by Rue Allyn
His breath stroked the sensitive flesh of her ear and neck, light as rose petals, hot as a flame. She faced him to avoid the intimacy.
Their lips almost touched as she spoke. “What would you have me do? Sit in your lap?”
The grin returned. “As appealing as the thought might be, all I ask is that you behave as if you cannot bear to be parted from me.”
“You ask the impossible.” She had to find a way to separate from him if she was to succeed in saving René.
“Do you wish to stop your cousin or befriend the hangman?”
“The hangman is no worse than the fate Malveux threatens. Why would I want to live when my family is murdered as a result of my actions? Execution holds little fear for me.”
“I have already told you that when we return to England, I will do what I can to persuade the British authorities to leniency, but any slip here could bring us all before a French executioner.”
The door started to open, and she draped an arm over his shoulder.
He grasped her other wrist, removed her glove, and brought her hand to his mouth. “I am very sorry for this delay in our wedding journey, sweetheart, but I assure you the story of an encounter with the emperor will be one to tell our children.”
The mention of children filled her mind’s eye with a vision of a mahogany-haired poppet with blue-gray eyes so entrancing and surprising, Richard had turned her hand, laved her palm, and raised his head before she came to her senses.
A discreet cough came from the direction of the door, and they both turned their heads.
A man stood beside the open door as a servant pushed a heavy-laden tea cart into the room, positioning it between their settee and an elegant scrollwork chair. “Ah, our visiting lovers already have plans for children.” The man smiled, and as the servant exited, closing the door, stood in front of the chair on the opposite side of the cart. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Général le Comte Bertrand, le Grand Maréchal du Palais.”
Richard stood and, taking Mari’s hand, assisted her to her feet. “Captain, Sir Richard Campion, at your service. May I present my bride, Madame Marielle Louisa Campion.” Comte Bertrand saluted her hand with the barest touch of his lips. “Enchanté, madame. The captain is a very lucky man.”
“Oh, la.” She fluttered her lashes and did her best to behave like a witless wonder.
“Indeed. I am blessed with extraordinary good fortune.” Richard retrieved her hand from the general, and they all sat. “And very honored to meet you, Général Bertrand. Now that we are to have peace, I can confess my admiration for your tactics at the battle of Leipzig. Perhaps you could find time to educate a young captain on how you managed to escape defeat on that occasion.”
“By all means, since the emperor has asked me to invite you to remain at Fontainebleau for as long as you like, we should have plenty of time to exchange war stories. Perhaps you will discuss with me the strategies employed by Wellington during the Spanish campaign of 1812. His maneuvers at Salamanca were nothing short of brilliant.”
That was the battle during which Jennings had died. The victory had come at too great a cost. Mari bit her lips against crying out.
“I was only a small part of those maneuvers and not part of Wellington’s staff, but in the spirit of peace and friendship, I will be happy to relate my experiences.”
“Très bien. Such talk cannot be of interest to madame.” He gave Mari a speaking glance. “Please let us sit. May I offer you café et bonbons? You have missed déjeuner and several hours will pass before dîner.” They all sat, and le comte poured coffee into an elegant cup and saucer then placed a variety of sweets on a plate and offered it all to Marielle.
Taking the cup and petit fours, she ducked her head in what she hoped was the manner of an overawed young woman. “Thank you, mon Général.”
“The emperor is a romantic who, upon hearing a newlywed couple had outrun their baggage and servants, begs you will accept his hospitality for a few days and dine with him tomorrow evening. He regrets that tonight he must attend meetings with the allied commissioners to discuss arrangements for his future. A suite is being prepared for you in the guest wing. Your, um, luggage has already been taken up and a bath is being prepared for madame as we speak. Because of the mishap that delayed your servants and most of your baggage, the emperor would like to offer madame a marriage gift of several gowns if that is acceptable.”
Mari found herself at a loss and looked to Richard. Fortunately, that was exactly what a bride should do. He nodded, and she faced the general with the greatest smile she could muster. “I am happy to accept the emperor’s generosity. Please convey my gratitude and tell him I look forward to thanking him in person.”
“Excellent.” Le comte returned her smile. “Pierre will guide you to your suite once we have finished our coffee.” He gestured to the young man in imperial livery, who, after positioning the tray, had stepped back against the wall.
Comte Bertrand handed Richard a beverage then sat back with his own cup. He fixed his gaze on Mari as if she were a bonbon offered for his delectation. He sipped his coffee, and gaze still on Mari, said to Richard,
“Please forgive my curiosity, Captain. What is the name of the ship’s master and the vessel on which you were wed?? Also did you visit a notary upon landing in France to have the marriage papers authenticated? I’m certain a special license with English approval is quite legitimate, but French seals and signature will cement your union and prevent any lingering doubts. N’est-ce pas?”
Mari nearly choked on her small bite of petit fours. She covered with a sip of coffee and prayed Richard would be able to satisfy le comte’s curiosity.
“Regrettably, our license is in the baggage that we outdistanced.” He stroked a hand down Mari’s arm. “My wife and I were, ah, too engrossed with each other to recall much of the ceremony. Though I do recall that the name of the ship’s master was Charles. I believe he stopped in Le Havre to take on cargo destined for Sicily. I doubt we could reach him easily for any confirmation.”
“Leaving your license in your luggage is very careless, captain.”
Richard bowed his head briefly then gave Mari a lingering look. “I agree and can only plead the sweet insanity of love.”
Her gaze caught in his, and she could only wonder what it might be like to have him look on her so passionately in truth.
“Ahem.” Le comte broke whatever spell Richard had woven and drew their attention. “I can sympathize and am certain the emperor will understand. However, he is passionate about orderly documents. Perhaps he would be willing to assist with the missing license.”
Mari’s eyes grew wide.
Richard’s hand on her arm tightened. “I am not certain what you mean?”
The man set his cup aside and tossed one hand toward the ceiling in an offhand gesture then leaned forward. “Since you are already wed, a second, French license will merely reinforce what is already a matter of English record. I am certain that in this time when his imperial highness must release so many treasures, creating a marriage would please him greatly.”
“I hardly know how to respond,” Richard said.
“We are honored by the offer,” Mari interjected. “But the emperor must have many more important matters to attend to than a missing marriage license.”
“Nonsense, I will speak with his imperial highness and notify you of the arrangements.”
“But . . . ”
“Darling.” Richard squeezed her arm. “What more charming story to tell our children than of our wedding performed by Napoleon Bonaparte himself. We would be delighted to accept the emperor’s kindness.”
What was Richard thinking? They were likely to end up married in truth. The men continued to talk.
Would that be so bad? I could kiss him and more with impunity. Surely I don’t want to kiss and more with a man I dislike. Or do I?
Chapter Seven
“How did you come to choose France for your wedding trip? H
ostilities have ceased so recently, you cannot have wanted to visit a country at war?”
Richard covered his distaste for the lies he was spewing with a swallow of coffee.
“I positively refused to flee to Scotland,” Mari spoke up. “Such a barbarous place at any time and at this season utterly unbearable.”
The general’s eyebrows rose. “You have eloped? How exciting. So you chose France over Scotland to throw any pursuers off the track. An excellent tactic, captain.”
Richard tried to suppress a flush. Some embarrassment over admitting to an elopement might seem natural, but too much would rouse suspicion. He cast a glance at Marielle, who calmly sipped her coffee. Her self-possession was remarkable. Had he not seen her twisting her hands and smoothing her skirts, he might wonder if she ever suffered a feminine excess of nerves. Most would find their situation unsettling. Instead, she blithely announced their supposed elopement as if it were the most common thing in the world. Hopefully, she’d taken his warning about listening ears to heart.
“Ah, yes. Of course, I wish to please my wife in all things.” He reached for Mari’s free hand to play with her fingers, as if being without her touch was too great a torture to endure. “But not until the announcement of peace negotiations did I consider it safe enough to travel in Europe with my greatest treasure.”
He shifted his gaze, stunned to find Marielle smiling at him with apparent longing. No one had ever looked so at him, as if the world revolved around him and he were the source of all that was good. She was a great actress. He actually wished she were not acting. His life would be vastly different with Marielle as a lover. He’d gladly set aside any aspirations for a military career for a woman who loved him. For a woman with whom he could make a life, have children, and finally be content as never before. Certainly, that woman was not Her Grace of Stonegreave.
“Then I have at least one reason to rejoice that the war is behind us now, Captain Campion.” General Bertrand gave a single nod. “Regardless of the reasons for your journey, the emperor and his household are honored by the distinguished presence of Baron Gadleigh’s second son and a hero of Salamanca. His imperial highness will no doubt enjoy comparing notes on that battle with you, but for now, perhaps you will entertain me with the story of your journey from Le Havre.”
Why was Bertrand interested in the details of what was normally a very dull journey? Did the man suspect a plot, or was he in league with Malveux? Nonsense, I’m starting at shadows. Richard gave himself a mental shake.
As head of Bonaparte’s military household, Bertrand was Napoleon’s gatekeeper. No one got access to the emperor without le Grand Maréchal du Palais’s recommendation. The man had to believe he saw newlyweds deeply and foolishly in love.
In addition, Bertrand would be a most unlikely spy. And an unlikely spy was the best kind—just look at the duchess. Given her past with Malveux, who would expect her to conspire with the Frenchman over anything, let alone be lovers? Richard suppressed a frown. Why should he care who Marielle chose to invite to her bed? Might she be willing to have sex with him? They had an excellent excuse, and if she indulged with Malveux, she couldn’t be too discriminating. He clenched his teeth.
Richard studied Bertrand, stole a glance at his supposed wife while she chatted with their host, sipped his coffee, and tried to recall what he’d heard about le Grand Maréchal du Palais. Damn Marielle for being such a complicated deceiver. He should have shipped her back to England. However, he’d chosen to keep her with him because he could not trust anyone but himself to prevent her escaping. Now there was every possibility he would end tied to her in marriage before the week was out.
Setting his cup down, Richard reached once more for Marielle’s hand. Looking into her eyes, as if nothing else in the world were worth the effort, he spoke for Bertrand’s benefit. “To my everlasting embarrassment, I must confess, Général, that I hoped to carry my bride all the way to Thomery before we halted for the evening, but I failed to consider her delicate sensibilities and was compelled to stop for her sake.”
General Bertrand studied Marielle. “While I am sure you are delighted with such a husband, madame, I cannot imagine what you must feel at the abruptness of your journey and the change in your circumstances.”
“I am at a loss for words, monsieur.”
“Like the emperor, I am a sentimentalist,” confessed Bertrand. “Stories in which love triumphs over great difficulty are always of interest.”
Marielle blushed prettily. “I, well, I . . . ” she stammered. “We did not have much but weather to triumph over—and that has been splendid for the entire time we have been in France. Nor was my change in circumstances as abrupt as it may seem. I met Richard and fell instantly in love. After several months of courtship, he begged me to marry him, and of course, I could not refuse. My family had no objection, but his father was unconvinced. Neither of us wished to wait for the baron to see the truth of our love, and since Richard is a second son, no objection could be based on any responsibility to the title, so we chose to elope.”
Richard frowned inwardly. What was she doing? The best lies were the simplest and the closest to the truth. With every embellishment, she created dangers impossible to predict.
The general’s brows met in question. “Hmm. I am somewhat surprised to hear that objections came from Baron Gadleigh. I understand from other English who are visiting with us that the baron is nothing if not ambitious for his son’s advancement in society.”
“That is true, but my father is, er, not unreasonable.” A blatant lie if ever Richard had told one. “His concerns are over the difference in our ranks, which is unseemly in his eyes. I wanted to wait until we could convince him, but Marielle believed that might never happen.”
“I insisted that if Richard truly loved me, no one else’s opinion mattered.”
Richard shuttered his eyes. No woman should be able to sway a man with such nonsense. She made him appear a lovelorn weakling. “Truth to tell, she did not have to work very hard to convince me that my father would come around once the deed was done.”
Bertrand nodded. “Ah, the impatience of lovers. Very understandable.”
Raising her hand to his lips and looking deeply into her eyes, Richard added, “Marielle is acquainted with Empress Marie Louise and begged that we visit her. Since Fontainebleau lay on our path, my darling suggested we stop and offer to carry messages from the emperor to his empress. As you can tell, I cannot deny Marielle anything. I would do all in my power to make her happy. But,” he added, and hopefully, the general would understand the warning, “my greatest duty and joy in the world is to keep my beloved wife safe.”
Beyond a quick blink, Bertrand showed no reaction to the news of friendship between an English captain’s wife and the empress of France. “Of course, of course. One would never doubt the ability of a hero of Salamanca to protect his own. A trait the emperor shares. He protects everyone he holds dear most devotedly.”
“Such is the burden of truly noble leaders. Is it not darling?” Marielle lifted Richard’s hand to her cheek and pressed a kiss to his fingers.
“Nonsense, my sweet. Protecting those we love is the delight of every man. Would you not agree, Général?”
“Certainement.” The man set his cup and saucer on the teacart. “May I offer you more coffee?”
Richard shook his head.
“Thank you.” Marielle extended her cup, but before he could pour, a knock came at the door.
Pierre opened the portal, held a whispered conversation with whoever was on the other side then closed the door. He marched over to the general, whispered in the man’s ear, then snapped to attention at the man’s side.
Comte Bertrand sighed. “I beg your pardon, Captain Campion, Madame Campion. A messenger has arrived, and I must see to some of the emperor’s correspondence. You will forgive me for leaving you so abruptly, please.”
“Of course,” Richard said.
As Bertrand left, Pierre bowed. “
If you would follow me, madame, monsieur, your rooms will be ready now.”
Ten minutes, several staircases, and one very long corridor later, Pierre stopped beside a door, which he unlocked, then stood aside. Richard followed Marielle’s slow progress into one of the tiniest sitting rooms he could recall seeing. A tub of steaming water stood before a Dutch stove and a stack of towels sat on a nearby chair.
While Marielle expressed her thanks for the bath, Richard crossed the room and opened the only other door. The solitary bed would be almost adequate for his large frame. A small chest of drawers and a wardrobe filled the corners. A quick glance revealed there was no other door. Marielle would not be happy. He rubbed the back of his neck as he closed the door. Hell, he wasn’t happy. Five days in a coach with her alabaster complexion and cinnamon eyes was torture enough. How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself in that tiny bed?
He sighed. They would have to make do. They could hardly object when they claimed to be newlyweds passionately in love. In addition, he’d already evaluated the number of people and servants staying here. Fontainebleau was bursting at the seams. It was a blessing that they would be here only one or two days. Finding René Trouvé and stopping him couldn’t be that difficult.
But he did not want to spend the next hour or so forced to sit in the smallest bedchamber on earth thinking about Marielle naked in her bath. She’d discover the problem on her own, and they’d discuss sleeping arrangements later.
“On behalf of Général Bertrand and the emperor, I apologize for the small size of this apartment. Rest assured, no slight is intended. It is simply that with four commissioners, the emperor, several of his generals and all their staffs, we are somewhat crowded.” The footman handed over the key. “Would madame like me to send up a maid to assist in her bath?”
Marielle looked to Richard, and he gave a very slight nod. “Yes, please, Pierre, thank you very much.”