Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  “Emperor be damned!” a man in a nearby group roared. “That Corsican bandit has been a plague to all of Europe, bringing death everywhere he set foot. May the devil take his rotten soul!”

  One of the Bonapartists shouted back, “Belgium is truly part of France and it is time that we rejoined our brothers!”

  “Bedamned to those French scum!” another man bellowed furiously. “We want no part of them! We need to drive out the damned Dutch as well so Belgium can be free and independent, as we deserve!”

  The crowd exploded into an angry mob. Shouts and fists and rocks began flying in all directions.

  Simon started to retreat but he was engulfed by two different factions. A hurled stone struck his head and he disappeared into the seething mass of struggling men.

  Horrified, Suzanne snapped, “Give me the reins, Maurice! Then get my husband out of there!”

  Grimly Maurice thrust the reins at her and leaped to the ground. Suzanne climbed awkwardly into the front seat and concentrated on calming the frightened horse.

  Despite his limp, Maurice plowed into the crowd. Suzanne caught her breath with relief when he reached the knot of fighting men and hauled her husband to his feet. Simon was unsteady, but with Maurice’s support he began moving toward the carriage. Their progress was slow as they dodged around clumps of fighting men.

  It had been a long time since Suzanne had driven a carriage, but she hadn’t forgotten how. She turned the light vehicle around so they could depart the way they’d come rather than try to cross the rioting plaza.

  Her gaze was fixed on Simon and Maurice and she didn’t realize that men were approaching on her other side until a powerful male hand grabbed her left ankle. Her head whipped around and she saw that her attacker was a roughly dressed fellow who smelled like he’d been hauled from a vat of beer.

  As he dragged her toward him, he grinned with a mouth full of bad teeth. “What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ here? Come with me and I’ll show you a good time!”

  Fight hard and fast! Remembering Simon’s words, she slashed at the man with the buggy whip. Startled, he loosened his grip and she was able to jerk her ankle free.

  Swearing, he lunged for her again. Furiously she kicked out, her heel catching the side of his throat. He squawked and fell back. When he regained his balance, he came at her again, raging, and this time he was joined by another drunken lout.

  Suzanne lashed out with the buggy whip and managed to strike both men. Before she could wield the whip again, Simon tackled her first assailant, knocking him into the second man. Both attackers crashed to the ground. One side of Simon’s head was bloody, but that didn’t stop him from kicking the first man in the gut and stamping his booted foot on the other man’s fingers.

  As the men lay gasping on the cobblestones, Simon swung up onto the backseat of the carriage at the same time that Maurice scrambled in front, grabbed the reins and whip from Suzanne, and sent the carriage bolting out of the square. Shaken, Suzanne clung to the front seat’s side rail until they were well away from the riot.

  When they were out of earshot of the shouting, she said unsteadily, “Maurice, can you stop long enough for me to change seats and see how the colonel is doing?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled the carriage to a halt, murmuring encouraging words to the horse for doing such a good job.

  As she clambered back to Simon, she asked, “Were you a soldier, Maurice?”

  “That I was, ma’am.” He looked energized by the altercation.

  Before she was even settled in the backseat, Simon drew her into a protective embrace. “Are you all right, ma chérie?”

  “I’m fine.” She burrowed into his arms, realizing that she was shaking. “I’m not the one who was just whacked on the head with a rock in the middle of a riot!”

  He stroked a hand down her back soothingly. “I wasn’t seriously hurt. You were targeted by those ruffians just for being female, which is much worse.”

  Simon understood so well. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder as she began to relax. “I’m glad you gave me lessons in fighting.”

  “I just wish you didn’t need them so often!” he said ruefully.

  “At least it was over quickly.” She drew back to study the laceration on the left side of his head. It was several inches long, but shallow and had mostly stopped bleeding. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and began blotting the blood from the laceration. “You lost your hat.”

  “It could have been worse. Let’s save our worrying for Napoleon.”

  She bit her lip at the truth of his words. “Do you think this news will send Brussels up in flames?”

  “I don’t believe so. This was just the first reaction to shocking news,” Simon replied. “Maurice, you’ve lived here for many years. What do you think?”

  The driver shrugged. “Belgium is used to living under different masters. Folks will settle down and wait to see what happens next.” He used the buggy whip to indicate people talking earnestly in front of a butcher shop. “The news is spreading, but most people are just talking, not rioting. Those drunken troublemakers in the square just like an excuse to fight.”

  Suzanne hoped the men were right. “Do you think Napoleon will be able to stay on the throne?”

  “For now, at least. It sounds like the whole army has fallen under his spell again,” Simon said soberly. “King Louis’s support is thin and his government didn’t treat the returning soldiers of Napoleon’s Grande Armée well. That means at least half the men in France despise the king, and they’re experienced soldiers. Life under their emperor again must look like an improvement.”

  “I wonder if there’s any chance that he’ll decide it’s enough to rule France and stop invading other countries,” Suzanne said thoughtfully. “He’s older now. Perhaps his ambitions have dimmed.”

  “Even if Napoleon swears he’ll bury his sword and go to war no more, who will believe him?” Simon asked. “I wouldn’t. Surely all the Allied leaders are already drawing up declarations of war against France.”

  Her hand tightened on his as she thought of all the death and devastation the wars had wrought. “Will there ever be an end to it?”

  “I surely hope so,” he said quietly. “Luckily, the emperor is a long way from Brussels and he’s never managed to cross the English Channel, so Britain should be safe. Do you want to return to London now?”

  “There will be time for that if Napoleon decides to invade Belgium,” Suzanne said, knowing they must complete their search for Lucas and visit Château Chambron before returning to the safety of England. “We have unfinished business. The sooner we leave for Namur and Château Chambron, the better.”

  He smiled down at her, his expression warm. “Gallant girl. Shall we leave tomorrow as we planned?”

  She nodded agreement. “Since this will be a short trip, little packing will be required.”

  “Maurice, we’ll need a travel carriage and a good team of horses,” Simon said. “I assume that will not be a problem?”

  “Not at all, Colonel.”

  “Good. Our next stop today will be at the best gunsmith in Brussels,” Simon said. “I assume you know who that is?”

  Maurice grinned. “Aye, that I do.”

  “We’re arming ourselves?” Suzanne asked.

  “I meant to buy you a good, compact lady’s pistol in London, but there wasn’t time,” Simon explained. “The countryside here may be unsettled, so no more delays.”

  That made sense to Suzanne. She didn’t know if she’d be capable of shooting to kill, but carrying a weapon might help banish her fears. She was tired of being afraid.

  Maurice’s choice of gunsmiths wasn’t far. When he pulled up in front of the shop, Simon asked, “Maurice, is it a safe assumption that there is at least one good rifle back at the house? More likely a small but well-chosen armory?”

  “Safe indeed, sir,” Maurice said with pride.

  Leaving him to walk the horse, Su
zanne and Simon entered the shop. A guard was posted visibly at the entrance, and Suzanne understood why when she saw some of the exquisitely crafted firearms on display. The silver inlaid pistols glittered like jewelry. Deadly jewelry.

  As soon as the usual pleasantries had been exchanged with the proprietor, Simon said, “We’d like to see your best lady’s pocket pistols.”

  The proprietor glanced at Suzanne. She tried to look cool and dangerous. “Of course, monsieur and madam.” He disappeared into the back of the shop for a few minutes and returned with a velvet-lined tray that held several small, sleek pistols. He set it on the counter reverently. “Would madam like to see which best suits her hand?”

  Suzanne picked one up rather gingerly. It would certainly be easier to manage than the full-sized pistol Simon had taught her on. She held it in a shooting grip, examined it, then tried another. “They are beautifully made, monsieur, but how accurate are they?”

  “Quite accurate for weapons of their size, madam. There is a small shooting gallery in the back of this property where you can test your favorites out.”

  Her brows rose. “How convenient.”

  After she’d examined and held each, Simon asked, “Which are your favorites?”

  She chose two. At his suggestion, she added a third.

  Simon told the proprietor, “I’m also interested in a pair of midweight pistols with the emphasis on ease of use rather than decoration.”

  Larger weapons appeared. After Simon selected two styles, they moved to the shooting range in the back of the house. The walls and ceiling were padded to reduce the amount of noise generated. Suzanne shot first, carefully loading and sighting down the range. They were indeed reasonably accurate for small handguns and she was rather proud of her marksmanship.

  She was unsurprised to find that the model Simon had suggested felt best in her hand and seemed the most accurate. It was relatively undecorated, but she liked the simple, businesslike look of it. “This one, Simon.”

  “A good choice. Monsieur, a pair of these, please.” Then it was Simon’s turn. As expected, he was much faster at loading and a better shot, even allowing for the fact that the larger pistols were more accurate. Simon ordered a pair. After both sets of weapons were placed in wooden cases and wrapped reverently, they went outside.

  Suzanne would be happy never to have a reason to fire her lovely new pistols. But in a very uncertain world, she liked being as prepared as she could be.

  * * *

  The news of Napoleon’s return hadn’t reached Kirkland’s household yet, so Simon gathered all the servants in the drawing room to make the announcement. He watched faces carefully and saw only dismay or stoic jaw tightening at the news. If there were Bonapartists present, they disguised it well. He’d have been surprised to find any in Kirkland’s employ.

  He dismissed most of the servants to return to their usual business, though he expected they’d be doing a lot of talking among themselves. Jackson he asked to stay.

  Looking wary, the valet did so. Simon asked, “How are your left hand and arm coming along?”

  Jackson flexed his fingers. “Well, sir. A little stronger and more flexible.” A hint of humor showed in his eyes. “Your ordering me to exercise them at least an hour a day has sure helped.”

  “Good.” Simon set the case of new pistols on the table and flipped it open.

  Jackson’s eyes widened. “Beautiful weapons, sir. Did you just buy them? I haven’t seen these in your luggage.”

  “Brand new.” Simon picked one up, liking the balance, and handed it to Jackson. “Would you be able to shoot this? I assume your experience has been with long guns rather than pistols.”

  “You assume rightly, sir.” Jackson accepted the pistol reverently, feeling the balance and examining how it was made. He raised the weapon in his right hand and sighted along it. “It’s a beautiful weapon, sir. I could shoot it, but I don’t know about loading. I could likely manage, but I’d be slow.”

  “My wife and I are going to take a journey south for a few days. The news about Bonaparte might make the countryside a little unsettled. Maurice will drive the coach and will have a rifle and pistol holstered by him. Would you be willing to ride in the seat beside him as the guard? I assume that you could shoot an attacker if your weapon is already loaded.”

  Jackson’s eyes lit up. Working with the confidence of a professional soldier, he lifted the pistol, rested the barrel on his clumsy left wrist, then released the safety and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck with a hard click and his grip kept the barrel steady.

  Looking pleased, Jackson said, “Yes, I can do that. A rifle’d be more accurate, but this will take down any bandits who get too close.”

  “Could you pull a loaded shotgun from a carriage holster and fire it?”

  “I think so, if the shotgun isn’t too heavy. I’d want to practice first.” He stroked the pistol that he still held. “But why are you going to so much trouble to use a cripple? Wouldn’t it be easier to hire a guard or two?”

  “You’re an experienced soldier and your training and judgment are valuable. The same is true of Maurice. Also, I trust you.” His eyes glinted. “Am I wrong?”

  “No, sir!” Jackson’s straight gaze was man to man. “You and your lady have given me and Jenny second chances and a better life than we could’ve dreamed of. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know.” Simon smiled. “And since you believe you can use the pistols effectively, they’re yours.”

  Jackson gasped. “Thank you, sir! They are . . . magnificent! I don’t know if I can do them justice.”

  “If you like, I can buy you a membership in a local shooting gallery so you can practice regularly.”

  Looking a little overwhelmed but grateful, Jackson said, “That would certainly be helpful, sir. ‘Tis practice and drill that makes a good soldier.”

  “Let us hope these pistols never need to be fired in anger,” Simon said quietly. “But with the world turning upside down again, it is best to be prepared.”

  “Aye, Colonel.” Jackson’s expression was steely. “We will be.”

  Chapter 19

  Napoleon might be gathering his armies to invade the rest of Europe again, but Suzanne felt warm and safe when she flowed into Simon’s arms that night. “What a day it has been! Is your head still aching?”

  “Only a little.” Simon’s hand gently kneaded down Suzanne’s back. “Madame Maurice gave me some willow bark tea, which helped. I don’t think much of the taste, but honey helped.”

  “Kirkland has assembled quite a competent household here, hasn’t he?”

  Simon laughed. “I suspect that all of the servants have aided him in the past, and giving them a comfortable house and regular income is a kind of pension to reward them for past service. It also provides Kirkland with a listening post in the Low Countries and a place for friends and guests to stay.” Simon’s hand caressed lower. “Very efficient.”

  “Mm . . .” More interested in Simon’s closeness than Kirkland’s undoubted efficiency, Suzanne rolled onto her back and caught Simon’s hand, bringing it to rest over her heart. He gave a small exhalation of contentment. She thought that tonight was a good time to expand their repertoire of touching.

  She tentatively moved their joined hands up to rest on her left breast. His hand lay quietly for long moments, but she could feel the quickening of his pulse beating through her flannel nightgown. Very slowly he began massaging her breast. She forced herself to push thoughts of the past away so she could concentrate on this moment and the pleasure of his touch.

  He bent his head and kissed her other breast through the soft flannel. She stiffened at the shock of sensation and he stilled. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “You can . . . continue.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured in return. “Let me know the moment that you’ve had enough.” He returned to kissing her breasts, the warmth of his mouth triggering a spreading warmth downward through her body.

 
She concentrated on that growing pleasure as it curled sensually into her most secret core. Heat, moisture, the sensations she’d felt as a young bride when her first husband was applying all his considerable amatory skills to showing her how lucky she was to be his wife.

  Sensation began crowding out all the memories of the pain and fear she’d suffered in captivity. She sank into present heat and urgency, glorying in rising passion. Refusing to doubt that she was ready, she raised her nightgown to her waist and drew Simon’s hand down to rest on the bare flesh of her belly. He sucked in his breath and she felt his fierce reaction throughout his body—and her own.

  With exquisite care he slid his hand lower until his palm rested warmly over the soft triangle of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs. Delta of Venus. The poetic name swirled through her mind as her hips began involuntarily pulsing against his hand. He responded by delicately sliding his fingers between her thighs, finding heat and moist welcome.

  With a rough breath, she separated her legs to give him better access. He stroked and teased and built rising flames as she throbbed against his hand. When he touched the most exquisitely sensitive spot of all, she began writhing under the sweet pressure.

  With a sudden, shocking explosion, she tumbled out of control and her body was consumed with unexpected ecstasy. Her fractured emotions urged that the time had come to complete their marriage.

  She tugged at his shoulders, wordlessly shifting him so that he was suspended over her. His breathing ragged, he followed her guidance, positioning himself between her legs, moving forward into her slowly, carefully. . . .

  Until his control splintered. With a ragged gasp, he buried himself inside her. His powerful body surrounded her, pinned her against the mattress with his muscular weight as he rocked into her.