Napoleon's Woman

by Samantha Saxon

  Any other woman would have been thrilled by the result, but she was not, knowing that her appearance was merely a uniform, a means to an end of extracting information. And she knew with all certainty that Lord Elkin would respond to her subtle seduction.

  "You are stunning, ma petite."

  "Thank you, Marie," she said, wondering for the hundredth time where she would be if she were ugly. She was staring through the mirror when Madame Arnott’s soft voice pierced her thoughts.

  "Celeste, you must focus on the task at hand. It does no good to regret your decision."

  "I do not regret my decision," she replied with a shake of her head. "I merely regret that God has chosen me to bear this burden. I know I have saved many lives, but at what cost?" She studied the brittle smile of her reflection. "I would not change what I have done, but I do wonder what deficiency of character allows me to be so skillful at deception."

  Celeste was taken aback by Madame Arnott’s burst of laughter, and she turned toward the shorter woman in confusion.

  "Oh, ma cherie," the woman said, holding her cheeks between her ageing hands. "Do you not see it? A person of deficient character would not ponder such things? You are skillful at attaining information because you are clever, and brave…and, yes, very beautiful." She paused and looked deeply into Celeste’s moist eyes. "But if you wish to turn from your course, we will spend the remainder of the war tucked away in a small cottage on the English moors."

  Celeste longed to accept Marie’s offer, but images of the men that would die if she were unsuccessful passed through her mind.

  She had little time and less choice.

  Celeste lifted her chin and pinched her cheeks to bring out a soft pink color. "Pass me my fan, please," she said with determination.

  ***

  Celeste ran her hands over the bodice of her gown as she approached the entrance of the parlor. She paused to nod her appreciation to the young footmen who opened the double mahogany doors in perfect unison.

  Conversation in the large room came to an abrupt halt as guests turned to look in her direction. Celeste flushed with embarrassment when she realized that she must have arrived late.

  "Lady Rivenhall," Lord Elkin called from the back of the room. Conversation resumed as she walked toward him with butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

  The two gentlemen that had been speaking with Lord Elkin turned to make their introductions. "Lady Rivenhall, may I introduce you to Lord Bower and the Earl of Wessex.

  Celeste’s eyes flew to the earl’s handsome features. His mouth was drawn in an appealing smile with even more appealing dimples.

  "Lady Rivenhall," he offered with a gleam of satisfaction lighting his cold emerald eyes.

  She remembered to smile, her heart in her throat. "Lord Wessex."

  "Lady Rivenhall," the older Lord Bower said with polite interest.

  "Lord Bower." She curtsied.

  Lord Elkin turned to the disconcerting earl. "Wessex, I do not believe you have met Lord and Lady Paddington?"

  The earl’s raven brow rose. "Indeed, I have not," he drawled, not sounding particularly interested in doing so.

  "Lady Rivenhall, if you will excuse us, I shall leave you in capable hands of Lord Bower."

  Celeste turned to the rotund lord, her broad smile reflecting her relief. "Please do not concern yourself on my behalf, Lord Elkin, I am sure that Lord Bower and I shall find no end of topics from which to converse."

  ***

  Lord Elkin propelled Aidan to a discreet corner of the parlor where a potted palm hid them from potentially curious eyes. John halted and turned on him. "You are acquainted with Lady Rivenhall." It was a statement.

  "Is that the greeting you offer your childhood friend after two long years?" Aidan asked, feigning injury.

  "Cut the line, Wessex. You know the lady."

  He shrugged, seeing no reason to deny it. "We’ve met once or twice."

  Annoyed, his friend’s jaw tensed. "How well do you know Lady Rivenhall?"

  Aidan retrieved a sherry from a passing footman and took his time in sipping before answering, "I don’t believe that is any of your bloody business, John."

  "It damn well is when you call upon my friendship and hospitality so that you might be invited to this little gathering. So let us be very clear, Wessex."

  "Yes, let’s."

  John’s nostrils flared. "I have gone to a considerable amount of trouble to arrange this event, and I want your assurance that you will not interfere."

  The Earl of Wessex perused the room in casual boredom. "No confidence in your charms, old boy."

  "Aidan," his host said through clenched teeth. "I’m quite serious."

  He turned his head to meet the midnight blue of his old school chum. "I know you are, John, and I can assure you that my interest in Lady Rivenhall is not of a romantic nature." He swallowed the remainder of the sherry and watched his friend’s forehead furrow with suspicious. "Does that satisfy you, old man," he said, patting John on the shoulder. "I have no doubt the lady in question will be in your bed by the conclusion of this party."

  "I damn sure hope so." Lord Elkin nodded. "Bloody hell, did you see when she walked in the room. I feared it might be necessary to send Adams around to wipe the mouths of every man in attendance."

  John’s gaze drifted over the figure of Lady Rivenhall with the practiced eye of a consummate rake. "My God, just look at her," he mumbled.

  Aidan did, but as he stared at the fair haired siren his gaze lacked the lecherous glint shining in Lord Elkin’s eyes, and held only the cold burn of rage that took root in a prison camp just outside of Albuera.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a lengthy twelve-course meal, the entire party of thirty two-guests retired to the ballroom for dancing and cards.

  Celeste had not once glanced in the direction of the Earl of Wessex, but she could feel his striking eyes boring a hole in her back. She turned her attention to her charming partner, as Lord Elkin spun her the length of the room.

  "Are you enjoying your visit to Sherborne, Lady Rivenhall?"

  Time to work. She sighed, wishing she were normal.

  "I most certainly am, Lord Elkin, though I find the appeal of Hartford Hall is due more to the host than the weather."

  The handsome man looked down at her, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Why, Lady Rivenhall, if I were inclined to blush, my face would be positively red. But as I am not, perhaps you would enjoy a tour of my home."

  "Any room in particular, Lord Elkin?" she teased.

  The man quirked a brow and swallowed his lust. "I have my favorite. However, I am more than willing to show you anything you wish to view, my dear lady."

  She laughed, enjoying their banter. "Your study-one hour?"

  "My bedchamber is more…private."

  Celeste smiled her most seductive. "Not with seventeen drunken gentlemen wandering the same hall. The ground floor will be deserted in an hour, making it less likely that we shall be overheard."

  "Overheard?" His hot eyes drifted to her lips. "Do you make noise, Lady Rivenhall?"

  The waltz ended and she stepped out of his arms, saying, "No, my lord…but you will."

  Celeste turned her back on Lord Elkin, but she could distinctly hear him mutter, "Bloody hell," as she walked off the dance floor.

  ***

  She waited the requisite hour and stopped at her bedchamber door. "Remember, fifteen minutes precisely, Marie."

  "Yes, I shall remember."

  Celeste entered the darkened hall and could hear doors closing as the many houseguests retired. She hugged the darkness and flew down the stairs, rehearsing what she would say if she were seen. She gave a silent prayer of thanks for the empty corridors and slipped into the study before her apprehension could stop her from entering.

  Lord Elkin was already there, staring into a small fire just bright enough for them to see one another when they made love. She leaned against the door and smiled provoc
atively, hating herself all the while.

  "I was not sure you would come."

  "You underestimate yourself, Lord Elkin."

  "John."

  "John," she said slowly, allowing him to watch his name roll from her lips. She sauntered toward him, never taking her eyes from his.

  "Do you have any idea how desirable you are, Lady Rivenhall?" he asked, taking her hand and leading her where he wanted her to go.

  "Men find me attractive, but unfortunately, I rarely desire the men who are drawn to me."

  His lower lip caressed her knuckles as he kissed the back of her hand while seating her on the large settee. "And do you desire me, Lady Rivenhall?"

  "Celeste, and I did not travel all the way to Sherborne for the sunshine, my lord."

  Lord Elkin settled next to her, causing her to slide toward him. He looked at her lips and her breasts, returning once again to her eyes.

  "Then I shall have to make the trip well worth your while," he said before slanting his mouth over hers.

  She allowed herself to be taken by the kiss. The man was experienced, knowing exactly how much pressure to use, how slowly to circle her tongue. She returned the embrace and allowed a soft moan to escape her. He nipped her lower lip as he pulled his head back and stared into her eyes, brushing an errant golden curl from her forehead.

  "You taste just as I imagined you would, Celeste."

  She leaned forward and kissed him, unable to look at the desire she purposely stoked, burning in his eyes. He groaned and she felt his muscular arms circle her waist, pulling her into his body.

  Her breasts pressed against his chest, drawing his attention and his mouth to her neck. She glanced at the clock over his head, seven minutes. Damn! He would have her disrobed in that amount of time.

  But then again…

  She pushed against his shoulders with her gloved hands. "Take off your jacket," she breathed. All too eager to comply with her request, he shrugged off his Bath superfine and began pulling at his elegant cravat.

  "No." She met his eyes. "Let me." She pulled his cravat slowly from his neck and then kissed the exposed flesh.

  Celeste smiled as she leaned back to run her hands up his muscular torso, taking her time in unbuttoning his silk waistcoat. His breathing was becoming ragged, and his breath caught when the last silver button gave. He was watching her hands, but when she reached for the top button of his shirt, Lord Elkin grabbed her wrists.

  "My turn," he whispered.

  His blue eyes held hers as his hand lifted her skirts and traveled leisurely up her calf and over her knee to her garters.

  He moaned, closing his eyes. "Have you been wearing lace garters all evening?"

  "Of course," she paused. "I could not possibly wear my lace drawers without them."

  "Bloody Hell," he said, taking her mouth in a hungry kiss.

  And then they heard it, the unmistakable sound of gunfire. He released her abruptly. "What in God’s name…? Damn! I must see to this, Celeste." He shrugged on his jacket and bent down to kiss her one last time. "I’m sorry."

  "Please, do not apologize. I shall see you in the morning." He strode to the door, but stopped when she added, "And do be careful, John." A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and then he opened the door and was gone.

  The moment the door closed, she locked it and rushed to his desk. She searched the papers piled in neat stacks and, finding nothing, reached for a hairpin to unlatch the desk drawers to search for the Lion’s seal.

  And then she found what she had come for in the second drawer from the bottom, a list of arrivals and departures of naval vessels. She had no idea if Lord Elkin was privy to this information with his position as committee chair, and upon finishing her search had found no link to the French. She would turn in the papers and let Falcon decide if the man was a traitor.

  Celeste’s forehead creased with worry. She rather liked Lord Elkin and hoped that he was not the man she sought.

  ***

  To the casual observer, the small tavern appeared nothing more than that. A tavern tucked away on a side street by the docks, letting rooms to the passengers awaiting their departure.

  But he knew better.

  He had followed the diminutive man from the hallowed halls of Whitehall and had observed him make his way to this tiny tavern, nervous as a fox in a room full of hounds.

  Initially, he had been confused by the man’s apprehension and thought it stemmed from the rather sordid reputation of this particular section of London. But as he continued sipping a tankard of ale in a darkened corner of the establishment, the truth became clear.

  A smile spread across his face as he watched a weary traveler make his way to the rooms upstairs, followed shortly thereafter by another.

  Both men.

  But the man he observed did not appear interested in the young men that cleared the tables of the dining hall. The man stood at the bar speaking with a tall and rather muscular man a few years his junior. He chuckled when the clerk made his way upstairs, followed, not more than five minutes later, by the other man.

  He himself had seduced women from his chambermaid to his brother’s wife, but never had he dreamt that it would be necessary to seduce a man.

  Might be a bit of a lark, he thought to himself. After all women had been panting after him for as long as could remember, why not a man.

  But perhaps what men lusted after differed from what women desired in a lover. He decided to test his hypothesis by making eye contact with a young man seated two tables down from his own. The dandy held his gaze, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

  No, precisely the same.

  He laughed aloud, saying, "Another pint," to a barmaid, who had evidently been employed for an illusion of propriety, before settling to wait for the clerk to finish taking his pleasure.

  Three-quarters of an hour later he watched the small man wander back into the crowded common room of the tavern and settle in his original seat. Quitting his dark corner, he strolled up to the bar with gleeful anticipation.

  "Woodson! My God man, what are you doing in this part of town?"

  The dark man suppressed a laugh that was threatening to burst through when the clerk choked on a sip of ale, bringing on a violent fit of coughing. When the man finally found his breath, he sputtered, "I…I came to see a friend off at the docks."

  He held the clerk’s eyes and nodded, adding just a touch of doubt. "Really?"

  "Yes," the man rushed to say. "America."

  "Ahh." As if that explained everything. "Never mind," he said, clasping the short man on the shoulder and making sure his hand lingered a moment too long. "We are both here now. Let’s enjoy a pint at a table, shall we?" he suggested, allowing a seductive smile to spread across his handsome features.

  Woodson’s brows furrowed and he could see the speculation dancing in his eyes. Damn, his talent was wasted on espionage. He should have been an actor treading the boards of Covent Garden.

  But then again, acting was not nearly so exhilarating.

  "Certainly, sounds like a capital idea," the smaller man answered with eagerness.

  The clerk seated himself, but rather than take the seat opposite, the dark man sat next to him, allowing the man’s knee to brush his muscular thigh.

  "I imagine you are very busy keeping Lord Wellesley’s affairs in order?"

  "Well, I’m not the only man to see to Lord Wellesley’s affairs, my lord." The smaller man lowered his pale blue eyes in feigned humility.

  "Come now, Woodson. Everyone knows Lord Wellesley would not walk if you were not there to tell him where to place his feet."

  "I do try to assist his lordship in any way that I can." The fair man smiled and gave a weak laugh, inordinately pleased with himself. "I dare say Wellesley is a saint compared with your taskmaster."

  "Damn right, old man, which is why I’m having another pint," he said, placing his fingers on the man’s hand. "Did you want another?"

  When the
flustered clerk nodded, he lift his fingers to call for two more drinks, but he did not miss the small tremor that ran through Woodson, or the fact that he was staring at his profile while he spoke with the serving girl. He gave the woman a coin for the ale and rested his forearms on the filthy table, giving the small man the full force of his smile.

  "Now, where were we?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aidan listened from the darkened sitting room as Lord Elkin left the study.

  He had to admit with reluctant admiration that the lady was very good at her profession. She had handled the amorous lord with ease and was at this very moment conducting a methodic search of the man’s study.

  Aidan had already searched the study and removed any sensitive documents, replacing them with false papers he had prepared before his arrival. If he wanted to identify her contacts, he needed bait, but not at the expense of the men on the peninsula.

  He smiled to himself, allowing her a few moments’ privacy before pushing the adjoining door wide on oiled hinges. The lady’s back was turned as she concentrated on the materials in the mahogany desk, so she did not hear him enter. He leaned a shoulder to the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Find anything?"

  Lady Rivenhall spun around with a swish of silk. Her green eyes reflected her surprise, and he noted with more than a little satisfaction that she gripped the edge of the desk for support.

  And when she made no other movements, he asked, "No knife today, Lady Rivenhall? But I suppose that would have been somewhat difficult to explain when Lord Elkin was lifting your skirts."

  She raised her chin. "Quite true, my lord, but at present I would give anything to have brought my dagger with me."

  Her composure irritated, him and Aidan felt an overwhelming need to discomfit her. He held her gaze, pushing off the doorframe and stalking toward her.

  "Did you find anything of interest, Lady Rivenhall?" He repeated as he stepped closer. She leaned back, and he saw her shiver, whether from fear or a chill he could not say.