Without Refuge

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “Such as?”

  “Please, I beg you to drop this line of conversation. I’m but a poor girl pleading for the life of the man she loves and has always loved.” She kept her voice soft, gentle. “Surely you can appreciate that.”

  Bonaparte’s expression turned brutal, as if she’d personally affronted him. “This marriage can’t be all that sacred. You were separated from this man for several years. Off in America, with other liaisons, no doubt.”

  “Separated beyond our control—and there were never any others. If you don’t intend to help me, just say so...and I’ll...I’ll...” Bettina didn’t know what she’d do. Her eyes welled with tears and she dropped her chin to impatiently swipe them away. “Please, I…”

  “Did I say I wouldn’t help you?” He dragged the other chair next to hers, his hand on her shoulder. “Here, please, Madame, use this.”

  Bettina sniffed and looked up to see he offered his handkerchief. Bonaparte appeared rattled by her tears. She took the cloth and dabbed her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to cry.”

  Seated again, he took her hand in his. “I can’t simply pardon a man with such serious charges against him. I have two other consuls running this government. You have to understand the gravity of the situation.” He stroked the back of her hand.

  “Should I speak with these other men as well?”

  Bonaparte grimaced, squeezing her fingers. “No, no, but you ask me to put myself at risk. To override everyone else’s decisions, and what do you offer me in return?”

  How naive to think he’d be persuaded by her pleading. He was determined to have his way. She swallowed hard and must formulate a plan. She resisted pulling from his grasp. “I do understand the gravity of the situation. You’ve recently taken on a huge responsibility. You have many factors to consider.” Bettina spoke low and firm, her emotions once more in check.

  He relaxed and a boyish smile spread across his face. “I aspire to be First Consul by the time this new constitution is drafted. Yet that could be several months from now. In the interim, there are policies that must be adhered to. Striking an officer of the Republic of France...”

  “Is a very serious crime, I agree. Another glass of this excellent cognac, please?” If he thought she might capitulate, as with Emile, a little friendly persuasion couldn’t hurt. She stifled her annoyance that it seemed to be a woman’s only weapon out in the world.

  He poured her brandy. “You are beginning to comprehend?”

  “I believe so. If I should consent to your, ah, conditions, you must free my husband tonight...immediately.” She gripped the snifter, swirling the alcohol.

  Triumph flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t let it overpower him. “And you are agreeing to these terms, Madame?”

  Bettina envisioned Everett in that prison squalor, his abject suffering, and nodded as she sipped more of the burning liquor, the heat infusing her senses.

  Bonaparte again called for his servant, who apparently hovered right outside his master’s door to perform his every wish. The same atmosphere as her upbringing, she now realized it was a humiliating position to put someone in.

  Striding to the massive desk, Bonaparte scribbled on a piece of paper. “Rush this to my aide-de-camp. Tell him to take it to the commandant overseeing Les Carmes this instant. He can roust the man from his bed if he has to.”

  “He’ll be discharged at once?” Bettina rose, clutching her wrap around her bodice as the man dashed out.

  Bonaparte stepped up to her and brushed his hands along her upper arms. “I have decided, in all my benevolence, to grant your request, Madame. Your husband will be released within the hour. I’ve instructed him to be escorted to my brother’s home.”

  “I’m so grateful for this, General.” Bettina watched his face in the insane hope she might get a reprieve herself. Though his ravenous smile affirmed the opposite.

  “Call me Napoleon, no more of this ‘general’.” Bonaparte extended his arm. “Shall we go to my private chamber? I’d like a talk with you, since you so intrigue me...Lisbette.”

  She slowly took his arm, her heart racing. He had far more than mere talking on his agenda.

  Bonaparte walked her down the passage and they turned and entered a small parlor. Through an archway to the left she saw a large, canopied bed and almost swayed on her feet. How to gracefully handle this? She had to allow Everett enough time to be freed.

  “Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll order champagne.” He blew out all the candles, save two on a corner table, which bathed the room in a mellow light.

  A servant brought the wine and they drank a toast to the glory of France. Bettina mused if this attendant also lurked right outside, listening to his master ravish defenseless females. Her stomach churned with the bubbly liquid mixed with the brandy.

  “How many other women have you brought in here to...talk?” she asked in a strained tease. She squirmed on the cushion, her knees clamped together.

  “Would you believe you are the very first?” He sat beside her, his voice husky, a trace amused. “Let me take your wrap.” He eased the garment from her shoulders while caressing down her arms.

  “Then I’m…honored.” Bettina’s heart fluttered as he stared at her with his vibrant eyes.

  “Are you nervous, Lisbette?” Napoleon stroked his fingers through the curls at her temples.

  She stifled a giddy laugh. “No, don’t be silly. Though, I admit, I’m not some courtesan.”

  “I can see that. Your lack of airs is what entices me.” He raised the bottle of champagne, persistent in refilling her glass. If he continued in this manner excuses were needless, she would eventually pass out.

  When he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it, she shuddered at the powerful effect. She hadn’t bargained on being receptive to this seduction.

  Napoleon moved closer still, their thighs pressed together. Holding her hand, he told her of the things he had done. Different battles, victories, events that jumbled in her mind. She worried about where Everett was at every moment. When would he be safe at Julie’s? How long would it take? Now she began to listen, floating on a champagne haze, as Bonaparte spoke about his life. His reposed features transformed his face into young and vulnerable, as if he were the one needing reassurance.

  Bettina felt drawn to him, unable to help herself. This great conqueror revealed a mortal man with human insecurities. She was raw in her depleted state, stripped of inhibitions. When he described his loneliness, his wife’s cruel infidelities, she grew mesmerized and sympathetic.

  Napoleon touched her face, her hair, caressing her neck and shoulders. “You’re very lovely, undeniably bewitching.”

  She didn’t know how to reply, though waited for him to kiss her and hated herself for it. Everett had to be safe by now, she did this for him.

  Napoleon bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. She shivered and knew she couldn’t let it progress. He kissed her again, deep and longing, and the heat of desire rose within her. She was nervous now, afraid of her own sensuality. She must push him away!

  He traced his lips down the side of her neck. Bettina breathed in gasps, her body tingling, and she was ashamed she found pleasure in his attentions.

  “Pardon!” Someone burst through the door and they both gasped and flew apart. The lurking servant was hopping and shaking his head. “I am most distressed to interrupt, Consul, but your wife is on her way here at this very moment! Nothing I said would deter her.”

  “Then I’d better leave.” Bettina seized the opportunity and leapt to her feet. She scrambled for her wrap and flung off her erotic torpor.

  Napoleon stared at her as if he had never seen her before. Then he rubbed his cheeks, eyes sharp again. “This way, you can go out the back. Philippe, take her to her coach.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bettina hud
dled in the coach rambling back to Julie’s, her clenched fists striking her knees. “It wasn’t my fault. My behavior was definitely not my fault.” She repeated this litany like a woman possessed, then pressed her wrap around shivering shoulders. “That seduction was the only way. I did it for Everett. The wine prompted those feelings. I survived, none the worse.”

  She rushed into Julie’s mansion through the rear door, down a hall, and nearly stumbled over her friend by the back stairs.

  “It was so late, I was worried.” Julie tugged her dressing gown around her. A maid holding a branch of candles stood beside her. “What happened, did he agree?”

  “No one has been here?” Bettina turned and fled along the passage to the front of the house, searching every shadow as if Everett might be hidden there. “Did Bonaparte trick me? Was no note sent to the prison?” She trembled with anger. “Mon Dieu, it can’t be true!”

  Julie rushed on her heels with the maid and the flickering candles. “I don’t understand, Lisbette. What...was Napoleon supposed...?”

  The clamor of wheels and horses sent them both to the window. In the darkness, two soldiers escorted a tall man by lantern light out of a coach and up to the entrance. Bettina ran past the maid, yanked open the door and threw her arms around Everett in the foyer. She gulped back a sob. Bonaparte had kept his word.

  Everett swayed in her embrace, his eyes wide as if stunned, yet weary. “My darling.” He hugged her against his once more bony chest.

  He stunk of mildew and perspiration, but Bettina didn’t care. “I’m so relieved, mon amour. Julie, this is…my husband, Everett. Please, could we have warm water and clean clothes?”

  “Oh, my, of course. Bienvenue, Monsieur Camborne. Yes, soap is what you need.” Julie flashed a smile, then turned to the hovering maid. “Bring these items to the guest room, at once.”

  Bettina gripped his arm and walked with Everett up the stairs to their chamber, her nerves vibrating throughout her body.

  “I had to see one of the new Consuls, Julie’s brother-in-law, to ask for your release. It was...a lot of maneuvering, rather complex.” Bettina lit candles in the shadowy guestroom, and now couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a moment, deeply ashamed by her behavior with Napoleon.

  Everett sank down on the bed, his face haggard. The clothes he wore, borrowed from Simion’s friends, were tattered and stained. “I can’t believe I’m here. Thank God you’re safe. All I want now, is for us to leave France.”

  “You’re free, that’s what matters.” Bettina stuffed the flimsy shawl into her bodice to cover her guilty cleavage and took a deep breath.

  At a knock, the maid entered with a pitcher of water, soap and a clean nightshirt. Julie bustled in behind her. “Is your husband hungry? I can wake cook?”

  “Are you hungry?” Bettina set the night shirt in Everett’s lap. Frantic to keep busy, she grabbed the pitcher from the startled maid and splashed water into the ewer.

  Everett seemed dazed. He plucked at the material. “No, I…can wait until morning.”

  “He’ll be fine until morning. Merci. You have been a dear, Julie.” She strained to lower the stridency of her voice and kissed her friend’s cheek. “Goodnight.”

  Julie and the maid departed.

  Bettina closed the door. “We can see about acquiring decent clothes for you tomorrow.” She unwrapped a bar of lightly scented soap. “Come and wash, you must be exhausted.”

  “I am weary to the bone.” He dragged himself up to his feet and dropped his ragged shirt on the floor. She winced at his skinny frame as he scrubbed his face, chest and hands in slow motion. His healthy tan and vigor had faded. He unbuttoned and discarded his breeches, then pulled on the nightshirt. “My God, this country is insane. We have to leave as soon as possible.”

  Bettina changed into her nightgown in a shadowed corner, flinging aside the filmy dress as if her culpability were scribbled on the white silk.

  “How do you feel, you haven’t been ill or anything in there?” She moved close to him again. Her eyes stung with tears.

  “Not really.” Everett stepped up and took her in his arms. “I have had my fill of French prisons for one lifetime. I’m beginning to doubt if I’ll ever see England again.”

  “Yes, you will. We’ll both see it again. I’ll speak with Julie’s husband, or...someone. I’ll arrange...something.” She calmed her ragged breathing, her brow against his collarbone, and pondered how much her kisses were worth.

  “We’re together, that is the most important thing.” He kissed the top of her head. Her remorse multiplied, when moments before another man had caressed her and she’d let him.

  They climbed into the bed and settled themselves. Bettina lay shy in the darkness, exhausted, but wondering if he might desire to make love. She needed him to crush her to him, to possess her once more. Though Everett fell fast asleep and she cuddled close, sighing into his warmth and even breaths.

  * * * *

  Awakening at the first sign of light and a bird’s chirp, Bettina was troubled by dreams in which she had returned to the Luxembourg to visit the Consul. He had kissed her and far more, exposing her as a willing participant.

  She sat up and gazed down at her sleeping partner and her heart melted. She swiped aside foolish dreams, and kissed Everett’s cheek, straggly with unshaven hair, his mustache overgrown. Here was the only man she’d ever loved.

  She crawled from the bed and went downstairs while Everett slept. The cook was up and fixed her a cup of coffee. Bettina sat in a small parlor, near the terrace window, staring out at the vast garden in the morning mist. She tried to come to terms with what upset her. Attraction to another man wasn’t a sin, as long as you didn’t act on those feelings. She’d been attracted to Geralde, but never gave up on Everett. Now she had him back, they must never be parted again.

  The wine, the anxiety, three months deprived of Everett’s love when accustomed to it once more, that’s all her evening with Napoleon amounted to. She laughed and sipped the rich coffee.

  When finished, Bettina dashed up the stairs and slipped back into bed to snuggle close to Everett. He grunted and stirred, opening his eyes.

  “Good morning, my husband.” She traced a finger over his sharp cheekbone. “I wish we could obtain forged papers and marry right here, now, in Paris.”

  “Even if we could, I only want to be married in England, on my native soil.” He grasped her finger and kissed it. “Will your friends loan us the money to leave France? Everything I had was taken from me in the prison.” He kissed her mouth.

  “I will ask them. That’s been my intention as soon as you were freed.” She kissed him back, slow and lingering. Her feelings of being tainted ebbed away. She felt his hardness against her thigh. He groaned and lifted her nightgown, and thrust inside her.

  She moaned and arched her back as he filled her up.

  * * * *

  Everett soaked in a hot bath and dressed in the clothes Julie borrowed from her tallest male servant.

  “I think your friends can spare quite a lot of money,” he remarked as he and Bettina walked down the staircase and he gazed around at the expensive furniture and lavish decor. “Of course, I will repay them as soon as I reach London.”

  “I’ll speak to Julie as soon as you’ve eaten a hearty meal.” Bettina led him to the small parlor. Soon a maid brought in coffee, brioche, butter, jam, and sausages. Everett sat and began to eat. The fragrant aromas permeated the air.

  Julie flitted in, her doe eyes soft. “I’m so happy to be able to assist you both, as I have.”

  Bettina hugged her. “I’m afraid we have one more request. I hate to ask, but if I could borrow money from you and your husband, then we will leave.”

  “I’d hoped you would stay a few days.” Julie patted her arm. “Money, yes, I’m certain Joseph will agree. We’ll
speak to him tonight.” Their hostess picked up her silver coffee pot and poured Everett more steaming coffee.

  Bettina translated for Everett and his eyes brightened with relief. He nodded to Julie. Bettina buttered a brioche and nibbled the golden, flaky crust.

  In the late afternoon, Joseph Bonaparte returned to the chateau. Everett and Bettina were having tea with Julie in their smaller salon.

  Everett and his host were introduced. “Welcome to my home, Monsieur Camborne.” Joseph encouraged Everett to sit once more. “I’m grateful that my brother was able to obtain your release.”

  Bettina fought down a twinge of guilt at her part in it. “You must thank him for us.”

  “Ah, but I have delightful news. You may thank him yourself, Madame Camborne.” He turned a broad smile on his wife. “Julie, mon ange, we are all invited to dine tomorrow with Napoleon and Josephine at the Luxembourg.”

  Bettina’s heart skipped a beat. Her gaze shot to Everett as she explained. He raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

  “We are?” Julie flinched as if someone poked her with a stick. “Oh, what will I wear? It’s such short notice.”

  “Mais oui, a very intimate affair, only the family. And our guests here. Napoleon has carved out time from his incredibly busy schedule.” Joseph acted as a man honored to be included in his brother’s plans.

  “You don’t need to involve us, though I’m honored to be invited. We do have another matter to discuss.” Bettina grinned up at Joseph, but his expression darkened.

  “Not now, Lisbette.” Julie pressed her fingers on Bettina’s arm, eyes darting. “Of course, you must come with us.”

  “Indeed, my friends, we will all attend.” Joseph’s voice turned almost stern. A maid handed him a cup of tea, from which he took a quick sip. “My brother insisted upon it.”

  Later, in the guest room, Bettina translated everything. “I’d rather not attend, but you saw their reaction. It will be unforgivably rude if we don’t.”