His Silken Seduction: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 4)

by Joanna Maitland

  "Pooh. I am not such a weakling."

  "You have a core of steel, my love. I know that. But you have a dutiful heart, too. What if Guillaume is taken, forced to enlist? They are conscripting married men now, since Bonaparte ordered the mobilisation. They may soon take old men, too. And what of your mama? Can you truly leave her alone here? Forgive me, but we could not take her with us. Such a journey would be impossible with her. Surely you must see that?"

  "Oh. Oh dear." She crumpled a little in his arms. "If I left with you, I would be abandoning my family to…to…I do not know what possible fate. And who would run the business? Who would put food on the table? Guillaume cannot do so alone, even if he is spared enlistment. Besides, Mama would pay no heed to him and who knows what she might do? When she takes one of her strange fancies into her head, it sometimes takes all three of us—Berthe and Guillaume and me—to pacify her."

  She swallowed hard. "You are right, Ben. You must leave. As long as Bonaparte is on the loose, your duty calls you back to England. And I…I must do my duty here. I will stay to look after Mama."

  He kissed her then. It began as a kiss of consolation, gentle and loving, but desire soon ignited in both of them and, within seconds, they were kissing passionately, unable to get enough of each other. He cupped her breast and began to push aside her bodice. He needed to touch her delicate skin.

  She groaned and pushed away from him. They were both flushed and breathing hard. "Not here," she said with a tiny smile. She glanced towards the office door. She was right. Anyone might walk in on them. Had he been out of his mind?

  "Forgive me, love," he said, and meant it. He saw all too clearly what he had to do. And it hurt.

  Her smile widened. "You shall have everything you want. Tonight. In my chamber, upstairs."

  Ben held her gaze and slowly—very slowly—shook his head. "No."

  Her smile died on her lips. The sparkle left her glorious eyes.

  "No," he said again, "there will be no more…er…dalliance outside of wedlock. I intend to marry you, Suzanne Grolier, and my honour requires me to master my passions until I have done so."

  "And when will your precious honour allow that to be?" she asked coldly.

  "As soon as I return for you, naturally. Bonaparte will be defeated—Wellington will see to that, I am certain—but it may take some months. In the meantime, you will remain here, with your mama, and you will be simply a hardworking silk-weaver, with no interest at all in who governs France. If you keep the household out of politics, you will be safe until I can return."

  Suzanne could not say a word. His honour, indeed. How could he be so pompous? And so thoughtless? Had it not occurred to him that she might already be with child? She would certainly not be safe in Lyons if she were seen to be an unmarried girl with a big belly.

  Something must have shown in her face, for he said, anxiously, "What is it, love? What are you afraid of? Tell me."

  She had no choice. "What if I am already with child, Ben?" she whispered. "What then?"

  His face turned ashen. And there was real fear in his eyes. Not for himself, she was sure, but for her.

  "We will be married here, now, before I leave for England," Ben declared, trying to make his voice sound firm and decisive. Fear was knotting his gut at the thought of the danger Suzanne might be in, left alone in Lyons, with no strong arm to protect her. If she were seen to be pregnant, and unmarried, she would be cried a whore. And in these uncertain times, the local people might easily turn against her. What if that ugly crowd down in the street were to—?

  "And precisely how would such a marriage protect me?" she demanded angrily, taking another step back from him and wrapping her arms around herself. "I cannot declare myself married to an Englishman, or even to the German you were pretending to be, for both are enemies now. All Europe is allied against us. They say another invasion will begin any day now. Even royalists are joining the militia to defend France." She swallowed a sound in her throat that could have been a sob. Of anger? Or of fear? Then she shook her head so vehemently that her curls began to dance around her face, highlighting how pale she had become. "Probably better to be with child by an unknown lover than to be married to the enemy."

  It was as if she had struck him. Ben could neither move or speak. He stared at her. She had said she loved him, but now she was throwing his proposal back in his face. And calling him "the enemy".

  Suzanne glared back at him. She was now so pale that her skin seemed tinged with grey. Finally, she blinked rapidly and ran for the door.

  "Suzanne, wait."

  Too late. She was gone.

  Ben clawed desperately at the tangle of thoughts and feelings rioting through his brain. She had rejected him. Perhaps she did not really love him? But she might be carrying his child. How was he to protect her if she would not marry him?

  He put his good hand to his forehead and thumped hard. Think. He needed to think. Logically. Feelings were too dangerous here. What he needed was a careful plan. He needed to assess all the risks and find a way of defeating them, one by one.

  He forced himself to take long deep breaths. Yes, he must make a plan.

  A heavy cart rumbled past in the street outside. Good grief, he was still standing downstairs in Suzanne's office, where anyone might spy him by peering through the window. His wits had clearly gone a-begging.

  He ran for the door. He did at least have the presence of mind to check that the hall was empty before venturing out and making for the stairs. Moments later, he had regained the relative safety of his bedchamber.

  He glanced across at the door to the silk store, wondering if Suzanne was in her bedchamber on the far side. Poor darling. She had been so distressed. She had been on the point of tears when she fled from the office. He should go through to her and—

  No. He should not. First, he had to have a decent plan. Suzanne was in real danger and warm words would not be enough. She would reject him again and—now that he was beginning to think clearly once more—he could understand why. Perhaps he should take her with him through Spain after all? Perhaps it would be possible to hire good people here in Lyons to help look after her mama? Surely Suzanne would know someone who could be trusted?

  He shook his head despairingly. Far more questions than answers. This would not do. He had to start again from the beginning.

  He took another deep breath and began to pace.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Suzanne was shivering, horrified at what she had done. She had accused Ben—the man she loved beyond family, beyond country, beyond reason—of being the enemy. What on earth had possessed her?

  Fear.

  Her deepest, darkest fears had been driving her. And they still did.

  She let herself sink down onto her bed. She had to. Her legs were so wobbly they would barely hold her weight.

  She knew what the Lyons mob could do to fallen women. She had seen such women stripped to their shifts and dragged out by the hair. Whipped as whores. And worse. No punishment for the guilty men, naturally. That scene out in the street with the poor blabbermouth silk-merchant had been mild by comparison with some of the beatings Suzanne had witnessed over the years. And the rumours of another invasion had all the local men spoiling for a fight. Everyone was jumpy and ready with fists and knives. She had seen that before, too.

  Marriage to Ben—not that it was possible—would probably put her in even more danger. Instead of being whipped at the cart tail, she might well be executed as a traitor to France. That neighbour had been carted off to prison for saying the wrong things, not for actually doing anything in support of the royalist cause. Whereas Suzanne had given shelter to two English spies. And now she was seriously thinking about marrying one of them?

  If she was lucky, Bonaparte's men would simply shoot her.

  The mental image of herself standing in front of a firing squad was so clear, and so ridiculously melodramatic, that she began to laugh and laugh. Soon, tears were pouring down her cheeks. Was s
he losing her mind?

  She was so very much alone. If Marguerite had been here, things would have been different. The sisters had always been close. They had shared everything. But Marguerite was gone to England, married now to her son of a duke. So there was no one left in whom Suzanne could confide. Since the accident, Mama lived mostly in a fantasy world of her own. Old Berthe was intensely loyal, but her main concern was for making Mama's strange half-life as comfortable as possible. And though Guillaume loved both Grolier sisters as if they were his own daughters, he would be outraged if he learned what Suzanne and Ben had done.

  No, for Suzanne there was no one.

  Suzanne sighed deeply and wiped away her tears. Strangely, her mad outburst had made her feel slightly better. She could see more clearly now. She had to go forward from where she was. And she would. Not everything was to be feared. She had sinned, but she had done good deeds, too. She had saved Ben and helped to save Jack. She had been loyal to her family's cause. She had taken charge of the household and proved that she could run the business alone. Marguerite would be proud of her. And now Suzanne would continue to discharge her duty to her mama and the rest of the household. What else was there? Dwelling on past mistakes was torture and achieved nothing. The past could not be undone.

  Besides, she might not be pregnant after all.

  Ben deliberately rattled the lock as he turned the key in the door between the silk store and Suzanne's bedchamber. She needed to know he was there. She needed to agree to speak to him. He would not go a step further unless she invited him in.

  He rapped on the wood and waited.

  Nothing.

  He rapped again, louder this time. Still no response. And yet he was sure she was there, on the far side of the door. Was she too angry, or too consumed by her fears, to let him show his face?

  "Suzanne. Please let me in, my love. We need to talk. Please, Suzanne. I have plans for keeping you safe. I need to tell you what they are."

  A swift step and the door was thrown open, flooding the dark store with light. For a second, Ben was dazzled. All he could see was the light streaming through her fair curls, making a halo around her shadowed features as she confronted him.

  "Your plans, sir? What gives you the right to tell me what to do?"

  Ben gritted his teeth and swore silently. He was making a complete mull of this, and it mattered more than anything he had ever done before. He must not make another mistake. If he did, he could lose her.

  He did not cross the threshold into her domain. He stood where he was, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. When they did, he saw that she was distressed and that she had been weeping. But there were no tears now; her eyes were sparking fury at him. Angry red patches were starting to bloom, high on her pale cheeks.

  "Forgive my clumsy words, love," he began. "I have no rights over you. I know that. But I love you with all my heart and…and I worry about what might happen to you. Might I…might we talk? About what we could do to keep you safe? Together?"

  She took a step back and gestured for him to enter her chamber.

  Progress, though her expression remained grim.

  Ben marched straight across to the far side of the room and leant his back against the wall by the window. He was putting himself as far from Suzanne as it was possible to be in that small chamber. If he was to remain rational, there had to be space between them. He did not dare to touch her.

  Suzanne watched him for a moment with narrowed eyes. Then she gave a little nod and sat down on the far edge of her bed, half-turned away from him. He could not see her eyes. He could barely see one side of her face. But at least the spots of anger seemed to be fading.

  There was hope. Provided he was careful.

  "I…I was wrong to assume that marriage would solve everything. I see that now. But I am not your enemy, Suzanne. I could never be your enemy. I love you."

  She sighed and bent her head over her clasped hands. "Yes, I know that," she said at last, in a tiny voice. "But it changes nothing. And, in any case, marriage is impossible for us. There is not a single priest in the neighbourhood who could be trusted with the secret of who we—who you are."

  With all his pacing, he had not thought of that. He groaned. She was right. He had been so determined not to put her in even greater danger by revealing his identity. But, to marry her, he would need to give his real name and station to a priest and, presumably, to write it in a register for all to see. That was worse than clumsy; it was monumentally stupid.

  He swallowed hard and tried a different tack. "How soon will you know if we—if you are…er…increasing?"

  Her blush was deep and instant. It even reached the back of her neck and rose into her hairline. He thought she gave a tiny mew of pain.

  Clumsy, and crass to boot. Could he possibly have said anything worse? And what could he say now? How was he to reach her?

  Before he could say another word, she turned her back on him completely. Clearly, she could not bear to face him at all. When she spoke, she seemed to be addressing the wall of the silk store. "Not long. Two or three weeks at most. I…" The back of her neck reddened even more. "I have never been… I cannot exactly predict…" She ran out of words. No wonder, considering how deeply he had embarrassed her.

  The answer came to him in that instant. Yes, it was his duty to return to England, but why so soon? Why now? The extra information he had gleaned would almost certainly be useless by the time he had struggled through the Spanish mountains and found a ship for home. Bonaparte was mobilising a huge army. Wellington would learn of that and be making plans to counter it, long before Ben reached even the French border with Spain. The intelligence that really mattered had gone with Jack, and he had already reached England.

  "Suzanne, I will—" He stopped short. That would not do. He began again. "If you permit, my love, I will stay here with you in Lyons until you…er…know. One way or the other."

  She spun round. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. "What? But you cannot. You will be in danger if you stay in Lyons."

  She was worrying about him.

  He wanted to move towards her, to take her in his arms. Oh, she was a jewel of a girl and he—

  He stopped himself just in time and forced his weight back against the wall. Luckily, Suzanne's eyes had been on his face. It seemed she had not noticed his tiny shift towards her. If she had, and if she had come to him, he would have lost all ability to think rationally. He had to stay in control here. Of himself.

  She was worrying about him. So she did love him. So he had to defend her. Eventually, he would find a safe way of giving her the protection of his name. Until then, he would protect her with his body. And with his life, if necessary.

  A sharp and all-too-rational voice echoed in his head. Fool. If you give your life for her before you have given her your name, you will condemn her, twice over.

  He decided, on the spot, that he would not leave her side until they were safely married. "I am in danger here and I am in danger travelling to Spain. What matters, love, is to keep you out of danger." He would find a way to marry her, somehow. He had to. He might be killed en route to Spain; he might be wrecked in a storm and die at sea. As his widow, and possibly the mother of his child, Suzanne would have a position of honour and a claim on his estate; as his unmarried lover, she would have worse than nothing at all. He could not risk that for her.

  But he could not tell her so now. If he did, she would rail at him, tell him it was impossible, insist that he flee. Alone.

  He smiled, confidently, he hoped. "If you will permit," he said again, "I will remain in hiding here until we…er…know. Then I will make my way to Spain. I had thought that perhaps you might come with me?"

  "But Mama…? You know I cannot. My duty is here."

  "Would it not be possible," he began gently, "to hire someone to look after your mama? Is there no one in Lyons whom you can trust? I have gold. I can pay." And in friendly Spain, it would be safe to find a priest to marry them.
If Ben had his way, they would be wed as soon as they crossed the border.

  Suzanne shook her head, a little sadly. "There is no one. Only Berthe and Guillaume, who have served our family since we—since before I was born. They are devoted to Mama and they know all about the accident that caused her to be…to be as she is. Sometimes she can be violent, screaming and raging. Sometimes she seems perfectly rational but then, a moment later, she has weird fancies and says strange things. Royalist things. An outsider might repeat them to others. And if they were believed, who knows what Bonaparte's agents might do?"

  Ben's heart sank. Unfortunately, what she said about Madame Grolier was true. There had been several violent scenes in the house these last few weeks. And Ben could not forget Jack's account of how the haughty dame had forced him to swear an oath on the family bible. She had behaved, Jack said, like an old-fashioned French aristocrat rather than the wife of a bourgeois silk-weaver. Bonaparte's agents might make a great deal of something like that. And if they came to search the house, what might they find, even if Ben was already gone? A fervently royalist household was bound to have some incriminating material somewhere.

  "I understand. And I will not press you to come with me to England, I promise. Not until it is safe to bring your mama and the servants as well. But, please, Suzanne, please let me stay for these next few weeks. I will do nothing to put your household in danger. I will sit up here and clean boots if you want me to. If you will only let me stay."

  She gazed at him for a long time. Then, with a fleeting frown and a little shake of her head, she rose and crossed to the door to the silk store. Retrieving the key from the inside, she held the door open for him. "Very well," she said quietly, "you may stay. I will tell Guillaume that you are not yet well enough to travel and need a week or two more to regain your strength. You will remain hidden in your chamber. Guillaume will bring you chores to do, to keep you occupied. And whenever he sees you, you will make sure you appear suitably weak, but improving. Slowly."