Napoleon's Woman

by Samantha Saxon

  Yours,

  C

  Aidan could not imagine a situation in which the lady would not be able to cope. His heart was pounding as he bounded down the stairs, stopping the stable boy who had just taken charge of his mount.

  He arrived at the Lord Rivenhall’s home in ten minutes’ time. The butler answered his knock and directed him to the parlor. Aidan remained on his feet, his black Hessians wearing a hole in the thick carpet.

  The moment the door opened he should have been relieved, but he was not. One look at the dark circles under Celeste’s haunting eyes told him that she had not slept. He ate up the distance between them and grasped her by the shoulders in a gentle caress.

  "What happened?"

  Lady Rivenhall, commander of troops, mistress to Napoleon, English patriot, collapsed against his chest. Aidan’s heart contracted, and he tried to slow his breathing as his arms banded around her.

  "What has happened, Celeste?"

  "He came to my bedchamber after you left," she whispered, so softly that he could scarcely hear her.

  "Who?" Aidan asked, more sharply than he had intended.

  "The man that killed Lady Davis and John Elkin. He. . ." She hesitated, causing his heart to stop.

  "Did he touch you?"

  "No," she said, looking down. "Yes, he touched me with his hand and offered an alliance."

  Aidan pulled her closer, not wanting her to see the rage blazing in his eyes.

  "He gave me this."

  Aidan took the small box and opened it, staring at the contents in confusion. The box contained a lock of blond hair splattered with blood. "I don’t understand, Celeste. Is this your hair? Are you hurt?"

  Lady Rivenhall shook her head as she looked up at him. "No, it belonged to my French operative, Henri Renault. The man shot him." Celeste held his eyes, and Aidan guided her to the settee. "It is all my fault. I asked Henri to discover who killed Lady Davis. I thought that the French would know, that they would be able to discover information that we could not."

  "You are not to blame, Celeste." Aidan rubbed her arms and bent his head to kiss her on the cheek. "Renault was a French spy."

  Lady Rivenhall lifted her head and stared at him. "He was a man, Aidan. Henri thought he was a patriot, just as I do. I was fond of him and will mourn his loss."

  "Forgive my callousness, Celeste," Aidan said, wondering what toll had been taken on this woman as she lived amidst her enemies for four long years. "Now, I’m afraid I must leave you for the moment, but I promise to return before luncheon."

  "Where are you going?" Panic tinted her words and tugged at his heart as he ached to protect her.

  "To speak with the Foreign Office about arresting our traitor," Aidan said, smiling for the first time since entering the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Celeste waited in the limited comfort of a hired hackney at two o’clock in the morning.

  The old man groaned as he pulled himself up and then looked for a clean spot on which to sit. Finding none, he sank into the middle of the squab opposite hers.

  "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Lady Rivenhall. I apologize for the late hour."

  Celeste waved away Falcon’s apology and waited for him to begin their meeting.

  "We would like for you to search Lord Cantor’s home on Sunday as planned. However, I wanted to be the first to inform you that we arrested Lord Ferrell at his home last night. He came willingly, but denied all charges of collaboration and is being questioned as we speak."

  "What proof was cited in the charges?"

  "The information you retrieved from his home was used by the French to attack the vessels listed in the documentation."

  Celeste’s brows furrowed, and her mouth hung open. "I…am astonished."

  "Why? We knew one of these men was the traitor, Celeste."

  "Yes, however, Lord Ferrell…He did not seem the sort of man. . ." Celeste’s thoughts flew to her bedchamber. "Did he admit to killing Lady Davis and Lord Elkin?"

  "No. As I’ve said, the man denied every charge." The old man grasped her hand and looked at her with sympathy softening his features. "It is sometimes difficult to believe, Celeste. I have witnessed it time and time again. A timid man can be a murderer and an angelic beauty…a spy for the Crown."

  "Yes, but often an honest man is merely an honest man."

  Falcon sat back. "Then you think we have made a mistake?"

  "No." She shook her head. "I am unsure."

  "We are sure, Celeste. You’ve done what you have set out to do, and owing to you, Wellesley can launch his attack with the advantage of surprise." The old man sighed, showing his age. "Are you still determined to leave in one week’s time?"

  "Yes." Celeste stared out the window.

  "Have you told him?"

  Celeste’s stomach seized, and her head snapped round to the sherry-colored eyes of the observant old man. "No, and neither will you."

  "You don’t have to go, Lady Rivenhall. You have done enough."

  "It is never enough," she said, her exhaustion clear. "Men will continue to die, and I will continue to try and stop it."

  "There are other operatives in place, Celeste."

  She smiled with sober affection. "As highly positioned as I am?"

  Falcon said nothing, and they sat in silence, listening to the night noises of the park.

  "You will be captured this time."

  Celeste closed her eyes and concentrated on an owl hooting in the distance. "I know."

  She heard Falcon shift, but he surprised her by kissing her on the forehead as he stroked her hair. "Do not leave without saying goodbye."

  Celeste grasped the old man’s forearm and leaned her cheek against him in an awkward embrace. "I won’t."

  Neither moved, unwilling to say goodbye just yet. Then the old man coughed and pulled his arm away. "I had best be getting back to Lord Ferrell."

  She nodded her understanding and then the dear man was stepping out of the carriage and Celeste knew that she would never be able to bid Falcon farewell.

  ***

  Aidan pulled at his stockings, feeling a complete idiot. His gold satin breeches and burgundy jacket were the height of inelegance, and he longed to shed them.

  "Why precisely are we dressed in this abhorrent manner?" His question held his irritation.

  Lady Rivenhall was concentrating on picking the lock of Lord Cantor’s desk drawer, and he shuddered to think how she had acquired that particular skill. She was dressed as an upstairs housemaid with no adornments of any kind, and Aidan could not help but note how beautiful she was.

  "You, as you well know, are dressed as Lord Cantor’s footman, and I must say you have never looked quite so"---she looked him over, searching for the appropriate word---"Frilly."

  Aidan raised an eyebrow at her impertinence, saying, "And you, my dear, have never looked quite so drab."

  "Thank you, my lord." She added a caustic grin. "Now, do remember, if anyone enters the study, try to look guilty, as if we have had a bit of a tumble."

  He glanced at the delectable lady as she bent herself before him. "That should not be a difficulty."

  "Good," she said, pulling out the drawer in triumph. "Now, if you don’t mind searching the study, I’ll just look upstairs."

  Aidan strolled forward and sat in Lord Cantor’s leather chair. He began reading through countless numbers of meticulous records littering the desktop, and Aidan could not help but admire the middle-aged baron. Every T had been crossed and every shilling was accounted for.

  Lady Rivenhall returned a half an hour later, only to find Aidan propping his legs on the oak desk as he concentrated on the latest mining records.

  "Find anything?"

  "No." She shook her head. "And you?"

  He looked up at her fair features and said, "I found no seal, but have a look at this."

  Her small hands reached for the paper, and he watched her forehead crease in delicate lines as she read. He wa
s smiling to himself when she finally looked up.

  "It is a mining report, coal, sulfur…what of it?" She shrugged, handing back the paper so that he might replace it.

  "And this?" Aidan handed her a second paper.

  She sat down in the chair in front of the desk, taking the document from his hand. "Dates for transport of mined materials to a holding house near the London docks. All appears perfectly respectable."

  The earl smiled, inordinately pleased with himself and thankful for his studies at Oxford. "The materials being mined by Lord Cantor are the raw materials required for producing gunpowder. Our industrious baron is a munitions broker."

  "You’re joking." Her aqua eyes shimmered with intelligence as she contemplated the implications of his discovery. "We must give this information to Falcon as soon as possible."

  She headed for the door with papers in her hand, but Aidan was obliged to stop her. "I’m sorry to disappoint, Lady Rivenhall, but I refuse to be seen in public in Lord Cantor’s livery."

  The lady took in his attire and, with a nefarious grin, said, "But, my lord, you could make the dandies of the ton absolutely green with envy."

  "Come," he said, rolling his eyes as he seized her arm.

  The short distance back to Lady Rivenhall’s home was spent in silent contemplation. Aidan gratefully changed back into his normal attire and joined Lady Rivenhall in her parlor.

  "What I cannot comprehend is why a munitions dealer would be on this list of men to be investigated," Lady Rivenhall began as she settled into the settee. "Surely, the Crown would know if he had been supplying the enemy with gunpowder."

  Aidan’s brows rose. "Yes, they would be aware of it, as every departing vessel is searched for contraband. Therefore, we can assume he has not." He pulled Lady Rivenhall to her feet. "So, we turn over the innocuous documents to Falcon and are finished with these bloody inquiries," he whispered as he slanted his mouth across hers.

  His lips had barely begun to warm when she pushed against his chest. "Lord Wessex, now that the investigation is over, you are no longer obligated to provide my protection."

  Aidan tensed. "Meaning?"

  She turned her back to him. "Meaning that with the conclusion of our inquires our association is…ended."

  His lungs seized, and it took a moment before he could draw enough air to say, "Our ‘association’?"

  The lady turned and met his eye, brushing a golden strand from her lovely face. "Do you prefer dalliance? Either way this will be the last time--"

  Aidan interrupted, not wanting to hear the words that would inevitably follow. "If you are still angry about last evening…about my legitimate concerns with this liaison…"

  "I’m not angry with you, my lord. Quite the contrary. I would like to take this opportunity to wish you a long and happy life."

  "This is not amusing, Celeste," he said, alarm constricting his throat.

  "No, it is not."

  "What the bloody hell do you--"

  "I’m leaving."

  Aidan’s heart stopped. How could this be happening again? Why was he not enough?

  "Where?" he whispered, staring down at her and trying not to feel anything.

  She stepped away from him, and he let her go.

  "France. It has already been arranged. I came to England to capture a traitor, which we have done. When Lord Wellesley launches his attack, he will need the information that only I am able to provide."

  Aidan could not move, could not breathe. "It’s suicide, Celeste."

  She stared at him. "It’s no different than your fighting at Albuera, my lord."

  Her formality wounded him. "It is very different. You are a woman."

  "Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Lord Wessex, but I doubt the emperor would have me as a man."

  "The emperor! You cannot be serious."

  "I’ve already written him."

  He was speechless, and it took several moments to find his tongue. "When?"

  "I leave for Amsterdam Friday."

  "Five days?" he asked in disbelief.

  "Yes, Marie has already begun to pack our luggage."

  He took a step toward her, but she took a step back, maintaining the distance between them. "Why are you doing this, Celeste?" Aidan asked, holding her gaze.

  "Why did you fight for your country?"

  Aidan shook his head and took another step forward. "I was not running away from something. You are."

  Anger flashed through her eyes and she looked up at him, saying, "Oh? And what might that be?"

  "Me," he said, his arms banding about her. He kissed her with every emotion he felt--anger, confusion, and desire.

  He felt her melt against him a moment before she tore her lips from his. "Really, my lord, your arrogance knows no bounds." She was a bit breathless as she made for the door. "Now if you will excuse me, I really must begin--"

  "Marry me." The words escaped him in desperation, and his heart was thundering in his ears. He stared at her back, waiting to have his heart torn from his chest.

  She turned, tears swimming in her beautiful eyes. "Don’t…"

  "Marry me, Celeste."

  She reached for the door. "I can’t."

  Aidan, who had scarcely been able to stand a moment ago, leapt for the door, preventing it from opening. "Don’t go to Paris, Celeste. You have done your part. Stay here," he whispered down to her. "Stay with me."

  Her fair head was turned down, and he knew that she was crying. Aidan bent his head and kissed her just below the ear. "You saved me once before, Celeste." He paused. "Marry me and save me again."

  She turned, throwing her arms around his neck, and then he could breathe again. Aidan closed his eyes and pulled her to his chest. He smiled and stroked her back as she soaked his shirt.

  "Say yes, Celeste."

  "Y-yes," she said on a hiccup of air.

  Aidan laughed at her ineloquence. "Near enough. Now go tell Madame Arnott you are to be a countess and not a spy." He kissed the tears from her cheeks and stared into her beguiling eyes. "We shall talk in the morning when you are rested."

  She nodded and left him alone in the sun-filled parlor. Aidan expected to feel the weight of an offer, forced from him to keep her in England, to keep her alive. But he did not feel heavy at all. Quite the contrary. She had chosen to stay…with him, even as duty called her to France.

  Celeste had saved his life, had haunted his dreams and now would sleep beside him every night. He smiled to himself. She would certainly hold his attention in bed. In that aspect they were the perfect match, and had been from the moment he touched her.

  Aidan gathered his hat and the documents from Lord Cantor’s home and made for the door. The butler raised a brow at the wide grin on Aidan’s face before saying, "Good day, my Lord."

  He smiled down at the man and placed his beaver skin hat atop his head.

  "Yes, yes it is." And then the Earl of Wessex was out the door and lifting himself into his carriage. "Whitehall," he shouted to his coachman.

  Aidan’s smile faded, and the noise from the busy streets blurred into a constant hum as he considered his interview with Falcon. The man would not be pleased at losing his most highly placed operative, but Aidan did not care. Celeste would be safe.

  The outer office was empty, so Aidan walked across the room and knocked on Falcon’s door, all the while wishing that Cunningham had been there to soothe the old man’s wrath.

  "Enter."

  Aidan stepped into the small office, his Hessians announcing his arrival. The old man looked up from the stacks of papers before him and removed his glasses as he sat back in his chair.

  "Might I assume that this is an urgent matter, Lord Wessex?"

  Bad start.

  "It is," Aidan said, holding the man’s eyes and preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation. "I have come to inform you that Lady Rivenhall will not be boarding a ship to Calais Friday next."

  Falcon’s eyes narrowed, and Aidan saw a flash of the ve
ry formidable man he must have been in his youth. "Oh, and why is that, my lord?"

  Aidan lifted his chin, bracing himself for the man’s outrage. "Because the lady has consented to be my wife."

  The old man raised a brow as he lifted himself from the chair. He said not a word and walked around the desk, coming to rest directly in front of him.

  "I knew I could rely on you, boy. Steady as a rock. Steady as a rock!" Falcon broke into a broad smile and shook his hand in ardent congratulation. "Thought I was going to have to hold the girl against her will." The old man laughed. "Celeste is extremely stubborn, as you well know."

  Aidan’s blinked, feeling suddenly as though the world were topsy-turvy. "You’re pleased that we are to be married?"

  "Pleased! Damnation, boy, why do you think I partnered you with the lady in the first place? Always knew the girl would want to return to France. Needed something to keep her here, didn’t I?"

  "You mean you…you anticipated my offer?"

  Falcon shrugged modestly. "Don’t know if ‘anticipated’ is the correct word. More of a hope, really. That girl has had more men than I can shake a stick at attempt to seduce her, and not once did she bat an eyelash. But the night you discovered her at Reynold’s ball…well, the girl was fit to be tied."

  "Are you suggesting that she was in love with me then?" Aidan could not believe it.

  The old man chortled. "Good God, man, how should I know if the girl was in love with you? But she was attracted to you, of that I was certain."

  "But I thought she was a French agent." Aidan’s tone held his skepticism.

  "Yes, but she knew that you were not, and that your behavior stemmed from a sense of loyalty and patriotism, which she admired greatly. In that, at least, you are a perfect match."

  A perfect match. Aidan smiled. "Yes, I suppose we are."

  "So," the old man began with a grin. "When is the happy day?"

  Aidan shook his head. "We have not discussed the matter."

  "Take some advice from an old man." Falcon’s sherry-colored eyes looked anything but old. "The woman will want to delay the wedding until the perfect flowers are in season or some silly nonsense, but put your foot down. Three months at the most. That is all any man should wait to have the woman he intends to make his wife."