Page 29 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“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.
“Itdoesmatter.”
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 thebêteswill 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.
9
CHARLOTTE
November 2, 1767
The road to Gévaudan
I’d never particularly enjoyed being manhandledin 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.
