A bit of a tease for what will come soon.

With no warning, his rough hand dug into her arm. Mercilessly, brutally, he tugged her about and yanked her into the house's shadowed entryway. Flinching away, she shielded her face, expecting only the back of Javert's hand to fly against her cheek. Or worse.

He ripped away the hand hovering near her face, and Cécelie shuttered, cowering even more against the entryway wall. Her wrist twisted round in his grip, palm up, raised to the heavens in wincing supplication. Something long, hard and cold rested in her open hand. Javert forced her fingers closed around the object, withdrawing from her with a heavy, forced breath. He sneered, watching as the blues of her eyes widened, scanning his present—a small but lethal blade.

"What's this for, Inspector?" she demanded, a bit harshly and flat-toned.

Javert gave a single laugh, raising a single thick brow in mild humor. "You've previously professed to that knowledge, Cécelie. I'm quite surprised at such innocence from you."

The wells of her eyes flashed violently blue, and for a moment, Javert regretted his scoff. And his gift now gripped in her shaking hand. He cleared his throat with authority. "This is solely for your protection should the situation prove more difficult to gain Tournot's confession than I foresee. Under no circumstances should you use it for anything else... is that understood, Cécelie?"

"Oui, Monsieur," she smiled. But that rebellious shine in her eye flashed darker, and her hand gripped tighter on the small ivory handle.

That flicker worried him; he would not allow any more risk in this matter. In a swift move, he closed the small distance between their bodies, gripping her closed fist tighter around the blade in one hand, lacing the fingers of his other through the curls at the very nape of her neck. Beneath his touch, her muscles flex, craning backward into his palm. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes beating rapidly over the fierce pools of blue.

"Cécelie," he whispered quickly, feeling the time pressing against his plans. "I'm trusting you to obey me. I am protecting you, but I'm also ordering you not to deviate from my orders." Running his thumb over the swell of her cheekbone, he leaned in close to her parting lips. "Do I have your word, Cécelie?"

Gasping for a breath, she plunged upwards, unable to resist meeting his mouth with hers any longer. His kiss was quick and sharp, barely a lick before he pulled her from his face by her hair. Cécelie panted, straining against his grip, laughing through her heavy, heaving breaths. "Yes, Javert. Your word is my command."

"Good," he smirked, planting a quick kiss on her cheek and running his hand down the length of her arm. His hands cupped her knife-enclosing fist together.

Cécelie felt her skin heat under his gaze, the green light of his eyes swiftly scanning over every inch of her body. The thick lines of his brows furrowed in scrutiny. "You'll need somewhere to hide it, however..." he mumbled, his rapid gaze lighting for a mere second on the visible and creamy swell of her breasts. His hand explored along the top edge of her corset, the warmth of his hands tracing attentively along the thick seams. Leaning in, his sharp eyes inspected the stitching closely, pausing over every piece of boning that ran along her form. With a sneer, Cécelie could not resist inching closer, thrusting her bosom against his cheek.

With a harsh sniff, his large hands roughly cupped her breasts, shoving her brutally against the wall. Every muscle in his body flexed, his head cocked to the side as if his attention were drawn elsewhere. The cold sneer on his face twitched with a sudden alertness, like a wolf raising his hackles. The light of his eyes flashed from her face, down the rise of her corset, narrowing as they suddenly lowered. "Hold still, Rénauld," he spoke more clearly. Methodically, his fingers ripped away the threads from the corset's ribbing, opening a small hole along a solid piece of boning.

Cécelie fought the urge to press against him again, suppressing her desire to run her fingers through his long, flowing hair as she had before. Each breath he took brushed hot and moist over her breasts as he worked at the stitching, each pass of air sending a delicious wave of tension between her thighs. She leaned her head back against the hard brick wall and sighed, attempting to release her frustration from her core.

Javert paused again, the slightest angle to the cock of his head. A broad smirk passed over his mouth, and his eyes looked suddenly straight at hers. "Officer Tanville," he sneered without shifting his gaze, "there is no need to peep through door cracks and listen at keyholes here." He grabbed the scarlet thread of her corset, wrapping it around his finger, and breaking it off in a single pull. A self-gratified smirk spread slowly over his face as the front door indeed opened; the sneering and guiltily blushing face of Tanville emerged from the shadows.

Observing the brightness to his dark eyes, Cécelie followed every beady dart they made. Tanville gave a breathy laugh, a suggestive leer to his smile as Javert took the blade in his hand, carefully slipping it down the new-formed hole in the top of her corset. "Madame la Comptesse, you really do make for a cold lover," the officer taunted subtly, "Not even so much as a sigh while he ever so attentively caresses your...?"

"Do not deceive yourself, Tanville," Javert cut him off, his eyes still trained on the blade as it slipped between the boning ribs. "Once false move on either my part or hers, and this trap will have its first bloodshed." The ivory handle slipped completely concealed into its new scarlet sheath. "There," he gave the small opening only final inspection before standing to his full height, "the boning on each side of the blade will keep you safe, Rénauld." His hands retreated from her body, falling motionless to his side. That shine of intensity and authority glowed in his eyes as he stared his subordinate back into his place. "You have your orders, Tanville," he spoke after a moment, "unless there was some burning question that sent you to disturb my last minute preparations?"

"No questions, Monsieur. I simply await your signals." Tanville smiled speciously, backing into the grey-green shadows behind the door as he dipped a shallow bow.

Javert returned with a perfunctory dip of his head, staring at the door until the latch closed firmly between them. Without a the slightest pause, he grabbed Cécelie by the waist once more, leading her back into the street and into the sunlight. Blinking, she followed his lead blindly across the street, conscious of just how every rise and fall of the cobblestones beneath her feet threw her body closer alongside his.

"Monsieur," she asked, catching the corner of his eye, "are you really so willing to trust Tanville in this matter?"

His cold sneer widened, bearing just a hint of his teeth. Javert tilted his head backwards, silently drawing to a halt in front of the house just opposite where they had been lurking. Even in the light of day, the lamp beside the door glowed and ominous shade of red.

Javert craned his neck, his scrutiny examining the façade, peering into every curtained window that looked out onto the street. His growling chuckle sounded again. "I trust him to acknowledge just what may... befall him should he fail me. Same amount of trust I put in any of my subordinates," he turned the intensity of his green eyes down on her, "even you, Comptesse."

That glint sent a fiery shiver over her nerves, so unguarded, so critical, so brutal. Under her rapid breath, she cursed Tanville's poor timing and his irritating existence. But she would not allow her mind to wander to what may have been between them if he had not poked his mottled nose through the doorway. There was plenty of time for them to pass waiting in a brothel together, after all.