The Agent and the Outlaw Materials

The Assassin and the Libertine Blog Tour Materials

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Blog Tour Schedule:

BreMay 19
Echo's Tales

May 20
janetwaldenwest.com

May 23
Distinct Authors - Excerpt

May 24
Louisa Bacio -- Love Knows No Bounds

May 25
Taming Chaos

May 26
Slippery Words

May 27
Breezy Jones

May 30

June 1

June 2

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The murder of a marquis, an accidental kidnapping, an elite vampire death squad, and a beast stalking the French countryside? All in a day’s work for a member of the les Dames Dangereuses.
As the most enviable comtesse of the tonne, Charlotte de Brionne was almost satisfied with her wealth, power, and rather tepid marriage, until her murderous husband betrayed her.
Now she has seized the chance to make a more adventurous start with les Dames Dangereuses, an order of women spies in service to the French crown. But her latest assignment is rudely interrupted when she is kidnapped by a crossbow-wielding madman, who turns out to be not at all mad only rather surly and annoyingly handsome.
Lieutenant Antoine de Valle has no idea what to make of the exasperating, untrustworthy, and frustratingly beautiful woman he’s suddenly saddled with, but his honor demands he see Charlotte safely home. Especially since it’s his fault she accidentally witnesses his murder of a marquis, ends up on the wrong end of a brutal vampire death squad, and barely survives an encounter with the Beast of Gévaudan.
In fact, the more Antoine tries to keep Charlotte safe, the more trouble they find themselves in. And the harder it is for Antoine to remember his honor in the face of Charlotte’s dangerous charms.
Publisher: Mystic Owl
Print Length: 282
Language: English
Genre: Paranormal Historical Romance
Publication Date: May 19, 2022
Buy Link: mybook.to/AgentandtheOutlaw
Check out the series: mybook.to/LesDamesDangereuses

Love the Les Dames Dangereuses series and want to stay up to date on Lily Riley's next release? Follow Lily on Amazon here: author.to/LilyRiley or check out her website: https://www.authorlilyriley.com/
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Review from Publisher's Weekly for The Assassin and the Libertine:
Scandal, seduction, and supernatural secrets animate Riley’s deliciously decadent debut and Les Dames Dangereuses series launch. In 1765, a blood plague is spreading among the Parisian poor, turning them into vampires. For many, it’s a better fate than starvation as a human. As one of few courtiers infected, “legendary rake” Étienne de Noailles is appointed the vampire emissary to His Majesty. Though he tries to advocate for vampire rights, he’s treated as little more than a threat and a lust object at Versailles.
Read more here>

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lily Riley is a romance novelist currently focused on historical paranormal books that feature a little bit of cheek and a lot of steam.
Her second novel, The Agent and the Outlaw, publishing under the Mystic Owl imprint of City Owl Press, comes out May 19, 2022.
When Lily isn’t writing about dreamy supernatural beings in 18th century France, she enjoys sipping champagne, eating cake, and dancing naked by the light of the full moon.
Find out more about her on her website at www.lilyriley.com or on social media: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Amazon, and Goodreads.

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The murder of a marquis, an accidental kidnapping, an elite vampire death squad, and a beast stalking the French countryside? All in a day’s work for a member of the les Dames Dangereuses. 
As the most enviable comtesse of the tonne, Charlotte de Brionne was almost satisfied with her wealth, power, and rather tepid marriage, until her murderous husband betrayed her. 
Now she has seized the chance to make a more adventurous start with les Dames Dangereuses, an order of women spies in service to the French crown. But her latest assignment is rudely interrupted when she is kidnapped by a crossbow-wielding madman, who turns out to be not at all mad only rather surly and annoyingly handsome. 
Lieutenant Antoine de Valle has no idea what to make of the exasperating, untrustworthy, and frustratingly beautiful woman he’s suddenly saddled with, but his honor demands he see Charlotte safely home. Especially since it’s his fault she accidentally witnesses his murder of a marquis, ends up on the wrong end of a brutal vampire death squad, and barely survives an encounter with the Beast of Gévaudan. 
In fact, the more Antoine tries to keep Charlotte safe, the more trouble they find themselves in. And the harder it is for Antoine to remember his honor in the face of Charlotte’s dangerous charms. 
Publisher: Mystic Owl 
Print Length: 282 
Language: English 
Genre: Paranormal Historical Romance 
Publication Date: May 19, 2022 
Buy Link: mybook.to/AgentandtheOutlaw 
Check out the series: mybook.to/LesDamesDangereuses 
 
Love the Les Dames Dangereuses series and want to stay up to date on Lily Riley's next release? Follow Lily on Amazon here: <a href="http://author.to/LilyRiley" target="_blank">author.to/LilyRiley</a> or check out her website: https://www.authorlilyriley.com/ 
#bookstagram #HistoricalRomance #ParanormalRomance #bookseries #BookBoost #blogtour #booklove #bookrecommendation #newrelease #bookrelease #newrelease2022 #bookstagram #romancestagram #spicybooks #vampirebooks #mysteryromance 
 
Review from Publisher's Weekly for The Assassin and the Libertine: 
Scandal, seduction, and supernatural secrets animate Riley’s deliciously decadent debut and Les Dames Dangereuses series launch. In 1765, a blood plague is spreading among the Parisian poor, turning them into vampires. For many, it’s a better fate than starvation as a human. As one of few courtiers infected, “legendary rake” Étienne de Noailles is appointed the vampire emissary to His Majesty. Though he tries to advocate for vampire rights, he’s treated as little more than a threat and a lust object at Versailles. 
Read more here> 
 
 
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: 
Lily Riley is a romance novelist currently focused on historical paranormal books that feature a little bit of cheek and a lot of steam. 
Her second novel, The Agent and the Outlaw, publishing under the Mystic Owl imprint of City Owl Press, comes out May 19, 2022. 
When Lily isn’t writing about dreamy supernatural beings in 18th century France, she enjoys sipping champagne, eating cake, and dancing naked by the light of the full moon. 
Find out more about her on her website at www.lilyriley.com or on social media: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/theauthorlilyriley" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/authorlilyriley" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorlilyriley/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, <a href="http://author.to/LilyRiley" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21713273.Lily_Riley" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>.

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Buy Link: mybook.to/AgentandtheOutlaw
Check out the series: mybook.to/LesDamesDangereuses

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Book Blurb:

Author Bio:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lily Riley is a romance novelist currently focused on historical paranormal books that feature a little bit of cheek and a lot of steam.
Her second novel, The Agent and the Outlaw, publishing under the Mystic Owl imprint of City Owl Press, comes out May 19, 2022.
When Lily isn’t writing about dreamy supernatural beings in 18th century France, she enjoys sipping champagne, eating cake, and dancing naked by the light of the full moon.

Find more about her at her website: https://www.authorlilyriley.com/ or on social media.
Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Amazon, and Goodreads.

Excerpts:

Excerpt One
CHARLOTTE
It wasn’t often that I desired bloodshed. In fact, the only other time I truly wanted to murder someone had been a year ago, when my former husband summoned a demon to try to force my cousin to love him. It didn’t quite work out for him, and needless to say, it made for a rather awkward evening.
“Do you ever wonder what they do with these reports?” I asked, stamping my seal into the hot wax on the thick sheaf of papers. “Sometimes I think they don’t even look at them. They couldn’t possibly read them all—every scrap of only occasionally useful information from every agent. I’ve half a mind to test the theory and slip in some dirty words to see if anyone says anything.”
Firelight flickered around the room, casting an amber glow upon the towering shelves of books lining the library of my cousin’s impressive château. Daphne, Duchesse de Duras, agent of the Order, leader of their women-only sect called les Dames Dangereuses, and my best friend, peered at me over the rim of her champagne glass.
“Charlotte, I’ve read your reports. There aren’t any more filthy words than the ones you already use. I’ve seen seasoned agents blush beneath their masks while reading them. Perhaps you should consider a career as a writer of erotic novels.”
“I would truly excel,” I preened. “I know so many good synonyms for male anatomical features. Quivering rod. Virility spear. Throbbing manhood.”
Daphne rolled her eyes to cover a smirk.
“Silent flute.”
“Speaking of silent…” She looked at me pointedly.
I grinned and handed her the sealed folio—thirty-six pages of tightly scrawled script outlining an avalanche of evidence of the Marquis de Sade’s crimes. Treason, blackmail, extortion, sexual abuses, violence against innocents…it had been months of grim and grueling work, and my biggest investigation since joining les DD. At court, all the aristocrats knew of the marquis’s villainous tendencies, but no one had the temerity to bring charges against him. As a member of court, he was “one of our own.” At least, until Daphne and I had come along and forced the issue with the Order—the long-shadowed organization of powerful men in France who tasked themselves with the safety of king and country, but which operated in a sort of gray area just outside the law.
“What is to be done about his associates?” I asked.
She raised a brow at me and drained her glass. “I thought you handled that already.” Her displeased tone implied she hadn’t approved of my methods.
“Oh, chérie, just because I killed a vampire doesn’t mean it was an indication of my feelings about the poor souls suffering from the blood plague. You know I’m all for integration of vampires and humans—I have been since the plague took hold of Paris years ago, really—and you know how much I love you and Étienne. Your hematic preferences don’t bother me one whit. But truly, that bastard was evil. I mean, really evil. Quite possibly as evil as my former husband, may he rot in Hell,” I said earnestly.
“Charlotte, he’s imprisoned in the Château d’If,” she replied. “Not technically dead. Probably mad, but still quite alive.”
“Well, it’s almost the same thing, isn’t it? And the Order gave me his falsified death record after all that unpleasantness a year ago,” I grumbled.
“Yes,” she replied drolly. “‘All that unpleasantness.’ Summoning a demon and murdering several people—including my own awful husband, as well as the king’s mistress—is what you would call unpleasant.” She chuckled. “No, chérie, it’s not that I disapprove of you staking a vampire who certainly deserved it, it’s just that you killed him before he could tell us who Sade’s other associate was. We know he had more than one highly placed individual feeding his depraved desires.”
“Well, honestly, Daphne, it’s not my fault a supernatural kidnapper ended up being so frail as to die when he was stabbed a few times--”
“Twenty-seven times.”
“Twenty-seven times then. But really, who’s counting?”
“You did. It was in your report!”
“Because I’m nothing if not efficient. Not only did I dispatch a villainous bloodsucker—no offense—but I wrote a fully accurate report on the matter. You’re lucky you have me as a lieutenant for les DD, you know, especially when I’m here working while you’re out having glorious carnal fun with your dashing rake of a fiancé.”

Excerpt Two
CHARLOTTE
When I came to, several sensations assaulted me. The rhythmic gallop of dull pain inside my skull. The roiling of this evening’s oysters swirling inside my guts. The earthy scents of sweaty horseflesh, leather, and mud tangling in my nose. Then, the slow and damnable realization that my hands and feet had been bound and I’d been thrown—rather indecorously, I might add—facedown across the ass of some idiot’s cantering horse. The nerve!
I opened my mouth to protest, but the horse pulled up short, dangerously shifting the oysters. I choked out a groan as the bile started to rise.
“For the love of God, let me off of this animal, or I shall cast up my accounts all over you!”
My captor slid off the horse and lifted me easily. He—yes, certainly it was a he, and a rather splendid specimen of he, as I started to recall—set me on my feet, and I unsteadily hopped to the side of the road to be sick. I heaved and, tied as I was, began to pitch forward over the frost-covered leaf litter.
Calloused hands grasped my wrists and pulled me upright. I attempted to get a look at his face, but the low hood of his cloak and the darkness of the late evening—or was it early morning?--prevented me from doing so. The only part of him I could see was a strong, stubbled jawline and some very fine lips set in a tight line of annoyance.
“Easy, lad,” he said softly, his voice as rough as his work-hewn hands. Chills danced up my spine.
Lad?
Ah, yes. A jumble of memories began to unravel. I frowned down at my Cupid costume. The once-pristine toga and breeches beneath were rumpled and stained with--mon dieu, please let that just be dirt. The small, feathered wings and golden circlet were gone, but I noted with relief that my wig was still secure.
What happened?
I’d been at Versailles for the king’s All Hallow’s Eve masquerade. My cousin Daphne and her fiancé Étienne had been with me. I was on assignment for les Dames Dangereuses—the Order’s cadre of female agents. But what had I been doing?
I furrowed my brows to try and recall but immediately regretted it. The steady beat of pain in my head became a symphony of agony, and I vomited. I was dimly aware of a humiliating dribble down the front of my toga.
“Hell, lad, how much did you have to drink? Did Sade slip you something? Or are you just in your cups?” The soothing tone was gone, replaced by one of clipped irritation.
“I’m never eating another oyster again,” I wheezed, feebly trying to wipe my mouth with my shoulder. Wait…he said--
Sade. The Marquis de Sade. My target. Yes. Yes. That was right—I was at the masquerade, dressed as a young man so I could lure Sade out into the garden and dispatch him there. Strangle him. It should look like an accident, the Order had said. A lover getting too carried away during a tryst, an incident too scandalous to be thoroughly investigated. Not that anyone would press for an investigation. Between Sade’s crimes, the rumors, and victims from every social class, few—if any—would mourn his loss.
I remembered seeing Sade in the ballroom at Versailles. I’d successfully attracted his attention and plied him with a glass of drugged champagne, which had made him docile and willing. He’d followed me into that absurd hedge maze in the gardens and had been fumbling with the buttons on his breeches, when…thwip! An arrow—straight to the heart. That doesn’t seem right. An arrow? Sade is supposed to be strangled to death. I’m supposed to be the one to do it. Wait, that’s it…
I hadn’t been able to complete my assignment. Someone had intervened, shot an arrow through Sade with, what, a crossbow? Yes, that was it. And there it was, hanging from the side of my captor’s saddle. My captor. I tensed. This man had interrupted my assassination attempt and had murdered the Marquis de Sade. Who was he? Why did he want Sade dead? Why has he kidnapped me and what does he want with me? And mon dieu, why does that last thought send a perverse shiver of pleasure through me?
Putain. Now is not the time, Charlotte. Focus!

Excerpt Three:
ANTOINE
I nodded and crossed the room in long, purposeful strides. Still debating what to do with the lad, I reconsidered my options. Protect him. Plead with him. Bribe him. Kill him. I swallowed my frustration and despair. I’d just have to play things by ear.
Figuring it would be better for me to have the element of surprise—he still had the soldier’s pistol, after all—I crept up to the door and kicked it open. The heavy wood crashed into the wall, and I heard shouts from downstairs at the disturbance. I ducked into the room and froze, confusion clouding my brain like fog.
Standing in a small washtub in front of the fire was the young man—only, he wasn’t a young man. I tore my gaze away from the rivulets of water sliding down an exquisite feminine form and stared into those same outraged brown eyes. It was only when I heard the unmistakable click of a pistol cocking that I realized she had the gun trained on me.
I gaped. “You—you’re--mon dieu…”
“Get out!” she bellowed.
I scrambled back to the hallway and tried to close the door behind me, but only served to yank the damn thing off its hinges. The innkeeper stomped up the stairs, swearing roundly and demanding I pay for the damages. I awkwardly leaned the broken door against the opening to the room and took a step back. All the while, my mind struggled to process what I’d seen.
He was a she. Mon dieu, the sight of her naked. Those full breasts, the curves of those hips, that dark triangle of hair covering her sex. Not a man. My body responded before my brain even registered the implication, making me uncomfortably hard. I struggled to focus on something more productive than my arousal’s clamoring need.
She had been in disguise—why? Why had she been with the Marquis de Sade? Who was she? Unease rustled through me. If she’d been at Versailles, chances were she was a member of the aristocracy. Was she in hiding? Perhaps avoiding some brutish or unsuitable marriage—I’d read things like that in romantic novels. But then, how did she know how to fight? She’d either learned from life’s harsh experiences or by training. She didn’t fight like a street urchin, though, so I reasoned it had to be some kind of formal training. She must be a spy then, but for whom? Damn it! Who was she? What the hell was going on?
The innkeeper continued shouting at me. He made a move for the broken door, but I stepped in front of him.
“I’ll pay for the damages,” I growled. “It was an accident. We won’t disturb you further.”
The innkeeper spat on the floor at my feet and sneered. He opened his mouth to hurl another insult, but I’d had enough. I pulled my cloak aside and placed my hand on the hilt of my short sword.
“Go,” I said. Eyes wide, the innkeeper stormed off, grumbling the whole time.
Turning back to the room, I knocked on the broken door.
“Leave me alone!”
Her guise now revealed, she stopped lowering her voice. The low, velvety timbre wasn’t too dissimilar from a young man’s voice, but it seemed so obvious now, I kicked myself for believing in the ruse.
“We need to talk,” I said calmly.
I heard a derisive snort from the other side of the door, then a muttered, “Do we?”
“Please. Keep the pistol if you like. I just…need some information,” I stammered. I knew the innkeeper and several tavern patrons were listening to our shouted exchange through the door, and my discomfort only grew.
“I have no information to give,” she said petulantly.
“I do,” I replied, lowering my voice. “And it might save your life.”
I heard an exasperated groan and the sound of water swishing about. A vision flashed—soft, heat-pinked skin dripping with water and soap suds. Full breasts, long auburn hair, and a scorching gaze that promised a deep well of passion. My heart pounded in my chest. It had been too long since I’d been with a woman. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken with one for longer than a brief, curt exchange.

Excerpt Four:
ANTOINE
Shafts of sunlight streamed in through the weathered slats of the door, illuminating Charlotte’s petulant scowl. She sat down on a wooden crate and sighed.
“This is all your fault,” she grumbled. “If you hadn’t shown up at Versailles in the first place, I’d be asleep in my delicious bed, awaiting a warm morning bath, a pot of chocolate, and a day of leisure pursuits.”
“My apologies,” I said gruffly. “But it was your fault for getting in my way and then not heeding my warnings back on the road. If you’d just come along willingly, we could have worked something out.”
“Oh, yes, and then when you’d run into the bêtes de sang with me tied across your horse, they certainly would have let us both carry on our merry way unmolested! You’d probably be captured by now, and God only knows what they would’ve done with me. Probably drained me, or worse,” she said bitterly. “And now we are in a bind, aren’t we? That lousy innkeeper likely overheard our argument and—even as thick as he is—probably knows I was headed back to Versailles.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
She stood and went to the cellar door, testing the handle. The heavy iron padlock rattled on the outside. I joined her at the door and inspected the frame. Thick, solid oak blocked our way out.
Charlotte began to survey the room in much the same way that she’d surveyed the bedroom in the inn. It was deliberate, methodical, and thorough. It seemed at odds with the lifestyle that she’d described, unless my earlier supposition was indeed correct.
“Who do you work for?” I asked.
“What an absurd question!” she laughed. She’d uncovered a hammer beneath a length of canvas and hefted it in triumph. She continued to root around through the crates. “I don’t work—I’m a member of the aristocracy.”
She said it with such haughtiness that I believed her immediately, but her actions belied her protestations. What kind of a noblewoman knew how to fight and shoot and don disguises with practiced ease? I knew she was a spy—I just didn’t know for whom.
She cried out in triumph when she found a small set of rusty tools, extracting a chisel. She moved for the door, and I realized quickly what she had in mind.
“Allow me,” I offered, holding out my hands for the hammer and chisel. She raised a brow at me but handed them over.
“Why is there a bounty on your head?” she asked as I lined them up over the door handle.
“Tell me who you’re working for,” I countered. I brought them down hard, leaving a small dent just above the iron handle.
She tsked. “I told you, I don’t work.”
“Right. And the innkeeper was merely mistaken about me,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. I lifted the hammer again and brought it down with force. A greater chunk of wood dislodged and fell away. I needed to hurry, lest the innkeeper hear the racket and come to check on us.
“Fine,” Charlotte huffed. “We both have secrets. But if we’re going to get out of here, we need to trust each other at least a little.”
A raspy chuckle escaped my throat. It had been a long time since I’d laughed.
“Certainly, Charlotte. Ladies first.”
“Very well,” she said arrogantly. “What’s your plan for when we get out of here?”
My hammer paused mid-air. I hadn’t considered that far ahead.
She smiled in mock sweetness. “How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t know how you’re going to keep us alive?”
I let the hammer fall on the chisel, and one of the boards in the door split. Not enough to break, but two or three more strikes ought to do it. All the while, my mind worked. We needed somewhere to hide out. A place the bêtes de sang wouldn’t be able to follow. Somewhere we could stay until the likely uproar at the marquis’s murder died down. Somewhere we could figure out what to do about each other and our precarious predicament. Away from Paris, away from Versailles, and far away from here.
Suddenly, I had it.
“Gévaudan,” I said. “We’ll go to Gévaudan.”

Excerpt Five:
CHARLOTTE
“What an inappropriate time for you to develop a sense of humor, Antoine,” I said with a laugh.
I could tell by the straight, hard line of his jaw he did not share my amusement.
“A werewolf,” I repeated. “That would be preposterous.”
“Is it? And yet, we so easily accepted that there is a strange disease turning normal men into immortal parasites. We execute witches for consorting with the devil. The church has us believe that demons may escape Hell and walk among us.”
“Oh, demons do walk among us,” I cut in. “Of that, you may be certain.”
“But werewolves are beyond belief,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, no,” I answered. “But there must be some logical explanation.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps there is. For our purposes, it does not matter whether the fear is based in fact. Their caution will allow us some sanctuary since no supernatural creature is allowed entry.”
So, he does have a plan after all.
“How do they keep them out?” I wondered aloud.
“I’ve no idea. Walls. Armed guards. Prayers. Magical herbs and potions. Perhaps a battalion of forcefully opinionated aristocratic women who hurl unfounded insults all day. That would be enough to keep any man away,” he grumbled.
I laughed again. “How unexpectedly amusing you are, Antoine! You must forgive me for offending you. My intent was to goad you into revealing your plans, and I’m afraid you fell rather well for my tactics. I would never believe you to be unintelligent. I hardly know anything about you.”
I peered around him to see his face twist sourly and I stifled another giggle.
“Come now, we’ve quite a journey ahead of us. Surely, we can allow ourselves the small luxury of learning about each other. At least something. It will help us pass the time,” I coaxed. “And, as an offering of peace, I’ll start. Though I keep it closely guarded when I’m not at Versailles, my surname is de Brionne. I am Comtesse Charlotte Nicole Louise de Brionne. There, now. Your turn.”
Tartuffe’s hooves thudded softly on the hard packed dirt, as steady as a metronome. Long moments of quiet passed before Antoine replied. So long, in fact, that I’d almost forgotten I’d asked him anything. I’d become lost in the world around us—the dull gray of the sky obscuring the November sun, the silvery bare trees and dead, fallen leaves lining the road, the distant fields of green and gold. It was beautiful, really. Like the scene of some salon landscape painting in a parlor of moderate good taste.
“De Valle,” he said, somewhat suddenly. “Antoine François de Valle.”
“Well done,” I said warmly. “That’s a lovely name. I’m sure I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite recall where.”
He scoffed. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bandy it about in public.”
“Ah yes, because you’re in hiding. The soldiers hunting you and all.”
His posture had been rigid before, but now he turned to stone in front of me. It was impossible for me not to notice how he felt—the hard muscles beneath my arms. I’d wager he had a body like a Grecian marble of Zeus, or perhaps Ares. With that dashing scar, he would certainly be closer to the god of war. A pleasing shiver vibrated through me at the wicked imagery.
“Well, you needn’t worry, Antoine. You’ve never met another who can keep a secret as well as I can.”
“Because you’re a spy?” he tested.
“A spy! What utter rot. I told you, I’m a comtesse. I live a life of leisure. Don’t be so bourgeois, Antoine.”
A lie. One of many.
“A lie,” he echoed, his voice hinting at some dark humor beneath. “Don’t bother lying to me, Comtesse. If you’re going to pester me with your incessant prattling, at least have the courtesy to tell me the truth.”
“I am a paragon of honesty! But if you’re looking for other truths so you can better learn my impeccable character, I’ll graciously oblige. My favorite food is asparagus.”
“You’re teasing me,” he said. “Lying again. No one really enjoys asparagus.”
“I do. I like it so much that sometimes I have my cook prepare it for me for breakfast. Gently steamed with a poached egg on top and toast points on the side.”

Excerpt Six:
ANTOINE
I’d endured countless miseries in my life, but I was struggling to recall a more agonizing event than undressing a beautiful woman with no hope of bedding her. The softness of her skin, the rain-damp scent of her hair, the hitch in her breath at my nearness… I’d been moments away from ripping the blasted stays off her lithe body and sinking to my knees before her in a bid of sheer desperation. It had been so long since I’d enjoyed any kind of intimacy, I would’ve begged.
Fortunately, I’d recovered my senses in time. Not now, Antoine. Not this woman. She is a spy, and she cannot be trusted. You do not want her.
Don’t I?
I listened to the soft rustle of fabric behind me, which invited torturous images of her naked again. My cock hardened uncomfortably in my breeches. Dieu, could she not hurry this along? It was maddening.
“Are you finished, Comtesse? Our food is probably cold by now,” I grumbled.
“Yes, yes, all right. You may turn around. Only I shan’t apologize for the indecency. If I’d stayed in those cold, wet clothes, I would have certainly gotten sick. Just…be a gentleman about it, would you?” she said, a touch of anxiety in her voice.
“I’m no blushing virgin nor slavering youth,” I shot back. “I’ve seen plenty of women in various stages of undress. Yourself included, Comtesse. I’m perfectly capable of maintaining my composure. In fact, you are not even the type of woman to tempt me.”
“What a relief,” she said acidly. “Since you are not the type of man to tempt me. It makes our arrangement much simpler.”

I turned around, but my sharp retort died on my lips. You’ve already seen the woman naked, I foolishly thought to myself. How much worse can it be?
Much worse.
She’d loosened her hair from beneath her cap, and it cascaded down her back in thick, glossy waves. The nightdress that the tavern lady had provided her was worn to threadbare softness, affording me glimpses of dusky nipples and that sinful dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. One sleeve slipped down her shoulder as she sat down before the table of food. She tore a chunk of bread from the loaf and set it into the steaming bowl of stew. Her easy movements and the tranquil domesticity of the scene filled me with a hunger far beyond food. How many times had I waded through the mud and blood of the battlefield, longing for something so simple—so pastoral?
She realized I was staring—she’d probably known all along, really—and raised a brow at me.
“Are you just going to stand there dripping on the floor while your food gets cold? If so, I’ll eat your share. This stew is delicious, and the bread is warm from the oven. The ale is subpar, and frankly, I’d prefer wine, but it’ll do.”
She dipped the bread in the stew and raised it to her lips, licking the drips from her fingers. My mouth went bone dry. Frustration pulled my nerves taut, and I hastily started shucking my own clothes. Under different circumstances, I would’ve slept in them or gone nude, but they were filthy and wet from the rain, and I was damned tired of being cold. I turned around again and tugged my shirt off, tossing it into a pile with my coat, cloak, and hose. I reached for the innkeeper’s proffered nightshirt when I heard a coughing, choking sound behind me.
Charlotte’s wide eyes were watering, and her cheeks were pink, but she waved away my concern when I made to help her.
“No, no, I’m fine, Antoine. Really fine. Some ale went down the wrong way. Just give me a sex--second—and I’ll be all right again,” she spluttered. Her cheeks reddened even more, and I grinned. Well, at least I’m not the only one overset. That realization was quickly chased by another more damning one—if we both felt physical stirrings, it was a short road to ruin for us, and I couldn’t allow that. Partly because I didn’t trust her, partly because I needed to protect her, and honestly, partly because I needed to protect myself.
I pulled off my breeches and donned the nightshirt. It was just long enough to be decent but was far too tight across my chest. I stretched my arms out to the sides and felt the seams along the sides split a little. Ah, well. The innkeeper will have to forgive me.
I crossed the room and sat opposite Charlotte. She offered me the other half of the bread and a full bowl of stew. I raised my mug of ale to her and dove in.

Excerpt Seven:
ANTOINE
Rain started to fall—corpulent, nearly frozen droplets that hinted at becoming snow. I spurred Tartuffe on, now almost as worried about the weather as the skirted enigma in front of me.
“Trouble has already found us, Charlotte, with or without your lies.”
“I’m sorry if you feel betrayed, Antoine, but you must understand that I was doing everything in my power to simultaneously protect you and extract myself from this situation,” she called back. With Tartuffe’s increased pace and the worsening weather, I could barely hear her words as they whipped past me on the wind.
“I told you I cannot abide deceit,” I shouted in her ear. “Why didn’t you admit as much to me when I first asked you?”
“I wouldn’t be a very good covert agent--”
“You mean spy!”
“—if I admitted the truth about every aspect of my life to every random gentleman who asked,” she said loudly. “Besides, you certainly have a lot of secrets for someone who professes to be such a paragon of honesty.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” I shot back. “Everything I’ve said has been the truth.”
“Lying by omission is still dishonesty, Antoine. You can hardly think it’s fair to expect me to divulge everything about myself when you won’t even tell me why you were hunting the Marquis de Sade down in the first place.”
Her words struck true, but I was still too angry to agree with her outwardly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I growled.
“Well, I don’t want to talk about being an agent for the Order!” she shouted back at me. “But that doesn’t seem to matter to you!”
“The Order is a myth! Just tell me who you’re really working for, and I’ll let it drop!”
We barreled on, our speed matching the rise of our tempers. I leaned forward into Charlotte’s back, trying to ensure that she could hear my words over the wind and driving rain.
Mistake.
My blood boiled with exasperation, but the further I pressed against her in our rain-soaked clothes, the better I could feel her luscious curves jostling against me. The rhythmic pace of Tartuffe’s feet striking the mud bounced Charlotte’s ass against my hard cock, making me damn near feral with need.
“Why won’t you believe me?” she barked, seemingly oblivious to my overwhelming desires. “Hell, I’ll show you the damn letter he gave me—it’s a report about Sade’s associates. Signed and stamped with the Order’s seal. I couldn’t make that up or lie about it! I only lied about being an agent. Everything else has been the truth. Unlike you.”
“I already told you! Just because I haven’t told you everything about my past doesn’t mean I’ve told you any falsehoods!” Dieu, help me. I could see her chest heaving before me, her nipples puckered in the cold, wet fabric of her bodice. It nearly made me weep.
“Actions speak louder than words, Antoine,” she shouted bitterly.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, confused.
Suddenly, she recovered her composure and bit her lip, then shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind,” she replied.

I slowed Tartuffe down, allowing him time to catch his breath and trying desperately to collect myself. I guided us off the road into a small grove of trees that provided a modicum of shelter from the rain. Despite the cold, I could see steam rising from our bodies. I dismounted to stretch my legs and, without waiting for her agreement, lifted Charlotte from the saddle.
“What do you mean?” I asked again, calmly this time—my gaze boring into the warm chocolate of her eyes.
She blushed. “I said it’s nothing! I was angry. It doesn’t matter.”
Slowly, I reached up to brush a wet lock of hair from her cheek.
“It does matter.”
She snorted in derision.
“Charlotte, I will not let it drop.”
“Fine,” she capitulated. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and threw me a withering glare. “Fine. For someone so opposed to deceit, you certainly had no problem using it on me this morning at the inn.”
“Ah. When I stole your letter?”
She nodded once.
“And you’re upset because I got the better of you?”
“No! Well, yes, but…”
“But that’s not all,” I finished. “How else did I deceive you, Comtesse?”
Charlotte twisted her face in agony, clearly embarrassed. She paced our secluded grove, muttering to herself beneath her breath. When I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her, she whirled on me.
“You made me believe!” she yelled. “You made me believe that you wanted me!”
Chagrinned, she covered her face with her hands and groaned.
“I will never forgive you for making me say that out loud,” she muttered. “Now, can we be on our way? Night is falling and the bêtes will soon catch up to us if we don’t keep moving. I don’t suppose you know how much further we have to go before we reach Gévaudan--”
Whatever her last words were, she didn’t have time to speak. Unwilling to resist any longer and unable to help myself, I grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her lips to mine.

Excerpt Eight:
CHARLOTTE
I’d never particularly enjoyed being manhandled in such an aggressive fashion when it came to men, though I knew plenty of women who did. Antoine, however, was different. His touch wasn’t an entitled drive to satisfy his own wants—rather, it was an outpouring of emotions he didn’t seem to be able to express verbally.
The force of his passion was volcanic in its intensity, prompting me to step back and grab hold of him simultaneously.
One hand behind my neck, the other snaking around my waist to bring our bodies as close together as physics and anatomy would allow, he devoured my lips like a man going off to duel at dawn. Gone was the calculating sweetness of our kiss this morning—in its place, raw need and desperation.
His tongue tangled with mine as his hand slipped down to give my ass a firm squeeze, provoking a satisfied whimper from me and a groan of desire from him. He guided me back against one of the trees and pushed his arousal against my stomach, sucking in a harsh breath at the friction.
Pulling back slightly, he cupped my face in his hands and leveled his darkening green gaze at me. It stripped me bare and terrified me with its honesty. The honesty of a man you do not deserve.
“That was not deceit,” he whispered. I shut my eyes, thrown utterly off balance by the impact of what had just happened. “Charlotte, look at me.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes, fully intending to laugh off the awkwardness I started to feel, but found myself unable. My sharp retorts and witticisms died in my throat. I didn’t want an uncomfortable silence or an indifferent conclusion to this strange encounter. I just wanted more of him. I reached up and set my lips to his again, half-expecting to meet some kind of resistance, but he yielded to me immediately. I threaded my fingers through his hair and sucked at his tongue, dizzy with lust. He dragged his lips from mine and licked the droplets of rainwater on my neck, then nuzzled his way back up to my ear.
“Oh, Antoine,” I breathed.
“Dieu, Comtesse,” he growled, tugging at my earlobe with his teeth. “I want you so badly I cannot think straight, but we should not continue. We cannot if we don’t trust each other.”
“Who says we cannot? Trust has nothing to do with sex.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, his desire warring with his frustration. “You truly want me to continue?”
In response, I wrapped one leg around his waist and reached down to slide my hand along the impressive, hard length of him. He choked out a sound halfway between a cry and a moan, then yanked my hands away from his delicious body and pinned them down at my sides.
For a moment, my heart sank, interpreting the gesture as rejection. He should reject you, Charlotte. He is everything that is honorable and straightforward, and you are more artifice than flesh.
Afraid at what I might see reflected in his gaze, I tilted my face up to his, expecting to hear the censure I so often heard from my former husband. No such words came. Instead, he grinned wickedly, flashing a dimpled smile that made my knees wobble. Taking one hand and lifting my sodden skirts, he reached beneath the hem of my chemise and stroked cool fingers up my inner thighs.
“Your skin is like silk,” he murmured. “Finer than anything a man like me should be allowed to touch.”
He slid two fingers through the seam of my sex, pressing one fingertip against the bud of pleasure and prompting me to utter a stream of obscenities that made his breath quicken.
“From the first moment I saw you, Comtesse, I knew you would be this maddening. So passionate,” he teased at my ear, rubbing firm circles with his fingertip and sliding his second finger inside me.
“Putain de merde, oui, l’amour. If you stop now, I will kill you!”
I grasped wildly for his breeches, but he stayed my hand and brought his lips to mine for a searing kiss.
“Not yet,” he panted. “I’ve been wagering with myself that seeing you in ecstasy will be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I plan to settle that bet first.”
I whimpered something unintelligible—even to my own ears—and ground my hips against his hand.
“Now do you understand? My desire for you, Comtesse, is the most honest thing that has existed between us since we met days ago.”
Faster and harder his skilled fingers worked until my bliss closed in around me and I began to see stars. His other hand came up to caress my breast through the drenched fabric of my dress. He sucked at my earlobe and pinched my nipple almost to the point of pain, sending me screaming over the edge. When my climax broke, Antoine held me through it, letting me ride the waves of pleasure in his arms. When I sighed in satisfaction, he dropped my skirts, swept another kiss across my lips and licked his fingertips.
“Perfection,” he said with a smile.

Excerpt Nine:
CHARLOTTE
I felt sunlight streaming in above me. Even though I kept my eyes tightly closed, its warmth was a comforting caress across my face. I was bombarded by a confusing array of scents—blood, herbs, flowers, freshly washed linen, leather, baking bread, burning wood.
I groaned. My throat burned from dehydration and disuse. That can’t be good. I wonder how long I’ve been in bed.
Memories began to return to me, slowly, as if I could only see them from behind distorted glass--Sade’s death, Antoine, vampire soldiers. The cold, rainy road to Gévaudan. A passionate embrace and brain-searing climax in a wooded glade, followed by a violent attack and a strange creature. Excruciating pain in my shoulder. Then the town and this inn.
But the sun was out now, and I sensed more than just Antoine nearby. How long had I been unconscious?
I cracked one eye open and looked around. Another cloak hung by the fire, but the room was otherwise empty. On the small table, I saw a tidy pile of bandages, small jars of medicines, and a set of severe-looking surgical instruments. Immediately, my hand went to my shoulder. It was wrapped in fresh bandages—as was the scrape on my arm from Hugo’s teeth—but I didn’t feel more than a dull ache from either injury. Whether it was Antoine or the mystery cloak owner, whoever had tended my arm had done a splendid job.
I rose, frowning down at my ragged chemise. I couldn’t wait for a proper bath and some clean clothes. Soon. Find Antoine first. I went over to the cloak and felt around the pockets for any clue as to its wearer but came up empty. The garment was a lovely royal blue and was small and delicately cut, I suspected for a woman. I sniffed at the collar and sleeves and smelled faint odors of herbs, rain-damp wool, and something exotic, yet vaguely familiar--lime blossom.
“Van Helsing!” I exclaimed.
As if summoned, the curvy, dark-haired doctor bustled into the room carrying a cloth-covered tray. Lunch, perhaps. She regarded me with mild surprise, her deep blue eyes widening a fraction behind her spectacles.
“Ah, excellent! I had a feeling you’d be awake today,” she said in her lilting Dutch accent.
“Where is Antoine?” I demanded. I flinched at the harshness of my tone. I hadn’t meant to ask that, but the question had tumbled out of my mouth before any of the others. What are you doing here? How long have I been in bed? What day is it? What of the vampires and that creature? Is there food on that tray? I’m ravenous.
She cocked a brow at me and grinned. “After days at your bedside, the lieutenant was finally persuaded to get some much-needed food and rest. He’s sound asleep next-door, in my bedroom.”
At this, an unexpected flash of overheated anger and fierce possessiveness surged in my blood, screeching “mine! He’s mine,” prompting me to practically growl at her.
“In your room?”
Van Helsing studied me intently over the rim of her spectacles, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Very interesting,” she murmured to herself. “Yes, Comtesse, he is resting in my chambers. It is nothing untoward, I assure you. In your comatose state, you thrashed about quite wildly, and he would not have been able to sleep in this room, let alone in that bed with you.”
The explanation made sense, but I felt a tug of unease.
“Comatose state? What are you talking about? How long have I been here? How long have you been here? How did you even know to come here—and how did you get here in the first place?” The questions came on a rising tide of panic. Something is certainly amiss.
“Relax, please, before you overexert yourself. Here, sit on the bed and let me check your wounds. Yes, yes. Very good,” she soothed as she led me back to the bed and started to unwrap my shoulder. “First, today is the 18th. You’ve been mostly unconscious for about two weeks now--”
“Two weeks!” I shrieked. “Tell me you’re joking. It cannot have been so long.”
“I’m afraid it has, Comtesse. You succumbed to a strange type of infection and a blood fever. Your friend, Lieutenant de Valle, did his best for you—and a fine job he did, I might add—but when you didn’t recover after the first two days, he had the good sense to send an urgent message to your cousin. She, of course, had the better sense to send me to your aid, a wise move considering she and the duke would not be allowed to enter the city due to their supernatural condition.”

Excerpt Ten:
ANTOINE
Dieu, she could charm the fleas off a stray. How I hated her in that moment. Embarrassment and anger welled up inside me at the thought that she’d intervened—probably thinking she’d rescued me from a sound thrashing. One you likely deserve, you fool.
“I don’t need your help,” I growled at her. She ignored me, spiking my temper again.
Jacques frowned, flexing his meaty fists. The crowd, disappointed with the interruption, booed and jeered, goading Jacques and me back into violence. I was definitely ready. Jacques seemed less sure.
I finally stood, wiping my dirty, bloodied face on my sleeve. I clenched my fists, moments away from venting all of my anger, frustration, and irritation on Jacques’s ruddy face, but he raised his hands to the crowd and called for quiet. He nodded at Charlotte.
“Madame, I would be honored to breakfast with you. I reckon this town has seen enough bloodshed to last us a while anyway,” he rumbled, extending his arm to her. She beamed at him in a way that made me want to rip his limbs off and beat him with them.
“So, I gather,” she tutted sympathetically. “You must tell me all about it!” She took his arm, surreptitiously slipping her other hand in her skirts, where I heard a soft click. So, she’d had her pistol cocked and ready in her pockets.
Ready to defend me.
I stared after them in stupefied silence as they meandered down the road. The crowd dispersed, hurling a few insults at me as they did.
What the hell had just happened? I tried to take stock of the situation, but my head throbbed, and my mouth tasted of blood, and I found it hard to focus. Surely, the comtesse-agent I’d accidentally kidnapped, dragged to the south of France, endangered countless times from natural and supernatural threats, and might harbor some flame of begrudging affection for, hadn’t just saved me again?
I’d never felt so useless—so much a fool. My father’s words rung true in my ears, as did Charlotte’s early criticisms. Always acting so rashly, too stupid to think things through, making a mess of everything and everyone. Antoine, the blundering imbecile languishing away as a mere lieutenant. Antoine, who could not save his nephew or his sister. Antoine, who could not save Charlotte, his…
His what? What was she to me?
Before I could think too much on it, I heard her calling my name. She and Jacques were standing in the middle of the street some distance away, waving me over. As black as my mood was, I could not resist her bidding. I grabbed my coat—the only garment I possessed not covered in mud—and stalked over.
Charlotte cocked a brow at my brooding expression but tried gamely to make introductions. Jacques stuck his hand out and I eyed it suspiciously.
“Your good lady wife has explained some of your troubles,” he said. His deep voice was like a wagon wheel over a rutted gravel road.
“Has she?” I was unable to keep the censure from my voice.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling,” Charlotte interjected. “The vampires who robbed us on the road were supernaturally strong and numerous. We were lucky to escape with our lives, despite your bravery.”
“Indeed,” I said, too exhausted to argue or keep up with her myriad stories--or should I say, lies.
“Jacques has forgiven your slights,” she continued. “And wishes to make amends, and then we can all put this whole memorable experience behind us.”
She eyed me pointedly. Her meaning was clear—we’d attracted too much attention and she wanted me to shake hands with the man and then disappear, just another typical brawl with some ill-behaved traveler. I wasn’t at all an outlaw on the run from his father, a band of vampire soldiers, a possible werewolf, and the legal repercussions of murdering a marquis.
“I’m sorry for the, um…” Jacques gestured to my bleeding lip.
“Don’t trouble yourself over it,” I replied.
We were quiet for a moment, sizing each other up, until Charlotte rolled her eyes and cleared her throat.
“Well! That seems settled. Jacques, you were telling me there was a lovely spot up ahead where we could get some meat pies and perhaps a pot of coffee or tea. Not to worry, mon ami, I always carry a little nip of brandy with me—the perfect way to warm up a morning in November! Now, you also mentioned some of the recent troubles you’ve all been having with some kind of local beast—pray, tell me over our meal,” she trilled. “Your little town is so lovely, I hate to think of something so ominous marring its serenity.”
Jacques smiled down at Charlotte. It seemed innocent enough, but it piqued my temper again and it took all I had to follow behind them without strangling them both.

Excerpt Eleven:
CHARLOTTE
Antoine’s green eyes darkened. He opened his mouth to says something but seemed to think better of it. He shook his head and began removing his mud-caked clothes, not caring that I was in the room and we were mid-conversation. Well, I was mid-conversation. He was silent, grumpy, and taciturn.
And suddenly shirtless.
Mon dieu. I couldn’t help but stare. I’d caught glimpses of him our first night in the inn but hadn’t had the opportunity to give him a proper look. His unfashionably bronzed skin was crisscrossed with a roadmap of scars that pointed to a life of violence and pain. It made the scar on his face look like the least of his troubles. Soft, dark hair dusted his chest and narrowed to a thin line leading below his belly button—a different kind of road, and one that I found myself wanting to travel the most. He reached up to tug his hair from its customary queue, shaking the loose waves out and running his fingers through it. Muscles that I’d only seen in anatomy books bunched and flexed beneath his skin, unlike any man I’d ever been with. He moved to unbutton the falls of his breeches and paused, catching my eye.
“Perhaps it is ungentlemanly, but I hope you’ll permit me to have the first bath. I’m certain you don’t want our room to reek of blood and filth,” he ground out. I’d almost forgotten that he was still annoyed with me. That fact didn’t seem to have any impact on the inferno of my desire.
“Dieu, Antoine,” I breathed. “You’re beautiful.” Did I mean to say that out loud?
He blushed and turned away from me. “Comtesse, I’m sore and weary of your incessant teasing. If you’ve no wish to tell me about your night last night, so be it, but if you have any humanity in you, you’ll grant me some peace.”
I probably deserved that.
“As you wish,” I replied quietly. “Though you must know that I am not teasing you.”
He said nothing, but some of the stiffness in his back eased. I opened my mouth to speak again, but the innkeeper knocked then, bringing forth a wooden tub and two maids with steaming pitchers of hot water. After several trips back and forth to fill the tub, the bath was ready. I gestured to Antoine to go ahead.
“By all means, your needs are greater than mine,” I said, though I doubted if anyone could presently surpass the strength of my need to touch him.
I went to the window to draw the curtains and offer him some privacy, listening to the sounds of him shucking his breeches and slipping into the water. His exhale of satisfaction made my heart race. My awareness of him in all his sullen, magnificent nudity was quickly becoming more than an inconvenience—it was becoming a torment.
Driven by lust, I turned to face him again. The sight was like a kick to my stomach. Water dripped from his wet locks and soap bubbles glided down his chest. I bit my lip but refused to hold back any longer.
“Of course, you’ll need someone to help you wash your back,” I said.
He quirked a brow at me. “What happened to giving me some peace?”
Embarrassed and angry at his rebuttal, I whirled around and snatched my cloak off the bed.
“Well, go on and wash it yourself then, but don’t come crying to me about doing so with those bruised ribs,” I snapped. My hand was on the doorknob when he called my name.
“Charlotte.”
I stopped but didn’t face him.
“Charlotte,” he said again, softer this time.
I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He held out the bar of soap and I considered it. Thank God I don’t give a fig about my pride.
“I will be the very personification of peace,” I said. “As quiet as the second half of a sermon, when everyone has dozed off in church.”
I grabbed the soap before he could object and threw my cloak back on the bed. Kneeling behind him, I dipped my hands into the warm water and started to lather the soap across his shoulders. They were warm and smooth, except for the scars, but the muscles beneath felt as hard as iron. I couldn’t resist giving his biceps a little squeeze. He sighed again and smiled, then leaned back against the tub and looked up at me. This close to him, I could see flecks of brown and gold in his green eyes—the colors of sunlight filtering through a lush forest canopy. Under my intense scrutiny, he seemed to become self-conscious again and closed them.
I gently threaded my soapy fingers through his hair, though he’d already gotten the worst of the mud out. My nails scraped lightly along his scalp, and his full lips parted on a moan that made my nipples tighten and my skin prickle with heat. Tiny soap bubbles slipped down the path of his scar, tracing the moon-shaped curve from his brow to his cheek. I gently wiped them away with my fingertip, which seemed to drift to his lips of its own accord. His rough, stubbled cheeks hadn’t seen a razor in some days, but it didn’t make him seem unkempt as it often did on other men. It was almost as if his face needed the roughness of his cheeks and the long scar as armor against being too beautiful.

Excerpt Twelve:
CHARLOTTE
He came back. Not for me, exactly, but he came back, nonetheless. Was that enough for me? In this moment, I didn’t care. The scent of him in my carriage elicited a kind of primal response in my body--my mate has returned.
Ridiculous.
His kiss was fire and ice at once, and I met him with the full force of my desire, which only seemed to have grown in our time apart. I slid my hands up his neck and threaded my fingers through his hair. For a moment, everything between us other than this was forgotten. I tilted his head back and scraped my teeth along his jaw, drawing forth a deep growl that sent vibrations of need along every one of my nerves. A low moan escaped my throat, spurring his ardor. I nibbled at his ears while I hastily tugged at his coat, sliding cool palms beneath his shirt to his warm, bare chest. Every part of me was aflame. Dieu, I wanted him—this surly, complicated man. Now and forever.
“Charlotte.” His voice came out in a rough tremor.
“Antoine?” Why have you come for your father and not for me? What are your feelings for me? What are your feelings for my being a werewolf? What will happen to us? I ignored the trepidation and the dark thoughts that circled my mind.
“Shh,” he whispered, caressing my breasts through the bodice of my gown. “If your words are anything but filthy ones right now, keep them to yourself.”
I smiled, until his hands slid to my thighs and he bunched my skirts in his fists. I reached for the falls of his breeches and straddled him on the seat of the carriage. I nearly lost myself at the feel of his straining erection pressing against my sex. My composure, already frayed and failing, snapped. I gripped his hips and rocked against him, pulling forth from him a moan that was sweeter than any sound I’d ever heard on earth. Fate be damned—I’m going to have this man.
“Charlotte,” he panted. His fingers fumbled with the bodice of my expensive gown. The silk was like water in his calloused fingers, making it difficult for him to untie, unlace, and unpin me. I struggled with the buttons on his breeches, eager as I was to bare him to me.
With a little growl of frustration—one that sounded alarmingly lupine—I ripped the front of his breeches, scattering the damned buttons across the floor. I let out a triumphant laugh and saw the glaze of lust in his eyes sparkle. With a wolfish grin, he did the same to my dress, ripping it clear down the front. I squealed with laughter.
“This dress cost me a fortune,” I huffed, ending with a whimper when he took my nipple into his mouth.
“Send me the bill,” he murmured, sucking gently. I gasped and writhed on his lap, reaching down to wrap my hands around his hard cock. He swore, lewder and more guttural than I’d heard from him before. I slid my hands up and down, mimicking the movement of the carriage as the wheels jostled us back and forth. Already, I was close. So close.
“Charlotte, putain de merde! You must stop. I want you, my love—I need you.” He slid a finger through the warm, wet folds of my sex and growled his desire. “You’re so wet, l’amour…all for me. How I’ve dreamed of this perfect pussy since you left me. It’s all I can think about. Late at night, alone, I fantasize about the pleasure that lives here.” He pushed me back off his lap and against the wall of the carriage. Dropping to his knees, he licked at the insides of my thighs, working his way up to the pearl of my pleasure. I squirmed beneath his touch.
“This teasing will be the death of me, Antoine,” I whimpered. “Kiss me like you mean it.”
He grinned up at me and dove forward, sucking and licking at the apex of my sex until I was almost ready to come apart. He would have continued, but I pulled his face up to mine for a fervent kiss, then wrapped my legs around his waist.
“I need it all, Antoine,” I demanded. “Give me everything.” What does that mean? What am I asking of him?
“Everything,” he agreed.

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