Napoleon's Woman

by Samantha Saxon

  "I know nothing of the events that occurred here this evening." Aidan continued to stare at her and the brave lady added, "I swear it."

  The earl leaned forward. "You expect me to believe that the wife of a British admiral is murdered in the very home where a French collaborator is actively attempting to attain information, yet said traitor had nothing whatsoever to do with the murder?" He met her pale eyes with contempt. "You’re not that good a whore."

  Her face contorted and then went blank as she sat more erect. "I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not."

  Aidan’s jaw pulsed. "I know you have been given a list of men to investigate." The breathtaking spy blinked in surprise, but recovered with practiced speed. He grabbed her arm, saying, "And I will have the truth, Lady Rivenhall."

  "Unhand me," she demanded, and the earl glanced down at the silver pistol glinting in the candlelight of the landau.

  "I see you have graduated from knives, but you forget…" Aidan leaned forward and pressed the barrel of the pistol to his chest, never taking his eyes from hers. "I’m well acquainted with firearms."

  The woman’s luxurious lips lifted to one side in a contemptuous sneer. "And you forget, my lord," she said, cocking the pistol, "so am I." Aidan held her gaze and saw no hesitation, only the woman that had ruthlessly commanded her troops at Albuera. "Now remove yourself from my carriage."

  Aidan swallowed his frustration and glared at the callous woman. "Certainly, Lady Rivenhall," he said, reaching for the door and alighting the landau, taking care never to turn his back on the deadly woman. "Until next time." He swept a bow, replaced his beaver skin hat atop his head and waited for the carriage to clatter out of sight.

  ***

  The moment Lord Elkin heard of the woman in the garden, he began to search the ballroom for Lady Appleton. But the more the crowd thinned with no sign of her, the more his heart galloped in his chest.

  Surely, he had just missed her leaving, he told himself, but his disquiet did not ease. He started toward his carriage then realized that she lived a mere two blocks to the east. His feet began moving in that direction, all his thoughts centered on confirming that she was unharmed.

  He dodged partygoers and horses and with each step his trepidation grew until he found himself in a near dash to her townhome. Lord Elkin bounded up the stairs and banged the doorknocker against the brass plate.

  His heart was pounding from exertion as well as fear and he knocked again, longer this time. The door opened, and an annoyed butler looked down his nose at him.

  John pushed passed the servant, who immediately called for two footmen to throw him out on his ear.

  "Felicity," he shouted, and then louder, directed up the decorative staircase. "Felicity!"

  Lady Appleton appeared from the salon in a blue dressing gown, holding a tome in her right hand. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders, and her mouth hung open in alarm. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to slow his pounding heart.

  Thank God.

  "John, what has happened?" she asked, grasping his arm and leading him into the salon. "It’s all right, Merryweather."

  Felicity guided him to a chair near the fire and rushed to the sideboard, pouring him a substantial amount of scotch. She held out the fiery liquid, and he was shocked to see that his hands were shaking when he reached for the glass. The beautiful woman sank down on her knees, placing her delicate hands on his.

  "John, what has distressed you so?" Her large eyes held her concern and he was so overcome with relief he scarcely knew where to begin.

  "There was a woman killed at Lord Hambury’s home this evening. The lady’s identity was not revealed, and when I could not find you. . ."---he held her fawn-colored gaze---"I came here."

  Felicity dropped her head and pressed her cheek to the back of his hand. John placed his drink on a nearby side table and began to stroke the back of her hair, and then he remembered she was not his and never would be.

  John rose, leaving Felicity in a confused pile on the Aubusson rug. "I…" His brows furrowed. "I should leave, Lady Appleton," he said, and then started for the salon door.

  His hand was on the polished brass knob when she said, "Wait."

  John closed his eyes for a moment before turning to face her. "Why?" His eyes met hers. "What are you saying, Felicity?"

  She shook her head. "I don’t know."

  They stared at one another as she rose to her feet.

  God, she’s beautiful. He walked toward her, and when he was close enough to see the golden flecks in her light eyes, he whispered, "Don’t do this to me, Felicity. If I’ve no chance of winning you, don’t torment me with hope."

  "I…am very confused, John," she said, her eyes drifting to his lips.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. John bent his head and just before covering her mouth with his, said, "Then allow me to enlighten you."

  Her lips were as sweet as the woman herself, and he thanked God for giving him this moment. She felt so perfect in his arms that he tightened his hold, but she tensed, and he knew he had reached too high.

  Lady Appleton placed her palms on his chest and stared at his cravat. Her forehead creased as she struggled for the words to convey her thoughts.

  "I don’t know what I can offer you, John." Felicity looked into the depth of his eyes. "I just know that I do not want to lose you again."

  John pulled her to his chest and rested his chin atop her head, wondering if he could ever be a friend to Lady Appleton, wondering if he could ever sit by and watch her marry another man.

  They held each for a very long time, both afraid to let go. But finally, he withdrew and made for the door, knowing that if it took her a lifetime to sort out her feelings, he would wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  At three o’clock in the morning the streets of Regent’s Hill were deserted. Celeste kept to the shadows, thankful that the moon was no more than a sliver.

  She peered around the corner the moment she heard a carriage come to rest in front of the house she had been observing. She waited until the gentleman had ascended the stairs and his coachman had passed before making her way across the dark street.

  Her newly acquired clothing made it a simple task to slip over the outer wall, but as always climbing to the second floor proved arduous. Celeste slithered through the gentleman’s open bedchamber window just before he entered through a door on the far side of the room.

  The man wore nothing more than a white cloth tied around his waist. His well-defined chest still held beads of water, which clung to the blond hair that disappeared in an orderly line beneath the low-slung cloth. The young lord stopped abruptly and Celeste glimpsed a dangerous man the instant before he recognized her.

  "Ah, Lady Rivenhall. What an unexpected pleasure." He tucked his long blonde hair behind his ears. "Have you come to assist me in bathing?"

  Celeste blushed, despite trying not to, and threw her hat on the nearest chair. "No, Henri. I have come to speak with you about the events at Lord Humphrey’s ball."

  The handsome man was smiling now and walked toward her, looking her over from head to toe. His assessment made Celeste squirm. She tugged at her breeches and wished she had worn a jacket, but the stable lad from whom she had stolen the garments did not possess one.

  Lord Renault walked behind her, and she felt his hand on her backside as he said, "Until this very moment, I had never realized how buckskins cling to one’s form. And what a fine form you have, Lady Rivenhall."

  Celeste knocked his arm away and used the tone she took when speaking to her troops. "Did you do it?"

  His golden eyes met hers. "Murder Lady Davis?" He shook his head, sending his fair hair to rest on his muscular shoulder. "No, I have never even met the unfortunate lady."

  Celeste held his penetrating gaze to ascertain if he was lying. He was not. The man was too close and she could smell his masculine scent, feel his power. She backed up, saying, "I want you to find out who did kill her and
if we are responsible."

  The Frenchman walked toward his bed and removed his towel, standing before her completely naked. Celeste wanted nothing more than to turn away, but she did not, knowing that if she did it would be seen as a sign of weakness. Instead, she forced herself to look at his thickly muscled form. His shaft stood ready to take her, and she could understand why women fought to gain his attention…and his bed.

  When they both knew she had seen what he wanted her to see, he said, "Very well, I shall pump a few of Lady Davis’s maids for information." The Frenchman smiled seductively. "Will that satisfy you, my lady?"

  Celeste raised a brow. "It might satisfy me, Monsieur Renault, but the maids are a different matter altogether."

  The young man’s laugh was deep and rich as he slipped under the lush velvet counterpane.

  "Now, Lady Rivenhall." He rested his head on his palm, supporting his weight with his elbow. "Unless you intend to join me, I shall need all of my strength for my inquiries." Celeste rolled her eyes and he laughed harder. "I will contact you as soon as I have any information."

  Lady Rivenhall nodded her understanding and made for the door, but Henri stopped her. "The window, if you don’t mind."

  Celeste looked into Monsieur Renault’s sparkling eyes. "Why?"

  The man shrugged. "I get a much better view of your exquisite backside when you bend over, oui?"

  Lady Rivenhall yanked open the Frenchman’s bedchamber door, and peals of baritone laughter escorted her out.

  ***

  It had been one week since Lord Hambury’s ball, and Felicity found herself sipping tea with her dearest friends.

  "Gilbert is determined to have me increasing by Christmas, and while I adore my children, the twins are not yet one year old. Is it terrible of me to want another year without a babe in the house?"

  "Of course not, Sarah. You really should allow Mrs. Cox to assist you more."

  Sarah sighed. "You sound like my husband, Felicity."

  "Well, I have a bit of news," Juliet began. "Well, two bits of news, actually. The first is that I heard a rumor that Lady Davis had recently taken a lover." She paused for emphasis.

  "You’re joking," Sarah said in disbelief.

  Lady Pervill shook her light brown curls. "I’m not. I went to school with her niece, Elizabeth." Juliet turned toward her cousin and point at her face. "You remember the girl with the crooked teeth and spots on her face."

  "Juliet," Sarah said trying to draw her friend’s attention back to the present.

  "Oh, yes, poor Elizabeth Davis," Felicity said remembering. "How is dear Elizabeth? Still spotty?"

  "Juliet."

  "No, actually, she seem to have outgrown the spots, although her teeth are still as crooked as the local magistrate."

  "Well, do give Elizabeth my regards the next time you meet up with--"

  "Juliet!" The cousins turned in unison. "Who was Lady Davis’ lover? He may very well have been the man that killed her."

  "I am not a simpleton, Sarah. I had thought of that, but Elizabeth said that Lady Davis told her that she had been forbidden to reveal his identity, even to her closest friends."

  "That’s incredible." Sarah poured the others more tea.

  "My God, Juliet, I can hardly wait to hear your second bit of news," Felicity said, a touch wary.

  "Well," her cousin began, lifting her shoulders in excitement. "Lord Barksdale kissed me at the ball."

  Knowing that Juliet had not received much notice from the eligible men of the ton, the duchess asked excitedly, "And what did you think of your first kiss?"

  "I liked it. As a matter of fact, I liked it so much that I kissed him on the carriage ride home."

  "Juliet, the man will think you forward," Felicity warned.

  "Yes, I believe that is what Lord Barksdale finds appealing about me." Her cornflower eyes sparkled with mischief as she challenged Felicity to comment further.

  "Do you have feelings for Lord Barksdale?" Sarah probed.

  Juliet rolled her eyes. "My God, I just kissed the man. I enjoy Robert. He is handsome and charming and a great deal of fun, but it is not as though the man has made an offer."

  "Then you should refrain from kissing him until he does," the duchess advised with a smile full of dimples.

  "How then am I to gain any level of proficiency?"

  Lady Appleton sighed in resignation and returned to her cucumber sandwich.

  Sarah turned her attention on Felicity and from behind her cup said, "Christian informed me that he saw Lord Elkin arrive at your home, Tuesday last."

  Lady Appleton blushed, causing Juliet to protest. "Felicity! And here you sit lecturing me on proper behavior. Why did you not tell me? If you will recall, one week ago today you swore, and I quote"---Juliet softened her voice to emulate her cousin---"‘If I take an interest in a particular gentleman…’" Her voice reverted to her own. "You will be the first to know."

  Felicity took a bite of cake, giving herself time to form an answer. "I have not ‘taken an interest’ in Lord Elkin. We are acquaintances that is all."

  The other women sent meaningful glances to one another, but it was Sarah who asked, "How many times have you been riding with Lord Elkin this past week?"

  Felicity straightened the napkin in her lap, stirred her tea, added more cream to her cup, stirred again, then coughed, saying, "Three."

  Juliet’s mouth fell open. "You have not seen the man in two years, Felicity. Then you spend three afternoons with him? If you have not taken ‘an interest’ in him, then what in God’s name are you doing?"

  "Juliet," Felicity admonished. Then, when she saw her cousin would not relent, she answered, "I don’t know, precisely." They waited. "John is a very good friend."

  "A good friend! Oh, that is very romantic. I’m positively swooning."

  "Juliet!" Sarah warned.

  Needing to relieve her guilt, Felicity closed her eyes so she would not have to look at them while she spoke. "If you must know the truth, I believe he is still in love with me."

  Sarah placed her hand on Felicity’s. "And have your feelings changed for Lord Elkin?"

  "I don’t know. He had been gone for so long, and I don’t want to lose his friendship for a second time. John makes me…lighter. I do love him."

  Sarah held her gaze and said with all tenderness, "You do the man harm if you are not in love with him, Felicity, no matter if you wish to retain his companionship or not. If you are not in love with him, you must tell him so."

  "Perhaps I will grow to love him. He would make an excellent father."

  "An excellent father!" Juliet could not be contained. "Do you hear your own words? You are not buying a horse, Felicity. The man you marry should sweep you off your feet, should make you want to swoon when he walks in the room--"

  "Don’t be ridiculous, Juliet," Felicity snapped. Sarah looked over her cup at the cousins while they argued.

  "I am not being ridiculous, Felicity. Sarah could scarcely pour her own tea when she fell in love with Gilbert."

  "Do make your point, Juliet."

  "The point, cousin, is that when you meet the man you are to marry, you should feel…something!"

  "I do. I feel friendship, and respect, and I enjoy every moment that I am with John. You have been in society long enough to know that is more than most women of the ton can hope for. I have been out in society for three years, Juliet, and it is time I start a family of my own."

  "Then why, if you are so keen on starting a family, did you not except his offer the first go round and save the man two years of heartache? I’ll tell you why, because are not in love with him"

  Felicity slammed her teacup down, shattering the thin bone china. "Enough, Juliet," she said, "I am so tired of your schoolgirl fantasies. Not every woman is lucky enough to have the man she loves, love her in return. Most women simply have to make the best choice available. Excuse me." Lady Appleton stood, then walked out of the room, leaving the other women staring at one another in sho
ck.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gilbert de Clare, Duke of Glenbroke, sat atop his mount as the animal sliced through the morning mist, which clung to life in the recesses of the riding trail before being burned up by the ascending sun.

  "With the murder of Lady Davis, Whitehall will be forced to reevaluate your suspicions of Lady Rivenhall. So, until--"

  "Whitehall can sod off," Aidan said harshly. "The Foreign Office all but called me mad when I brought forth my assertion."

  Stunned by his brother-in-law’s uncharacteristic show of temper, it took Gilbert several moments to respond. "Aidan, men’s lives hang in the balance. She must be watched."

  His brother-in-law took a steadying breath, his emerald eyes staring at the horizon. "Then hire a runner, or convince Whitehall that the woman is dangerous. Either way, I am finished. I find that I lack the objectivity needed to do the job."

  The duke turned his head and sent Lord Wessex a speculative glance. Aidan Duhearst, who rarely raised a brow at the intrigue of the ton, was disconcerted, and Gilbert wanted to know why. He directed Apollo closer to the earl as a group of riders passed them on Rotten Row in Hyde Park.

  Gilbert waited, having learned long ago that allowing a person room to speak often provided more answers than a direct question.

  "Lady Rivenhall is…difficult."

  The duke’s face remained placid, but his mind was reeling. "And have you tried to control her as we discussed? Did you seduce her?"

  Gilbert did not turn toward his brother-in-law, but he did fall back a half pace, watching him from the corners of his eyes. The earl’s jaw tightened, and the easy elegance with which he rode was replaced with jarring rigidity.

  "Yes," he said finally before clamping his jaw shut.

  "And this disturbed you? Aidan, the woman is Napoleon’s mistress."

  "She was a virgin."

  "What?" the duke said, jerking his reins and eliciting a snort of protest from his mount.