Napoleon's Woman

by Samantha Saxon

  Celeste made light of his comment, saying, "You really should not flatter ladies so outrageously, my lord."

  The dark man held her gaze and lifted a brow. "I don’t. I make a point of never complimenting a woman unless the remark happens to be true."

  Her soup was placed before her, but he did not relinquish her gaze until he had been served as well. They turned toward the lobster bisque and ate the creamy concoction with unbridled appreciation.

  "And how are you finding London?" he asked between spoonfuls. "I believe this is your first time in the city?"

  Celeste displayed a charming smile. "I adore London, particularly the cultural pursuits that are unavailable to one residing in the country."

  Their bowls of bisque were removed in favor of the second course, quail eggs topped with beluga caviar. She lifted a slice of egg and placed it in her mouth, closing her eyes as she noted how the saltiness of the caviar was the perfect complement to the earthy tones of the egg. When she opened her eyes Lord Ferrell was staring at her lips, and Celeste remembered how much men enjoyed watching a woman take something into her mouth.

  "What pursuits interest you most, Lady Rivenhall?" the man asked with a lazy smile.

  "I enjoy the theater, of course, but by far the most enjoyable aspect of town life is viewing the works of art. I have a private collection at home, but nothing could compare with London. Do you not agree, my lord?" she asked, knowing full well the man had an extensive collection in his townhome.

  He looked at her in triumph, saying, "Did you know that my mother was an Italian countess from Venice?"

  Celeste lied with a shake of her head.

  "It so happens that she collected works of art from all over the continent and brought them to England when she married my father."

  "Then you are a very fortunate man, my lord."

  The quail eggs were replaced with a salmon fillet in a lemon caper sauce.

  "Yes, I am, Lady Rivenhall." He smiled seductively as he leaned toward her. "Would you care to view the collection?"

  "Might I?" Celeste asked with unconcealed enthusiasm.

  The sultry man chuckled at her fervor. "Shall we say Thursday? We could share dinner and then take our time exploring the collection."

  "I’m afraid Thursday is impossible, my lord." Celeste allowed him a moment of disappointment before adding, "However, I am available tomorrow evening."

  His eyes flared with her eagerness to be alone with him. "Seven?"

  "I shall count the hours," Celeste said, allowing a sensual glint to linger in her eyes.

  The remainder of the dinner party passed in a blur. She had accomplished her goal, and now her mind wandered to her inevitable meeting with the Earl of Wessex.

  She had not seen him since he stormed out of the interview with Falcon, and she could not help but wonder how he would react when next he saw her. Would he still be angry, or would he have reconsidered her role in the events leading to Lord Elkin’s death? Would his beautiful green eyes still reflect his disdain of her? The sight of which would shatter her heart, because it was a disdain she could not help but share.

  ***

  Lady Rivenhall returned home to a barrage of questions from Madame Arnott.

  "Well?"

  Celeste stood still while her companion removed her garments. "I am to be shown his collection tomorrow evening at seven."

  "And do you think this Lord Ferrell is capable of espionage?"

  Lady Rivenhall laughed. "I think Lord Ferrell is capable of a great deal, I’m just unsure if collaboration is one of them." Celeste sank into her desk chair covered in yellow gingham as Marie removed the pins that held her intricate coiffure. "I shall have my answer tomorrow."

  She withdrew a piece of paper from the top drawer and hesitated before writing the short note to the Earl of Wessex. Celeste blotted the page and handed the message to Madame Arnott.

  "Marie, have this delivered to Lord Wessex." Her companion started for the door, but Celeste added, "And do not be seen doing so."

  "Oui." Madame Arnott slipped out of the room, leaving Celeste alone with her fear…and hope.

  ***

  The Duchess of Glenbroke gave her husband her arm as the duke escorted her into the cathedral for Lord Elkin’s funeral service.

  Sarah’s stomach tightened as she passed through the heavy doors, hating to lose a man as honorable and kind as John Elkin. She sighed when Gilbert seated her on the front row as befitting their station and then settled in next to her.

  The pews filled quietly with mourners, and she stared at the casket, wanting nothing more than to have the painful ceremony over with. A gentleman dressed in black settled to her right, and she turned to make her introduction. But when she saw the familiar face of Viscount DunDonell, she gave him a subdued smile and squeezed his hand in an affectionate welcome home.

  Lord DunDonell had been seeing to his estates in Scotland and had recently returned to London. And although Gilbert would never discuss the matter, Sarah suspected that the viscount had been sent to meet with the northern gentry to secure much-needed funds for the peninsular campaign.

  "How are you, Daniel?"

  The viscount glanced back several pews, saying beneath his brogue, "Very well, Your Grace, but I am wonderin’ why the hell St. John has brought one of the ton’s most notorious widows to this ceremony." His eyes returned to hers. "Pardon, Sarah."

  Gilbert chuckled, his silvery eyes settling on her, causing her heart to skip. "That is precisely what my wife inquired. However, I believe her exact words were ‘bloody hell.’"

  Sarah hit her husband in the stomach with her elbow and turned to look into the sky blue of Daniel McCurren’s eyes. "I believe Christian said the lady was acquainted with Lord Elkin."

  The viscount’s auburn brows narrowed. "Lady Hamilton is ‘acquainted’ with half the male members of the ton."

  "Is she acquainted with you, my lord?" Sarah asked, the picture of innocence.

  "No, a few of my brothers, no doubt, but not me. However, I’m afraid it will take a full week for Christian’s father to recover from this little escapade."

  "You would think the Duke of St. John would be used to it by now," Gilbert said.

  "Aye, you would, but the poor man keeps prayin’ that Christian will settle. Unfortunately, St. John’s antics are becomin’ more and more frequent."

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. "Why do you think that is, Daniel?"

  Daniel shrugged. "I’ve no bloody idea." The viscount looked over her shoulder to the opposite side of the cathedral. "How is Lady Appleton?"

  "Better, but Felicity still blames herself. Did you know that John proposed to her the night he was murdered?" Sarah asked.

  "Aye, Gilbert told me. Rough that." Daniel’s striking eyes held his concern. "Please convey my sympathies to Lady Appleton."

  "I will," she whispered, just as the bishop took his place behind the ornate altar so that the mourners could grieve the loss of a dear friend.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Earl of Wessex sat in the corner of Lady Rivenhall’s carriage, having gained access from the stables as planned.

  The landau rolled to a stop in front of the lady’s townhome and he stared at the red lacquered door with trepidation. He had not seen Lady Rivenhall since the morning after John’s murder, and Aidan was unsure how he would react when he did.

  He should feel gratitude and admiration for the woman that had endangered herself to save him, not this incomprehensible anger that rumbled deep in his chest every time he thought of her. Lady Rivenhall had lied to him, yes, but she had done so for the good of the country. How then could he hold that against her?

  But he did, and he could not understand why.

  Lady Rivenhall emerged from the door, and Aidan felt like he had been kicked in the gut. She was a ruby jewel in the sooty London night. Her vermilion gown appeared to have diamonds adorning the bodice, and she sparkled brighter than the few stars visible in the night sky.

&
nbsp; Her footman handed the lady up, and only when the carriage door closed did she turn to look at him. "Good, you’ve worn black."

  "As ordered," he said, trying to compose himself.

  Lady Rivenhall lifted her perfect chin, a flash of irritation dancing in her pale eyes. "If you will recall, my lord, I did not ask for your protection. I have managed to survive for four years alone in a pit of vipers and remained unharmed."

  "Thus far, Lady Rivenhall," he pointed out.

  She surprised him by laughing and turning to stare out the window. "Yes, well, the present is all that I have."

  Aidan’s forehead creased as he attempted to decipher her meaning. He stared at her delicate profile, not knowing what to say, how to convey his appreciation. He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his thighs as he cleared his throat.

  "I want to…" She turned her head to look at him, and he lost all of his thoughts. She was so beautiful, so…brave. "Albuera…I…I want to--"

  Lady Rivenhall cut him off as she shoved a document in his direction. "Here is the floor plan of Lord Ferrell’s home. I will dine with him at seven o’clock, and then we shall view his collection. Begin your search in his study, moving on to the remaining portion of the ground floor."

  "What about the servants?" he asked, dropping the topic, which the lady obviously wished not to discuss.

  Lady Rivenhall smiled coolly, a touch of cynicism lacing her melodic voice. "It has been my experience that men who hope to bed a woman dismiss the servants after dinner. Leave the bedchamber and upstairs floors to me. I will call for my carriage when I have completed my search."

  Aidan gave a crisp nod as they arrived at Lord Ferrell’s front entrance, but then he took her meaning. "You don’t expect me to wait in the carriage for your return?"

  "That is exactly what I expect, my lord. Falcon may have forced me to bring you along, but that does not mean I want you here." And then she stepped out of the carriage, walking into the home owned by one of the ton’s most celebrated rakes.

  Aidan wadded up the paper in frustration and waited for the landau to pull around back before slipping into the darkness. He clung to the side of the house, pausing when he saw Lady Rivenhall being seated in the dining room to the right of her host at a long mahogany table.

  His jaw clenched when he saw Lord Ferrell grin with anticipation. The man knew women and how to manipulate them to obtain what he desired. His predatory eyes never left Lady Rivenhall, and Aidan could not force himself to move. Every instinct shouted at him to protect her, to force his way into the room and drag her back to the safety of Madame Arnott.

  But he could not.

  Aidan took a calming breath and reminded himself that the lady had been managing men such as this from the time she was sixteen. He stared at the beautiful woman, and in that moment realized that he had been at war for nine months, but Lady Rivenhall had lived amongst the enemy for four years.

  Aidan found himself wanting to ease her burden and moved on to find the study. He picked the lock of a side window and prayed that Lord Ferrell did not allow hounds to roam free at night. He slid the sash open, listening for servants as he climbed into a small parlor. He referenced the crinkled paper and found the study two doors down the corridor.

  He felt his way across the room and lit a lamp atop the organized desk. The man had stacks of accounts arranged in neat piles along the far side of the desk, and it took a good half-hour to go through all of them. But in the end he found supply shipments, troop estimates, dates of departures—but no Lion’s seal.

  Lord Ferrell was certainly intelligent enough to pull off collaborating with the French, but was he a traitor?

  At this moment, Aidan very much hoped that he was.

  He folded the documents and put them in his jacket, extinguishing the lamp and leaving the study exactly as he had found it. The corridor was empty, just as Lady Rivenhall had predicted, and he moved easily throughout the ground floor.

  He was searching the ballroom when he heard the couple enter at the opposite end of the long room. Aidan concealed himself behind a potted shrub in a dark alcove and watched Lady Rivenhall take small, even steps as she admired the paintings on the wall. She walked toward one particular portrait and stopped.

  "These are exquisite, Anthony." Anthony? "This one puts me in mind of Rembrandt."

  Lord Ferrell’s baritone laughter raised Aidan’s hackles. "Well, it should, Lady Rivenhall. It is Rembrandt." He could feel the man’s arrogance wafting across the room.

  "Well, then I’m to be commended for my keen eye."

  Anthony Ferrell strolled in front of the enchanting lady and lifted her hand to his lips, saying, "And what lovely eyes they are."

  Aidan heard a muffled snap and glanced down at the injured plant in his fist. He dropped the leaves in the pot just as the bastard said, "The finer pieces of my collection are housed upstairs."

  Lady Rivenhall stared into the man’s mud-colored eyes. "Are they?"

  Lord Ferrell nodded and pulled her toward him with the hand he had failed to relinquish. "Yes, in my bedchamber," the rogue said, just before bending his head and kissing her.

  Aidan could feel the blood surging through his body. He closed his eyes and forced himself to remain rooted to the floor. This was necessary, he reminded himself.

  "I…" Celeste began, causing Aidan to look at the pair. Her hands were on his chest, keeping the rake at a distance. "I’m not sure that is wise, my lord."

  The bastard placed her hand on his arm, adding a seductive smile. "Come and view my collection, Lady Rivenhall," he enticed. "I have no further expectations. Desires, perhaps." He kissed her hand. "But no expectations."

  Lady Rivenhall nodded her assent, and the dark man led her out of the ballroom and toward his snare.

  "Damnation!" Aidan muttered and hastily searched the remainder of the ground floor.

  He found nothing and glanced at the floor plans to locate the blackguard’s bedchamber. Aidan took the stairs two at a time and made his way down the corridor, slowing as he approached the large double doors.

  Light streamed from beneath the mahogany door as he strained to listen to the muffled conversation taking place inside. Aidan glanced down the hallway, then pressed his ear to the cold wood and heard…nothing.

  He pressed harder, squinting as he strained to listen. He could hear something now. A soft rustling that seemed to be emanating from the right side of the bedchamber. His brows furrowed as he raised his head, wondering if a woman’s gown would make just such a sound as it was being removed.

  Aidan rested the back of his head against the wall and peered up at the ceiling. He should be waiting for her in the carriage, he told himself, but for some reason his feet would not move in that direction.

  Falcon had ordered him to protect Lady Rivenhall, so he would remain here in the event that she needed his assistance. Not that the lady needed assistance in seducing a man. All she need do was walk into a room and any man would be mesmerized, as Ferrell had been in the ballroom.

  Bloody Hell!

  The man probably had his hands all over her. Aidan could scarcely control himself in her presence, and he was far more civilized than Anthony Ferrell. What if the scoundrel was forcing her?

  Oh, God!

  Aidan removed his pistol and gave Lord Ferrell’s bedchamber door a resounding kick. He glanced about the room as he entered and froze at the sight of Lady Rivenhall braced above a semi-nude Lord Ferrell.

  He met her blue-green eyes and his stomach seized. Whether from pain or anger he was not sure, and did not wish to know.

  "Pardon the intrusion. I thought that you might need assistance. I see that I was mistaken."

  Aidan spun on his heels and made for the door when the lady stopped his progress, saying, "Well, you are mistaken, my lord. I very much need your assistance, although, I’ve no bloody idea why you are here when I specifically requested that you return to the landau."

  "What--?"

  "Take off his
trousers while I search the room." Lady Rivenhall sat at the writing desk and searched the small drawers.

  Aidan wandered to the side of the bed and looked down at Lord Ferrell, who had yet to utter a word. The man was unconscious and bare from the waist up. Lord Wessex smiled with amusement as he removed the man’s trousers and covered him with the counterpane.

  He walked back to the efficient woman, saying, "I see that it was your ring and not your knife that was your weapon of choice this evening."

  Lady Rivenhall took a sheet of paper from the desk and began writing. "Be quite," she said as she wrote. "Now, if you would search the room, we can leave before daybreak."

  "Yes, general," he said, unaccustomed to taking orders. "And you will be…declining invitations to tea?"

  Celeste did not spare him a glance. "I’m writing a note to Lord Ferrell telling him how much I enjoyed the evening, and what a magnificent lover he was, so on and so forth. It will keep our lively young lord from contemplating why his claret was so powerful. However, I am not sure that I will be able to explicate a broken door." Lady Rivenhall gave him a pointed look that made him want to smile.

  Aidan shrugged, not feeling particularly remorseful. "I’ve found several incriminating documents. Finish your letter, and I will drop the information off at Falcon’s office after I see you safely home."

  Lady Rivenhall scribbled a large C at the bottom of the communication, and he was once again reminded that she was very good at her trade. He wondered how many other letters she had written as he claimed her upper arm.

  She rose from her chair and then turned to face him, wrenching her arm free of his grasp. "I realize you have grown accustomed to hauling me about, my lord, but I will not tolerate any more of your abuse. If you wish to escort me downstairs, then do so as the gentleman you profess yourself to be."

  Guilt washed over him, stiffening his spine. Aidan dropped his eyes and bowed his apology as the lady brushed passed him and made for the door. He caught up with the angry woman before she had reached the stairs.

  Lady Rivenhall stopped and peered down to the floor below, verifying that they were alone in the expansive entryway. They stole toward the back of the house and exited through the conservatory door.