by Rue Allyn
The sight of her slumped shoulders and bowed head twisted Richard’s heart. She may have been reckless with her reputation, but she had not forced Jennings to act like an idiot. He’d done that out of his own selfish choice. His recklessness had hurt two of the people who loved him most. Richard’s fists clenched. He’d blamed Marielle because that was easier than placing the blame where it belonged. And where was that, exactly? With Jennings’s death, Richard had lost two of his dearest friends, not just one. He badly wanted to blame someone, but that person was not Mari.
Would it ever be possible for Mari and him to mend their friendship? Perhaps, in some far distant future when murder and chaos no longer threatened their world.
He took her by the shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She turned to face him, her head held high, her jaw fixed. “Then who?”
“I don’t know, Mari. The French army? Malveux? Perhaps Jennings himself?”
She stepped away. “Are you suggesting he was suicidal? How dare you. Jennings loved life.”
Richard wanted to hold her, to soothe the worry and anger from her eyes. But he’d lost that privilege when he decided to blame her for something neither of them could control. “We have to set this aside for a time and focus on our mission here. We have only three days before René will kill Napoleon if we don’t stop him.”
She nodded and moved toward the horses, where she waited for him to help her remount.
“Why did you decide to ride with me?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t a bride want to be near her husband as much as possible? I came to keep up appearances.”
So despite that kiss and all the tangled emotions, she’d only been maintaining their disguise. She was a passionate woman by nature. The kiss meant as little to her as he did. Something squeezed his chest. Perhaps that was for the best. It would never do to let her know how much she affected him.
To distract her, he launched into a lengthy explanation of what he’d learned last night. “Thus, the only option I see is to kidnap your cousin before tea this afternoon and make a dash for the coast.”
• • •
“Absolutely not,” Marielle stated.
“You risk putting your cousin’s neck in a noose if you do not agree that kidnapping him is the best solution.”
She risked her aunt’s death if she did not. A chilly sweat broke out on her skin, and her stomach churned. Worse, René might expose them all. He was so obsessed with killing Bonaparte that her cousin could not see the trap laid for him.
She bent and patted her mount’s neck to hide her emotions. She needed time. Time to get René alone and persuade him to abandon his murderous plan. Time to discover a way to thwart Malveux, which was hard enough with Madame Cochinat breathing down her neck. Now Richard was pressuring her to take a hasty, and most likely disastrous, action.
“René may only hold the position of an underling, but the sudden disappearance of anyone in Napoleon’s household would cause a furor that would put us all at risk. We could not escape fast enough.”
“Very well, kidnapping is not the best option. With careful planning and your cousin’s cooperation, he could vanish with little notice taken. However, we have scant time to prepare.”
“Yes, but René’s cooperation is essential, and that is not so easily achieved. We must take as much time as necessary to persuade him.”
Richard’s gaze narrowed then shifted to the palace where people had begun to congregate in the courtyard. “Let us walk the horses. Two riders watching the palace will be noticed, and we want to avoid attention.”
She nodded and set her mare into motion beside his black.
“You persuaded me to bring you to Fontainebleau,” he continued, “by claiming that René Trouvé would listen only to you. Is that true?”
“Not precisely. As family, I am more likely to succeed than you. He will listen to just about anyone, but he is stubborn even with his mother and me, and swaying his course will take time.”
“Each day that we linger increases the chances of discovery. Malveux’s deadline approaches with speed. If Napoleon decides to leave before the twelfth, any attempt at murder will be much more difficult. And that might compel Malveux to act rashly, using you or your cousin as his tools, of course.”
“How likely is Bonaparte to leave so suddenly?” Marielle asked.
“He will not remain here for long now that the allies have decided to exile him to Elba, and he’s known to make lightning-fast decisions.”
“Banishment to Elba was rumored before we left England.”
“But not a certainty until Bertrand confirmed it. Since then, I’ve gained reason to believe that even now, Napoleon may be plotting how to avoid the exile altogether.”
“Oh dear.” Richard’s carefully shuttered expression suggested he was hiding something. “What are you not telling me?”
She heard his tale of Napoleon’s request for asylum in England with trepidation. “Do you think Castlereagh will instruct Campbell to accede to Bonaparte’s request?”
“I doubt it. However, I also doubt that the Corsican will be very fond of English visitors once that refusal is received. And since Campbell sends his message today, we have even more reason for haste. In less than two days, Napoleon will probably see us and all English as the enemy and act accordingly.”
“I will speak with René this morning.”
“And how will you do that? You can hardly march up to the butler and ask to see Mister Truffkill with no pretext.”
“I will go to René’s quarters.”
“He’ll be with the other bachelor underlings. No respectable woman would go there.”
“If I am questioned, I will claim I became lost or that I am a distant relative.”
“Those are flimsy excuses but might do if you can pretend to be as brainless as you appeared during coffee with Bertrand. What will you do if René is not there?”
“If possible, I will search for this vial you say he was given. Without it, he cannot carry out the murder. And his risk will be less for not having it among his belongings.”
“And yours will be greater once you have it. I’ll not allow you to chance it. If anyone must go in search of René, it will be me.”
“And you will do nothing but make him more determined to murder Napoleon. If you insist, however, perhaps it would be best if we went together. Then you could keep watch while I speak with René.”
“I’d rather bring him to you.”
His objection confused her. Was he really concerned for her reputation or just worried that she would plot with René to betray him? What was she supposed to think of a man who kissed her, accused her, defended her, and in the next moment acted as if she were helpless? “If you bring René to me, we would have no chance of finding the vial. He is unlikely to carry it on his person. No, approaching him on my own is the surest means to a successful and speedy end.”
Richard scowled. “I still don’t like it.”
“Do we have any other choice?”
“No.”
“Then I’d best be about it.”
She followed him back to the stables. She liked the glimpse she’d had of a gentler, more open Richard. He resembled her youthful friend very little, but the man revealed this morning was someone she could like very much if given the chance.
Chapter Nine
Before luncheon, Marilee retired to their rooms on the excuse that her morning ride had exhausted her and she wanted to be well rested for their dinner with the emperor. Once there, Esme helped her out of her riding habit and laid out the fawn ombré velvet dress while chattering about her flirtation with one of the guards. Very little was required to get the maid to reveal the location of the rooms assigned to undersecretaries. Marielle dismissed the girl with instructions to clean and press the riding habit before morning. The task would take hours.
Bypassing the velvet, Marielle dressed quickly in the black gown and veil she’d used to disguise herself as a
widow. Checking to see that the corridor was empty, she assumed a bent posture, then headed for the stairs and the upper rooms where she hoped to find her cousin.
She entered a dim narrow hallway lined with doors. A footman stationed by the third doorway took notice of her.
“May I help you, madame? Guests are housed on the lower floors. Perhaps you have become lost.” His raised brows and stiff posture would have done credit to the best of English butlers, and his size resembled a prize fighter. His livery must have cost a fortune. It fitted the muscular arms, shoulders, and neck very well.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat and did her best to sound as if she were an aged crone. “I am not a guest of the emperor. I have come in search of my grandnephew, Mr. Truffkill.”
The footman cocked his head and somehow managed to look down his nose at her. “Monsieur Truffkill is still attending the emperor’s personal secretary. If you would care to leave a message, I will happily deliver it for you.”
He smiled a toothsome turning of lips that had nothing to do with happiness and everything with disapproval.
Marielle sighed and put a hand to her back. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Those stairs are difficult for an old woman. Perhaps I might sit somewhere and pen my message before I return below stairs?”
The non-smile became a frown. “It is not permitted.”
“Please, sir. Have pity. I have not seen my grandnephew for many months.” She shifted on her feet; hopefully, the footman would think her about to lose her balance.
He rushed to support her. “Of course, madame. Let me escort you to the undersecretaries’ sitting room.”
He helped her through the door and seated her at a small escritoire. Extracting paper, pen, and ink from a drawer, he placed them in front of her. Finally he moved back a few steps and waited.
Marielle looked over her shoulder “Thank you. I will call you when I’ve completed my note and am ready to leave.”
He sniffed, clearly unhappy to be dismissed. “Very well, madame. I will be just outside the door should you need anything,”
She nodded, waited for him to leave, then turned her attention to composing a note. She must make certain that René would find her with all possible speed.
In the end, she opted for the querulous tone of an aging spinster aunt begging her grandnephew to attend on her in the formal gardens at back of the palace. She’d just finished sealing the message with wax found in one of the desk drawers when the door opened and several men tromped into the room.
“Aunt?”
Marielle tucked the note into a pocket then rose. “Nephew, I am so happy to see you.”
“This is such a surprise.” René gave her a hug.
“Play along,” she whispered with his ear close to her.
“The footman said my aunt was waiting for me. What are you doing here?” he whispered back.
“Not now. Invite me to stroll in the gardens.”
“The day is so pleasant, aunt. Walk with me in the gardens, and tell me all the news of home and family.”
“What a fine idea.”
The footman stared them out of the room. The skin between Mari’s shoulder blades itched. As René opened the door to the staircase, she cast a glance back to see the man still watching.
The door closed behind them, and she released a sigh. “Your footman is remarkably interested in us.”
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s an old gossip.”
She followed René down the stairs. “Are you sure he’s not a spy?”
Her cousin emitted a dry chuckle. “In this place, who is not a spy? Speculation over you and Campion is rife. You husband is preceded by Colonel Campbell’s stories about him. The captain isn’t exactly known as the impulsive type, so a runaway marriage is highly suspect.”
“Oh dear. That’s especially worrisome, since he’s not my husband.”
“What is he then, Mari?” René demanded. “Are you in trouble?”
She was in a great deal of trouble, but she wouldn’t tell René. Her purpose here was to save him from committing the most foolish act in Christendom. She would solve her own problems in good time. “I’ll explain Campion later. First tell me of these stories you say have roused so much interest in us.”
René opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and ushered her out into the garden. He took her arm and walked several paces before stopping at a bench set back into a niche in the wall and covered with a rose trellis just beginning to bud.
They sat, and René released her arm. Then he faced her, his expression more serious than any she’d ever seen on her care-for-naught cousin.
“The English commissioner, Campbell, likes to talk, especially about his military experiences. Evidently, he knew Campion during the war. Many of Campbell’s tales were about Campion’s cool, calculating demeanor under every circumstance from mid-battle to amorous assignations. A runaway marriage is hard to believe of a man who supposedly has glacial control. Hence everyone I know here, and most likely many others, doubt that you are wed and wonder what Campion’s true purpose is. Of course, they do not know you as I do and discount you completely.”
She’d never been discounted in her life. Even during those horrid days after her father’s death. She might have been a social pariah, but she was a duchess and still held sway in parlors and drawing rooms throughout the ton.
“What an astonishing thing to say. What do you mean, your colleagues discount me?”
“Ah . . . I should not say.” René’s face reddened.
“I see.” These men, who did not even know her, thought her Campion’s paramour, a woman of loose morals. No wonder the footman had shown such interest in her. She’d obviously not fooled him at all with her claim to be René’s aunt.
“I’m sorry, Mari. I should never have mentioned it. It’s not like I agree with them or anything, but I can hardly protest when I’m not supposed to know you. What were you thinking to come here in the first place, let alone putting both of us at risk by visiting me in my quarters?”
“I was thinking to save you from making a grave mistake.”
His eyes went wide then shuttered. “I’ve no idea what you speak of. Regaining the Trouvé heritage is no mistake.”
“Murdering Napoleon Bonaparte to get it is an error of grand proportions.”
Her cousin’s jaw dropped. “How do you . . . ?”
“Your mother found some half-burnt correspondence from M in your room. She’s very concerned. As am I. I decided to come and stop you, but I did not know the whole of it until Malveux accosted me on the quay at Le Havre.”
“Malveux? How is he involved in this?”
“You did not know that the ‘M’ with whom you corresponded was Malveux?”
“Of course not. I would never engage in any enterprise with that cur.”
“Then who do you think is M?”
“Madame Cochinat, of course. She established herself in Napoleon’s court long ago, awaiting a time when she could repay him for the harm he’s done. We are like her. Bonaparte must pay for what he has done to our family.”
“But he has done nothing to us. The Trouvé lands and title were lost long before Bonaparte came to power. As for Leonis Cochinat, she’s Malveux’s cohort.”
“I don’t believe it.” He paced the area in front of the rose arbor. “I remember how kind she was to you after Malveux killed your father. Why would she do that if she conspires with Malveux?”
“Because Malveux asked it of her. She was ever his instrument. He even has spies among the servants at the priory.”
With a thump, Rene took a seat beside her. “What you are saying is that Malveux and Madame Cochinat have manipulated me all along.”
Mari placed a hand on Rene’s arm. “More than that. Malveux has been seeking a way to control our family from the start. He wants to use our connections with the émigré community in England to cover his spying. He told me his first plan was to force a marriage by compromising me. However,
father’s challenge and then his death at Malveux’s hands made that plan impossible.”
Rene nodded. “I can see that now. Malveux is as evil as Napoleon. They both deserve death. I must carry out my assassination of Napoleon. Afterward, I can deal with Malveux. Then the Bourbons can return to power and restore titles and lands to those from whom they were stolen. No one ever need fear the terror of the Corsican Monster or suffer the manipulations of Malveux again.”
“I empathize, René. I really do. But do you not understand that if Napoleon is murdered he will be martyred? The rabble who idolize him will revolt again, and someone much worse—someone like Malveux—could seize power. War will once more spread throughout Europe, unleashing torrents of destruction and death. You must not do this. People without hope, who feel they’ve nothing to lose, will wreak havoc on the few who have much more to lose than titles and lands. Napoleon must live so that the hoard of fanatics he leads can learn how much better life is without him.”
“You don’t understand.” He stood, thrust his hands through his hair, and turned to face her, anguish in his eyes.
“You think I don’t?” She rose, hands fisted at her sides. “You think I haven’t seen the sorrow and regret on your mother’s face all these years? She is masterful at hiding those feelings from the ton, but I’m family. I see. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother. I could not fail to see her pain. But you are not thinking of her at all. You are simply acting out your rage. Letting others manipulate you for their benefit.”
“How can you say that? I am doing this for Mother, for the Trouvé line.”
“You think assassinating Napoleon and making yourself notorious will please Tante Vivienne?
“It is what I must do to satisfy Malveux. I want to keep him happy until I can get my hands on him. Besides, Napoleon deserves death.”
“If you kill Napoleon, you return Europe to years of war, but you will also get yourself hung. Do you imagine that will make your mother happy? You are foolish beyond hope if you think your death in any cause will please her.”
