The Duchess and the Spy

by Marly Mathews

  Daphne hesitated. “If I didn’t believe in you…I would be dying on the inside right now. I promised your mother I would take care of you…and now I’m sending you out to a pack of hungry wolves.”

  “I have dealt with worse, dearest. Come now. Do wish me luck.” She held Daphne’s hand once her hair had been arranged. “Don’t be sore at me. I’m doing what I have to do! Take heart, dearest, for Boney shall lavish me with everything I have ever desired. Most importantly, the De Clermont dynasty will live again!” Hugging Daphne quickly, she pulled away, dashed to her bedchamber door.

  “Wait!”

  Isabella stopped and looked back at Daphne.

  “You forgot your mask! Don’t you know you’re going to a bal masque?”

  She laughed. “Of course, of course, all the more reason to wear this revealing dress. If he can’t see the full effect of my facial features, he must be impressed with my other more tantalizing charms.”

  Napoleon tempted fate by allowing a bal masque to be held in his honour because many believed they were events that begged a tragedy. They feared he would be the victim of an assassination. She held the glittering gold mask up to her face.

  “How do I look?”

  “You look as if you’re going to find trouble,” Daphne lamented.

  She chuckled. “Never fear. I am rather good at finding and getting into trouble. Fortunately, I am also rather adept at getting out of that trouble.” She swept out of her chambers, and immediately tensed.

  The sound of fervent whispers met her keen ears. She held her breath. A shiver washed over her. The shadows beckoned to her. The shadows always chased her. She was lucky to have enough light within her to force them into submission.

  “Who goes there? Show yourself!” A man barked in a husky voice that told her he was deepening it to conceal his true accent.

  A large silhouette cast a long shadow along the length of the opposite wall. The second figure shifted, and then ran as if the very hounds of Hades chased him. Warm sensations rushed through her.

  Whomever the person was that had fled, posed no imminent danger to her…but they had fled for a reason. Perhaps, they had done so to avoid her recognition? She shook her head. It suddenly felt cloudy, and she became almost sleepy—she had to snap herself out of it!

  “You shouldn’t tarry long, Isabella,” the remaining man said, with a familiarity that made an electric tingle sweep through her.

  She narrowed her gaze.

  How had he known her name?

  “Who are you?”

  “You ask too many questions, my dear. I am someone from your past. I have been watching you for quite some time, Duchess.”

  Apprehension tickled along her scalp. Her hair nearly stood on end. “I do not recognize your voice,” she said, her insides went soft as his voice continued to lull her into a state of near submission. If his voice had power over her, what would she do if he attempted to make physical contact? She narrowed her eyes, as she tried to make out his facial features. He struck a stunning profile. Power emanated off him.

  What’s more, his height impressed her. He towered over her. And since she stood at a stately five feet eight inches, he was well over six feet. His hair blended in with the darkness. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. This man stood on the path of her true destiny. The question was, what role would he play?

  “Becoming the little Corsican’s courtesan…wouldn’t be a good idea, Isabella.” His smooth velvety rich husky voice rattled her already strained nerves.

  Why couldn’t she summon her power of projection? She should have been able to tame the beast that stood near her. Using her empathic abilities, she tried to gain control on manipulating his emotions. His chilling coldness toward her made her uneasy, even though she could feel something altogether different emanating off of him. She clung to her belief that this man was meant to cross paths with her tonight. Something about him made her want to throw herself at him. The practical side of her warred with the fun-loving side of her.

  “Your words, sir, are a mystery to me.”

  “Ah, of course, the old avoid and distract tactic. I think I like your style, Mademoiselle.” He moved toward her. She backed away.

  He closed in on her. Despite her attempts to affect him with her talents, she continued to fail. Damnation. What form of protection cloaked him from her magic?

  His breath smelt of chocolate. She drew in a sharp breath. Why was the lighting in the corridors so dim? She needed to see him. But even if the lighting were better, she still would not be able to see him fully. As he drew near, she finally noticed the sparkly emerald green mask he wore. He matched her in every way. Wit for wit, and barb for barb.

  “You needn’t fear, Mademoiselle. I have no intentions of ravishing you. I am sure we shall meet again, and when we do, I shall ravish you.” His last two words seemed like a promise to her, and it made her blood warm. She would love to be taken by a man like him. Passion and emotion the likes of which she never encountered, boiled beneath the carefully erected stone cold armour he wore.

  “More’s the pity….I rather think I would be delighted to have a man like you ravish me tonight,” she whispered, shocking him with her scandalous retort. “If you don’t take care…my Uncle Pierre might discover you. He shall have your head in a basket if he does.”

  “Why do you call him uncle?”

  “I call him Uncle because he is related to me. He is a bastard. Both in name, and accident of birth.”

  “Damnation. You’re actually related to that bloody prick? I pity you, Duchess.”

  “I ask again. Who the bloody hell, are you, sir?”

  “Ah, naughty, naughty. A lady of your fine breeding shouldn’t swear. It makes you sound like a common tart. But then, I imagine you and the common tart share a lot of things in common.” His galling insinuation hit her like a cannonball in the stomach. How dare he insinuate that her honour had been sullied in such a damning way?

  “You, Monsieur, may go straight to hell.” He bore down upon her, and made her inch away from him until she was pressed against the wall. Somehow he had gained the advantage, and now looked down at her in the way a hungry wolf most likely perused their prey. Why hadn’t Daphne heard the ruckus and come to investigate?

  “I am someone you only need to know as The Wolf.”

  His admission made another jolt roll through her. He truly was her wolf. His breath made her cheeks tingle, and she every ounce of willpower she possessed to stop herself from throwing herself into his arms. Oh, how she would love to be held by a man such as he.

  “I can help you get back to England.”

  She shook her head. Here he was speaking perfect French, and he wanted to entice her with promises of whisking her back to England? He was so full of it—unless…

  “I shall have to decline. Respectfully, of course.”

  He sighed. Planting hands on either side of her, he closed in. She sighed. She couldn’t take this much longer. She would submit if he pressed much harder. Never in her life had a man bewitched her so completely. “You are quite stubborn, even more so, than what I’ve been told by a few trustworthy sources. But then, I do so love a challenge.” His dark blue eyes sparkled. His eyes captured the full allure of his soul. If they truly were the gateway to the soul, she had nothing to fear from this man. However, he was an obstacle that needed to be overcome, posthaste.

  “I tire of you. I want to go down to the ballroom.”

  “I don’t want to let you go, Duchess.”

  “You must,” she said, inwardly begging him to kiss her. She knew that heaven would be in his kiss, and she desperately wanted it.

  “And I am quite certain your other virtues are above reproach.”

  “I will have no more of your tiresome games, Monsieur.” She reached to plant her hands on his chest, and prepared to defend herself from his advances. She had never allowed a man this near to her before…but she had to admit…she was inexplicably drawn to him. She couldn�
�t really place her finger on it…but he had a special quality that made her almost weak kneed. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She gasped, when her hands touched him. Energy shot through her. He felt it too…that much she knew, from the slight shudder that rippled through him. For one brief second in time—it was as if she’d finally found a place to call home in his arms.

  Rioting emotions ran through her. Visions of a man standing on a beach with the wind whipping through his wavy black hair filled her mind’s eye. His face struck a chord within her. She knew him. He was her soul mate.

  She struggled for breath.

  He pulled away from her. “You are a bloody witch!”

  She didn’t know what he had seen or felt, but by the sound of his ragged breathing…it had to have affected him in the same way she’d been affected.

  “You will be the death of me. Get off to your blasted masquerade. But remember, I shall be watching you. Don’t try pulling off any tricks.”

  She heaved a shuddering breath. “I have no tricks up my sleeve, Monsieur. You seem to have the wrong impression of me.”

  “Oh, I know just what you are. No matter how many times you try to defend yourself against it. You are a traitor to your heart.”

  She couldn’t understand what he meant, and frankly, she’d had quite enough of him.

  “I hope to never cross paths with you again.”

  “Never is a long time, Duchess.” His voice softened. It caressed her.

  “Don’t follow me.”

  “I have no other choice…but I shall keep a discreet distance. We can’t have Boney jumping to rash conclusions, can we? For such a little bastard, his brain is quite cunning. I’ll give him that much.”

  She rushed away from him. Heat still scorched her cheeks. He had quite undone her!

  What bloody nonsense. She didn’t look back…she didn’t have to…she could still feel him watching her every step. Now, she would have to use all of her powers. Whatever happened, she couldn’t become his prey.

  *****

  The Wolf watched her hips sway from side to side. Her seductive powers amazed him. He’d never seen such a stunning woman before. But he had a mission to accomplish. And she was part of that mission, God help him, he was doomed.

    Chapter Two

  Isabella heard him pursuing her. No, she could feel him following her. Her heart pounded up into her throat. Whatever she did, she couldn’t let on she knew of his chase. If she’d felt threatened, she would have used her talents on him. The fact that she’d been a bit rattled meant little. She would eventually gain control of her racing heart…wouldn’t she? Never had a man made her feel so vulnerable. But she didn’t fear him hurting her…she only feared she’d lose her heart to him.

  She’d never believed in love at first sight before but now…she didn’t know what to think. How could you lose your heart to someone you barely knew? Unless… Shaking her head, she began the long descent to the ballroom below. She trailed her hand along the banister. Chateau Belle Roche boasted a magnificent staircase made of Italian marble, and yet it always gave her a feeling of foreboding when she walked down its slippery slope.

  Straining her hearing, she hesitated briefly, and heard him stop at the same time she did. She couldn’t read him like she did other men. What did that mean? She couldn’t dwell on him, she had an objective to accomplish.

  Her heart stopped. Pierre strutted into view. He reminded her of a peacock. His vain attitude was a little revolting. He was the biggest fop she’d ever met, and thought more of his appearance than some ladies.

  Could she bolt before he noticed her? She had hoped to avoid him for the entire night. She knew he would not like it if she gained Napoleon’s attention. It was too late. He’d probably already caught sight of her.

  Pierre sipped at his coupe of champagne and looked up to catch her eye. Panic flared inside of her. Summoning her powers, she leveled her gaze on the painted Cyprian that stood to the left of Pierre. Within seconds, the slut had moved to fawn over Pierre. He reluctantly wrenched his gaze off her to attend to the loose woman’s flirtations. Tucking her arm beneath his, they sauntered out of sight.

  Isabella would always be able to use Pierre’s lascivious nature to her advantage.

  “That was fortuitous.” The Wolf’s smooth voice startled her.

  She resisted the urge to toss him an irritated glance, over her shoulder. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” she whispered.

  “Ah, if only I could, Duchess.”

  “Pray my lord, don’t let me hold you back.”

  He chuckled. She quickened her steps.

  Napoleon awaited her. If only she could shake her second shadow.

  “Could I interest you in a dance?”

  “I wonder what it would be like to dance with a wolf,” she laughed. “I think not. But feel free to pay attention to the other ladies that are in attendance.”

  “Ladies, is that what you’d call them? By the heavy paint on their faces, and their garish attire, I would call them something entirely different. Ah, I guess we do have different opinions on the character and measure of a woman. I hear they will be playing the waltz several times tonight. We could tempt fate and take a turn or two on the ballroom floor.”

  She stopped. By now, she’d made her way into the main part of the ballroom. Swan sculptures made of ice lined the refreshment sideboards.

  They passed a cluster of Napoleon’s advisors.

  “The British scoundrels have a mad King, so that can only make them a mad people.” The men laughed, and continued to jeer and make rude comments. “They should have a revolution to free themselves of their King’s lunacy. We could show them how to do it—if they didn’t persist in making war with us.”

  “Ah, but they are not strangers to removing the head of kings. Or rather, one king. They sent King Charles I to the block.”

  “Ah, but what they need now is their very own National Razor.”

  Cold silence blanketed her. Her shadow didn’t seem to like that particular remark, and neither did she. Odd. Perhaps, there truly was more to her Wolf than met the eye. Her heart thundered in her chest. Wolves mated for life. She felt a blush warm her cheeks.

  When she turned to confront him again, she noticed that he’d vanished from her line of sight. She searched the crowd for him, to no avail. Her heart fell. Why did she feel disappointment and confusingly enough a sense of loss? She’d only known the scoundrel for a scant few minutes and yet, he’d made an impression on her life that no other man had ever made. She almost felt vulnerable without him by her side.

  An aid of Napoleon’s stepped forward. “His Imperial Majesty wishes to have a moment of your time, Mademoiselle.” The aid gripped her elbow, and steered her toward the front of the ballroom, which looked more like a throne room the way it had been arranged. Her mask it seemed, did little to hide her from those who mattered.

  She swallowed. So, she had gained his attention, a little bit more so than she would have preferred.

  Her heart raced. In for a penny in for a pound. She’d have to keep a cool and level head…hoping that her powers of persuasion would work on the little Corsican. She’d been rattled when they hadn’t worked with her Wolf, her Wolf. She smiled, funny how she would think of him like that.

  When she was presented to Bonaparte, she dipped into a low curtsy, and murmured, silkily, “Your Imperial Majesty.” Her skin crawled when his eyes lingered a little too long on her breasts. Thoughts of The Wolf continued to plague her. Why had he come into her life? Did he intend to torment her until she’d gone half mad? Why did he weigh so heavily on her thoughts? She barely knew him. Her fascination with him was beyond ludicrous.

  “Come and sit with me, my dear lady.” Napoleon extended his hand to help her step up to sit beside his makeshift throne on the red settle reserved for his mistress of the moment. She shivered. Terrible visions swarmed her line of sight. She swayed and nearly fainted. Greed and lust boiled beneath Bonaparte’s surface.
He would not be a welcome adversary—as an ally he would prove invaluable. She had to play her hand right…or she risked losing more than her life. When his lips brushed her hand, she had to hold back a shudder. She wanted to run from the room and never look back…but she’d gone too far into the lion’s den. She had to see this through.

  She trilled out a shaky laugh, while she settled her silky skirt around her legs. The ballroom loomed out before her and she had a clear view of nearly everyone. So, why couldn’t she find him?

  A jolt ran through her when she finally spotted him. They made eye contact. Licking her lips, she leaned forward. She wanted to run to him. No matter what he’d said to her…and even though she didn’t know him, she still wanted to be with him. He beckoned to her, almost as if he’d be her safe harbour. And right now, she desperately required a safe haven.

  “I must say, Mademoiselle, that you are by the far the loveliest woman in the room. Pray, do not hold your mask up to your face. You look much better without it. With that emerald you wear, you were not hard to spot. However, I grow weary of the bal masque, I shall have everyone de-mask shortly, so we can look upon all of the lovely French ladies, and you shall definitely be the belle of the ball.” Her stomach rolled. When they said Bonaparte could charm the ladies they weren’t telling tall tales. If he’d been speaking to just about any other woman, he’d probably have been able to sell his little act. But, she wasn’t any ordinary woman. Her talent made her extraordinary.

  The Wolf still held her gaze. Snapping her attention away from him, she drew in a lengthy breath and smiled.

  “I thank you for your compliment, Your Imperial Majesty.” She bowed her head to him. While she could have called him ‘my lord’ or ‘sir’ she knew she had to stroke his ego a bit more by using the title he cherished. She did as he bid and put her mask in her lap. Bitterness stung the back of her throat.

  Bonaparte gave her an indulgent grin. “Ah, you are so beautiful.” He patted her hand. She fought the urge to draw it away. She thanked God for the elbow-length gloves she wore…she knew she wouldn’t be able to touch him with her bare skin…especially when he was affecting her through the barrier the material served.