Page 7 of The Agent and the Outlaw
The innkeeper grunted and shrugged. “The horse or the boy?”
I did not answer.
“Haven’t seen him.”
I narrowed my eyes. I knew he was lying, but I didn’t want to cause more trouble than was necessary. Glaring, I tossed a handful of coins onto the table. The innkeeper’s eyes widened greedily.
“The horse is in the stables,” he said.
“And the lad?”
The innkeeper chewed on his lip, apparently waiting for something. My fingers itched to throttle him, but I reached for more coin.You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar,Marie had always said.Well, who wants to catch flies, ma sœur?I’d always replied. The memory brought on a throb of heartache, but I set it aside.
The innkeeper jutted his chin toward a staircase behind the bar, leading up to the rooms.
“First door on the right.”
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,hewasn’t ayoung 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 unmistakableclickof 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.
Hewas ashe.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.
Shehad been in disguise—why? Why had she been with theMarquis 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!Whowasshe? 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.
