by Amelia Grey
"Go on," Austin finally said.
"Do you remember the man Jerome Bonaparte?"
"Don't be absurd. I'm not likely to forget the man who saved my mother's life. You wouldn't be here if you didn't know about that incident. Besides that, there's not a person in Maryland who doesn't know who he is and what he did to his American wife.
Le Camus relaxed his shoulders in a lackadaisical manner. "Ah—yes, I assume your reference is to King Jerome's unfortunate relationship with Miss Betsy Patterson. It was at Napoleon's insistence, the Diocesan Court of Paris ruled Jerome and Betsy's marriage invalid in France. King Jerome begged Napoleon to accept his American wife. It was out of Jerome's hands what Napoleon did."
Austin didn't like the Frenchman's attitude or his tone. "What kind of man allowed his brother to annul his marriage?"
"That's not for us to argue," Le Camus said. "I'm here on a matter of extreme importance and the strictest confidence."
A commotion on the far side of the room caught Austin's attention. A sailor tried to force the young woman to sit on his knee. She struggled against his strength and managed to get away with only a quick slap to her bottom. The men howled as she hurried into the kitchen. Austin was tempted to go over and punch the man for harassing a woman who only tried to do her job.
It was time to find out what this man wanted from him, so he could concentrate on the serving wench. For some reason, he couldn't keep his eyes off her whenever she was in the room.
"Jerome is now King of Westphalia," Le Camus continued. "Perhaps you've heard."
Pride shone in the messenger's eyes and rang in his voice. "I remember hearing Napoleon forced Jerome to marry a German princess for political reasons and rewarded Jerome by making him a king."
The hawk-nosed man leaned forward again. His dark gaze bored into Austin's face. "That's true. The question is, do you remember what Jerome did for you?"
Austin's eyes narrowed as he looked at the Frenchman. "I remember."
With acute awareness, Austin sensed the woman's presence before she spoke. A frisson stirred him. She had eased up to their table and stood behind his left shoulder, just out of his peripheral vision. Underneath the pungent smell of dried ale on her dress and apron, he was certain he caught the scent of clean skin and fresh-washed hair. His stomach quickened.
"A tankard of ale for you, sir?" her soft voice asked.
Austin ignored the man sitting across from him and turned to the woman. Eyes more rusty green than brown looked down at him. A fringe of golden-blonde hair framed her face and a small linen cap sat on top of her head, covering most of the chignon which rode low on the nape of her neck. Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair and slightly arched, emphasizing the roundness of her eyes. A smidgen of color stained high on her cheeks. His gaze fell to the full, sculpted shape of her lips. A tightening attacked his lower stomach. Beneath her bib apron and brown muslin dress, he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest.
She blinked a couple of times. "Ale for you, sir?" she asked again, her voice straining to be polite.
"No, port," he finally answered. "The best you have."
"I'll have another ale," Le Camus added before she turned away.
His sensual reaction to her pleased him. Everything about her had gained his attention. He hadn't looked a woman over so carefully in years. He danced with proper young ladies at parties, but he never seriously courted any of them. He enjoyed the willing ladies at Miss Sophie's, but he seldom visited the same one twice in a row. What was it about this girl that made his gaze sweep the room to find her?
Le Camus continued to talk, but Austin wasn't listening. He strove to remember when he was last with a woman. By the way his lower body reacted to this young lady, it must have been months.
"Do you also remember vowing to return the good deed he bestowed upon you that day?"
That remark forced Austin to return his attention to the Frenchman. He had a strange feeling he wasn't going to like what this man had to say.
Austin nodded once. "I remember. I'm merely waiting for you to say what Jerome wants from me. Naturally, I assumed that is why you asked me to meet you."
Le Camus sat back in his chair as the young woman placed their drinks on the table. Austin didn't look up at her this time. He didn't have to. He'd already memorized her face, her walk, her scent. The long sleeve of her dress rode above her wrist showing small, delicate bone structure. Her fingers and hands were smooth, not rough and reddened, her nails neatly trimmed. She hadn't been a tavern wench very long. When she walked away, her body movement stirred the air and left behind the gripping appeal of her fresh-washed hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She was a bewitching little wench.
"Mr. Radcliffe?"
Austin's eyes popped open. He'd definitely been too long without a woman. This one was making him crazy. He leaned his chair back on its hind legs. It was time to get down to the business at hand. "What favor does Jerome ask of me?"
"He wants you to bring his son to France on one of your ships. He'll be waiting for you there."
"So, Betsy has agreed to go to him, even after his marriage to the German princess." Austin sipped his drink.
Le Camus waved his hand as if to dismiss Austin's statement. "No."
Austin's gaze lingered on Le Camus's face. "Betsy has agreed to let her son go to his father? Just the boy will be going?"
"Yes—but there's a little more to this than that. Not a big problem, though. She hasn't agreed. The boy will be taken."
Austin stiffened. "Damnation! You're going to kidnap the boy!" Austin's chair came down with a bang on the wood floor. His arm knocked the table and his drink sloshed over the edge of the pewter goblet. The sweet liquid dribbled between his fingers.
Le Camus leaned over the table again. "Please, Mr. Radcliffe, must I remind you again not to bring attention to us?"
"Do you think I want to bring attention to us?" Austin pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his hand. "Jerome is a coward to suggest such a thing as this, let alone to ask it of me as well." Austin snarled. "Does he think me a common criminal?"
"Need I remind you that it was you who made the unconditional vow that day to assist him should he ever need it? You said no desire of his would be too great a task. All Jerome had to do was ask. He's asking. He has no reason to doubt the child Miss Patterson bore in England is his. Because of Napoleon's great fortune, Jerome is now king of his own country and has the means to give the boy a life suitable to his birth and station. It pains him not to have seen his son or have him with him. Bo will be four years old in a matter of months."
It was Austin's time to lean over the table. "Kidnapping is against the law, damn your soul! I didn't mean I'd commit a crime for Bonaparte when I made that vow."
"Whose law, Mr. Ratcliffe? Is it breaking the law to take a man's son to him? Does a mother have more right to a son than his father? I think not. King Jerome acknowledges the boy is his. How can it be against the law to merely take a child to his father?" He spread his hands in an unconcerned gesture.
"That's not against the law, I'm sure; but stealing him from his mother and taking him to France is. He's an American."
"He is his father's son first. It is an act of kindness to this powerful man who wishes only the best life for his son. Miss Patterson keeps the child from Jerome only to hurt him for things that were Napoleon's doing. The greater crime would be in denying the boy his station in life as prince to the throne of Westphalia and possibly one day to the throne of France. It is Miss Patterson who is robbing the child of his rightful place in life."
Austin took a big drink of the strong port. Le Camus was right. Five years ago he hadn't put any stipulations on the vow. How could he? Jerome had not only saved his life but his mother's, too, for surely the robbers would have killed them both. He'd never forget how close that sword was to his mother's throat before Jerome's shot rang out.
Austin didn't like going back on his word, but what else could he d
o? If he took that boy to France he would a accomplice to his kidnapping.
"Tell Jerome I'll do anything else he asks, but I can't take a child from his mother."
"You'll have nothing to do with the actual kidnapping. I'll be responsible for getting the child on board your ship. All you have to do is have your ship ready to take him and deliver him to France. The Patterson family knows me well. I've brought Miss Patterson letters from King Jerome. He's repeatedly asked for his son to be sent to him and even offered to make Miss Patterson the Princesses of Smalkalden so that she and the boy could be near him and have all the riches and titles they deserve. She has refused to even allow her son to see his father which is not right. A man deserves to have his son with him."
A wry smile crossed Austin's face. He remembered well the newspaper's carrying Betsy's witty remarks concerning Jerome's ill-conceived offer. She told him Westphalia wasn't large enough for two queens and that she would rather be sheltered under the wing of an eagle than hang from the bill of a goose. In saying that, she refused Jerome's offer of a title and two hundred thousand francs a year in favor of Napoleon's offer of sixty thousand francs in exchange for staying in America.
Le Camus ignored Austin's irreverent smile and continued. "I doubt the kidnapping will be a great surprise, considering King Jerome's past efforts to obtain his son from Miss Patterson. The plan is already set in motion. You'll be on your ship and ready to sail as soon as the boy boards. I'll stay in Baltimore for the questions that are sure to come and when things settle down, as I'm sure they will, eventually go back to France. My brother Alexander is already there waiting for you."
Austin picked up his drink and drained the contents. The port stung his throat. He let out a loud breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "This is madness I want no part of. I can't separate a child from his mother no matter the vow."
"Think back to that time five years ago, Mr. Radcliffe. If Jerome had said to you, 'I will kill this man and save your mother if you'll bring my son to me in France,' would you have done it?"
"It didn't happen that way."
"It could have. Your mother is safe now, is she not? It's easy and convenient for you to forget how you felt that day after your life and your mother's had been saved by Jerome. Do you wish that your mother had died and this vow hadn't been spoken?"
Heaviness settled in Austin's chest. "Of course not. Your words are foolish."
"I agree. This is such a simple thing he asks of you to fulfill your vow. You are not kidnapping the child. You are only transporting him."
Angered by the Frenchman's complacency, Austin reached over the table and grabbed the man by his cravat, roughly pulling him toward his face. "It's not simple. And I am a man of my word, but what you're asking me to do is a damnable thing." A table of men looked their way, and Austin let go of Le Camus.
The Frenchman remained cool as he straightened his cravat and settled back in his chair. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture again. "I will tell King Jerome you are not a man of your word. You Americans have no honor."
Austin gritted his teeth over those fighting words. How could Jerome question another man's honor after the way he had treated his American wife? He couldn't let the arrogant bastard think he was a man who went back on his word. "There is no honor in kidnapping a defenseless child."
"There is no honor in breaking your word to a man who not only saved your life, but also that of your mother."
"My integrity is not in question. Let the king ask for my life and I will travel to Westphalia and give it."
"His son's safe delivery to France is all that he seeks from you. You will be merely delivering a son to his father, who loves him so much."
Austin wasn't an idiot or a simpleton. It wasn't an easy decision to make. Was he bound by honor to do this terrible deed and take the kidnapped boy to France?
"Think about this. I have a room upstairs. I'll be here another day. But as I said, the plan is already in motion. If not you, someone else will take the boy to his father."
"Why ask me? Why not just hire someone to take the boy to him?"
"You are a respectable businessman. King Jerome would not trust his son's life to the hands of men who fight for money."
Le Camus rose from the table and left. Austin picked up the wine goblet and put it to his lips. It was empty. A foul taste coated his tongue and a bitter feeling stirred inside his stomach. He couldn't believe Jerome Bonaparte had the nerve to ask him to participate in the kidnapping of his son.
But, a man had to keep his word or he wasn't an honorable man.
But, how could he do this horrible deed? Honor demanded it. Could he think about it as simply as Jerome and Le Camus had ? He would merely be delivering a son to his father. How was that more wrong than a mother keeping a son from his father? When he looked at it like that, it made more sense. Besides there was always the chance she could get the child back through political channels. Austin knew he was rationalizing, but he had to come up with some damn good reasons before he could agree to Jerome's request.
Le Camus was right. He had a debt to pay. If it had been only his life, he'd gladly travel to France and give Jerome his sword and tell him to take it back. But, Jerome had saved his mother. And, to this day, his mother enjoyed a full, rich life. He owed Jerome, but could he justify the request?
No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he still didn't want to do it. Damn, he didn't want to do it.
Austin scanned the room for the serving girl. He needed another drink. He rubbed his eyes. He'd been so caught up in his conversation with Le Camus, he hadn't noticed the tavern had emptied.
* * *
Her feet hurt. Her head ached from lack of sleep. Chelly rubbed the back of her neck and down her shoulders as far as she could reach. She stretched first to the right, then left, trying to relieve the tension built from a week of working in the taproom from early morning until late at night. The tavern didn't close until the last customer had left, and she had to be up at daybreak to help the cook with the morning meal for the guests staying at the inn.
Chelly couldn't wait for the tavern to close so she could shed her clothes and splash water on her face and neck to rid herself of the stench of dried ale. She glanced around the taproom. The only man left had been at the table in the far corner for more than an hour.
She couldn't help but notice him. He'd watched her closely until he and his companion's conversation had become heated. Not many men were as tall or broad shouldered as he, nor as handsome. He wore his thick, dark-brown hair pulled back in a queue, though most men now boasted a shorter style. His clothing indicated a man of wealth. With that thought, Chelly huffed loudly and picked up the port bottle again. Maybe she could hurry him on his way so they could close. She'd found out the hard way that men of wealth could behave just as badly as the sea-worn sailors who sat at most of the tavern's tables.
Nearing his table, she asked herself why she put up with groping hands and lewd comments from the patrons. Because I have nowhere else to go, she answered herself. Thanks to the Duncans she had no choice, if she wanted a place to stay other than the street. It pained her greatly to think that, after a year of faithful service, the Duncans had not only ruined her reputation in Baltimore, but in the whole state of Maryland. Not one family had answered her letters inquiring about a new post as a governess. No one had even responded to her request for an interview. It seemed as if everything had started to go wrong after her sister's death.
Chelly knew she had to find some other kind of work. She hated all the pinches, fanny pats, and drinks spilled on her. She didn't mind that she had to work hard, but the behavior of the customers was becoming increasingly difficult to endure.
"More port for you, sir?" she asked, stopping beside the handsome stranger.
The patron lifted his face toward her. Chelly looked down into a set of beautiful, greenish-gray eyes. Her stomach fluttered. The man's forehead was high and his cheekbones well defined. Dark-b
rown eyebrows arched attractively, enhancing his almond-shaped eyes. His nose was slightly pointed. His full, chiseled lips parted as he said, "A bit more, perhaps."
Why was she suddenly nervous? She had to hold the wine jug with both hands to keep it steady while she poured. Her breath shortened and her heartbeat increased. Fatigue, she assured herself. She certainly didn't want to be attracted to a stranger in the taproom.
"We'll be closing soon," she said, hoping to hurry this disturbing man on his way. She moved to turn away, but he caught her wrist and stayed her.
Their eyes met. "How much to stay the night?" he asked in a quiet voice.
She moistened her lips. "Our singles are occupied. A two-man bed is two dollars. If you want a room to yourself, it will be four."
He smiled. His thumb traced a slow pattern on the soft underside of her wrist. Her breathing became shallow. Why was his touch making her feel light-headed?
"No. You misunderstood me. How much will it cost to share your room?"
Chelly shocked herself by taking a moment to consider his proposal. She must be going daft. Her aunt had taught her to be a woman of worth. How could it cross her mind, even for a fleeting moment, to consider his proposition? Was he that handsome? Had working at the tavern changed her? Maybe it was the spring air. Whatever the reason, she decided quickly that she couldn't continue to work at the tavern.
She moistened her lips and cleared her throat, wanting her voice to sound firm and stable. Her gaze didn't waver from his. She pulled her arm free. "I'm sorry, sir. I service the tables, not the rooms."
He laughed. "Name your price."
More strongly she said, "You'll have to go elsewhere for that."
He shook his head. "You're the one I want. Name your price," he said again.
Chelly had had too much for one night—enough to last her a lifetime. She'd been patted, pinched, poked, prodded, and propositioned. She was tired of it. She didn't care that this man was handsome, or that she'd been drawn to his roguish good looks.
