The Assassin and the Libertine Blog Tour Materials

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Blog Tour Schedule:

October 14
Echo's Tales - Excerpt

October 15
Writing Cave Corner - Excerpt

Taming Chaos - Excerpt

October 18
Distinct Authors - Excerpt

Janet Walden-West - Excerpt

October 19
Courtney Maguire Writes - Excerpt and Giveaway

Jeanrabe.com - Excerpt

October 20
Kat Turner - Review

October 21
The Romance Reporter - Excerpt & Giveaway

October 22
BOOKS TO CURL UP WITH - Excerpt

All Things Dark And Dirty - Excerpt

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The Assassin and the Libertine -Available now!
@authorlilyriley's debut novel features 18th century French royalty, #vampires and murder.
http://mybook.to/TAATL
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The fate of France itself is at stake if these sworn enemies cannot change their ways—and their hearts.

Daphne de Duras is a proper French duchess by day and fledgling assassin by night. Her latest mission is to dispatch justice and protect the French aristocracy by executing Étienne de Noailles, disgraced former noble, legendary rake, and vampire emissary to the court of King Louis XV.

But Étienne’s alleged crime—the gruesome murder of Madame de Pompadour, the King’s mistress and Daphne's friend—doesn’t quite fit the dashing vampire’s nature. With his immortal days suddenly numbered, Étienne needs to convince his would-be executioner not only of his innocence, but that they should hunt the real killer together—a challenge almost as difficult as convincing himself that he isn’t falling for her.

Daphne reluctantly agrees to a temporary partnership when Étienne persuades her that something more sinister is afoot. He can, after all, help her find answers in places she’s unable to go alone. And despite her deep loathing for any and all vampires, she can't help but start thinking of a few other places she'd like to go with him.

ASIN:‎ B09BQ51FGZ
Publisher:‎ City Owl Press: Mystic Owl (October 14, 2021)
Publication date: ‎October 14, 2021
Language: English
Print length:‎ 263 pages
Check it out on Amazon: http://mybook.to/TAATL
Add it on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58722474-the-assassin-and-the-libertine

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/
#bookstagram #HistoricalRomance #ParanormalRomance #bookseries #BookBoost #blogtour #booklove #bookrecommendation #newrelease #bookrelease #newrelease2021 #DebutNovel

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Review from Publisher's Weekly:
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 debut novel, The Assassin and the Libertine, publishing under the Mystic Owl imprint of City Owl Press, comes out October 14, 2021.
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.

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The fate of France itself is at stake if these sworn enemies cannot change their ways—and their hearts. 
 
Daphne de Duras is a proper French duchess by day and fledgling assassin by night. Her latest mission is to dispatch justice and protect the French aristocracy by executing Étienne de Noailles, disgraced former noble, legendary rake, and vampire emissary to the court of King Louis XV. 
 
But Étienne’s alleged crime—the gruesome murder of Madame de Pompadour, the King’s mistress and Daphne's friend—doesn’t quite fit the dashing vampire’s nature. With his immortal days suddenly numbered, Étienne needs to convince his would-be executioner not only of his innocence, but that they should hunt the real killer together—a challenge almost as difficult as convincing himself that he isn’t falling for her. 
 
Daphne reluctantly agrees to a temporary partnership when Étienne persuades her that something more sinister is afoot. He can, after all, help her find answers in places she’s unable to go alone. And despite her deep loathing for any and all vampires, she can't help but start thinking of a few other places she'd like to go with him. 
 
ASIN:&lrm; B09BQ51FGZ 
Publisher:&lrm; City Owl Press: Mystic Owl (October 14, 2021) 
Publication date: &lrm;October 14, 2021 
Language: English 
Print length:&lrm; 263 pages 
Check it out on Amazon: http://mybook.to/TAATL 
Add it on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58722474-the-assassin-and-the-libertine 
 
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/ 
 
Review from Publisher's Weekly: 
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. 
<a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-1-64898-088-6" target="_blank">Read more here></a> 
 
 
<a class="rcptr" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/9751c04263/" rel="nofollow" data-raflid="9751c04263" data-theme="classic" data-template="" id="rcwidget_ju0x8iyh">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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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 debut novel, The Assassin and the Libertine, publishing under the Mystic Owl imprint of City Owl Press, comes out October 14, 2021. 
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. 
<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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For those that selected giveaway on the form, you're authorized to giveaway one e-copy of The Assassin and the Libertine by Lily Riley to one of your blog readers. This is a giveaway outside of the Rafflecopter, just for your readers.

Buy Links:

The Assassin and the Libertine on Amazon: http://mybook.to/TAATL
The Assassin and the Libertine on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58722474-the-assassin-and-the-libertine

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Excerpts:

Excerpt One
I left the gilt opulence of the ballroom and made my way down a candlelit corridor, discreetly checking the rooms for errant partygoers and trysting courtiers. I required absolute solitude, and fortune appeared to be on my side tonight. The duke’s Parisian town house was impressive—if a little dated with all its baroque enthusiasm—and seldom in use. Like some members of court, he lived almost year-round at Versailles. Years before, King Louis XIV’s paranoia had set that precedent for the aristocracy. If you wish to feel the warmth of the Sun King, you must remain within his orbit.
How suffocating. I was almost glad my husband had fled to Italy in disgrace, despite him leaving me to the absent mercy of the wolves of Versailles. At least I was free to maintain my own residence—and more importantly, I was free of him. The thought of my vile, abusive husband soured my stomach.
It seemed that King Louis XV, the Beloved, had a more relaxed view of things. But for how long, I wondered. France was changing at the speed of infection. The king could not continue to ignore la peste du sang that was starting to seep through the streets of Paris. The blood plague was upon us, and I feared what was happening to the people of France.
Several doors down, I found what I was looking for—the duke’s empty study. A few candles flickered inside, casting dancing shadows upon the gold brocade of the walls. Hopefully, young Giles had accepted my invitation and I wouldn’t have to wait long.
I perched on the edge of the large desk, careful not to bend my panniers, and adjusted my navy skirts around me. The dark color was somewhat unfashionable this season, but I wasn’t at Versailles and tonight I favored a gown that was a touch more utilitarian. The pastel palette of the court was hellacious for us more active members of the nobility. The stains could be murder.
Movement outside caught my eye, and I went to the window to observe. Snow had started to fall in soft, downy clumps. I watched the flakes drift gently onto the balcony terrace and smiled to myself. I flung the doors open, letting in a flurry of frigid air.
I almost didn’t hear the soft click of the door closing behind me, but I’d been waiting.
Without turning, I spoke out to the snowy balcony.
“I’m so glad you came, darling Giles. I’ve been waiting all evening to get you alone.”
Strong arms circled my waist, turning me to him and pulling me back inside the study. His eyes glittered fiercely, hungrily.
Without a word, he crushed his mouth to mine. His hands roamed my body, seeking the softness of skin beneath the silken layers of my gown.
“I don’t have long,” he grunted. He pushed me roughly against the wall, attempting to lift my heavy skirts.
“Oui, I know, ma cher. Neither do I.” He’d found my legs beneath the copious underskirts and ran a cold hand up my thigh. I grabbed him by the shoulders and reversed our positions, pressing his body to the wall with my hips. He gasped in excitement and fumbled for the buttons of his breeches. I kissed him softly.
Dispassionately.
With him distracted, it was almost too easy for me to stab him through the heart.
He pushed me away—bewildered, pained—as smoke curled from the small wound in his chest. I slid the thin wooden stake out, wiped the blood on his livery, and tucked it back in my garter for my next assignment.
Only then did his fangs distend.
“Putain de salope,” he hissed. His skin turned a mottled gray, and he slumped to the floor.
I tsked. “Oh, Giles. How long did you think you could carry on like this—feeding your way through His Grace’s housemaids? Six young girls are dead already, Giles. Six! Did you think we wouldn’t notice a rotten little sanguisuge in our midst?”
He groaned in pain and glared at me. “You’re with them, then. The Order. Didn’t think they allowed women in.”
“Yes, well, what a lesson for you to learn today. We are everywhere. Too bad you won’t be able to share that news with your filthy parasite friends, eh?”
The dying footman rasped a laugh, coughing up a trickle of black blood that steamed in the cold room. “It won’t matter if you’re everywhere. It won’t matter how many you are, how much money the aristocracy has, or how good the Order’s spies are. None of it will save you from what’s coming.”
A chill went up my spine that had nothing to do with the snow blowing in through the open terrace doors.
“What’s coming?” I demanded, leaning in.
“La mort.”

Excerpt Two
She was much stronger than she appeared. No match for the supernatural strength the plague had bestowed on me, certainly, but still, much stronger than I expected. While I didn’t put much stock in the usefulness of the women of the court beyond slaking certain appetites and exerting occasional influence upon their more dim-witted husbands, I could at least acknowledge when some ornamental ninny possessed something outside the ordinary. I’d seen the duchess watching me over the last several months but hadn’t considered her a proper threat until recently. I realized now, clutching her arm, I had miscalculated—an oversight I soundly regretted. As my father had often warned, Never underestimate a woman.
Especially one sent to assassinate you.
I had to hand it to the Order—of all the ways they’d tried to deliver me unto Death, this was the most…enticing.
Her soft peaches-and-cream complexion, wide violet eyes, and pert rosebud lips set in a furious pout gave her the appearance of a wrathful angel boiling over with self-righteousness. She was unable to free herself from my grip, so I allowed myself the luxury of an intimate perusal of her full form—partly because it unsettled her, but partly because I found her fascinating. My gaze raked lazily over her, from the top of her powdered curls, down the graceful column of her neck, to her luscious breasts straining at the top of her neckline. I tracked down the crimson silk of her bodice to her trim waist, ensconced in those unseen stays, and wondered what her undergarments might look like. Would they be silk? Would they be adorned with ribbons, rosettes, or lace? Would they match this daring, provocative gown? I hardened at the thought.
“If you wish to speak with me, monsieur,” she spat, “then perhaps you might release my arm so that we can converse properly.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to release you,” I murmured in her ear. “Perhaps I don’t feel like being staked tonight, despite your orders.” I breathed in her scent—orange blossom and vanilla. I wondered what she’d taste like.
I saw her eyes widen momentarily. So, now she knew that I knew her allegiance to the Order. When the moment of shock wore off, she huffed in irritation and gritted her teeth.
“Then go on and break it.”
I stepped back, stunned. She hadn’t offered it as a careless challenge. Her expression was determined, not daring.
“I beg your pardon?” I relaxed my grip on her arm but did not let her go. A quick glance across the courtyard told me we were beginning to attract attention. The disappointed moue of the marquise de Balay told me that people would be gossiping already.
The beast has found his next diversion.
Cursing silently, I tugged her into the king’s ridiculous hedge maze, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the idiotic aristocracy. After so many clandestine trysts out here, I knew the ins and outs of the garden labyrinth almost as well as my own château.
She practically growled at me in response, exciting something embarrassingly primal in my blood. I was trying to sort out whether I wanted to feed on her or fuck her. Probably both, provided she doesn’t plunge a stake into my heart.
“Break it, then,” she repeated, steel in her gaze. She struggled, and I tightened my hold on her.
She hissed at me in disgust and tried to pull away again. “If you know that I’m with the Order, monsieur, then you’ll know why they sent me. You may break my arm to escape death at my hands tonight, but I assure you, I have had worse and it will only buy you a few hours reprieve.”
I enjoyed that the spoiled little minx had spirit, but her comment ignited a spark of dread and anger. She’s had worse than a broken arm? She is a beautiful woman—and a duchess, for God’s sake.
Infuriated, she continued. “Allow me to tell you how this will go. You will break my arm, I shall scream, the guards will come running, and even with your monstrous strength and speed, they will catch up to you—probably in the daylight hours when you need your rest. And because you’ll have brutally injured the duchesse de Duras—when you are not, in fact, her husband—our beloved king will have your head cut off, and my task will be accomplished regardless of the function of one arm. So, either let me go or break my arm. It matters little which.”

Excerpt Three:
Agent Down Chapter 1
Bruce

“I want Vee to meet my family, and them meet her, too.”
“What if they don’t like her or something, like in The Monster-In-Law?”
Bruce’s eyelid twitched at the reminder that the agents’ only outside life experience came from damn movies, usually rom-coms.
“They will. One way or another.” Vee wasn’t Jewish—the Company was it’s own fucked-up religion—but his mother hadn’t been either. And Vee handled him and his bluster and ego and attitude. His family wouldn’t deter her, not even with the gauntlet every new addition to his family had to run before being adopted into the Kantor mob. His sister-in-law had survived it. His brother-in-law had survived it.
Josh whistled. “You are definitely one of us—brave and crazy. I’ve got your back.”
Bruce slipped the ring into the bag, then the sketchpad, and tied it all closed. And hell if hearing Josh’s vocal support didn’t ease his anxiety a few degrees.
At least he had one ally.
Now all he needed to tackle was convincing some well-armed lackey of an ultra-secretive agency that a starred chef with a cult social media following belonged on a team of monster-eliminating super-soldiers.
Then convince the woman who held his heart, who’d had instructors and combat classes instead of parents and soccer and a real life, that they belonged together forever.

Chapter 2
Vee

“This crap is getting old.” I patted out the last sparks burning holes through the leg of my cutest cargo pants.
“This is the third time this month.” Liv, my sister, broke the seal on a finger-sized canister, dropped it inside the metal dog crate-meets-zoo-animal cage, slapped the cover to temporarily close the front grate, and jumped back out of range.
The gas-based sedative was designed for cold-blooded reptilian cryptids, not humans. It still caused a hangover-grade headache if we accidentally inhaled it.
“Why the heck is a firebug in the middle of a residential area?” I didn’t get it. The cryptid species in question was way bigger than a bug, about four times the size of a Gila lizard, but looked a heck of a lot like a cartoon one, all cute-chubby and big eyes. Except for also spitting a substance that ignited when it met oxygen.
“It got lost? Some collector or kid brought one in last night while it was dormant, then it warmed up and escaped? There’s no understanding civis.” She tossed me a packet of alcohol wipes.
The little lizards also exuded a mildly sedative and euphoric substance that relaxed prey long enough for the pokey firebug to get close enough to toast its dinner.
We both scrubbed our hands just in case, since we’d wrangled our bug into the cage without aid of most of our Company toys. Leaning to use the truck’s side-mirror, I checked that the ends of my ponytail hadn’t gotten singed in the process, while my sister did the same. She frowned and swiped at a speck of dirt defiling her cheek, same brown as mine, but hers pore-less and perfect thanks to her hydrating mask obsession.

Excerpt Four:
“Have you been in contact with your masters?”
I bristled. “My what?”
“The Order.”
“They are not my masters. I simply work with them to address the more pressing threats to king and country,” I said stiffly.
“Threats like vampires,” he said, putting down the empty bowl. His fangs glinted in the candlelight as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
“Yes. The blood plague is a threat to the country. People are dying, Étienne. Not every vampire leaves their victim alive after feeding.”
“People are also dying of hunger, Duchess. Certainly, the plague adds to the numbers, but I have a hard time agreeing with the Order when their policy is to simply stake all the infected to prevent the plague from spreading. You’re a smart woman. You can’t tell me that you think it makes sense to kill people in order to protect them.” He picked up the wine glass from the tray and sipped at it.
“If the deaths of a few will protect the many, then yes, that makes sense to me.”
“And you think the Order has the right to determine that? What if the plague had only struck the aristocracy? Would you feel the same way? Would you be willing to lay down your life as a possible disease spreader in order to protect the lowly peasants?”
“I—well, yes, I would. If it was for the good for the many,” I argued, folding my arms in front of me.
Étienne tutted. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Trust me when I tell you that this condition—this burden—is not one to be taken lightly. The choice between infection and death is a near-impossible one, even for a disgraced wretch like me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “At least you have an eternity to right your wrongs. To make amends.”
“It’s hard to make amends with the dead,” he said quietly.
For the first time, I saw a flash of regret in his hazel eyes. I wondered who he thought of in that moment, and before I could catch myself, I felt a swell of sympathy for him. I knew what it was like to lose loved ones before you had the chance to tell them everything you wanted to. For a man who was surrounded by death, he must have felt that tenfold.
He cleared his throat and took a swig of wine. “Besides, who told you vampires were the minority?”
I stilled. “But, they are! There cannot be so many. The Order—”
He cut me off with an arched brow. “We are more than you think, Duchess.”
His velvet tone implied he was referring to more than the number of vampires in France. I met his gaze and found myself thinking of his body pressed against mine, his kisses on my neck. I blushed. I shouldn’t have liked it—shouldn’t have wanted it to continue. I didn’t trust him one whit, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to my body.
Étienne stood from the bed, clad only in his loose linen shirt and breeches, and strode over to me. His eyes never left mine. When he was mere inches from me, he stopped.
“As am I,” he murmured. He leaned forward, and I closed my eyes reflexively, fearfully prepared--no, shamefully hoping—for the kiss to come. My breath quickened. My lips parted.
But the kiss never arrived.
Instead, I felt him gently lift my hand to his lips. My eyes flew open. He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of my hand and smiled up at me through his lashes.
“Thank you for keeping me company while I dined this evening. I’m deeply indebted to you for your hospitality. I’ll bid you good night, Duchess.”

Excerpt Five:
Things started to fall into place, then—rumors I’d heard about the brutal, predatory aristocrat. I hadn’t realized the Depraved Duke was Daphne’s husband. Horror filled me in a way I hadn’t experienced in some years. The thought of her suffering the abuse of such a man made me see red. My fangs lengthened impulsively, and my muscles bunched, preparing to attack some unseen threat. Without warning, the cognac glass exploded in my hand.
“Merde,” I swore. Daphne jumped up, grabbing a cloth and a pitcher of water from a nearby table. She reached for my hand—tentatively. “I’m not going to bite,” I chuckled. My fangs retracted. Daphne eyed me cautiously and started wiping the blood from my palm.
An uncomfortable silence settled between us.
“I heard from the Order,” she blurted.
I arched a brow. “Good news or bad?”
“Both—or neither, depending on your perspective,” she said. “They seem open to considering your innocence in Jeanne’s murder, but they require proof. They’ve allowed me some time—but no resources—to settle the matter.”
“How magnanimous of them,” I drawled. She’d finished cleaning my hand and was using a clean scrap of cloth to bind it. Her movements were firm but tender.
“There’s more,” she said, gingerly picking up shards of glass from the floor. “I had a letter from Charlotte. It sounds like many of the nobles are relocating to the palace. I fear things are escalating. The aristocrats are worried.”
This wasn’t exactly surprising but certainly more concerning.
“What will the Order do?” I wondered.
Daphne went to her desk to throw the broken glass and bloody rags away.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know about all of their plans, and I’m afraid if I don’t find Jeanne’s killer and bring them proof soon, they’ll kick me out and I’ll know even less.”
I agreed. “We must hurry. I’m well enough to carry on. I’ll send a message to some of my contacts in Paris and let them know we’ll be in the city tomorrow night. We’ll start with the ring.”
Some relief shone in Daphne’s face.
“That would be best,” she said. “I’m eager to see this through and move on with my life.”
“As am I,” I said. I stood to leave, and she followed me to the door. “Tomorrow night, we’ll need to play the parts of intimidating aristocrats. Prepare accordingly.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “I think I can manage that.”
“I’ll do what I can to keep you safe, but you should remain on your guard.”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe, Étienne,” she snapped.
“Perhaps not,” I conceded. “But I will try all the same. Should things go awry, I mean.”
We were standing at the threshold of the library, the dark hallway yawning behind me. Daphne appeared at a loss for words and stood at the door, hesitating. The tightness around her mouth relaxed and she mumbled a soft “thank you.”
“I’ll say good night, then,” I said.
“Good night, Étienne.”
I didn’t go. I waited a beat—taking in the flickering candlelight on her golden hair; the worn linen of her nightdress; the perfume of cognac, blood, and orange blossoms. Here, in this quiet moment past midnight, I felt an alien sense of comfort. It was unlike the plush rooms at Versailles, unlike my own château, even—with its haunting memories and ghosts of failure. It filled me with a painful longing—a hollow ache in my chest that I knew would linger long after Daphne’s orange-blossom scent had faded.
Her eyes dropped to my lips, then, and her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. My restraint evaporated in an instant. Unable to stop myself, I pulled her to me and covered her lips with mine. Slanting my mouth over hers, I slid my tongue along the seam of her lips—a silent plea for her to open up to me. Almost straightaway, she melted into the kiss. When she opened her mouth and sighed, the sweetness of it overtook me, and I knew I was lost.
God help me—what have I done?

Excerpt Six:
Nearly jogging, Daphne and I made a sharp right down a narrow street. Only one window at the end of the street flickered with candlelight, casting a dim pool of dingy amber on a stone wall. A dead end. Merde.
I pushed Daphne behind me and faced the men. Two would be no problem. Three would be troublesome. I could smell their newly turned blood, which meant I had the advantage of increased speed and strength. They would probably fight recklessly, as most new vampires did, which made them dangerously unpredictable. I leaned casually on my walking stick, affecting an air of nonchalance.
“Mes amis,” I began, silk in my tone. “Surely you don’t want to fight me for this old slip of a thing? She’s an aging widow, too wizened to survive more than one bite in an evening. Come, take my advice—there are far better meals wandering around tonight.”
“But she’s already right here,” one of them said. “That’s dead convenient.”
The three guffawed uproariously at the wordplay.
I sighed. “So, you aim to take her from me?”
“If you’re too selfish to share, then we’ll have to teach you some manners,” the drunkest said. “Some brotherly love, if you will.”
One of them lunged at me. I sidestepped his charge and tripped him with my walking stick. Before I could turn to him, the other two were upon me. One punched my stomach, and the air left me. I doubled over with a wheeze. The other grabbed my hair and hauled me up, landing a punch on my jaw. I whirled around and grabbed one man’s arm, breaking it easily. He screamed and fell to the ground. The second aimed another blow at my face, but I saw it coming and ducked. His fist smashed into the stone wall behind me and he shrieked. He got back up but froze, stunned by something behind us.
I turned to see Daphne pirouetting gracefully away from the first vampire, then bringing her fist up to smash him squarely in the nose. He grunted with the impact but reached out again, trying to grab the blonde curls that had come undone from beneath her hood. She leaned back, using his momentum against him, and dodged out of the way while he fell forward. Then, with a speed that rivaled any vampire I’d encountered, she jumped onto his back, yanked one arm behind him and bent it upward in an immobilizing hold. She flicked her empty wrist, and a thin wooden stake slid from her sleeve into her palm. She held it threateningly above the prone vampire’s back—exactly above his heart. The whole fight was over in a matter of seconds.
“Enough!” she yelled. “Étienne, are you all right?”
“Mais oui.”
Fierce energy rolled off her crouched form. I’d never desired another woman more.
“You!” She jutted her chin at the man standing next to me. He cradled his broken hand and looked at her fearfully.
“Pick up your friend with the broken arm over there and go now, or this one is dust.”
She started to slowly sink the wooden stiletto into the vampire’s flesh, and he yelled a stream of profanities that shocked even me.
They scrambled down the street at a dead run, not daring to look back.
“Now,” she said to the man. “My friend and I have some questions, and I think you’re in an excellent position to answer.”
“Get drained,” he growled.
Daphne tsked and twisted the stake in farther. The man howled in pain.
“First question: What do you know of Madame de Pompadour?”
“Who?”
“The king’s mistress. The rumors say that she was killed by your kind.”
“I don’t know anything about that!” The man screamed again. Tendrils of smoke began to curl from his wound.
“No? Because we followed the trail of a bleeder to an address around here. Rue des Oubliés. What do you know of it?” Daphne leaned on the man’s arm.
“It’s nearby, but no one goes there!” he shouted. “Please, release me. It burns--putain de merde--it burns!”
“Why does no one go there?” she demanded.
“Ease up, and I’ll tell you. I swear, I’ll tell you,” he gritted out. By the look on his face, he seemed close to passing out.
She lessened the pressure on his arm and slid the stake partway out. The man panted.
“No one goes there because it’s haunted,” he gasped.
Daphne leaned forward again and hissed at him. “Do you think I’m stupid? Haunted? There’s no such thing.”
“Just like there’s no such things as vampires?” he wheezed with a laugh. “Look, lady, I don’t know if it’s real ghosts or not. People don’t go there because they say it’s haunted. Strange noises. Awful smells. Unnatural darkness. It’s a bad place.”
“How do we get there?”
“Three blocks down, then turn right. You’ll know it when you come to it.”
Daphne released the man’s arm and pulled the stake from his back. Brandishing it in front of her, she stood and took her pistol out and held it aloft for good measure. The man got to his feet slowly, threw a curse at the both of us and hobbled away. As he turned the corner to the street, I heard him mutter.
“May the ghosts take you.”

Excerpt Seven:
Just a little farther…almost there…got it! I seized the book from the top shelf in triumph, then promptly stumbled off the library ladder when a shrill voice startled me.
“Mon dieu, Daphne, what the hell are you doing?” Charlotte yelled from the doorway.
I righted myself and dropped the book to the floor, then stepped down from my perch.
“Nothing! Well, reading,” I replied, feeling like a child caught misbehaving.
Charlotte strode into the library in a gown of vibrant chartreuse that glowed in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the pile of books I’d collected.
“Daphne, none of these appear to be salacious novels. In fact, these are all religious texts and— What’s this? Malleus Maleficarum! Have you taken up an interest in the occult?” she said with a raised brow.
“No! Of course not.” I rubbed at my temples, trying to ward off the ache building in my head. Charlotte folded her arms in front of her and waited expectantly.
“Well, perhaps a bit,” I hedged.
She gasped, her eyes sparking with excitement, and clapped her hands together. “Fantastic! I’ve always wanted to learn how to cast a spell. What have you learned so far?”
I sighed as she fluffed her skirts out around her and sat upon the floor. She picked up one of the books and flipped through it. I collapsed to the floor beside her and closed my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a decent night’s sleep, and I felt stretched and threadbare.
“Can we find a spell that will help my husband become a better lover? You know, help him keep it up longer.” She tossed the first book aside and picked up the second one. “Or perhaps there’s a spell that will help him be able to find my—”
“Charlotte, please,” I begged. “I am not in the mood to hear of Philippe’s failings in bed.”
She set the book aside and studied me. “Darling, what’s wrong? You look positively dreadful. Shall I call for some tea?”
I sat up on my elbows and grinned at her. “Fancy a proper fucking drink?”
She leaned over, her expression grave, and felt my forehead. “Well, you don’t feel feverish. I can only deduce that you’ve well and truly cracked, and to that I say, it’s about fucking time. What shall we drink, ma chère amie? Brandy? Cognac? Whisky?”
“Oh, hell. Let’s go drink some of my bastard husband’s good wine.” I grabbed the stack of books, and we made our way downstairs through the kitchens to the wine cellar. I hadn’t had the bed removed yet, and Charlotte’s eyes grew wide at the sight.
“Daphne, you know I’m one for a fair tipple most of the time, but if you’re sleeping in your wine cellar, it occurs to me that you may have a drinking problem.” She sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows. “Although this is damned comfortable.”

Excerpt Eight:
I turned and bowed to the comtesse de Brionne and her petulant husband. He looked an impressive mix of haughty and irritated as his wife tugged him forward in my direction. She, however, seemed beyond delighted to see me, given my disheveled appearance. Her eyes flashed with humor and feminine conspiracies.
“Charlotte, it seems Monsieur de Noailles is having himself an unsavory evening. I suggest we continue on our way home and leave him to his debauchery.”
“Nonsense, Philippe! One must always say hello to one’s friends when out and about. Is that not so, Monsieur de Noailles?” She extended her hand to me to bow over, but her husband yanked her arm out of my grasp.
“Do not touch her,” he hissed at me. “Carry on your way, monsieur. Come along, Charlotte--now.”
The threat in his tone would have stayed many a woman, but Charlotte just whacked his shoulder with her folded fan. “Philippe, please. I apologize for my husband’s rudeness, monsieur. He has just lost a tidy sum at the card game following the duke’s dinner party and will be in an unbearable temper for the rest of the night.” Philippe glowered murderously, and I smothered my laugh.
“From whence do you come, Monsieur l’Émissaire? Working late in the evening? Maybe leaving a new paramour? Or perhaps, as my husband says—a night of well-earned debauchery?” Charlotte’s tone was light, but the scrutiny in her gaze sent a fresh wave of hot shame through me.
“The latter, I’m afraid, though it was hardly well earned. How fare you on this fine October evening?” I tried for the smooth coolness of my courtly tone, but it came out gritty and flat.
“Oh, fine, fine! You seem somewhat out of sorts, monsieur. Are you certain nothing is the matter? You look a little sick--or is it lovesick?” Her piercing eyes took in my rumpled appearance with a hint of sympathy.
I bristled. “No, madame. I assure you that is not the case.”
She eyed me for a moment, unmoved by my protest. I hid a grimace when her lips split into a wide, self-satisfied grin.
“Well, I wish you the best with your mystery lover. As I said, we’ve just come from the duke’s little get-together. It was lovely, of course, but they served stewed fruit for dessert—can you believe that? Really, what are we, English? I felt it was incredibly unpatriotic, don’t you? I’m sure the other guests were scandalized as well, don’t you think, Philippe?” She laid a soothing hand on her husband’s arm, but his icy glare did not stray from me. He gripped her arm tightly.
“Well, we’ve paid an acceptable call upon Monsieur de Noailles, darling, and it’s time we let him return to his evening. Come along, Charlotte,” he growled between gritted teeth.
“Philippe, mon cher, not so tight, please. You shall wrinkle my gown. Alors, Monsieur de Noailles, my husband is right! We must away, but do tell me, are you planning on attending the All Hallows Eve masquerade next week? I understand it’s meant to be a rather spirited evening,” she said, giggling at her own joke. “I will be glad to have Philippe by my side, in case I become frightened. It is good, I think, to have one you love close by on such a night, don’t you agree?” Her intense expression hinted at some secret meaning that the alcohol prevented me from understanding just then.
“I hadn’t thought to,” I answered. “I’m really quite busy at the moment. I don’t know if I have time for—”
“Well, that’s very nice, monsieur. Thank you for your time. Bonsoir,” Philippe muttered. Charlotte glared daggers at him and yanked her arm from his grip.
“Philippe. Arrêtez!”
“Damn it, Charlotte, go get in the carriage! We will discuss your behavior when we get home. Let’s go!” Without a glance at his wife, he whipped around and stomped over to their waiting carriage.
Charlotte turned wide eyes on me and flicked open her fan. Her hands trembled—no doubt at her husband’s outburst—and she dropped the ivory accessory on the ground. Reflexively, I bent to pick it up and nearly fell backward when she bent down to meet me.
“Gather up your courage, monsieur,” she whispered. “If you do not attend the masquerade, I daresay you will disappoint some very important people.”
“Mon dieu, Charlotte! Get in here, now!” Philippe yelled from the darkness of the carriage.
“Oh, la! Monsieur l’Émissaire was just retrieving my fan for me, darling!” Charlotte called back to him. “You know how clumsy I can be after champagne and sherry at dinner,” she laughed. She gave me a dazzling smile and a saucy wink, then plucked her fan from my fingers and bustled away.
“Bonsoir, monsieur, et bonne chance!”

Excerpt Nine:
“Might the humble Poseidon fill a slot on Aphrodite’s dance card?” A courtier in sea-green silk bowed before me. He stroked his trident pruriently and winked behind his mask. I looked around for Charlotte, but she had wandered off.
“Oh, well, I—” Panic had me stuttering and backing away from the unpleasant overture, until I came up against a solid wall of man. I shut my eyes. My body knew him immediately.
“I’m afraid the lady Artemis has a full dance card tonight, Your Grace.”
That voice—velvet across my skin. The smell of soap, cedar, and peppermint. Snow-covered pine trees. Cool, smooth skin and lean, hard muscle making me burn with desire.
Putain.
Poseidon prowled away, grumbling. I opened my eyes and spun around. For all the angry words I wished to lash against him, I was ill-prepared for the impact seeing him would have upon me. He was clad in a suit of deep-burgundy velvet and wore a leather mask topped with a small pair of black antlers. His sensuous lips curved up in the hint of a smile, and his warm hazel gaze scorched me in its intensity.
“Étienne.” His name came out more breath than sound. Of its own volition, my body arched toward him, magnetically drawn to what it wanted most.
“Duchess.” He took my hand and bowed over it, then turned it over and pressed a lingering kiss to my wrist. Lust blazed through me, wild and urgent. I stared—gaping like a ninny at his seductive beauty. Try as I might, I could not form the sharp retorts I’d been clinging to for the past days.
Étienne smirked. “Perhaps we should make our way to the dance floor? I’d hate to have Poseidon accuse me of lying. I believe that’s actually the marquis de Balay beneath that hideous mask. I can’t believe he adorned his wig with real seaweed. In an hour, this room is going to reek of low tide.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. Étienne’s hand found the small of my back, gently guiding me to the other dancing couples. I drew in a breath, fighting for calm—fighting to remember my anger and disappointment.
“I’m surprised you bothered,” I managed.
“Pardon?”
“What do you care if the marquis de Balay asks me to dance? You made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with me—after everything,” I sneered, hating the petulant tone of my voice and the undisguised hurt that bled through.
A look of pain flitted through his eyes but was gone quickly. He opened his mouth to reply, but the strains of an allemande began, and he grasped my hand to start the dance.
“Though I suppose you’re not here for me,” I goaded. “Probably just back to your regular hunting grounds now, eh? Isn’t that how it is for you, Étienne? Use one up, then move onto the next—a little sex, a little blood, a little influence. The Order isn’t sending another agent after you because of my interference, so I suppose that’s all you needed from me, then.”
The dance swirled us away from each other for a moment, and when we came together, he was white lipped with anger. When we clasped hands again for a turn, his grip was rough.
“What do you want from me?” he hissed. “By your own admission, our alliance was only ever meant to be temporary.”
“That doesn’t mean I appreciate being cast aside like another one of your conquests! For a moment, I thought you were…I thought I was…I thought we were—” I cut myself off, too afraid to say the words out loud. I thought you were different. I thought I was special. I thought we were…something.
Étienne paused, missing a step in the dance. He stared at me, his eyes unfathomable behind his demonic stag mask. Couples spun around us, and I started to suffocate in the stifling room. I needed to get out and get some air. Breathe, Daphne.
Without another word to Étienne, I fled the room before the dance ended. I barreled through the other revelers, fighting my way to the doors that led out to the gardens. I was grateful for the sharp bite of late October chill. The bracing cold allowed me to regain the composure I seemed to misplace whenever Étienne was around. I stared out at the dark garden beyond, dotted with guttering torches. Had it only been five weeks since my encounter with him in the hedge maze? It felt like a lifetime ago.
“You never answered my question.”
The words at my ear made me jump. Once again, I marveled at his stealth. He came up to stand next to me, looking out into the inky blackness.
I blew out a breath and watched it condense in a cloud of frost before me.
“I want what I’ve always wanted,” I answered. “The truth.”
He turned to face me, raising his fingertips to my cheek.
“Is that all?” he murmured.

Excerpt Ten:
She turned her back to me, and her shoulders slumped in fatigue.
“I don’t know why you came tonight, Étienne. After everything I gave you, I left you to your solitude. I came here to finish things on my own. But you are back, wanting me to let you in again and to just pick up where we left off. I don’t know if it’s out of guilt or self-preservation or morbid curiosity or perhaps so you can feel like you have some kind of strange sexual power over me. Whatever it is, I do not know,” she stressed. “But…”
She faced me, tears gone, her face a study in fierce determination and exquisite beauty. Whether it was her pearlescent gown or the force of her will alone, she seemed to glow with an unnatural light. She is magnificent.
“What I do know, Étienne, is that I do not need your blessing or your approval to finish what we started. I will do it on my own—for Jeanne; for Michel; for the people of Paris; and, most importantly, for me. Your involvement, or the lack of it, will not stand in my way. And if it becomes necessary, I will go through you.”
She stepped toward me, eyes narrowed and chin raised in defiance. She squared her shoulders and crowded me back against the desk. “Now, tell me, Étienne. Why are you here? Why did you come tonight? What do you want from me?”
Everything, Daphne. I want everything. I want your body, your mind, your heart. I want to make love to you every dawn before I sleep so that I will dream of you every day. I want to spend my nights finding ways to challenge your incomparable wit and trying to draw forth that small smile that makes my icy heart melt. I want to give you pleasure and happiness and all that my wretched body and damned soul has to offer. I came here tonight for you—to see you safe and to protect you so that I can let you go, but God help me, I don’t think I’m strong enough.
I briefly considered prevaricating, but the bold frankness on her face prevented me from lying to her outright. I met her gaze unflinchingly, a cool smile on my lips. It was becoming harder for me to affect an air of detachment when every part of me felt like it was reaching for her. She waited for my answer, but because I couldn’t lie and I wouldn’t tell her the truth, I had no other alternative.
I pulled her to me and kissed her.
I could taste her conflict—torn between her body’s desire for me and her mind’s recoil at that need. I didn’t give her time to think—to object. I licked her lips, and she opened to me on a resigned sigh, meeting my tongue stroke for stroke. She tasted like brandy and fire, igniting every nerve in my body. I tugged at the neckline of her bodice, gently lifting her breast from the satin. I lightly caressed her pretty, pink nipple until it hardened beneath my touch. Breaking from the kiss, I bent and put my lips to it, sucking at it delicately until Daphne threw her head back and moaned in a rough tremor. I scraped my teeth across it and lifted her other breast from her gown, kneading it softly in my hand. She gasped, and the sound went straight to my cock, already stiff and straining in my breeches. Mindless with want, I almost didn’t hear her tortured, soft-spoken words.
“So, this is what you want from me. I hate you for it, Étienne, because--damn us both—I want it too.”

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