissed my brow, seemingly satisfied with my explanation.

After he left, I collapsed onto my bed trembling with relief. That near discovery only steeled my resolve to be even more cautious. I instructed Claudine that henceforth no surprise visitors were to be entertained at all in my absence; if needed, she should claim I was called away suddenly for a feminine emergency or a visit to a sick acquaintance.

As winter melted into spring, my double life blossomed. Under Baron d'Arcy's tutelage and patronage, I moved in refined circles, learning the subtle politics of the rich and titled. And in the shadows with Marquis de Beaumont, I tasted the first sip of wielding influence over matters beyond bedroom pleasure—listening to court gossip, learning of which ministers were in favor, which noble houses were feuding. Little did Etienne know that his pillow talk about the Duke's gambling debts or the Queen's secret correspondence were being catalogued in my mind for future use.

I also quietly began to secure my finances. From the allowance Nicolas provided, I siphoned a portion each month into a locked strongbox hidden beneath a loose floorboard. Additionally, the Marquis had begun giving me expensive gifts—a ruby bracelet, a silken gown imported from the Far East, a heavy purse of coins "for any needs, no matter how extravagant." I accepted all graciously, and kept most of it out of sight. These were my insurance, should any one patron suddenly abandon me. I was determined never to be that penniless girl on the streets again.

One evening, after both of my lovers had departed (the Baron from an early supper and the Marquis from a late-night secret visit), I sat at my vanity brushing my hair and reflecting on the tangled web I'd woven. I was exhausted yet exhilarated. I had successfully become the mistress of two influential men, each ignorant of the other, and both utterly under my spell. It gave me a sense of power that was intoxicating.

Still, I knew I had to remain vigilant. Whispers about Madame V were increasing among certain circles—mostly admiring or envious, but I caught hints of wariness too. Other courtesans eyed me as a rising rival; some noblewomen viewed me as a threat, especially those whose husbands paid me too much attention at parties. My growing influence was a double-edged sword: it raised me up, but also made me a target for gossip and retribution.

I set down my hairbrush and met my own gaze in the mirror. The woman reflected there was a far cry from the ruined maiden driven out of her home. This woman's eyes sparkled with cleverness and secret knowledge. But behind the confidence, I acknowledged a flicker of fatigue—and perhaps loneliness. I could trust no one fully, not even Claudine, with the entirety of what I was doing. My lovers knew only the sides of me I chose to show. In truth, I walked this path entirely on my own, guided by ambition and memory of past suffering.

"So be it," I whispered to my reflection, as if making a vow. If solitude was the price of freedom and power, I would pay it. The foundation of my rise was laid with secrets and lies—and on that foundation, I would build an empire of my own making.