by Lisa Kessler
Kane leaned against the balcony wall, swirling the wine in his glass. “I purchased a mare from him a few years ago. He invites me to his parties in hopes I will return the kindness with more business.” He tilted the glass to his mouth without allowing any of the liquid to pass his lips. “Is the Marquis a relative of yours?”
“No. I attend on behalf of my Master. The Marquis is an admirer of his work.” A house servant passed by, and she placed her glass on the tray. She gnawed at her lower lip, drawing his attention to her perfect mouth. “And where is your wife, Monsieur?”
Her tone made the question sound like a challenge.
Kane frowned and straightened to his full height. “I have never been married.”
She paused for a moment. “Without a wife and children, who will carry on your family line?”
He bit back a surprising burst of laughter. “I assure you, my family line will continue without a wife.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him. “You are… puzzling, Monsieur Bordeaux.”
“I prefer to think of myself as simple. Relationships complicate.” He straightened his stifling vest, fighting the urge to rip it off. His gold watch thumped against his chest, reminding him that his quarry had not taken the bait.
Interesting.
“Ah, but life would be dull without them, no?” The sound of her voice and the way the candlelight sparkled in her eyes hypnotized him. She took his hand again. “The final dance is beginning. We should join the party.”
He allowed her to pull him back into the ballroom, and spun her around to face him. They waltzed among the other party guests, circling the room until the dancers sharing the floor blurred around them. As the music swelled, her hand slipped from his and Marguerite spun away to her new dance partner. A pert, auburn-haired beauty with a shy smile took his hand, and though he might have considered seducing her into his bed, he couldn’t focus on her. Not with Marguerite dancing one, then two partners away.
It was a dizzying flood of color as dresses billowed, dancers turned, and laughter blended with the crescendo of the string quartet. Kane bowed and waltzed with several new partners before he realized he’d lost Marguerite in the crowd.
He fingered his vest pocket.
He had also lost his favorite gold watch.
Kane retrieved his cane from the butler and escaped the party, scanning up and down the street for any sign of the Le Voleur D’or. The subtle fragrance of her hair lingered—roses and lavender. Easy prey.
Kane hurried into the darkness, following her scent.
He caught a glimpse of the back of her hair a moment before she disappeared around a corner. He slowed when she paused and then crossed the next street. Kane ducked into the shadows of a darkened cobbler’s shop doorway and waited.
She turned, her blue eyes sweeping the street behind her. With a mask of confidence, she lifted her chin a notch and continued her journey.
Kane kept his distance behind her. Before he crossed the street to follow, a horse and buggy barreled past him.
The wooden wheels splashed water onto his polished boot, but he didn’t stop to clean it.
She turned, making her way down a bustling street. Kane shoved his way through the masses in time to see her rush down a shadowed alley, trying each door she passed until one finally opened. He watched her vanish into the rear entrance of a bakery. He approached the darkened building slowly, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.
When he grasped the wobbly brass doorknob and twisted, the weathered metal squealed in protest. He froze and listened for any sign of movement from within. When he heard no answering sound, Kane pulled the door open and slipped inside.
Traveling down a dimly lit hallway, he found the room opened to reveal large brick ovens. In the far corner, she sat at a table with a single candle, spreading coins and jewelry pieces across the surface. The flame danced in front of her, casting a warm light over her fair skin. He took a quiet step closer, enticed by a stray curl of her golden hair resting on the soft curve of her breast. A crease marred her brow and her lips pursed together as she sifted through her night’s earnings.
“I believe that pocket watch is mine,” he said.
She gasped and popped up from the table. Her surprise melted away quickly, replaced by a well-practiced mask of charm.
“You frightened me, Monsieur.” She plucked up his gold pocket watch from the table. “I found a satchel in the street filled with these trinkets.”
The sound of her voice thrilled him, and he realized he’d been eager to see her again. Strange. He took a step toward her, wanting to feel closer to her, even if only in proximity and only until she fled. “No, you found the watch on my vest while we danced tonight.”
“You are mistaken, and you insult me.” She lifted her chin slightly, enough to imply her shock at his accusation.
Kane narrowed the distance between them, surprised when she didn’t retreat. Her scent overwhelmed him with an alluring blend of roses and spice as his gaze slowly traveled up her body. Her dress was a rich emerald green color, fitted at the waist, her corset supporting her modest breasts. Even with the oversized skirt and sleeves, she remained a petite flower, though far from fragile.
She wore her golden hair up in a loose knot, with stray curls falling down her neck and framing her large round eyes and high cheekbones. Nothing about her was subtle or forgettable like a thief should be.
When he took the watch from her hand, he noticed a flush of color rising from beneath the velvet choker on her neck. Enticing. “You are a flamboyant thief.”
He never saw the slap coming.
“How dare you!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Kane smiled and reached for her hand, drawing her soft fingers to his lips. Her struggles were nothing against his inhuman strength. Pressing a cool kiss to her knuckles, he stared into her eyes.
“Forgive me for being so rude,” he murmured. “You are the most lovely, delicate, and beautiful thief I have ever seen.”
This time, he caught her other wrist before her slap made contact with his cheek. Her bright blue eyes widened.
“Let me go.”
“Not yet.” He tipped his head slightly. “I have a confession to make.”
“You?”
He released her. “I have been watching you, waiting to make your acquaintance. I wore my watch tonight hoping you might take it from me.”
A crease marred her brow. “Why?”
“Because you intrigue me. I have never met a thief quite like you.”
Her eyes searched his, and for a moment, he thought she might apologize for taking his property.
“I did not steal your watch.” She set her chin. “I found it.”
Marguerite placed the watch in his palm, and she closed his fingers around it. Glancing at his hand, she frowned.
“Your skin is cold.” She released him. “Are you sick?”
He shook his head. “I am well.”
She went back to the table and gathered her other treasures. “It is good fortune that our paths crossed again so that I could return your watch. Sadly, I will still need to find the other owners.”
“We could give the items you found to the police.”
“No!” She snatched up the satchel and hid it behind her skirt. He watched her clear her throat and her composure returned with her charm. “I could not trust another person with these valuables. Tomorrow, I will go back and inquire with the host to see which guests might be missing their belongings. It is the only way to ease my mind and know they will be returned to their rightful owners.”
“How thoughtful of you. With Le Voleur D’or stalking the streets of Paris, they probably fear their belongings are lost forever.”
Her back straightened and her lips pressed together as if she were a royal princess. It was all he could do not to kiss her. What was wrong with him? He should be angered, or in the least, willing to turn her over to the police.
H
is 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.”