Napoleon's Woman

by Samantha Saxon

  The waltz was coming to a close and Felicity knew she would never again have an opportunity to regain the one friendship she regretted losing. She fixed her eyes on his.

  "John, you have had two years to overcome your anger and embarrassment at my refusal." His brows furrowed and he looked at her like she belonged in the madhouse. She ignored him, continuing, "I should think that in time…"

  His midnight blue eyes remained fixed on her face as the music stopped and he bowed. "Is that what you thought, Felicity? That I have refused to see you these last years because I was angry?"

  She curtsied, her confusion tangling her tongue. "Well, yes."

  Lord Elkin escorted her to the periphery of the dance floor and looked down at her one last time. "I have not seen you for the past two years, my dear, because it is entirely too painful."

  He held her gaze a moment longer, and it was then she realized that John Elkin was still in love with her. Her eyes burned as he bent to kiss her hand. His lips lingered, and he turned without a backward glance, leaving her completely devastated.

  Felicity made her way to an alcove she had seen in the music room and prayed that it would be vacant. It was, and she sank into the cushions behind a potted plant and gave into her tears. Never would she have imagined that she had injured her friend so deeply. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief and could feel that, despite all her efforts, they were swelling.

  John had been the first man to ask for her hand, and in truth his proposal had frightened her. It was not until then that she understood men often mistook her friendship for more intimate feelings. Since John Elkin’s offer, Felicity had taken great care not to form close attachments to eligible gentlemen.

  But this stratagem seemed to have had the opposite effect. The more she withdrew from the gentlemen of the ton, the more they seemed to be intrigued by her. After John Elkin, she had been honored with six more offers from men that were sworn bachelors.

  The latest, Lord Summers, was known, affectionately of course, as ‘the widow’s peak’. The man was breathtaking, and she supposed that if she were to marry, he would be an excellent husband. He was wealthy, titled, kind, handsome and, if the gossip were true, a very skilled lover. What else could a woman hope for?

  Love.

  She was not in love with him, nor Albright, nor Jones, nor Quincy…nor John Elkin. She was such a horrible person to injure a man as fine as John. Perhaps she should reconsider the man’s suit, she thought, and then gave into a new wave of tears.

  "There you are! The orchestra is warming for our…"

  Embarrassed, Felicity turned her face from Lord Christian St. John. "I’m afraid I shall be unable to join you, my lord."

  Christian said nothing, but she could feel him standing over her. She swiped at her eyes, ashamed that she had wept in public. He remained and, irritated by his continued presence, Felicity looked up at him.

  "Just leave me, Christian." She could see the shock on his face, and her cheeks flushed with humiliation.

  "Has someone--"

  "No! Just leave me." She held his gaze. "Please, Christian."

  Discomfited, the young lord said, "I’ll get Juliet," then dashed out of the music room.

  Felicity groaned, recalling her last encounter with her cousin. She closed her eyes and forced herself to steady her breathing. If she looked at the floor and walked very quickly, perhaps she would make it outside before anyone noted her distress.

  She rose, determined to do just that, when Lord St. John returned. "Juliet is dancing with Lord Barksdale." His blond head tilted to one side. "Where are you going?"

  "Home, my lord," she said, starting toward the music room door.

  Lord St. John followed in something of a panic. "But…but…" Then his ice blue eyes sparkled in triumph. "You can’t go home unescorted."

  "Quite true, Christian, and as my coachman and two footmen are just outside, I shall be perfectly safe."

  They were in the main salon, and she must have looked worse than she had imagined. A small murmur began as she sliced through the crush, and she knew without a doubt that she would be the topic of speculation in many a lady’s drawing room the following morning. Felicity picked up her pace and then felt Lord St. John patting her hand.

  "I’m quite sure that your grandmother will be right as rain in a week or two," the young lord said, at such a volume and with such conviction that it passed through her mind, and not for the first time, that Christian had missed his calling.

  The expressions of the society matrons changed before her eyes from disapproval to polite sympathy, and at that moment she could have kissed Lord St. John for his kindness and ingenuity.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The dark man sat in the gazebo listening to the distant gongs of midnight. He glanced down at his timepiece and noticed that it was five minutes fast. He adjusted the time, winding the pocket watch until the delicate spindle could be twisted no further.

  The young lord enjoyed the music drifting toward him, but he rolled his eyes when he heard Lady Davis clomping down the gravel path moments before he saw her. The stupid chit ran into his arms, and he was thankful that it was dark so he would not be subjected to her face. Sophie kissed him and in an amorous state from his waltz with Lady Rivenhall, he returned her embrace.

  "Oh, darling."

  "Shhh," he ordered, not wanting her voice to impede his fantasy.

  He dove into the girl’s bodice, squeezing her nipples to hasten her readiness to receive him. He unbuttoned his breeches and sat on the stone bench, but before he could remove her drawers the girl had sunk to her knees and took him in her mouth as he had taught her to do.

  The man moaned, but he wanted to imagine himself buried inside of Lady Rivenhall. He pulled her up, ripping away the girl’s drawers, and guiding her to straddle his aching cock. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down hard, impaling her to the hilt. She gasped, but he knew she enjoyed it. He lifted her and pulled her down again until the girl had the rhythm he preferred.

  "That’s it," he encouraged, lifting her slippered feet to the bench and causing her to sink further still.

  The tall man closed his eyes and envisioned Lady Rivenhall. He reached out and grasped the girl’s breast and then, with brutal abandon, thrust until he came into her in a devastating climax inspired by the alluring lady spy. His eyes remained closed as the last tremor subsided and then he opened them, looking at Lady Davis and remembering why he was here.

  "I warned you, Sophie, never to speak to me in public."

  "I know, darling, but I wanted you so much," she said, wiggling on his cock and smiling. "I did not think you would be too angry."

  He lifted her off his lap and buttoned his gaping trousers. Then walked behind the girl and kissed her just below the ear, saying, "Oh, but I do mind," just before twisting her neck until it gave with a familiar dull crack.

  The dark man took a step backward so that Lady Davis’s weight would not come to rest on his boots, then straightened his waistcoat and returned to the ballroom with ample time for his quadrille with Lady Hillary.

  ***

  They had strolled the entire length of the garden and the Duchess of Glenbroke had had enough. She stopped on the gravel path, lit only by a distant lantern, and turned to her husband.

  "Right, Gilbert, what do you want?"

  The Duke of Glenbroke chuckled, and smiled down at her with one of the most alluring smiles the ton had to offer. "Always to the point, aren’t you, my dear?"

  Sarah rolled her eyes. "Quite. Now why have you brought me out here?"

  "Why do you think I have brought you here?"

  Sarah shrugged. "To tell me something you do not want overheard."

  "Ahh," he said with a knowing look. "Well, my darling, it might surprise you to learn that I am not the least bit interested in the latest on-dit."

  Sarah eyed her husband with suspicion. "But then why else would you have brought me to the far corners of the garden, Gil
bert? I’m freezing."

  The tall man bent down and seized her gloved hand, kissing the back of it with an ease gained only by experience. "That should be obvious, my dear."

  Sarah shivered, unsure if it was due to the cold, or to something warmer, much more consuming. "I should refuse you for failing to consider the elements?"

  The handsome duke burst into laughter and looked into her eyes, shaking his head from side to side. "I have never been refused due to weather."

  Sarah’s temper flared at the reminder of his many conquests. Regardless of their recent nuptials, women still attempted to gain her husband’s bed. "Then go find yourself a more robust companion." She spun round, intending to head for the house. "You certainly have had enough offers."

  Her husband grinned, obviously pleased with her jealousy. He reached out, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her into his body.

  "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, brushing her hair from her face as he looked down into her eyes. "You know the moment you threw that figurine at me, I was ruined for other women." He bent his head and hovered over her lips. "I’m so hopelessly besotted that I could not even wait until we were home to taste you."

  Sarah dare not look at him; if she looked at his perfectly constructed face, looked at those masculine lips, she would forgive him anything. "But I’m cold," she protested weakly.

  His amusement faded and his gray eyes shone silver in the moonlight, causing her stomach to flip. "Then perhaps you will allow me to warm you?"

  He bent his head and seized her, teasing her with his tongue as he took his time in tasting her. Her husband moaned, and the sound of his baritone voice caused her to press closer into his lean body. Her hands reached around his neck, and she pulled him down while standing on the very tips of her toes. Her husband was a tall man, a muscular man, and it would take her several glorious hours to properly explore his masculine beauty.

  She was beginning to do just that when she hear a distant thud. Sarah broke their embrace and turned her head in the direction of the noise.

  "Gilbert," she said, as her husband kissed down her neck. "What was that?"

  "What was what?" She could hear her husband’s sensual need, and she very nearly forgot what she was asking.

  "What was that noise?"

  "I didn’t hear anything." His lips fell to the swells of her breasts.

  "I heard something."

  "I’m sure that you did," he said, ignoring her.

  Irritated, Sarah pulled back and pushed on her husband’s solid chest. "No, I’m serious, Gilbert. I’m certain I heard something."

  He slackened his grasp on her waist, and his head dropped in frustration. "Yes, you said, Sarah. But what would you like for me to do?"

  "I don’t know. Go and--"

  She was interrupted by a piercing scream. Gilbert turned to her. "Remain here," he ordered, taking one step in the direction of the disturbance.

  Sarah seized his hand in hers. "I’ll be damned if you’re leaving me in the garden alone, Gilbert de Clare."

  Her handsome husband looked down at her, the slightest of grins lighting his striking features. They strode forward, arriving at the gazebo to find a woman with her face buried in her companion’s neck, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

  The young man directed the duke’s eyes with his own to the crumpled figure lying on the floor of the wooden structure. Sarah’s intake of air was audible to her husband, and Gilbert instinctively put his arm around her shoulders.

  "Some madman must have wandered in off the streets and attacked her."

  "Yes," Gilbert said, causing Sarah to poke him in the ribs. He looked down with a question in his eyes, and she glanced toward the other couple. Understanding her meaning, her husband said, "Why don’t you take the ladies inside and inform Lord Hambury of this tragic event?"

  "Of course, Your Grace" the young lord said, offering Sarah his other arm.

  "No!" Sarah clutched her husband’s lapels as if in a panic.

  Gilbert’s muscular arms tightened. "It’s all right, Sarah, you will be perfectly safe. Go with Lord Kerry."

  Sarah rolled her eyes and hit him in the back, hard. "No! Please don’t leave me," she said sounding pathetic.

  Gilbert’s confusion appeared to be concern to the other man, who offered, "I shall be back in a moment, Your Grace." As he lead the distraught young lady into the safety of the house.

  "Thank you," the duke said to the retreating figure. Then, pulling away from Sarah, he asked, "What is it?"

  "You took long enough in getting rid of them."

  "Forgive me, Duchess, for thinking you would be distraught at seeing a dead woman lying on the gazebo floor. Had I known dead bodies were a common occurrence for you, I should not have bothered."

  "Don’t be ridiculous, Gilbert," Sarah said as her husband examined the body. "You know very well that I have never seen a corpse before this very moment. And don’t call me Duchess, you know I hate it."

  "Lady Davis," her husband said, dusting off his hands as he rose. "She has a broken neck, but I see no evidence of a fall, which leads me to believe that she has been murdered."

  "I was afraid of that, but that is not what disturbs me."

  "Murder does not disturb you?" Her husband’s dark brows rose as he looked down at her.

  "Of course, it disturbs me, Gilbert, but that is not the point."

  "It was for her," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the still figure.

  The duchess sighed. "Do you recall kissing me?"

  Her husband smiled and stared at her lips. "Every detail," he said in his most seductive tone.

  Sarah ignored the heat blooming in the pit of her stomach. "When you kissed me, we were standing at the back entrance to the garden. No one came in or out of that gate."

  "Then the murderer went back inside." His stunning eyes reflected his understanding. "The murderer is one of us. Bloody hell!"

  "Bloody hell, indeed."

  ***

  "What the devil is wrong with you?" Lord Christian St. John asked as Aidan watched the ton’s rakes clamoring to dance with the provocative Lady Rivenhall.

  "Nothing," Aidan said, wondering what the woman had been thinking in wearing such a scanty gown. Weren’t spies supposed to be discreet? Well, the dazzling Lady Rivenhall would have attracted less attention had she arrived wearing a French flag.

  But that was the point, he supposed. To attract very specific attention, and he had no doubt that she would be successful. Lord Hambury would be no match for her wiles. The aging lord was of less interest to Aidan than was the person who had sent Celeste to investigate him.

  So Aidan sat watching and observing her suitors, wondering which one, if any, was her French collaborator.

  "I thought you were supposed to be dancing with Lady Pervill."

  Christian shrugged. "I was, but I’ve no idea where the girl’s taken herself."

  "I can’t seem to find Lady Appleton, either."

  "Oh, she returned home."

  Aidan turned toward his friend. "Nothing wrong, I hope."

  "No, no, she felt a chill coming on and thought it wise to retire and get some rest. I escorted her to her carriage."

  "Thank you, old man," he said, feeling guilty for so woefully neglecting his duty as escort. Aidan turned again to the reason for his distraction and decided to follow a different tack. "Excuse me, Christian."

  The Earl of Wessex cut through the ring of gentlemen surrounding the stunning woman and stood directly in front of her. "My dance, I believe, Lady Rivenhall."

  It was not.

  "But. . ." a dandy protested, but by then Aidan had the woman half the distance to the ballroom floor.

  "You’re hurting my arm," she whispered through clenched teeth.

  "Good," he said, swinging her around, but they had not taken a full turn of the floor before a commotion began near the beveled doors leading outside.

  A woman screamed, and the music stopped altogether. People began
to mill around the back of the house as whispers of an attack rippled through the crowd.

  Lord Hambury pushed his way toward the stairs, hoping to squelch the inevitable rumors. He put his arms up to silence his guests.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, his tone somber. "I’m afraid there has been a tragic event here this evening. A lady has fallen in the garden and regrettably has died from her injuries."

  The ton gasped collectively and someone yelled, "Who was the lady?"

  "Gentlemen, I’m afraid that the lady’s family has yet to be notified. I believe it would be best to wait until they can be located and informed of the accident. Now, if you would assist the ladies home, I would be most grateful."

  The Earl of Wessex was in shock as his sister and her husband made their way through the confusion to his side. Sarah looked around, clearly not wanting to be overheard, and Aidan knew by looking into his sister’s eyes that the information was not good.

  "Lady Davis has been murdered. Gilbert and I found her. And, Aidan, we were standing by the garden gate. No one entered or left by it."

  His hand tightened on Lady Rivenhall’s wrist as he comprehended what his sister was telling him.

  "You see what this means, Aidan. The admiral’s wife was killed by someone at this ball."

  Wessex’s eyes shot to the beautiful traitor, and she shook her head as if to deny the reality of the situation, but he knew that she was denying any involvement.

  Gilbert glanced at the woman on Aidan’s arm and seeing her distress offered, "May I escort you to your parents, Lady…?"

  "Rivenhall."

  "I’ll take her."

  Gilbert held Aidan’s eyes and then with one curt bow said, "Good evening, Lady Rivenhall."

  Aidan pulled the lady’s wrist, and he could feel her slippers sliding on the dance floor as she attempted to resist him. "My uncle--"

  "Will know soon enough the identity of the woman in the garden."

  They were at the front entrance, and the cool night air struck his face, but failed to ease the heat of his temper. He found the lady’s carriage and all but threw Lady Rivenhall inside.

  "Get in."

  Aidan followed and then rapped on the ceiling, causing the conveyance to lurch forward. His eyes must have burned with rage because the woman pressed herself into the corner of the coach.