Velvet v-3

by Jane Feather

  "A reckless, wanton, lamentably undisciplined brigand," he said roundly. "Without a discreet bone in your body when it comes to games of passion."

  Gabrielle grimaced, obliged to admit that she'd given him enough ammunition in the past to justify such an opinion. "I'll treat you with lofty disdain," she said. "Unless you'd prefer active dislike?"

  "Ordinary civility will do fine," he said, circling her throat with his hands, his thumbs pushing up her chin.

  "That's never been easy between us," she teased. "I'm not sure I'll be able to manage it."

  "I'm serious, Gabrielle."

  "Yes, I know you are."

  He nodded and kissed her eyelids. "You'd better be on your way. It's already getting light."

  "There's no law against taking a dawn stroll," she said. "Just as long as you don't stroll into town on my heels."

  "I won't. Off you go now." He turned her with apat and thrust her through the veil of leaves onto the path. "And be careful of lurking stones."

  "Why can't we meet here again tonight'" She paused, squinting against the rosy ball of the rising sun.

  "Maybe we can. it depends what the day brings. I'll tell you if we can."

  "Very well, my lord." She laughed and blew him a kiss, then turned and walked away, a skip to her step despite the sleepless night.

  Nathaniel waited in the willow grotto for over an hour before following her. He sat on the grass, leaning against the tree trunk, his eyes closed as he rested in a half-sleep that he knew would be as refreshing as several hours of deep sleep.

  So Gabrielle had given up espionage. Was it for good?

  He let the thought warm him as the sun's heat grew, filtering through the silvery fronds of the willow.

  ******************************************************************

  "The Comtesse de Beaucaire's a striking woman," observed Count Nicholas Tolstoy, letting his lorgnette fall and helping himself to a dainty oyster barquette from the tray proffered by a footman.

  "Indeed," Nathaniel agreed somewhat indifferently. "Although I confess I find Princess Kirov more to my taste."

  "Oh, do you like fluffy blondes?' the count said. "I prefer a little spice to my meat." He laughed with ahearty masculine complacence that grated on Nathaniel's nerves.

  "I understand you have the task; of inquiring after Napoleon's health every morning." he commented, changing the subject.

  "Oh, yes. The czar is most anxious to know that his dear friend and ally has passed a restful night," Tolstoy said. "Just as General Duroc trots up to our door on the same errand from Napoleon at nine o'clock every morning."

  "How touching," Nathaniel said dryly, and the count laughed.

  "Good evening, gentlemen. Did you enjoy the ride this morning?" Gabrielle glided across the salon toward them. Her gown of dove-gray Italian gauze flowed around her, hinting at the length of leg beneath, the soft curve of her hips.

  "More than the King of Prussia, madame," Count Tolstoy said with an ironic smile.

  "Yes, poor man." Gabrielle looked across the room to where the unhappy Frederick William of Prussia stood on the outskirts of the group centered on the two emperors. "Napoleon was making fun of his uniform this morning. He asked him how he managed to button so many buttons on his tunic."

  "He shouldn't have come," Nathaniel said. "He knows Napoleon despises him and he was simply setting himself up for further humiliation."

  "That's harsh, my friend," Tolstoy remonstrated. "It's only natural that he'd hope for some concessions for Prussia out of these negotiations."

  "A fond and foolish hope," Nathaniel declared. "And his pathetic wife, trying to flirt with Napoleon as if her womanly charms could soften him."

  "She's very lovely," Gabrielle said. "But it's true that the emperor's impervious to her charms. He was cruel at dinner. He wanted to know why she was wearing a turban. He said it couldn't be in homage to Alexander, since the Russians were at war with Turkey. She didn't know where to look or how to reply."

  "Perhaps I'll go and comfort her," Tolstoy said with a smile. "I am far from impervious to her flirtatious ways, so if you'll excuse me, comtesse." He bowed and strolled off toward the disconsolate Queen Louise.

  "You have sharp ears, madame," Nathaniel observed coolly, his eyes darting around the salon to see if they were being observed with any unusual interest.

  "And sharp appetites," she whispered, her tongue touching her lips, her eyes glowing. She took a step closer and he could feel the warmth of her thigh beneath the gauze of her gown.

  "Careful," he warned, smiling at an acquaintance who was trying to catch his eye. "May I procure you a glass of champagne, comtesse?"

  "Thank you, monsieur." She tools his proffered arm and they walked casually toward the supper room. "My godfather is of the opinion that Alexander's negotiators haven't a brain between them," she said in a normal voice.

  Nathaniel inclined his head courteously toward her. "Is that so, comtesse."

  She smiled. "It seems to be the received opinion, sir."

  "By all but Alexander and his negotiators," Nathaniel agreed blandly. "I imagine your godfather's running rings around Prince Lobanov and Prince Kurakin at the treaty table."

  "He runs rings around most people," she responded with a touch of asperity.

  She bowed and smiled to Madame Duroc and paused to exchange pleasantries, casually introducing Nathaniel. "Monsieur Lubienski has kindly offered to procure me a glass of champagne."

  "Perhaps I may fetch something for you also, Madame Duroc."

  "Why, thank you, monsieur, a glass of negus, if you please. Now, tell me, Gabrielle, what is your opinion of poor Queen Louise." The general's wife took Gabrielle's arm and drew her aside.

  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.

  Chapter 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 ear lobe.

  "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. "Iam asking you to give him some information that his government will find invaluable. I am asking you to spy forhim, 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 chere." 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, monparrain," 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 chere, 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 Gabrielle'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 dow
n, 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. Bo idly, 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."