View All Titles by Kate September

REVIEWS for Duet of Desire [La Belle Époque 2]

5 Cups: "From the first paragraph to the last, Ms. September keeps you on the edge of your seat. She vividly recreates the gay Parisian life, flawlessly contrasting the glittering richness against the poverty-stricken beggars in the street. The author gives you a heroine strong enough to conquer, but smart enough to surrender when necessary. The absolutely wonderful hero knows just how to take command. Blended in with the mystery of what could destroy their budding romance is the decadent eroticism of each encounter. If you want a great story, hot romance, and characters that stick in your mind for a long time after, do not miss this book!" —Jenn, Coffee Time Romance

5 Angels: "Duet of Desire is a sensual and intense novella set in Paris in the turn of the century. With each hot, and even at times scandalous, sexual encounter between Marc and Elise you are drawn in to another world. Miss September's awesome creativity brings these characters to life and makes one tremble with desire leaving the mundane world of reality behind. I enjoyed every aspect of this story and would love to find each installment in the La Belle Époque collection." —Debbie, Fallen Angel Reviews

4 Stars: "Ms. September has written a book that is sure to charm readers. This intriguing story is sure to take hold of readers' imagination who want something a little different to pass their time. There is mystery and intrigue, murder with a touch of scandal, the all important ingredient of love and lots of sex, and some old-fashioned story-telling. Duet of Desire is an intelligently written romance spiced with eroticism, betrayal, revenge, redemption, and ultimately a love that surpasses all to bring triumph and happiness to Elise and Marc. The sex between these two is heated, inventive and voyeuristic.
     Ms. September's knowledge of this time in history is obvious with its subtle reminders and events of the day interwoven around the main plot. What made this story even more enjoyable was the philosophical musings about women that can apply even in today's society. This book is a stand alone, and as such you don't need to read the first installment in this series. The language, setting, plot and characters are all interesting and make Duet of Desire an enjoyable and spicy read to take to bed." —Aggie, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

4 Cups: "In a tale of haunted pasts and the road to love, Ms. September writes a book to keep you on the edge of suspense. She creates a Parisian society that holds true to history and you feel as though you are walking down the same streets as the main characters. With a strong heroine forging success in light of her past, and a hero who sees past the exterior to a vulnerable heart, each page keeps the reader swooning or holding their breath. If you want a story that will imprint its words into your heart, then do not miss this exceptional book." —Mila Bean, Coffee Time Romance

4 Hearts: "This reviewer found Duet of Desire to be a refreshingly different story. The language is erotic and sensual with explicit sex scenes, which may offend some people. The action is easy to follow, with good rhythm and flow. The conflict is an integral part of the plot and is very well done. The story, written with passion and verve has a dialogue that has a good tone and depth. The character's motivations are clear where needed and the hero is a man with tenderness to go with the dominance he seeks. The character's passion is mirrored in the prose. "She gasped and shook like a sapling in gale winds, as her body vibrated with untold pleasure," is an example that rang with this reviewer. The sense of historical era is well done." —Pam, Love Romances and More

STORY EXCERPT

She hid her face against Marc’s coat, for she was too afraid to look back at Dufarge. She felt Marc scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the carriage, where he gently placed her on the seat, gave an order to the coachman, and sat down next to her. But she felt her defenses were too fragile at that moment to bear the tender attack of his kindness, and she moved to the seat across from him.

She kept her eyes closed, fighting back the tears of shock and tumult. She felt the carriage lurch into motion and focused on the rhythmic clip clop of the horses’ hooves against the pavement. Finally, when she thought she was composed enough, she opened her eyes and looked at Marc.

He was sitting, still and silent, regarding her with a mixture of pity and puzzlement.

“How long have you known Gustave Dufarge?” he asked finally.

The moment seemed oddly balanced, perched between two equally precarious paths, neither of which would bring peace or resolution. To hide yet again, to lie, would be to betray Marc in some indefinable way. To tell the truth would betray her years of discipline.

She was weary of being wary, but to tell Marc the whole truth would be to drive him away, and she suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of that. He was waiting for an answer, though, and she didn’t have the luxury of time to examine why she didn’t want to be without his companionship.

“I lived with Gustave Dufarge for several years when I was much younger,” she quietly admitted, choosing a half-measure of truth and a half-measure of omission.

There was an awkward moment of silence between them, punctuated by the monotonous sound of horses’ hooves.

“That was eight years ago.” She tried to break the strained quiet, feeling an overwhelming sense of emotional weariness.

“And eight years ago, Elise Montfort took the stage at the Opéra Garnier. And almost overnight, she became the sensation of all Paris .”

“He never knew me as Elise Montfort,” she replied defensively to the implicit accusation in his statement. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Gustave is not exactly the opera-loving type.”

She felt a pinch of relief as he gave her a slight smile, but the ease was short-lived.

“And now that he has found you?”

“What do you think?”

“He wants you back, of course, even though you are with me.” Marc’s words were tight and his tone controlled.

“I won’t do it,” she finished feverishly. “But I’m afraid…”

“What are you afraid of?” He leaned forward, his voice full of quiet intensity. “Afraid that you’ll go back?”

“No!” she firmly denied, feeling the familiar strangling sensation surround and close off the tap of her emotions. The instinct for survival surged up and asserted that she had already said more than enough. “It…simply complicates how I go about my business,” she finished coolly, retreating weakly behind her defenses.

He regarded her for a long moment, as if he knew that she was hiding from him, and she bit her lip.

“And quite the business it is, Elise,” he said at last.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What of love? What of true passion? What price your soul? You have a measure of…financial freedom, but is your heart free as well? Your precious control imprisons you.”

“Are you my confessor, now, monsieur?”

“No, not your confessor, but I am a man who loves you.”

She laughed harshly, feeling too angry and bitter to care about how he might take her behavior.

“Love? That is the stuff of operas, and most of them end badly when love is involved. How many weeks has it been, monsieur? One? Two? It is hardly enough to decide upon liking, let alone love.”

“I know you well enough.”

She glared at him, her hands balled into tight fists in her lap.

“You still really know nothing of me.” She thought with silent horror of all the things in her past that, if he knew of them, would make him turn from her with disgust. “And I pray you, do not try to guess at what you do not know.”

“Why not?” he asked, taking her fists into his hands and gently prying her fingers loose.

“Because it will only end tragically, like an opera.” She fought the constriction in her throat at the wild, adoring look in his eyes.

“You do not have to hide with me. You do not have to always be in control. You can trust me and be who you truly are.”

His gentle tone nearly undoing her, and she drew her hands back from him. It was too much, it was too hard to keep the icy walls of her protective coldness from melting under the heat of his heart.

“I am what you see, monsieur,” she said, her voice hot and harsh from all the feelings she repressed. “I am a whore, a diva, and a poor girl made good. I am all of that and none of that. Take it or leave it, but leave my heart in peace.”

Marc abruptly leaned back against the seat and looked at her. She watched as his expression changed from gentle to something hard and heated.

“So be it,” he murmured. “If that is how you want it.”

Elise turned her head away from him, noticing that they were approaching the Bois de Bologne. It was growing darker, and the carriage was now full of shadows.

“A lovely dress you wear.”

Marc’