Page 3 of The Agent and the Outlaw
The guards tried to restrain me, but I fought them both off, taking one down with a fist to the gut and knocking the other one out with a punch to the temple. I kicked the door open and faced the outragedgénéralat his desk.
“We need to talk.”
1
CHARLOTTE
November 1, 1767
Somewhere outside Versailles
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 ahe, and a rather splendid specimen ofhe, 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 forles 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.Someonehad 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 theMarquis 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!
Sade’s death wouldn’t look like an accident now. It would look like murder. Perhaps it would look like a political statement—a thought that truly worried me given the escalating tensions between the vampires and the aristocracy.Merde.Were Daphne and Étienne still back at Versailles? Had they tried to follow? They must be worried to death!
Despite myself, I chuckled.Can the undead be worried to death?
An owl hooted in the distance and the man shifted toward the sound. It was still dark out, but I could tell that night was waning. How much time had passed?
“How long was I out?” I rasped. The ache at the back of my head throbbed insistently, and I remembered a more pressing indignity. “You knocked me out! How dare you! What a horrible thing to do to someone you just met. I mean, we haven’t even been introduced!” I tried to turn and face my captor with righteous pique, but I lost my balance and nearly toppled over. Again, he grabbed my bound wrists to steady me. “Oh, for the love of—could you at least spare me some humiliation and untie my ankles? I’m hardly in a position to run for it,” I grumbled. “Being this unsteady on my feet is only adding to my nausea and increasing the likelihood that I will purge myself again.”
The lines around his mouth tightened, but he kept silent. His bulky shoulders tensed beneath the cloak, and I fought to keep my lustful interest at bay.Have I ever seen a man with such a build before?I didn’t think so.He’s kidnapped you, Charlotte, and likely not for some bedsport.
I frowned. I did not enjoy being ignored, so I added, “You see, Monsieur, I’m afraid you’re close enough to bespatter.”
The threat seemed to have an effect on him. Carefully, he bent to untie the rope at my feet. Thighs like tree trunks tested the seam limits on his breeches as he loosened the knot. I gritted my teeth. He stood slowly but made no move to untie my hands. Of course, I considered running, but after taking measure of the man before me, the sorry state of my footwear, and the remaining oysters, I thought better of that notion.Heobviously reached the same conclusion. I seethed and scowled up into his obscured face.
