* * *
Madame Maurice’s dinner was tasty and invigorating, a fine stew of beef and vegetables braised in beer, with bread and more of the same beer to wash it down. Simon told himself he must remember to thank Kirkland again for this amazing house filled with comfort, good food, and experienced spies.
Philippe was twitching with nerves, so Simon put him out of his misery as soon as he’d eaten enough to mitigate his ravenous appetite. “The news is mostly good, starting with the fact that Château Chambron is yours, and your father very specifically left it to his ‘beloved son.’ ”
Philippe swallowed hard, and Simon guessed that that acknowledgment meant almost as much as inheriting the property, at least for tonight. Later it would be the estate that mattered.
“The estate, but not the title,” Philippe said in a low voice. “My birth was not legitimate, was it?”
“No,” Suzanne said gently. “The title must go to Simon. But you were Jean-Louis’s only child. He loved you and provided very handsomely for your future.”
Privately Simon thought Jean-Louis could have done a much better and fairer job of raising Philippe, but for a man who was selfish by nature, this was a good effort. Monsieur Morel’s generous guiding hand was surely visible here.
Simon passed Philippe his copy of the will. “In more good news, there is also a substantial monetary inheritance. It’s rather inconveniently located in London now, but when the political situation stabilizes, you can move the funds here if you like. I strongly suggest that you continue using Monsieur Morel for estate and financial matters. He and his family have served the Duvals for generations, and it was his intelligence and honesty that preserved your inheritance.”
He handed over a bank statement. Philippe looked at the column of numbers and gave a breathless whistle. Marie looked over his shoulder and gasped. “It’s a fortune!”
“It’s not enough to live as grandly as Jean-Louis did,” Suzanne said. “And really, there is no need to live that grandly. But used well it should be enough to get the estate back on its feet.”
“I strongly suggest that you abandon the château,” Simon said. “Repairing it could easily cost your whole inheritance.”
“The Château Chambron has been the home of the Comtes de Chambron for centuries,” Philippe said unhappily.
Marie laid her hand on his. “It’s just a house, mon chéri. And it was very uncomfortable living in the ruins! A more modest home for us and money for planting are much more important.” She smiled at her husband. “All I need is a house that contains you and is clean, comfortable, and well provisioned. That will be infinitely better than a burned-out palace.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” With visible regret, Philippe mentally abandoned the family home he’d once yearned for. He raised his gaze to Simon. “Can I transfer the money I’ll need for a spring planting before it’s too late?”
Simon shook his head. “That will take time and planting won’t wait. Since I have already established a banking relationship here in Brussels, I can advance you enough to get started immediately. You can repay me once you have access to your own funds.”
Philippe clasped Marie’s hand hard, his expression baffled. “Why are you so generous to us? When we first met, I threatened you with my rifle!”
“You were defending what you loved most. I would have done the same. We are family, as I’ve said before. Family helps family.” Simon guessed that Jean-Louis’s erratic attention had given Philippe little faith in family support. But he was learning.
“The decisions are yours, of course, but in your position, I’d head down to the estate with a wagon full of seed and farming equipment,” Suzanne said thoughtfully. “When you were camping out in the ruins, you were too ill to meet any of the local people, but there must be men and women who worked for the estate in better days and would be pleased to have jobs again.”
Marie asked Suzanne, “Most sizable estates also have cottages and tenant buildings scattered about. Is that true of Château Chambron? One such house would suit us for the foreseeable future.”
“Yes, there were a number of smaller residences in different locations around the estate,” Suzanne replied. “I’d suggest looking for one that isn’t currently occupied and being flexible and generous with any of the former tenants and laborers who have been planting crops and keeping livestock on the property since Jean-Louis abandoned it. Deal with them tactfully, and they will reward you with their loyalty, I think. Jean-Louis tended to be . . . rather too aristocratic.”
“Luckily, I wasn’t raised as a true aristo.” Philippe smiled at his wife. “But even so, Marie is in charge of tact and charm.”
Marie smiled back at him. “When shall we leave, mon chéri?”
“You’re not coming with me!” Philippe exclaimed. He turned to Simon and Suzanne. “Can Marie stay here until the estate and the future are more settled?”
“Of course,” Suzanne said warmly. “I would miss her sorely if she were to leave now.”
Marie scowled. “The fact that I am with child doesn’t make me useless!”
“No, but if the armies of France invade Belgium, one of the routes might be right across your estate,” Simon said bluntly.
“He’s right.” Philippe touched his wife’s shining blond hair. “You and our child are too precious to risk in a war zone. If there is danger, it will be easier for me to deal with it if I’m alone.”
Marie looked as if she wanted to argue, but her good sense won out. “Very well,” she sighed. “But if armies do start marching over the estate, for heaven’s sake, get out of the way!”
Philippe smiled with rare humor. “One reason I survived years as a soldier is that I know what armies are like. I have a keen sense of when to retreat and when to go to ground and hide. I’ll be safe, and so will you.”
Marie caught her husband’s hand and held it to her heart. “I know you are right,” she said intensely. “But it will be hard to say farewell.”
Simon glanced at Suzanne and their somber gazes met. Yes, the farewells would be agonizing for all of them—and in a world on the brink of war, there was no way to avoid them.
Chapter 34
Outside the dining room where the financial discussions had taken place, Jenny and Jackson were waiting, holding hands. She was blushing and looking very pretty, while he looked confident and determined. They exchanged a glance, and then Jenny blurted out, “Madam. Sir. We want to get married!”
“As soon as possible,” Jackson added. “Maurice knows a Church of England vicar here in Brussels, and he says we can arrange a marriage quickly.”
“How wonderful!” Suzanne exclaimed. “I’ve been expecting such a happy announcement, and here it is.” She guessed they had decided to marry as soon as possible because of the impending war. In a world falling into fragments, they needed to weld themselves together into one loving unit.
Understanding that need, Simon said warmly, “This calls for a celebration!”
Maurice and his wife and several other servants had crowded in behind the happy couple, so Simon continued, “Maurice, I’m sure that this house’s cellar must contain champagne. Time to break out a couple of bottles to toast the happy occasion.”
Maurice grinned. “Champagne coming right up, sir!”
As everyone chatted and waited for the champagne, Suzanne studied Jackson, amazed at how much he’d changed since Simon had hired him. Then, Jackson had been like a wary dog who had been kicked too often and no longer trusted anyone, except Jenny, who had never lost faith in him.
Now he was confident and protective of his lady love. Simon had said Jackson had become a competent valet and a very good secretary and his daily exercises had improved his hand beyond what anyone had thought possible. Some of the damage would never heal, but no matter. Jackson was ready for what the future might bring, and he and Jenny would face it hand in hand and heart to heart.
Pray God that everyone under this roof did have
a future.
After a toast to the young couple’s happiness had been drunk, Suzanne and Simon retired, pleading fatigue after their long ride. When they reached their bedroom, Simon quietly closed the door behind him. “First thing in the morning I’ll send a note to Wellington’s house to inform him that I’ve returned. I expect he’ll want to talk to me tomorrow.”
Suzanne sighed and began pulling the pins from her hair. “Then he’ll send you off within the next day or so. I hope you can be here for Jenny and Jackson’s wedding.” Her smile was unsteady. “I’ve accepted that you’re safer traveling fast and alone. Just . . . be sure you survive to come back.”
Simon crossed the room and embraced her as if storing up as many memories of touch and closeness as he could. “I don’t want to leave, but it’s needful. Knowing which way the enemy will march is the difference between victory and massacre.”
“I understand.” She bit her lip until the urge to cry passed. “Duty is a harsh mistress. I could scream and weep and beg you not to leave and you’d still go, and we’d both be even more miserable because of my attempts.”
Simon chuckled, his expression wry. “You are so wise, milady. Remember that I spent years roaming around Portugal and Spain as an exploring officer and never suffered a major injury. This should be less dangerous.”
She leaned back in his arms and gave him a crooked smile. “I don’t think I want to know what you consider a minor injury! It would probably just make me worry more. My job, I presume, is to stay here and keep the household safe and sane.”
“Exactly.” He frowned. “I think it very unlikely, but if the French should invade, the city will run mad. Stock supplies of food and ammunition before then, and if trouble comes banging on the door—well, use your best judgment for keeping everyone safe. If rumors of French invasion send half the city fleeing to Antwerp or Ghent, it will be wisest to sit tight here and not risk getting caught in a mob of panicky people.”
She shivered. “I agree. Staying here should be safe enough. I’m French and so are half the other people in the household. Brussels is at heart a French city and I wouldn’t think Napoleon and his generals will want to burn it.”
“I pray you’re right, but in war, anything is possible.” He took her shoulders, gazing into her eyes as if sheer force of will could keep her safe. “If the worst happens and you must flee Belgium, go home to England and wait for me. I’ll find you there.”
She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Brussels without him. Home was where Simon was. “We’ve been talking too much. Time is running out. Let’s not waste another moment. Unlace me, please.” She turned so he could undo her gown and stays.
“With the greatest of pleasure, ma belle.” His deft fingers unfastened her gown and stays with amazing swiftness even with pauses for provocative touching.
She turned back to him, yanking off her outer layers. “You’re wearing far too many garments, milord. Tonight I want to show you all that I am, and I want to take all that you have.”
He caught his breath, understanding her meaning. They’d married in winter and began sharing a bed under layers of blankets. Advancing spring had meant fewer covers and increasingly thorough explorations of each other’s bodies, but they had never seen each other unclothed. Suzanne simply hadn’t been ready to feel that vulnerable even with Simon.
One night in bed as they held each other, he’d murmured that someday he wanted to see her as God had made her, but being Simon, he’d said nothing more. He’d left the choice to her. Tonight she chose to take the final steps that would bring their marriage to a state of intimacy that she had been unable to accept until now.
After all that had been between them and the separation that was to come, it was time to be the woman Simon deserved.
“As milady desires.” He’d removed his coat earlier, and now shirt and trousers and undergarments went flying, along with several buttons. His gaze remained locked on her as she sat on a chair to strip off her stockings and toss them aside.
She was equally riveted by the sight of him. The magnificent shoulders and broad chest that she’d discovered with touch. Narrow waist, powerful thighs. The exact right amount and pattern of dark, masculine hair. He was beautiful in the way only men could be, sleek with power and potent masculinity, equally warrior and protector.
Her throat tight, she stood and slowly drew her chemise over her head, revealing herself fully. He whispered, “You are even lovelier than I dreamed, ma belle.”
He stepped toward her and she held up a hand to stop him. “There is one more thing you must see.” Steeling herself, she turned so he could see her back. She felt his stillness when he saw the scarlet tattoo that marked the curve of her derriere. “The mark of Gürkan,” she said flatly. “So all would know who owned me.”
She could feel his silent rage flashing like lightning behind her. Then Simon stepped forward and gently kissed the tattoo. “And now the mark of the bravest, freest woman I’ve known.”
With his words and his gesture, the last of her shame vanished. She turned and kissed him with fierce urgency. Body to body, skin to skin, heat to heat.
There had been increasing passion between them, but she’d never initiated it and never like this. He met her with the fullness of desire that he’d been banking until she was ready. Now she was ready, mon Dieu, she was ready!
The bed was only a few steps away. She’d pulled the covers all the way down earlier, and now they tumbled onto the sheets together, hands and mouths eager, inventive, devouring. She had a dizzy moment of wondering why it had taken so long to get to this place, and then she stopped bothering to wonder.
Later this night, they would take their time, but not now, not for this coruscating explosion of need. They were lying on their sides, hands demanding, mouths engaged, legs tangled together. Then his fingers slid between her thighs and she cried out with the intensity of the sensations.
When her hips thrust against him, he breathed, “Now?”
“Now!” For the first time, she pushed him onto his back and mounted him, feeling his full strength and heated nakedness. Slowly at first, to make sure that they were properly aligned. Slowly still because she was tight and wanted to savor the rich sense of joining. And slowly because she saw that she was driving him mad, his chest heaving and his eyes wild as his hands cupped her bottom, holding her against him.
Control vanished into mutual madness, incinerating and devastatingly right. They had been building toward this since their marriage and the first delight in touching.
No, they had begun this long journey to intimacy when she was fifteen and he was seventeen and they had felt the power of innocent mutual attraction that could not be acted on because it wasn’t their time.
Now was their time and she couldn’t bear to waste another moment before this ultimate consummation. She shattered, locking her body to his with arms and legs and biting his shoulder as he poured himself into her.
Utterly spent, she lay gasping as she melted against him, wanting her skin as close to his as humanly possible. He pulled the covers over them and said with a hint of laughter, “I think you now most certainly have had all of me.”
She had to laugh, too, and then she wept with completion and joy. And Simon, being Simon, understood without words.
Chapter 35
Simon woke at dawn and knew that he’d never been happier in his life. Suzanne was draped across him, head on his shoulder, a smile on her face, one arm around his waist, and a glorious cascade of darkly shining hair spilling over her upper body.
Beyond her, on the corner of the bed, he saw that little Leo had the cat genius for passing through doors because he was curled up on the foot of the bed. He blinked at Simon, then closed his eyes again, looking as happy as Simon felt. Of course they were both happy—they were sharing a bed with Suzanne Duval, the double Comtesse of Chambron, who was quite possibly the loveliest woman in Europe.
Lovely. Gallant. Kind. Understanding.
&nbs
p; Beautiful in all ways.
He transferred his attention from feline to female, stroking Suzanne’s hair gently so as not to disturb her, but her eyes opened and she smiled up at him. “Good morning, milord,” she murmured, looking very like her cat.
“And a good morning to you, milady.” He gave her what was surely a besotted smile. “I was just thinking of what magnificent hair you have, and how long it will take you to brush the tangles out since it didn’t get plaited last night.”
“It will take a long time, but I don’t mind because it made you happy.” She smiled mischievously. “Mind you, I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it! Loosened hair is for special occasions only.”
“Which last night most certainly was,” he said with a laugh, his stroking hand sliding from her hair to her waist and points south.
She purred and pressed against him as if trying to see if it was humanly possible for them to get any closer. Her hand started to wander also, with electrifying results.
He caught his breath. “It’s rather—ironic is the best word, I suppose. Last night you said you could scream and weep and beg me not to go and make us both miserable, and I’d still have to leave. But this is far worse, ma belle.” His whole body clenched at the knowledge of what must come. “Now it’s even harder to leave, and I’ll be even more miserable because I’ve never been so happy in my life.”
She made a sound that was part sigh and part rueful laughter. “The same is true for me. Yet still you must go or you would not be the man you are.”
“Let’s not waste what time we have.” He licked her throat, which was conveniently close. Her fair skin was silky smooth and deliciously edible. “You did most of the work last night. Shall I do most of it today?”
He saw a flicker of tension in her eyes as she considered how she would feel if he was looming above her, a male with alarmingly greater weight and strength than hers. He said softly, “You can always change your mind in the middle, ma belle, in which case I’ll simply roll over and you can ravish me at your leisure.”
Once a Spy Page 25