Napoleon's Woman

by Samantha Saxon

  "His Grace is in the study. However--"

  Aidan was already at the heavy oak door of Glenbroke’s study and pushed it open, anxious to share his discovery with the only other person who knew of Lady Rivenhall’s existence.

  But he stopped dead in the doorway and stared in frustration. His sister was sitting in the duke’s lap as they held one another in a heated embrace.

  Aidan slammed the door to make his presence known, reminding, "You have fourteen bedchambers upstairs, Your Grace." He shook his head. "I shall never understand your predilection for this particular room."

  Gilbert released his wife’s lips with great reluctance. His left brow rose in disapproval. "I believe if I desired to make love to my wife on the entry way floor, it would be none of your bloody affair."

  Sarah released her husband’s neck and wiggled to face her brother, extracting an appreciative moan from the enormous duke.

  "Aidan! I have just managed to get the twins to bed!" She said in the precise tone she used as a child when she was on the verge of a tantrum. "What do you want?"

  Gilbert chuckled and lifted his voluptuous wife from his lap. "Perhaps you should make your way to bed, dearest." He smiled, adding, "I believe the black lace would be most restive."

  Aidan lifted his right hand to stave off the mental image. "Really, old man, she is my sister."

  The duke held his wife’s eyes as she swayed toward the door. "If you did not want to hear such talk…" He faltered when Sarah licked her lower lip before slipping from the room. "Then you should not have invaded my study unannounced." The duke’s silvery eyes met his. "What is so damned important?"

  Aidan grinned like a cat with a mouse between its paws. "I found her."

  Gilbert’s forehead creased, knowing instantly to whom Aidan was referring. "How?"

  "Luck really. The lady will be attending John Elkin’s house party this weekend." Aidan settled into a leather chair in front of the fading fire. "All that remains is to find proof of my claim to the Foreign Office."

  "You know Whitehall’s position pertaining to your suspicion of Lady Rivenhall. They will not assist you."

  "Yes, I know," Aidan growled then calmed himself. "But it is of no importance. Whitehall is mistaken, and I intend to prove it."

  The duke rose and poured the two men a brandy before seating himself in the chair next to Aidan.

  "The Foreign Office has investigated the woman and is convinced that Lady Rivenhall is nothing more than a gently bred lady. So why do you believe yourself capable of proving the woman a spy when they have failed to do so?" Gilbert sighed, swirling his brandy. "Perhaps it would be best to drop--"

  "No! The woman is a traitor and I intend to prove it."

  Silence lingered. The duke crossed his legs, his dark brows pulling together as he thought. "Let us suppose, for a moment, that you are correct and the woman is a spy. Would it not be prudent to watch the woman in order to identify her associates? If she is a French informant and you are determined to follow her, then she can do little harm. But if you observe her contacts, identify the network of French collaborators, Whitehall would have a difficult time refuting your claim."

  Aidan was on his feet shaking his head violently. "No, Gilbert. You have no idea of what this woman is capable of. She could extract information from Wellesley himself. She is beautiful, charming, intelligent and able to make a man doubt his own judgment." Aidan swallowed uncomfortably. "She should be brought to heel, and as soon as possible."

  "And how do you intend to do that when the Foreign Office will not accommodate you?" The men stared at each other. "If you truly wish to help the men on the peninsula, it is far more important to identify the entire network rather than one agent."

  Aidan stared at the carpet, his mind spinning. "The woman is not a simpleton, Your Grace. She is aware that I can identify her."

  Gilbert grinned, an idea lighting his luminescent eyes. "Then who better to follow her?"

  "What?"

  "Follow her to events under the pretense of suspecting her of spying."

  "She is spying!"

  "Precisely," Gilbert said, sniffing his brandy as he allowed the amber liquid to warm in his hand. "That is why the plan is so bloody brilliant."

  Aidan glared at the duke, his arms folded across his chest. "What plan?"

  The duke leaned forward as he warmed to his subject. "You are the only man who can identify her. Correct?"

  "Yes."

  "She will wonder why you have not turned her over to the Foreign Office and will make damn sure to stay away from her contacts."

  "True."

  "So, Aidan, my dear fellow." The duke was smiling, making Aidan exceedingly uncomfortable. "You need to give her a plausible reason as to why you have not turned her in."

  "What possible explanation would keep a man, a veteran, from exposing his enemy?"

  Gilbert spun his crystal snifter in his hands. "Can you think of no reason?"

  "None," Aidan snapped, irritated with this game.

  The duke lifted a brow, shaking his head. "You can think of no reason for a man to want to keep a woman out of prison?"

  Aidan’s heart skipped a beat.

  "A ‘beautiful, charming, and intelligent woman capable of making a man doubt his own judgment’?"

  Aidan was already shaking his head.

  The duke shrugged his massive shoulders. "Seduce her."

  A burst of laughter escaped Aidan, but he felt as though he had been struck in the gut.

  "You do not seduce a woman like Lady Rivenhall. It is too dangerous," he said, shaking his head adamantly causing his ebony hair to fall in front of his eyes. He brushed it away. "The woman has been trained to seduce men for the Emperor’s gain."

  "If you do not think you’re capable…"

  Aidan glared at the duke. "Don’t think to goad me, Gilbert."

  "Then what’s your hesitation? This is by far the most logical course of action." Glenbroke’s silvery eyes opened in surprise. "You don’t…you don’t desire the woman?"

  Aidan said nothing, unable to look his brother-in-law in the eye. "I don’t know."

  "How can a man not know if he wants a woman?"

  Aidan placed one elbow on the mantle and stared into the fire, searching for the words to convey his thoughts. "Lady Rivenhall is lovely, stunning even." His jaw clenched to hold in his confusion. "But when I saw her, all I could think of was the death and destruction for which she is responsible. She is whore, a traitor, and a murderess. And the only emotion I feel is the desire for revenge, a desire to take Napoleon’s own woman in the basest manner. To use her as she has used men under orders from her Emperor."

  Gilbert stared, concern creasing his brow. "Do you seek to harm the woman?"

  "Do not be alarmed, Gilbert," Aidan said in disgust. "Lady Rivenhall would spread her thighs willingly if she believes she can extract information from me."

  "If you are correct and she is the woman from Albeura--"

  "She is."

  "Then we need her watched. And if Whitehall is unwilling to take on the task…" The duke shrugged. "Then I’m afraid that leaves you."

  Aidan rubbed his hand over his mouth in an unfamiliar moment of indecision. She was as much his enemy as any Frenchmen on the Peninsula, perhaps more so because she concealed her treachery in a deceptive façade, luring men to their deaths with the promise of comfort from the horrors of war, a siren drawing men to their own destruction.

  But now that he saw her for what she was, could he stand aside and watch her call men to the rocks with the larger goal of silencing her before the entire British navy crashed on her fair shores. Could he suppress his anger or would he harm her given half a chance?

  That was his deepest fear.

  That he had forever become the brutal warrior that had killed so many men at Albuera. That he would forever be the man that saw French soldiers and not the men that ran red with blood as he thrust his sword into their chests. Would he ever come back from the p
eninsula? Would this anger never subside?

  "I will consider your proposal," he said, then walked out the study doors.

  Chapter Eleven

  Celeste shielded her eyes against the morning sun as she peered into a tobacconists shop on the Pall Mall. The smell of tobacco hung near the entrance of the establishment, and she began to cough when a rotund gentleman departed, blowing cheroot smoke in her direction. She tried to take air into her lungs, but her corset was so tight that Celeste settled for short, cleansing breaths.

  She had been following Lord Ferrell all morning and had learned quite a lot about the man now drawing a cheroot under his patrician nose. He did nothing by halves. His dark hair and rich skin drew woman in droves, and his wide mouth flashed straight, white teeth over a strong chin decorated with a masculine cleft. He was near six foot, if she hazarded a guess, and when Lord Ferrell prowled the streets of London, ladies heads snapped round in his wake.

  She watched as Lord Ferrell thanked the shopkeeper and turned to leave the establishment. Celeste expelled a breath, hoping to ease her nerves, then adjusted her parcels and made for the door with her head bent as if staring at her feet. Celeste watched from beneath her bonnet and made certain she ran into the handsome lord with such force that her packages went flying.

  "Oh!" She stared with wide eyes at the dark man before her. "Oh, my apologies. I’m so sorry."

  Lord Ferrell grinned and then perused every curve of her body, coming to rest on her face, which had gone pink with embarrassment.

  "Are you alright?" he asked, concealing his carnal evaluation with gentlemanly concern.

  "Yes, I believe so." Celeste looked down at the scattered packages, sighing her frustration as she bent to retrieve them.

  Lord Ferrell sank down on his haunches in one smooth motion and picked up the lid to a box that had come open. But when he went to replace it, he stilled. A dark brow arched, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He picked up the lace stockings and rubbed the silk between his thumb and forefinger.

  The white lace contrasted with his golden skin as he stared into her eyes, saying, "Lovely." The man was not referring to her stockings, and they both knew it. "Lord Ferrell, at your service."

  His eyes were locked with hers as he removed the boxes from her hands and rose to his feet. Celeste stood, brushing dirt from her yellow day gown, then held out her arms to receive the packages.

  The handsome lord smiled with seductive intent. "I’m afraid you are a menace to the population of London, my lady, and I shall be forced to accompany you to your carriage."

  Celeste smiled as they walked, and she kept glancing at him in a way an innocent would looked at a man she found attractive.

  He smiled more broadly at her discomfiture, and asked, "Do you always walk about town unaccompanied?"

  Giggling like a schoolgirl, Celeste met chocolate eyes that reflected his interest and his lust. "No, my companion turned her ankle at the last shop, and I was forced to finish our errands on my own."

  "Your companion’s misfortune is indeed my gain." She lowered her eyes demurely as they reached the unmarked carriage. The gentleman continued staring at her with a charming smile that she was sure had seduced many a lady, while her footman jumped down to retrieve the parcels from the young lord.

  Lady Rivenhall offered her gloved hand, but not her card. "Thank you, Lord Ferrell. I am forever in your debt."

  "Then I shall think of a method of repayment," he said, turning her hand over and kissing her wrist as he dragged his lower lip across the exposed flesh.

  Celeste felt nothing, not even a twinge. Lord Ferrell opened her carriage door, offering his right hand to assist her up. But as she ascended the stairs of the conveyance, Celeste felt long fingers curling around her waist under the pretense of steadying her. She smiled her gratitude and settled on the velvet squabs.

  "Thank you again, my lord," Celeste said, intimating that he should close the door, but he did not.

  Smiling, the rake asked, "I don’t believe I caught your name."

  Celeste smiled brilliantly and for the first time offered the gentleman the full force of her sensuality. "That is because I did not give it, Lord Ferrell."

  She could see that he was taken aback and more than intrigued by her seductiveness. The desire in his eyes gave way to his amusement, and he closed the carriage door, knocking on the side to signal the coachman to depart.

  They stared at one another as the landau rolled forward, and then the dark lord swept an exaggerated bow that made her smile in his direction. She settled against the comfort of the carriage and glanced at Madame Arnott.

  "It’s done then?"

  "Lord Ferrell will have bow street runners scouring the city for me by nightfall."

  "Three men remain."

  Celeste rubbed the back of her neck in an attempt to ease the tension that had built while she stalked her prey. She reached down the bodice of her gown and untied her corset. The laces gave and she took a deep breath, blowing out as she said, "Three remain."

  ***

  A horse neighed as a rider approached the small grove of oak trees at Hyde Park. It was still dark, so the man’s hand fell to his pistol.

  "Who goes there?"

  The Frenchman’s familiar chuckle set him at his ease. "You think me a footpad, no?"

  The man rolled his eyes and reached into his saddlebag to retrieve the papers from the admiral’s office. "Transport ships and cargo."

  The foreigner hissed his dissatisfaction. "This is most disappointing, my friend, most disappointing. The emperor requires the number of troops, and you give him the number of tea bags."

  "I have an informant in Wellesley’s office that I am working--"

  "Work faster, mon ami," the Frenchman sighed his frustration. "I have learned that the emperor is most displeased with our progress and has sent his own mistress to uncover the information we seek. And from what my contacts tells me, Lady Rivenhall is so beautiful that Prinny himself would betray Wellesley for a night in her bed."

  "Lady Rivenhall?"

  "Do you know of her?"

  "No, but the name sounds English."

  "Yes, she is half English. I am told she resembles her father, blonde with bright green eyes. Napoleon is rather enamored of her, and as neither you nor I will be paid if the lady discovers the information before you yourself, I suggest you double your efforts." The Frenchman passed him a small brown parcel. "One thousand pounds."

  The tall man stiffened in his saddle. "Is that all I am to be rewarded for risking my life?"

  "When the information is worth paying for, you shall be given enough that you will have no need of working another day." The Frenchman shook his head. "But this…" He lifted the papers in his hand. "It is worth a thousand pounds. Contact me when you have the information I require."

  Then the Frenchman turned his horse, leaving the tall man to contemplate his new competition.

  Chapter Twelve

  July, 5th 1811

  Sherborne, England

  Lady Rivenhall accepted the assistance of her footman as she alighted the carriage, followed shortly thereafter by Madame Arnott. The sky hung low, the clouds threatening to open at any moment, but the gloomy weather did nothing to detract from the splendor of the Georgian manor house.

  Two marble staircases curled to a portico covering the massive double doors, where Lord Elkin stood watching her arrival with his hands clasped behind his broad back. His rugged features broke into a polite smile, and she could see from the light in his cobalt eyes that he was pleased she had accepted his invitation.

  "Lady Rivenhall, I am delighted that you have honored us with your presence," he said, drawing her gloved hand to his lips.

  "It is my honor to have been invited, my lord," she replied with a slight curtsy that provided Lord Elkin a better view of her breasts. He noticed, and was smiling appreciatively when he offered her his arm.

  "Adams will show you to your rooms. We shall gather at seven
in the parlor for refreshment before we dine." He held her eyes as he bowed and lifted her hand to his lips in one fluid movement of graceful seductiveness. "Until then," he whispered.

  Oh, he was very good, she thought as Lord Elkin drifted from the enormous entryway. However, she was better. He obviously intended to bed her, which was rather convenient as she required access to the man’s bedchamber.

  She turned toward Adams who promptly offered, "Right this way, my lady."

  They ascended the staircase that spilled onto the wide corridor of the first floor. Madame Arnott directed the footmen to place the trunks in the appropriate bedchamber of the adjoining rooms, while Celeste enjoyed the view from her Italian marble balcony. She closed her eyes and sighed, suddenly very tired.

  "I believe I shall rest before dinner. Would you have a bath drawn for me at five o’clock, please?"

  Marie nodded and closed the adjoining doors as she left the room. Celeste peeled her traveling gown from her weary limbs and crawled into bed clad only in her chemise. She closed her eyes and in the next moment was being wakened by the gentle voice of her companion.

  "Your bath awaits, ma petite."

  Celeste moaned with pleasure the instant she sank into the lavender-scented water. Madame Arnott rubbed her scalp as she washed Celeste’s hair, and when she rose from the bath her tension remained in the tub.

  Marie spent the next half hour brushing Celeste’s long hair in front of the fire. Once dry to a golden sheen, Madame Arnott set it in a chignon that displayed the elegant line of her neck. Lace drawers and an indecent French chemise with equally indecent lace garters completed her provocative undergarments.

  Her gown was an alluring creation of gold with silk brocade down the central panel of the bodice. The scooped neckline, which was low but not indecently so, was trimmed with gold ribbon that drew ones attention to her bosom as well as her trim waist. Marie laced midnight sapphires through her fair hair, and an enormous teardrop sapphire hung around her neck on a simple gold chain.

  When her old friend had finished, Celeste turned to inspect herself in the mirror. The effect was a simple sophistication that enhanced her beauty rather than detracted from it, and she observed dispassionately that the image was breathtaking.