Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  Suzanne caught her breath as she recognized the attractive, dark-haired woman. “Madeline de Sevigny! It’s been so long!” The two women came together in an enthusiastic embrace. After they released each other, Suzanne turned to Simon. “Madeline and I were neighbors for several years, milord.”

  “I heard that you died in a corsair attack along with your husband,” Madeline said as she stepped back to study Suzanne. “But you are blooming! And your husband also.” She turned to Simon, then blinked. “You are not Jean-Louis. He had brown eyes.”

  Simon bowed. “I am a younger cousin of his, madam, which explains the resemblance. Suzanne and I met before her wedding and we became friends. To my great joy, we found each other again in London.”

  Madeline nodded approvingly. “Well done, sir. Now I shall take Suzanne off to meet several of my friends. We have so much to talk about!”

  As Suzanne was carried off, de Chaurry drawled, “How fortunate that your wife has found friends. Let me introduce you to these new arrivals.” He beckoned two men closer. “Moncoutant, Roubaix, come meet Colonel Duval, who may or may not be the Comte de Chambron.”

  Moncoutant reminded Simon of a sly, sleek fox, alert and unpredictable. He inclined his head politely, and like Suzanne, he asked, “Which army?”

  “British. It seemed the best way to oppose Napoleon. I’m selling out now that the wars are over.” He smiled without humor. “Assuming they are over. One hears rumors. Do you think the Corsican will remain in containment?”

  “I think it unlikely,” Roubaix said, his brow furrowed. He was dark and had a face that looked jolly, except for his eyes. “He is a man of great ability and great ambition. He will grow restless in Elba, particularly since our Bourbon king is not sending him the agreed upon allowance.”

  “That’s very short sighted,” Simon agreed. “A lion who is not being fed properly is more likely to break from his cage. Do you have any thoughts on what might happen?”

  De Chaurry pursed his lips. “One would hope that the Royal Navy can keep him in Elba. But the emperor has too many supporters who will do anything for him. I fear that sooner or later the captors will grow careless and the lion will emerge to fight once again.”

  Simon sighed. “And our poor France will suffer once more.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Roubaix said. “I don’t think he’ll return to France. Italy is more likely. It’s only a few miles from Elba and there might be less resistance there.”

  “That’s an interesting thought. But if he goes to Italy and is proclaimed ruler, how long until his ambitions drive him to conquer again?”

  “Not long at all,” Moncoutant said. “If he returns to France, he will find a great deal of support. He still owns the hearts of the troops who served under him.”

  “I think much of his success was that he preached democracy and the common man, but ruled like a tyrant,” Roubaix observed. “A man of two faces.”

  “Both of which are dangerous,” de Chaurry said acerbically. “I would love to return home to my lands in Lorraine. But the political situation feels uncertain, which is why I remain safely here among the boring Britons.”

  “A good number of our compatriots share your wariness.” Simon gestured to the groups of well-dressed guests.

  “Yes, but many who are less cautious than I have returned to France, so my entertainments are thin of company compared to what they were.” De Chaurry gave a very Gallic shrug. “Will you reclaim your family’s lands, Duval?”

  “I haven’t really thought much about that,” Simon admitted. “I’m only recently out of the army after years spent in Portugal and Spain. For now, it’s good to be in England. I’m half English, you know, so my roots are as deep here as in France.”

  “What of your wife? She is all French.”

  “We are still newlyweds,” Simon said with a suggestive smile. “We have not spent much time talking about the future.”

  The other men chuckled knowingly. Moncoutant said, “Understandable! She’s very lovely. Is it true that she has learned harem skills that can drive a man to the brink of madness?”

  Simon restrained the impulse to plant a fist in the other man’s lascivious face. “My wife is a lady. I will not discuss her with any man.”

  De Chaurry looked disappointed. “Your English blood is showing, but no matter. Let me introduce you to my other guests.”

  As Simon talked and listened, he found that most of the guests had views similar to de Chaurry. They professed to loathe Napoleon, but they weren’t impressed with the aging, ineffectual Bourbon king who sat on the throne.

  Most would be pleased to return to their prerevolution stations of vast wealth and privilege, but all recognized that years had passed and France had changed. They hoped that when the political situation stabilized, they would still have wealth and privilege, if not as much as they’d had in the past.

  And they all felt that Napoleon’s prison in Elba was unlikely to keep him caged forever. It was an interesting evening, though Simon hadn’t heard anything that was likely to interest Kirkland. Perhaps Suzanne would do better.

  * * *

  Suzanne was surprised at how much she was enjoying the evening. The de Chaurry “entertainment” seemed to mean conversation, pleasant music in the background, with light, delicious, and very French refreshments and all the good wine one could drink. Kirkland had been right; mingling among the émigrés with an aristocratic soldier husband and a really good new gown made her much more acceptable.

  Granted, a few men leered at her and some women turned away rather than be introduced, but most of the émigrés were civil. The unexpected miracle was Madeline. She was a few years older than Suzanne and had been like a helpful big sister guiding a young bride in the ways of the world.

  As they exchanged news, Madeline offered condolences on the death of Jean-Louis and quiet sympathy for what Suzanne had suffered in captivity. There were no insults or sneers from her or her friends, but they had a lively curiosity about the day-to-day life of a harem. What did concubines eat, what did they wear, how did they spend their time, and were the Turkish baths as magnificent as they’d heard? How often could a concubine expect to be summoned to her master’s bed?

  Suzanne had known such questions would arise, and she’d worked out her answers in advance. “The baths are indeed magnificent.” She sighed with longing. “Perhaps I can persuade my husband to build one for me. But as for a concubine’s romantic life, that varied enormously. My master liked women with unusual features, which in my case meant my green eyes, which he’d never seen before. But otherwise. . . .”

  She shook her head and began to lie. “I was considered too small and thin to be very attractive. But even if I was as round and luscious as the females my master preferred—well, even the greatest rake in any realm would never have enough time to pay adequate attention to so many women!” Her expression changed to a smile of wicked satisfaction. “Believe me, my friends, a single husband who lives under the same roof and is interested is much more valuable to a woman!”

  That had produced boisterous giggles and stories of honeymoons and husbands and lovers that deflected attention from Suzanne. She didn’t mention that the most vital skill she’d learned in the harem was to lie superbly. The reality of her life there was not a subject for superficial entertainment.

  She was relieved that no one had called her a whore to her face, though there were women in the room like the Comtesse de Chaurry who had done so in the past. Tonight they avoided Suzanne, but they didn’t openly insult her.

  Occasionally she and Simon exchanged glances so she could silently assure him that she was all right. He seemed to be moving easily among the gentlemen, talking and listening and learning their opinions.

  The hour was getting late when someone stepped on Suzanne’s hem and pulled a ribbon trim loose. Ready for a break from the conversation, she excused herself and headed upstairs to the ladies’ retiring room. A solicitous lady’s maid pinned the ri
bbon back in place and patted lavender water on her temples.

  For a few minutes, Suzanne relaxed with her feet on a brocade footstool, glad she didn’t have to talk. When she was ready to return to the fray, she stood and smoothed out her gown. The mirror showed that she looked well tonight, as elegant and calm as a countess should be. But being constantly on guard made this visit with her countrymen tiring. She would see if Simon was ready to leave.

  The retiring room was a floor above the drawing room and at the back of the house, so she had to walk the length of a corridor and around a corner to reach the stairs. Sconces gave soft light, illuminating occasional pieces of elegant French furniture. She stopped to admire an elaborate table at the turn in the corridor, thinking that the de Chaurrys must have escaped France with a shipload of furnishings.

  “So there’s the harem whore.” The harsh, slurred voice jolted Suzanne and she spun around to see a male guest. She came sharply alert. Morlaix, his name was. When she’d visited the émigrés on her arrival in London, he’d been one of the men who had tried to corner her. She’d escaped when two servant girls came chattering along the corridor.

  This time there was no one else around and he seemed broad and hulking and very drunk. Hoping to brazen this out, she raised her chin and said in her coolest countess voice, “There are no whores in harems, monsieur. Only bored women with too much time on their hands.”

  “No need to be bored now, your ladyship,” he leered as he closed in on her. “I’ve wondered what harem whores do to please men.” With a sudden lunge, he grabbed her arms. “I’ve heard they can drive a man out of his mind.” He tried to shove her downward with one hand on her shoulder while the other hand fumbled with the fall of his trousers.

  For an instant she was paralyzed by shock and fear. Submit or he’ll hurt you. Maybe even kill you. You’re powerless, you must obey. . . .

  NO! Rage shattered her paralysis. She was no longer a submissive female who feared for her life and had no choice but to obey. She was the wife of a warrior, and he’d taught her how to fight back.

  While Morlaix was struggling to unbutton his fall, she jerked her knee upward with furious strength. He wasn’t expecting resistance, and her knee smashed dead center into his most vulnerable organs. He howled with agony and jackknifed forward, bringing his throat within easy reach. Suzanne chopped down with the side of her hand, hitting so hard that her hand hurt.

  Morlaix gave an agonized squawk and collapsed on the expensive carpet. Burning with rage at every man who had ever hurt or bullied her, Suzanne drew her foot back and kicked him in the belly as hard as she could. Her toes hurt and she wished she’d been wearing her riding boots.

  Not caring that her toes hurt, she kicked him again and was preparing to do so once more when strong arms came around her, holding her still. “Enough, ma chérie.” Simon’s deep voice was in her ear, soothing. “You have dealt with him well, but you don’t want to kill him. The authorities would be awkward about that.”

  She turned and clung to him, shaking. “He wanted to . . . to . . .”

  “I know.” He patted her back. “Can you stand on your own?”

  She nodded. Simon released her and turned to Morlaix. Effortlessly he raised the larger man and slammed him hard against the wall. “Do not ever, ever, trouble my wife again,” he said in a lethal voice as he stood eye to eye with Morlaix. “If she doesn’t kill you, I will. Am I clear?”

  Morlaix was still gasping for breath and his gaze was murderous, but he mumbled some kind of assent.

  “See that you remember.” Simon released his hold and Morlaix collapsed to the floor like a pile of groaning laundry.

  As Simon put his arm around Suzanne, she realized other guests had joined them, drawn by Morlaix’s cries. One was de Chaurry. The comte drew an unsteady breath as he stared at his guest. The open fall of the man’s trousers told the story. “I’m sorry this happened under my roof, Colonel, madam.”

  The onlookers included several women. One of the younger ones came forward and kicked Morlaix in the ribs, hard, as she swore under her breath. Another followed and spat on him, saying, “Thank you, Madame Duval.” Both women turned on their heels and marched down the stairs.

  “I’m guessing that Morlaix has made a habit of assaulting young women,” Simon said coolly. “A very bad habit.” He scooped Suzanne up in his arms. “It’s time I took my wife home. Thank you for a generally very pleasant evening, Monsieur le Comte.”

  He carried Suzanne down the staircase as other guests drew back. She could have managed on her own, but Simon’s protective arms felt too good to forego. His warmth, his strength, his kindness. She murmured into his shoulder, “I’m glad you gave me the lessons in defending myself.”

  “And I’m glad you learned them so well!” At the front door Simon set her on her feet while the butler brought their cloaks and summoned their carriage.

  Suzanne was glad to get away. But Morlaix’s assault had started her mind spinning in new directions.

  Chapter 15

  Once they were in their carriage and heading for home, Simon pulled Suzanne onto his lap and held her close again. “The women present almost broke into applause for what you did to Morlaix.”

  “I would like to think his behavior would get him banned from the houses of his acquaintances, but I’m sure it won’t.” Her mouth tightened. “And to think he considers himself a gentleman! That vile cochon!”

  “He is an insult to pigs. Should I challenge him to a duel?” Simon offered. “That’s a gentlemanly solution, and the world would be a better place without him.”

  “You might get hurt!” she gasped.

  “I promise you I wouldn’t. But I suppose a duel would draw too much attention.”

  She suspected he was half joking about challenging Morlaix to a duel. But only half. Changing the subject, she asked, “How did you reach me so quickly?”

  “I noticed you go upstairs earlier. You hadn’t come down and then I heard that howl from Morlaix and had a feeling that something bad had happened.” He brushed a light kiss on her hair. “You handled it well, but I’m sorry that it was necessary.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she said, surprised by the realization. “I feel surprisingly good. I survived my return to émigré society, found an old friend, and for the first time, I fought back when a man tried to abuse me. I fought and won! That makes me feel strong.”

  “You are strong, ma chérie And getting stronger.”

  She patted his arm. “I was impressed how quickly you went from suave gentleman to ruthless fighter.”

  “The advantage of military experience.” He smoothed her hair back tenderly. “Are you all right? Will you have nightmares?”

  She considered before replying. “I don’t think so, and if I do, you will be there.”

  “I’m glad you’re still willing to share a bed with me despite new proof of male bestiality,” he said wryly.

  “Generalizing is easy, but wrong. Not all men are beasts, and not all women are virtuous. It’s best to judge people one at a time.” She shook her head. “Enough about that cochon. Did you learn anything interesting tonight?”

  “Not really. Napoleon looms large in everyone’s mind, and most of the men I talked to thought it likely that sooner or later the emperor will break out. They are divided on when and where, and how much trouble he’ll cause if he does escape. What about the women?”

  “To the extent that they have political opinions, they probably think as their husbands do, but they were much more interested in hearing about life in a harem. There are so many absurd rumors about what it’s like!” Her mouth twisted. “I didn’t tell them that the worst part was the boredom. Some days it felt that the walls were crushing in on me. Knowing that I would likely never, ever leave . . .” She shuddered.

  “No wonder when escape was offered, you grabbed it with both hands and didn’t look back,” he said quietly.

  They had reached the house. Covering her yawn with one hand, sh
e said, “Enough of harems and brutish males! I’m ready to go to bed.”

  “So am I.” Simon lifted her from his lap and set her on the seat beside him. “I’m looking forward to our bed, and may tomorrow be a less dramatic day!”

  * * *

  Despite her fatigue, when Suzanne climbed into her sandwich bed, her mind was too active for sleep. When Simon joined her, she rolled over and lay half across his chest, but her thoughts kept returning to the events of the evening. Morlaix had drunkenly said that he’d heard harem women knew how to please a man. That was true. She was an expert at giving men pleasure and her skill had preserved her life.

  Those skills were part of an existence she’d abhorred. But she was free now, safe and supported and protected by Simon. He’d given her everything and asked nothing in return except companionship, and giving that was a joy.

  It was time to give back to him. She gathered her resolve, then slid her hand between the covers on his layer of the bed. He slept in a loose linen shirt and soft drawers, and his body was warm and muscular under the fabric. She liked petting his broad chest. He felt so strong, so alive.

  She stroked her hand lower, feeling the subtle contours of his torso. Touch. They both loved touching so much, and he was wonderfully touchable.

  She had just found the hard jut of his pelvis bone when his hand clamped hard over hers. “Suzanne, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice taut to the breaking point.

  “That horrid Morlaix made me recognize that I can give you satisfaction without full intimacy,” she said honestly. “I want to please you. And it would be my first step toward breaking the chains that have bound me.”

  There was a long silence, and she felt the pulse in his hand over hers. “This is . . . appealing, but I don’t want you doing something you find distasteful.”