Don't Tempt Me

'Yes.' She lifted her chin. 'Yes, I am.'

Her mother reached over and set her hand atop her father's. He quieted and Lynette shot her a grateful smile.

The carriage drew to a halt. Lynette looked out the window, frowning at the sight of a cemetery.

'Why are we here?' she asked.

'This is the direction Quinn sent earlier,' de Grenier replied.

She felt confusion until Simon stepped into view, so tall and powerful and delicious in cinnamon-colored silk, his gait seductive and predatory. His gaze met hers and changed, becoming hotter. Hungrier. Burning with passion and possessiveness. Her breath caught and hear swept across her skin.

My lover.

Her fingers curled desperately around the lip of the carriage window. Emotions flooded her in a deluge difficult to process-relief and joy, lust and longing. Yet even as the torrent of feeling swirled around her, her heart was firmly anchored in the middle, sure in its intent and the purity of her affection.

I am grateful for you.

The unspoken words lodged in her throat, her eyes burning with unshed tears. He was doing this for her. Everything. All of it. And she could not go through the experience without him. It was his strength she looked toward. His returning affection for her gave her the confidence to face her parents and Lysette, a woman who would be a stranger to her.

Her heart swelled in her breast, aching at the sight of him, grateful for the gift of him.

I have missed you.

Her lips mouthed the words which he saw, his jaw tightening. With a brusque wave of his hand, he gestured the driver away from the door and wrenched it open himself, catching her as she fell into his arms, his lips brushing against her cheek before he set her down.

'Mademoiselle Baillon,' he greeted her, his voice gruff. 'You steal my breath.'

'You stole my heart,' she whispered.

His sharp exhale was a hiss of sound in the quiet of the cemetery. The look he gave her scorched her, made her cheeks flush with heat and her lips dry.

'Mr. Quinn.'

Her father alighted from the carriage and held out a hand to her mother.

Simon looked away from her, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. She felt the need in him, smelled it in the air, shivered as it called to her own desire for him. Her breasts swelled in response and the tender flesh between her legs dampened. It was an animalistic response, purely instinctive. That their reactions to one another were goaded by her original emotional response told her all she needed to know.

'This way,' Simon said, leading them through the cemetery. Lynette hurried forward, catching his arm with her own.

'Lynette,' her father snapped. 'Walk with us.'

She looked up at Simon, who frowned down at her, and she winked.

'Witch,' he said under his breath. But a hint of a smile curved his mouth and made her heart clench.

'Lover,' she purred.

His growl rumbled over her skin and soothed the part of her made restless by the upcoming reunion with her sister. The tension she had carried in her shoulders all morning relaxed. His hand came over hers and squeezed, and the look he gave her told her that he understood her anxiety and agitation.

Simon understood everything about her, in a way those who had known her for years did not.

They approached a crypt with an open door and she slowed.

'We must travel the distance through there,' he said.

Lynette nodded and lifted the hem of her sapphire skirts in her hand.

'Mon Dieu,' her mother said. 'Is this really necessary?'

'Desjardins's home is being watched. This is the most convincing way in which to make the switch. I entered the home with Lysette, I will depart with Lynette. Whoever is watching will never know the difference.'

Glancing over her shoulder, Lynette met her mother's frown with a shaky smile. 'You will leave with Lysette, Maman. Surely that makes you happy.'

'But I risk you, ma petite,' her mother said gravely.

Her father's lips tightened and he gripped the vicomtess's arm more securely.

Lynette looked forward again and clung to Simon's arm as he led her into the bowels of the city. They traversed a maze of winding stone-lined paths, their way lighted by a single burning torch carried aloft by Simon. Eventually he turned off the main corridor and led them up a short flight of stairs to a wooden door.

Thrusting the torch into a sconce on the wall, he then pushed open the portal and stepped into a cellar. Row upon row of wine racks filled the cool space, startling Lynette for a moment. It was such an innocuous sight after the ominous air of the catacombs. The change in scene was jarring and caused her apprehension to return in full force.

Simon's hand squeezed hers again and her shoulders went back.

Her heartbeat increased with every step, her breathing growing shallower until she found herself standing before a small, slender man dressed in gold satin. He looked her over from head to toe.

'Remarkable,' he said, his voice loud in the relative stillness of the house.

'Lynette, may I introduce-'

Simon's words were cut off when de Grenier lunged and tackled Desjardins to the floor. A one-sided scuffle ensued, and Simon reached out to the stunned vicomtess and pulled her into the study, where he shut the door.

Lynette was so startled by her father's attack, it took her the length of several heartbeats to sense the heavy weight of tension in the room. It settled on her nape first, raising the tiny hairs there and sending a shiver down her spine.

Inhaling deeply, she turned slowly, her breath held within seized lungs, her heart hammering against her corset-bound ribs.

She found Lysette by the grate, pale and ethereally lovely in a gown of white with multicolored embroidered flowers, her arm extended to grasp the hand of a somber-looking man in dark gray.

Lynette studied her without blinking, seeing her beloved sister on the exterior but a stranger reflected in her eyes, one both cold and wary. If not for the man beside Lysette-Mr. Edward James, according to her father-she might have remained reserved. But James was precisely the sort of suitor Lynette would have chosen for her sibling.

Without a word, she took a step forward, unaware that she was sobbing until hot tears fell on her breast.

Her sister looked at Mr. James, who nodded his encouragement. He stepped closer, placing his hand at the small of her back and guiding her forward.

A sob rent the highly charged air and her mother rushed past her, embracing Lysette with a cry of agonized joy. Her sister's face crumbled, the stony facade falling away to reveal a vulnerable young woman with deeply rooted pain.

The sight was so intimate Lynette looked away, searching for Simon, who must have felt her need of him. He drew abreast of her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

'A thiasce,' he murmured, handing a handkerchief to her. 'Even tears of joy pain me when they fall from your eyes.'

His large hand cupped her waist with gentle pressure and she leaned against him, taking comfort from his stalwart presence.

The vicomtess pulled back, her shaking hands cupping Lysette's face. Searching, touching, remembering. Lysette was crying softly, her shoulders folded down and inward, her frame so frail and quaking with the force of her emotions.

Then her eyes shifted, moving upward until she met Lynette's returning gaze.

'Lynette,' she murmured, extending her hand.

Marguerite composed herself with great effort, stepping back and hugging herself, rocking gently.

Simon pressed a kiss to Lynette's forehead. 'I will be here for you,' he whispered.

Nodding, she straightened and stepped away from him. She took one step, then another. She watched her