by Jane Feather
Nathaniel went to fetch the required refreshment, somewhat amused by Gabrielle’s comments. He knew now how fond she was of her godfather, but she was very clear-sighted when it came to her assessment of his ambition and his scheming.
He returned with the two glasses. “It seems too mild a night for negus, Madame Duroc.” Smiling, he handed her the glass of warm spiced wine. “More a night for strolling under the moon.”
“A glass of negus makes me nice and sleepy,” Madame Duroc said. “And at my age, a good night’s sleep is infinitely more valuable than a stroll under the moon.”
“Oh, but I find a walk before bed has the same effect,” Gabrielle said. “Particularly after an evening spent in an airless, crowded room. It’s so hot in here, it gives me the headache in no time.”
“We all have our own remedies,” Nathaniel said pleasantly. He bowed and excused himself, sauntering into the card room, confident that Gabrielle would appear under the willow tree later that night.
23
Gabrielle was dressing for a ball at the Prussian residence the next evening, when her godfather knocked and entered her apartment. He had just returned from the day’s negotiations and had not yet changed into evening dress.
“Leave us,” he ordered the maid, who, looking startled, dropped a curtsy and departed.
Talleyrand closed the door and regarded Gabrielle gravely for a minute. Then he spoke. “What I am going to tell you now will have the most far-reaching effect on the outcome of this war. It’s vital that the English government should hear it without delay. It’s providential that Lord Praed is here. He will understand the importance of the information immediately and will know how to convey it to the right ears with all due speed.”
Gabrielle had turned on her dressing stool at his entrance, and now stared at him, uncomprehending, her fingers stilled in the act of screwing a diamond drop in her earlobe.
“There are certain secret articles to be appended to the treaty,” Talleyrand said, taking a pinch of snuff. “Listen to me very carefully.”
In stunned silence Gabrielle listened, and when he’d finished said, “I don’t understand what you want of me.” But she did understand.
“You will inform Lord Praed of the details of the secret articles,” her godfather stated.
Gabrielle shook her head. “No … no, I can’t do that. I am no longer a spy.”
“I am not asking you to spy on the English spymaster,” Talleyrand said patiently. “I am asking you to give him some information that his government will find invaluable. I am asking you to spy for him, not against him.”
Gabrielle closed her eyes as she saw the inexorable logic of her godfather’s thought processes.
“Why do you not simply tell him yourself?”
“Don’t be naive, Gabrielle. If the English knew that I was plotting against Napoleon, there’s no telling what they’d do with the information. They could discredit me with the emperor with the merest hint. I am not particularly popular with the English, ma chère.” His smile was mildly sardonic. “And I am a great deal more useful to everyone if I remain in the emperor’s confidence.”
“I have done with this dirty business, mon parrain,” she said slowly. “You know that. I’ve told Nathaniel I’ll play no further part in espionage.”
“This is a different kind of espionage,” Talleyrand pointed out with the same patience. “You will give your lover this information as a gift.”
“And how would I explain betraying my country?”
“People have been known to switch loyalties for deeply personal reasons,” he observed mildly. “You will not be harming your lover, ma chère, you will be doing him the greatest service.”
“But I will be deceiving him,” she said wretchedly.
“For the good of France, of England, of the whole of Europe,” he said, and there was a ringing conviction in his tone. “This time I’m not asking you to be a double agent. I want no information from you. I have no interest in hearing English secrets. I simply want you to tell Lord Praed something that he and his government desperately need to know.
Gabrielle stared at the diamond drop in her hand without seeing it. She felt as if she were teetering on the brink of a snake pit.
“How will you feel, Gabrielle, if you withhold this vital information from Lord Praed? It will bring him only credit and advancement and the deepest professional satisfaction. Do you have the right to deny him those opportunities?”
She looked up at him then, her expression bleak. “You are an arch manipulator, sir.”
Talleyrand’s countenance was impassive. “I am a statesman, a tactician, a diplomat, Gabrielle. If that also makes me a manipulator, then so be it. I believe in the stability and peace of Europe. That will not be achieved without Napoleon’s downfall. If you don’t share my goals, then there is nothing more to be said.”
An end to war, Gabrielle thought, a war that had been fought almost continuously for the last fifteen years. An end to the killing. She knew her godfather was right, just as she knew the depths of his convictions. He was a manipulator, a man with few personal ethics, a man of deep and abiding ambition. But he was passionately loyal to his country and, like most men born and educated in the last century, he understood the need for a balanced Europe. Without a balance of power, chaos would reign, as indeed it now did.
“How am I to explain how I came across such information?”
Talleyrand showed no indication of his satisfaction at her tacit acceptance. He stroked his chin. “It is a difficulty, I admit. I would hardly tell you such a thing in conversation, or leave a paper lying around with the articles described. I believe you must have overheard my discussion with Duroc and the emperor.”
“How?”
He frowned, considering. “As we were leaving the emperor’s ceremonial gathering this afternoon, I remembered that I’d left my cane in one of the parlors. Like a considerate goddaughter, you offered to fetch it for me. When you brought it back, the corridor where you’d left me was deserted, all the other guests departed, servants about their business elsewhere. Then you heard my voice from one of the window embrasures in the long drawing room. Not thinking anything of it, you came forward with the cane and then heard something that gave you pause. You listened, because you’re trained to do so, and you heard a great deal more than you bargained for. When you thought you’d heard enough, you retreated to the corridor, and then reentered the drawing room noisily, calling my name.”
He looked across at her and nodded. “That will serve, I believe.”
Gabrielle nibbled her lip. “I suppose so, but will he accept that I’ve changed my allegiance so suddenly?”
“It will be for you to convince him,” he said somberly. “He is your lover—that’s compelling enough reason for many people. And he will also understand that working for Napoleon’s downfall is not necessarily the act of a traitor to France. The man is no fool.”
“No,” Gabrielle agreed. “Nathaniel’s no fool.”
“Then I’ll leave you to make your own plans.” He walked to the door. “But don’t delay, Gabrielle. It’s vital the information reaches London as fast as humanly possible.”
“I understand. Do you have today’s password for the Russian zone?”
Talleyrand gave it to her without so much as a questioning eyebrow. “I’ll send your maid back.”
The maid bustled in immediately. “Your gown, ma’am. Are you ready for it?” She held up a delicate gown of cream crepe de chine. “Or do you wish to finish your coiffure first?”
“Help me with these feathers first.” Feathers were de rigueur for formal attendance at court, even if the court was only that of the ignored and despised king and queen of Prussia.
Annette picked up one of the three black ostrich feathers and carefully inserted it into Gabrieile’s high-piled hair, fixing it in place with a diamond-headed hairpin. The other two were as reverently placed, and Gabrielle examined her reflection with a critical frown before
nodding her satisfaction.
She shrugged out of her tiring robe and stepped into the dress, turning to allow Annette to fasten the hooks at the back.
“Oh, you look lovely, madame,” Annette breathed. “Those black feathers against your hair, and then the dress … so delicate.”
“Thank you, Annette.” Gabrielle smiled briefly at the wide-eyed girl. “And there’s no need to wait up for me.” She drew on her long silk gloves, easing them over her fingers, smoothing out wrinkles. She was doing everything with a curious detachment, a careful deliberation, as if the body she touched, the possessions she handled, were nothing to do with her at all.
Her skin was cold and clammy, as if she’d walked through a cold mist as she went downstairs. She knew exactly how she was going to approach Nathaniel—in a manner that would sweep all questions and objections from his mind, that would add overwhelming credence to the gift of love brought by a lover. She had never had to feign passion with him, but she wondered with chill apprehension whether she would have to this time … and if so, would he be able to tell?
She directed the coachman to Vilna Street. As they crossed into the Russian zone, the hussar at the guard post stepped forward, hand raised. “Password?”
Gabrielle leaned out of the window. “Alexander, Russia, greatness.”
The soldier saluted and waved them through. Each day the password was chosen alternately by Napoleon and by Alexander. Today it had been Napoleon’s choice. A nice piece of flattery that Alexander would emulate tomorrow.
She sat back in the darkness, drumming her fingers on the velvet squabs. She felt sick. She was doing what had to be done, but it didn’t seem to help. It was only a technical deception, but it didn’t seem to matter how many times she told herself that. She had told Nathaniel she was not engaged in any form of espionage, and now that was a lie. She couldn’t betray her godfather’s plot without endangering his life. So she must writhe on the horns of her dilemma.
She jumped from the coach as it came to a halt before the house on Vilna Street. Two officers in the green tunics of the Preobrazhensky regiment were walking down the street, deep in conversation. They stopped and stared at the woman emerging from the carriage. This part of the Russian zone was occupied only by single officers and less important aides. The married quarters and the apartments of the senior members of the czar’s entourage were close to the royal residence. A lone woman on this street could mean only one thing—an assignation.
Gabrielle became aware of their stares. She turned and stared them down, her chin lifted, haughty arrogance in every line of her body.
They took in her evening dress, the glitter of diamonds, and nonplussed, they both bowed. Gabrielle didn’t acknowledge the salute. She turned her back and walked up to the door of number six, banging on the knocker.
The woman who came to the door stared in as much astonishment as the two officers had. “Madame?”
“Monsieur Lubienski, please,” Gabrielle said with the haughtiness of before.
Intimidated by the brilliance of her dress and the arrogant glitter in the dark eyes, the woman backed into the hall, giving Gabrielle room to step inside.
The hall was small and sparsely furnished. A flight of wooden stairs led upward. There was a smell of boiling cabbage in the air. “Upstairs,” the landlady said. “Second door on the left, madame.”
“Thank you.” Gabrielle went swiftly up the stairs, her step light. At the second door she raised her hand to knock, then changed her mind. Boldly, she lifted the latch and pushed open the door onto a narrow room furnished with a single cot, a plain dresser, and a massive oak table beneath a small, high window.
Nathaniel was in the process of dressing for the evening. He spun away from the spotted mirror as the door flew open. Gabrielle stood there. Energy seemed to pulse from her, creating a sparking halo around the dark red hair; the dark eyes had an almost febrile glitter, her lips were parted, the faintest flush glowed beneath the habitual translucent pallor.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said with a surge of anger.
“Fraternizing with the enemy,” she said with one of her crooked, wicked smiles.
“By God, Gabrielle, you have done this just once too often. I told you I would not tolerate indiscretion—”
“I had to come,” she said. “No one knows who I am. I sent the carriage away and told it to come back in an hour.” She stepped toward him, pushing the door shut behind her.
She was an image of glinting diamonds, smooth, undulating cream silk, black feathers flowing in startling contrast to the vibrant hair massed on top of her head.
“I want you,” she stated, coming toward him across the plain, unvarnished floorboards, her hands outstretched. “I wanted you with such an overpowering hunger that I had to come.”
She seized his hands, pulling herself forward against him. A smile hovered on her lips, and the febrile glitter in her eyes intensified.
He could feel the power of her sensuality emanating in waves, lapping him, enclosing him. And he was lost as he always was when she came to him in this way.
She laughed softly, reading his capitulation, clipping her bottom lip with her teeth, moving her lower body against his loins with an urgent sinuous pressure that set his blood on fire.
“Now,” she said. “I want you now, Nathaniel.”
Catching her around the waist, he lifted her onto the table beneath the window. His hands circled her throat, covering the emerald collar, and he brought his mouth to hers. Her lips parted in eager response, her tongue fencing with his, her breasts pressing against his chest as she leaned into him.
Slowly he bent her body backward with the pressure of his own until she lay stretched out on the cool, hard surface of the table, her mouth still joined with his, her hands on his shoulders.
He reached beneath her skirt. At the brushing touch of his fingers, she leaped beneath him, and he knew it would take but a whispering breath to carry her over the edge of bliss.
Why? he wondered. Why this desperate passion tonight? But the questions were fleeting as his own body responded to Gabrielle’s urgency.
He drew back long enough to pull down her lacy undergarment, to release his own body from confinement.
Gabrielle’s eyes held his, and they were filled with the wonder of anticipation.
He gathered her against him, crushing her to him as the turbulence raged around them, swallowed them, then receded, leaving them stranded on the sands of fulfillment.
Nathaniel let her fall back on the table and slowly straightened, his breathing ragged, his head whirling. Gabrielle lay unmoving in an abandoned sprawl, her rich skirts rucked up around her waist, long, bare thighs gleaming pale against the dark wood beneath her, diamonds glittering in the lamplight, the dark red hair tumbling loose, the black feathers escaping from the securing pins.
She looked like some wildly exotic bird come to rest after a long and exhausting flight. Leaning over, he stroked the curve of her cheek with one finger. “Come back, sweetheart.”
Her eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened. She looked up at him, her expression dazed, then she smiled. “I think I just died again.”
“You were possessed by some madness,” he said, taking her hands and pulling her into a sitting position. “How dare you come here, Gabrielle.” But there was little force behind the statement. Shaking his head, he pulled up his britches. “Do you have any idea how you’ve compromised us both?”
Gabrielle struggled to regain her senses after that explosion of sexuality. How could she ever have been afraid she might have to feign a response?
“Nonsense,” she said after a minute. “This kind of thing is going on all over Tilsit. People are crisscrossing the town, hopping from bed to bed—”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard,” she said loftily.
Nathaniel examined her with a puzzled frown. She seemed completely unaware of her semi-nakedness, and the contrast of that dishevelment with
her elaborate dress and those priceless diamonds. “Just what, in the name of goodness, brought that on so suddenly? Or don’t you know?”
“I’ve brought you a present,” she said. “You might find it strange … but—”
“I don’t think I can concentrate until you tidy yourself up.” Nathaniel picked up her discarded drawers and slipped them over her feet, then he lifted her off the desk and pulled them up over her hips. “Straighten your skirt.”
Gabrielle shook down the crumpled silk and put her hands to her head, where unruly ringlets escaped in a cloud. She plucked out the feathers and tossed them onto the table, then released her hair from its pins and shook it free to her shoulders, combing her fingers through the tangles. The routine process calmed her and gave her time to collect her thoughts.
“Any better?”
“Some,” he said. “I think the problem really lay with the feathers. They were more than a little incongruous.” He picked one up and ran it through his fingers. “You’re going to need the attentions of your maid again before you go to the Prussian residence.”
“I don’t think I’m going,” Gabrielle said. “Do you have a glass of wine?”
“I managed to persuade Tolstoy to part with some of his precious supply of port.” Nathaniel opened a cupboard in the dresser and took out a bottle and two thick, rather dusty glasses. “This place lacks for amenities, I’m afraid.” He wiped the glasses with his handkerchief before filling them.
“The bed’s a little small,” Gabrielle observed, taking the glass from him.
“But the table compensates,” he observed with a half-smile. A tumult of speculation was going on behind his eyes, but there was no indication on his face. What strange gift lay behind this wild visit? Gabrielle was deeply disturbed, and by a lot more than the exigencies of lust.
“So?” he prompted. “Where’s my strange present?”
Gabrielle sipped her port and then said, “It’s a gift of information.”
