Page 22 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“Antoine, will you stay with me?” she asked.
The uncertainty in her voice elicited some primal, instinctive response in me. I knew she was dangerous, but here—now—in this dark room, she seemed so…vulnerable. It didn’t sit well with my image of her as a devious hellcat.
“If you wish,” I replied, knowing on every level that this was a horrible idea. She scooted over in the bed, and I grabbed the coverlet from the armchair. For the preservation of my own sanity, I didnotget under the sheets with her. We lay down together, separated by a few worn layers of fabric and all the chivalrous strength I could muster, though it was beginning to fail.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I apologize if it’s silly.”
“I find that nightmares visit those who have known more than their share of earthly horrors, not those who have some weakness of character. You needn’t apologize for it.”
“You have them, too,” she observed.
“Mmm.” Too often I saw the faces of men I’d killed, friends I’d lost in battle, and always the faces of Marie and little Louis. If I had mountains of soap and oceans of water, I’d never be able to wash all the blood from my hands.
“One day, I’ll find a way to banish them,” she said with a yawn. “Perhaps with a magic spell of some kind. God knows wine and prayers haven’t helped.”
The warmth of her curves next to my wretched body and the sound of her sleepy murmurings squeezed my heart. In the darkness, I could just make out the outline of her face. In another time, in another place, I could have imagined myself pressing kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. Tangling my fingers in her glossy chestnut waves, running my hands all over her velvety skin, reaching between her thighs to explore her intimate secrets…Merde.I was hard as a rock again. I hadn’t been this overruled by lust since I’d been a lad. I turned on my side, hoping Charlotte wouldn’t notice my uncomfortable condition.
Her slow, steady breathing gave me some comfort—she’d obviously fallen back asleep. My relief was short-lived, however. Blissfully unaware, she rolled onto her side and snuggled back against my warmth. Despite the blankets between us, I felt the firm press of her lush ass cradling my insistent erection. I bit my lip to keep from groaning. Surely, this was what awaited me in Hell.
I gritted my teeth and tried to count backwards from one thousand, hoping for sleep. Given the softening of my feelings tonight, I could only pray that by light of day, my desire for the troublesome woman would wane.
One thousand. Nine hundred ninety-nine. Nine hundred ninety-eight.
7
CHARLOTTE
November 2, 1767
The road to Gévaudan
I woke slowly,blissfully warm beneath the comforting weight of a man’s muscular arm. It was tossed over my ribs, gently cradled between my breasts. I smiled and reached behind me, snaking a hand down to playfully stroke my bedmate’s morning erection. I couldn’t remember the drunken dinner party that had brought this young stud from the halls of court to my bedchamber, but that wasn’t going to stop me from getting one more good romp out of him before I sent him packing.
A low moan exhaled against my neck, and I felt soft lips kissing against my nape. I stroked him with more firmness, dimly trying to remember a name, a face, anything. I cracked my eyes open, taking in one of the shabbiest rooms I’d ever been in.
Horror gripped me as the realization dawned. I flung myself forward, falling to the floor as my feet tangled in the blankets. I followed the sound of my crash with a pained—and furiously humiliated—groan.
Antoine cried out and dove out of bed, reaching for his sword on the floor. He fumbled around wildly until, presumably, he also became aware of his surroundings. I heard him swear roughly and he leaned over the bed, taking in my indecorous state upon the floor. I disentangled my legs from the blankets and stood, shooting him an icy glare.
“Don’t. Say. A. Word,” I gritted out. “Nothing happened, but if anythinghadhappened, it would have been a case of sleepy delirium and mistaken identity and nothing more. Understand?”
The expression on his face was stony, but I could have sworn a glint of laughter glittered in his eyes.
“I’m serious. If you bring it up, I’ll kill you,” I threatened.
He nodded. Then, from under his breath, I heard him mutter, “All due respect, Comtesse, butyou’rethe one who brought it up.”
My cheeks reddened at the innuendo, and I grimaced.
“Oh!” I shouted. “Well, I certainly wasn’t theonlyone! You…you…participated.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through his loose brown locks. I was momentarily distracted by the flex of a bicep beneath the soft nightshirt.
“You said it yourself. It was a mistake. I was asleep and was merely reacting instinctively to a beautiful woman throwing herself at me.” His face was set in its usual grave lines, but the humor hiding in his tone told me he found this whole thingveryamusing.
“I didn’t throw myself at you!” I stammered. I mustered as much indignation as I could, but it was difficult when my traitorous heart caught at the wordbeautiful.Antoine thought I was beautiful.
Oh, stop it, Charlotte! Don’t be ridiculous.
