by Lisa Kessler
His shoulders tensed at the thought of an officer touching her.
She cleared her throat. “What do you know of Le Voleur D’or?”
He stepped in closer to her and kept his voice low. “I have been told she has golden hair and her beauty is so blinding that no one notices her pluck their wallets from their pockets. I also understand that she charms her victims until they no longer care that she has lightened their coin purses.”
He tipped his head down. The scent of her hair and the sound of her heartbeat enticed him. Kane ached to taste her. Such an unusual woman. He bit back his desire and whispered near her ear. “Is my description far from the truth?”
She met his gaze. The candlelight flickered in the clear sea-blue of her eyes. “Perhaps you were not charmed enough, Monsieur Bordeaux.”
“In my rush to find you, I was nearly run down by a coach.”
She glanced down at the watch in his hand, then met his gaze again. “You do cherish that watch.”
He bent closer to her, until his lips nearly brushed hers.
“It was not the watch that I was after.”
Her eyes drifted closed and she whispered, “Was it for the honor of capturing Le Voleur D’or and having her arrested?”
“No.” His voice sounded husky, his throat tightening as her warm breath caressed his cool lips. “I have no desire to capture such a glorious thief.”
He kissed her before she could protest being called a thief. He half expected a slap, but instead, she hummed against his lips, matching his hunger with her own. Kane slid his hand up her back, crushing her against his chest. Every curve of her body set him on fire. No mortal had ever made him yearn for her touch.
Her hands explored his chest and moved along his shoulders. Before he realized what she was doing, the leather tie that bound his mane of blond hair fell to the floor. He groaned when her soft fingers slid through his hair. Every touch made him hunger for more.
As a god, he had always remained separated from the world around him, but with this woman in his arms, he felt like a man. No longer a shepherd lording over nameless sheep. She lured him into her mortal world, tempting him to be a part of it.
He should stop. This path would lead him to madness.
Distance from mortals kept him safe from the pain of their loss. What was it about her that made him weak?
She stepped back before he was ready to let her go, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. Instantly, his senses came alive. She’d cut her tongue on his fang. Bloodlust coursed through him, stirring a need to shift, to be free, to drink, and he stepped back to maintain his control. “Forgive me. I was too rough with you.”
She shook her head, slowly lowering her hand. “You did not hurt me, Monsieur.”
“Please, call me Kane.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I am not hurt, Kane.” She hesitated a moment, pressing her fingers to her lips. “Only surprised. I think you must have a chipped tooth.”
It never ceased to amaze him how quickly mortal minds explained away their differences. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. “Please allow me to escort you home.”
A cunning, crooked smile warmed her soft lips. “If I were Le Voleur D’or, I would never bring a man home. Especially not at night.”
He placed her hand at the crook of his arm. “Then I would offer to bring her to my home.”
She raised a brow. “You no longer consider me a thief?”
“Perhaps you have stolen my good senses.”
She clucked her tongue. “You are very lucky that I am no thief.”
“Lucky indeed.” He laughed, surprised by how foreign the sound was to his own ears.
Chapter Two
Marguerite’s eyes widened when they rounded the corner to his maison. In the moonlight, hundreds of rose blossoms surrounded her. She released Kane’s arm and reached for a large flower, bending to take in the sweet scent.
“I love roses.” She straightened again and met his gaze.
“They suit you.”
The way he looked at her when he spoke made her heart skip. She’d met many rich and powerful men over the years, but Kane Bordeaux seemed different. He didn’t look at her like a possession or a lesser person.
In spite of their kiss, he treated her as an equal, maintaining a respectful demeanor toward her. But underneath the facade, deep in his eyes, something untamed and wild, something primal, lurked close to the surface. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet, but she would. Men were mysteries that Marguerite prided herself on solving.
Seduction often aided her in her endeavors to relieve wealthy men of their trinkets, but rarely did a man remain a gentleman after her bold flirtations. They were quick to treat her like a cheap courtesan, which lightened any guilt from her shoulders when she counted their coins later. Part of her no longer wanted Monsieur Bordeaux’s watch.
But necessity outweighed her conscious. She would go home with what she came for.
“Is this the Maison de Bordeaux?”
“This is my home.” Kane looked up when a white-haired servant opened the front door. “And this is Gerard. He manages my household for me during the day.”
Her stomach knotted. Why would he only need his staff during the day? But before she could inquire about his odd comment, Gerard bowed and lit the lantern outside the front door, illuminating the path.
“Can I be of service, Monsieur Bordeaux?”
“The light is helpful, thank you Gerard.”
The butler nodded and went back inside, pulling the front door closed behind him. Kane took her hand. “Would you like to go inside for something to drink?”
Her heart missed a beat. It was much too risky to accompany him here. What was she thinking? Perhaps his kiss still had her off-balance, making her forget her mission was to rob him, not enjoy his company.
Kane Bordeaux proved more intoxicating than French wine.
She shook her head and took a deep breath, closing her eyes and filling her nose with the scent of the roses. Opening her eyes slowly, she smiled at him. “This garden is all I need right now.”
She walked farther into his rose garden, taking in the beauty of the colors in the soft gaslight.
He followed. “Why did your Master send such a beautiful lady to the Marquis’ ball unattended?”
She looked at him over her shoulder and noticed his watch sat snug in his vest pocket. “You are a very forward man.”
“Am I?” He clicked his fingers along the top of his gold cane. “I prefer to think of myself as curious.”
“My benefactor is Antoine Berjon.”
“The artist?”
“Oui.” Among other things. “He has been in poor health for years, so I attend functions for him.”
“Does he still paint?”
She nodded. The less said the better. In fact, she had probably already told Kane too much. She straightened.
“I should get back.” She passed by, careful not to touch him. There would be other gold watches. “He will be worried that I have not returned yet.”
“Let me walk you, then. It is far too dark an evening for a woman to travel alone.”
Her pulse jumped at the suggestion. “No!” Marguerite shook her head and forced a serene smile. “I am not afraid of the dark, Monsieur. I do not need an escort.”
“I did not imply that you were not capable of avoiding danger.”
She laughed. “You most certainly did.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I would feel terrible if you were mauled in any way.”
“As would I, so I have every intention of getting home unscathed.”
He smiled at her, and his blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. For a moment, something primal surfaced in his gaze, but he quickly buried it and lifted her hand to his lips. The feel of his mouth against her skin flooded her mind with the memory of their kiss and the strength of his arms clutching her tight to his chest.
When he straightened, he didn’t release her hand.
“I would kill any man who seeks to harm you.”
Marguerite licked her suddenly dry lips. “Then the men of Paris are lucky that thieves are swift, cunning, and good at avoiding them.”
He stepped in closer and whispered, “You told me you were no thief.”
Looking at him, her heart raced and her skin heated. “I am many things.”
“Yes, you are.”
The moment his lips caressed hers, her stomach tightened and her body ached for his touch. His mouth tasted clean and earthy, not tainted by the dry sting of wine.
Each kiss lingered, and she savored the delicious passion that simmered through her body, warming her skin and stoking her desire.
Breathless, she broke the kiss and took a step back.
Her voice felt thick and throaty as she whispered, “We should not kiss in the garden like this. People will talk.”
If the talk reached her master, it would cost Kane more than he could possibly afford.
“Then come inside with me.”
Her toes curled inside her boots. She bit her lip and forced herself to take another step back. She might risk accompanying him inside his house if she thought she might leave with a valuable prize. She would still be in command of the evening, but the more they touched, the easier it became to forget her mission and surrender to the desire.
She couldn’t allow him that power over her. “If I went inside, we might do more than kiss.”
He raised a brow, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked grin that flushed her body with heat. Mischief twinkled in his gaze. “So why are we still outside?”
She lifted her chin and fought the urge to encourage him. Feigning a haughty demeanor, she replied, “I must tend to Monsieur Berjon.” She offered a small curtsey. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Bordeaux.”
“Kane.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. His gaze was intense and the passion in his eyes made her body yearn for his attention, his touch. Dangerous. “I look forward to seeing you again, Rita.”
Hearing him refer to her as Rita felt intimate, and instead of being offended, her heart flipped. “Perhaps our paths will cross soon.” She turned, lifting her skirt to navigate the path to the street. “Bonsoir.”
Before he could answer, she rushed into the darkness.
Marguerite closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forcing her pulse to slow. When she opened her eyes again she felt focused, back in control. Ready.
With practiced skill, she quietly lifted the worn latch on the gate and slipped inside the courtyard. Instead of approaching the well-lit main house, she hurried into the shadows along the high stone wall surrounding her master’s estate.
Her large skirts rustled if she moved too quickly, so she kept a steady pace without rushing. When she reached the stables, she slipped inside and checked each stall and tack room to be sure she was alone.
Hidden in the room with the saddles and bridles, she made quick work of her corset. She sighed with relief when the bindings loosened and she pulled in her first deep breath of the night. If her cousin Callia got any better at tightly lacing her corset, she would be lucky to remain conscious.
Slipping her gown down her body, she stepped free of the garment and bundled the dress into an empty Hessian cloth bag.
Moonlight filtered through a tiny window, bathing her in eerie blue light. Her hands rubbed at her tender ribs as Kane’s touch filled her mind. In all the time she’d watched him, nothing prepared her for the desire he inspired with a simple touch.
He was nothing like the French nobles she encountered.
Instead of the usual dismissal and judgment, Kane’s gaze made her feel alive and empowered.
She also noticed he didn’t wear a tie at his collar. His rebellion against the French nobility caught her attention even before the gold of his watch. Although his hair was blond and his eyes were blue, his skin was not the powdered pale of wealthy French men. His bronzed flesh resembled the tone of the laborers and farmers, as if he welcomed the summer sun to kiss his body without the barrier of a shirt and coat.
Enough. She would never see him again anyway.
Once she’d stripped down to her sheath and bloomers, Marguerite opened her satchel and poured her treasures across the top of the large trunk. Tomorrow, she could sell two pieces at the marketplace. Any more than that would draw too many questions.
She selected the silver tongs and a ruby broach, then tucked her satchel into the bag with her gown and shoved it behind the barrel of grain.
I hunger.
The whisper startled her and she dropped the broach.
He was calling. She had to hurry.
She snatched the treasure from the stable floor and tucked it into her bosom before shimmying into her gown.
Although the dress was painfully out of fashion, her Master detested corseted gowns with large skirts. He preferred the empire-waist dresses he knew in life.
The bay stallion beside her pawed at the door to his stall.
“Napoleon, hush.” The horse flipped his head, but stepped back from the door.
Marguerite checked herself in the mirror and unknotted her hair. Combing it through with her fingers, she pressed her lips together, her gaze locked on the velvet choker circling her neck.
She wouldn’t have to do this much longer. There was almost enough money for her to escape with Callia. Very soon.
Checking the tie at the back of her dress, she fiddled with the bow before reaching up to reassure herself that her trinkets were hidden and safe inside the bodice.
Now she was ready. Marguerite left the stable and walked to the main house with her head held high.
She opened the tall doors to the library and stepped inside.
Antoine sat up from the settee wiping his mouth with his forearm. The woman beneath him sobbed. At least she still lived.
For now.
“Finally, ma chérie.” He stood and straightened his frock coat before following her stare to his houseguest. He smirked and gave Marguerite his attention. “You knew I hungered. This would not have been necessary if you had been here, where you belong.”
Marguerite bit back the urge to tell him where he belonged and tipped her head instead. “Forgive me. I still need to eat.”
“Of course you do.” He approached her and it took all her will to keep from flinching.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Antoine frowned. “Where were you tonight?”
She glanced up. “I visited the Marquis on your behalf. To collect the commission, remember? He wants you to paint his—”
“Who else was there?” He circled her as if she were on trial.
Marguerite frowned. “The Marquis, his wife and daughters.”
Stars flooded her vision when he struck her, sending her stumbling across the room. She could taste the blood filling her mouth where her teeth had stabbed through her lip.
He stormed toward her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her to her feet. “Liar! I smell him.”
She refused to let him see her cry. Refused. She dug her nails into her palms. “It could be anyone. I passed many on the street.”
“You harlot.” He pressed against her while his free hand slid up her hip. “Filthy whore.”
She spat a mouthful of blood in his face. Antoine released his hold on her hair, laughing as he licked the blood from his lips. “I adore when you fight back.”
In one swift move, he clutched her close to him, ripped the velvet choker from her neck, and sank his fangs into her flesh. Pain ripped through her, and she screamed in spite of herself, struggling to break free until her limbs became too heavy to move.
Maybe this time she would die.
Chapter Three
Kane wanted to follow her when she vanished into the shadows, but sunrise was less than two hours away. He couldn’t risk it.
This woman was a criminal, not so different from those he fed on. Yet, instead of exacting justice, he found h
imself curious about her motives. He clenched his fist at his own hypocrisy. He should be above this temptation. And yet…
The lingering taste of her sweet blood from their kiss tormented him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she felt in his arms, the way her lips returned his kiss, passion for passion. Her spirit and desire weren’t handicapped by civilized etiquette or feigned nobility.
Her clever mind and self-confidence were like a breath of fresh air. Her beauty, the sound of her laughter, and the way her gaze challenged him haunted his thoughts.
He had to see her again.
Kane removed his frock coat and walked to his den, unbuttoning the stifling shirt as he went. Once free of the restricting fabric, he could think. Although it had taken him a few weeks to track down Le Voleur D’or, tonight he had more information. She wouldn’t slip through his fingers this time.
At his desk, he hastily penned a note for Gerard, instructing him that he would like to purchase a painting from Antoine Berjon. Have Berjon’s maidservant bring a selection for me to view this evening.
He placed his pen into the inkwell and reclined in his chair, staring into the fire. Never in his long life had he wished for daylight, but the thought of seeing the sunshine on her golden hair…
Kane rubbed at the scarred skin over his heart, wiping away the curious ache throbbing there. With a groan of frustration, he crossed to the window. Resting his forearm against the window frame, he stared into the darkness.
She was out there right now. He closed his eyes, allowing the thoughts of the mortals around him to enter his mind—familiar concerns over money and threats of famine. He took a deep breath, opening his consciousness even further, searching for his golden beauty.
His.
The following night, the sun dipped below the horizon, and in the darkness below his home, Kane’s heart beat again. His chest pulled in a breath, and he opened his eyes with one singular thought.
He needed to see her.
Racing up from the depths, he entered his bedchamber.
