The wanton princess rb-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  'Not in the least,' he assured her gaily. ‘I was but teasing you; and unless other ladies have misled me you'll find naught to complain of in my staying powers. Before we make a test of that though, I crave a boon of you.'

  'What is it?' she asked, smiling at him.

  'That you, love, get out of bed, let me remove that white night robe you are wearing and feast my eyes upon your loveliness.'

  Without a moment's hesitation Pauline pulled her shift off over her head and jumped down on to the floor. She was extremely proud of her magnificent figure; so much so that she scandalized her family by acting as a model in the near-nude for the sculptor Canova's masterpiece 'Venus Victrix'.

  To Roger's delight she displayed her charms to him with the utmost freedom, standing in front of him with her hands clasped behind her neck so that her breasts stood out in perfect symmetry, then walking up and down the room, dancing a few steps and assuming provocative attitudes. She drew him like a magnet and, his joy in watching her over­come, he took her in his arms, picked her up and carried her back to the bed.

  Later he collected from the sitting room the magnum of champagne of which they had drunk only a quarter at supper. Over the wine they talked, laughed and caressed one another for two hours that seemed to pass like twenty minutes. They then made love again, put out the candles and curled up together in dreamy bliss. But there was no dawn party for, in his excitement, Roger had forgotten that it was December so the sun would not rise until late; and he did not want Pauline's maid to catch him in bed with her mistress.

  At about four o'clock, finding that Pauline had fallen into a heavy sleep, he gently disengaged himself from her, slipped on his robe and tiptoed from the room.

  When his man woke him at seven, although he had slept for only a few hours, he felt like a giant refreshed and, looking back on the past night, decided that he was the luckiest fellow in the whole world.

  He had just finished a hearty breakfast when Pauline's maid, Aimée, came to tell him that her mistress had passed a very bad night, so she did not feel like setting out for Paris that day, and wished him to cancel the arrangements for her departure.

  Knowing very well how Pauline had passed the night, Roger was not at all surprised and was delighted at the thought that this meant for him another night with his ravishing new mistress in their present comfortable quarters; but he gravely asked Aimée to convey his respects and sym­pathy to 'Madame'.

  The maid was a pretty young person with dark hair and a fresh complexion bronzed by the tropical sun. After a moment she said, 'I have been with Madame since her mar­riage to the General and his loss was a great blow to her. Despite her bad night I found her more cheerful this morning than I have seen her for a long time and Monsieur le Colonel will perhaps permit me to remark that I attribute that to his having entertained her so charmingly at supper. Such com­pany is excellent for her and if I can be of any service in encouraging her to spend longer in the company of Monsieur le Colonel, I should be happy to do so.'

  To Roger a wink was as good as a nod and he guessed at once that Aimée was aware that he had spent the night with her mistress. With a smile he replied, 'As Madame will be spending most of the day in bed, no doubt she will allow you a few hours off to do some shopping, and there must be quite a number of things you would like to buy after your years in the Indies.' Then he fished out of his waistcoat pocket four gold twenty-five franc pieces and slipped them into her hand.

  Bobbing him a curtsey she returned his smile. 'Monsieur le Colonel is most kind, and anyone can sec that he is not one of those jumped-up officers but a real gentleman. I feel sure that Madame will be sufficiently recovered to get up this afternoon, and I will suggest to her that she should dine with you.'

  Well pleased by this happy understanding with Aimée, which would lessen the necessity for subterfuge in his affaire with Pauline, Roger went out into the town to buy her a mass of flowers.

  Before escorting Pauline to the inn, Roger had seen her son, Dermid, but had not spoken to him. That afternoon he found the boy with her. He was a pretty, fair-haired child and would be five in April, but he was far from strong. She had borne him when she was only seventeen, and such an early pregnancy had harmed the health of them both. Roger had, that morning, thought of the boy; so was able to pro­duce for him both sweets and toys, which soon made them good friends. When his nurse had taken him away, Pauline threw off her black weeds and the lovers eagerly embraced to exchange passionate kisses.

  Over dinner Pauline was as gay as a lark, but towards the end of the meal, when Roger broached the subject of their journey, her face clouded over and she said, 'I have been thinking about us this morning. In Paris I no longer have a house so, for sonic weeks at least, I'll have to live with my mother, or my brother Joseph, which will make our being together difficult. Besides, I'd have to continue to wear mourning, and I've always hated black. It does not suit me. Why should we not go incognito to some place where we can live for a while openly as husband and wife?'

  Roger considered for a moment. Her idea held out to him a temptation to spend several weeks in Paradise; but it could prove extremely dangerous, and he said, 'My love, it would be heaven; you must remember, though, that you are now a person of great importance—a member of an almost Royal family. If we disappeared 'tis certain that your brother would set his police to search for us, and when they ran us to earth the fat would be in the fire with a vengeance.'

  She pouted, 'But I do not want to go to Paris. My poor little Leclerc was weak and ill for a long time before he died, so I have been starved of love for an age. When one is only twenty-two that is a terrible state to be in. Somehow we must arrange matters so that you can continue to sleep with me.'

  Smiling at her, Roger replied, 'I think it could be done if you will write to the First Consul. Tell him that you dread having to sec again in Paris scores of people who will condole with you and constantly remind you of your loss; that you must have more time to get over it before facing such an ordeal, so you wish to make a tour incognito through some parts’ of France that you have not yet seen. Happily he charged me with the care of you and to do my best to alleviate your sorrow; and I'd be failing in my duty did I not act as your escort.'

  Pauline's brown eyes with their golden glints lit up as she returned his smile. 'You are clever, cher Colonel, as well as strong. I will do that. Now, whither shall we go?'

  ‘I have a small chateau at St. Maxime that I occupy occasionally. There is no society in the neighbourhood, nor anyone likely to recognize you. To get there we should have to pass through several towns of interest, about which you could later tell your brother, and give him the impression that you had stayed longer in each of them than would actually be the case. How does that idea appeal to you?'

  Clapping her hands, she cried with delight, 'Bravo! What a man I have found! You have everything. Even a chateau in the southern sunshine by the sea where we can enjoy together a pastoral life. We'll set out tomorrow.'

  'What of young Dermid and his nurse?' Roger asked.

  She shrugged, 'Oh, I'll send them on to Paris. My mother will take good care of the child.'

  'Then they can go in the coach I brought for you, escorted by my sergeant and his troop. In any case we'd have to rid ourselves of the men; otherwise in every place we lay for the night it would be all round the town in no time that you were the First Consul's sister. I'll hire another coach privately, and we must choose a name for ourselves.'

  For some minutes they discussed possibilities, then Pauline said, 'I have it! Spring is in my heart again. Let us be known as Monsieur and Madame Printemps.'

  'Excellent,' he laughed. 'Now. what of Aimée? I take it you would not wish to go without her, but if she comes there'll be no preventing her knowing that we are lovers.'

  'She knows it already. Even if she slept like the dead and failed to hear our gambols through the partition wall, the state of my room when she entered it this morning would have told her everything. 'T
was considerate of you to creep away without waking me, but you left half the sheets and one pillow on the floor, and the empty champagne magnum on my bedside table.'

  With a contrite grimace, Roger said, 'For that I greatly blame myself. But it was still pitch dark when I tiptoed away and I was so drunk with happiness that my mind was quite bemused.'

  'No matter. The little baggage is entirely to be trusted. She even had the impudence to congratulate me on you.'

  Roger grinned, 'When she brought me your message this morning about having passed a sleepless night, I felt sure she knew the reason. All, then, is well. And now loath as I am to leave you, sweet, I must beg to be excused. Since we're to start tomorrow, and secretly, I have much to do between now and supper time. Meanwhile, I suggest that you write that letter to your brother, and I'll give it to my sergeant in the morning.'

  After a further session of long kisses, he tore himself away and went out into the town. At a military outfitters he bought the shako and sabretache of an officer in a regiment of Curassiers and the rank badges of a Captain. Then, his Colonel's rank badges hidden under the long cloak he was wearing against the cold, he went to a hostelry some distance from that in which he was staying and, as Captain Printemps, hired a comfortable coach to be ready for him at one o'clock the following day, giving his destination as Toulon.

  Returning to his own inn he went in search of Aimée and when he found her learned that her mistress had already informed her that they were to set out next day on a secret journey. He told her to pack only the clothes that 'Madame' insisted on taking and have them ready by midday. The rest, and the mass of impedimenta she had brought with her from San Domingo, were to go in the coach to Paris. He then took Aimée up to his room, gave her his spare uniform coat and asked her to change die Colonel's badges on it for the Cap­tain's.

  Next, he sat down to write two letters. The first was a brief despatch to Napoleon, reporting Pauline's safe arrival and that, being in a sad state of depression, she desired to spend a few weeks before returning to Paris among people who did not know her, and of her tragic loss, and that, anticipating it to be the wish of the First Consul, he had agreed to remain with her until she felt capable of facing the world again.

  His second letter was to the Defours at the chateau, inform­ing them that he had recently married and, soon after the arrival of the letter, would be bringing his wife to St. Maxime. There were to be flowers in every room, and no expense was to be spared on local purchases that would make the house more pleasant as a residence for 'Madame'.

  Having finished his letters he had time only to clean him­self up before joining Pauline for supper.

  Tonight she had cast aside not only her veil but all her black garments and was wearing a blue velvet dress embroidered with gold flowers, that set off to perfection her tanned arms, neck and face. It was another gay meal and afterwards there was no question of his leaving her. Carrying a magnum of champagne he accompanied her into her bed­room and there undressed her. Neither did he creep away in the small hours. When Aimée came in she found them still together in bed sound asleep.

  An hour and a half later Pauline gave her orders to Dermid's nurse, and a letter for her mother. Roger gave the two letters for Napoleon to his sergeant and told his servant to return to Paris in the coach with the nurse. The good-byes were said and at eleven o'clock the little cavalcade moved away on the road to the capital.

  When paying the bill, Roger told the landlord of the inn that Madame Leclerc had decided to stay for a few days at the little seaside village of Arcachon, but first wished to drive down to the port and thank again the Captain of the frigate that had brought her from San Domingo. He then asked for a coach and a carriage to be summoned.

  When they arrived at the door he had the luggage put into the coach and, when Aimée had settled herself in it, told the coachman to drive her to Arcachon. Returning upstairs he escorted Pauline, now again draped in black from top to toe, down to the carriage and handed her in.

  Outside the dock gates he called on the driver to halt, told him that Madame wished to take a little exercise by walking along the quay to the ship, and paid him off. After half an hour's stroll round the docks they came out, picked up another carriage and drove to the inn at which Roger, in the name of Captain Printemps, had ordered a travelling coach to be ready for him. Leaving the carriage for the coach, they drove the forty miles to Arcachon, arriving there soon after dark. Aimee had reached the village half an hour earlier and had taken the best rooms at the only inn for Captain and Madame Printemps. Hungry from having missed their dinner they made an excellent early supper off freshly caught lob­sters and the local cheese, then went happily to bed as man and wife.

  Next morning, with Roger wearing his Curassier shako and uniform with a Captain's badges, they took the road south to Dax, Madame Leclerc and le brave Breuc having disap­peared into the blue.

  By way of Pau and Tabres they drove through the lovely scenery of Navarre, then on through Toulouse, Beziers and Montpellicr to Nimes with its fascinating Roman ruins, Avignon with the Palace of the Popes, and charming Aix-en-Provence, to Toulon. They travelled by easy stages because, owing to her early pregnancy, Pauline was afflicted with an internal trouble that plagued her if she rode for too long over bumpy roads. But, like many women who suffer from ill health, when she was happy minor ailments never seemed to bother her.

  At Toulon Roger paid off the coach and, next day, hired another at an inn some way from that in which they had passed the night. With him once more a Colonel wearing his A.D.C. sash, they covered the last stage of their journey to St. Maxime.

  On the morning after their arrival, touched by the com­pliment but considerably perturbed, he learned that the villagers intended that afternoon to present an address of welcome to Madame, his wife. He had brought this on him­self owing to his generosity to local charities and there was no escaping it. With considerable anxiety he and Pauline awaited the ceremony.

  To their relief it passed off without incident. The Mayor and the Cure both made fulsome speeches, there were cheers and everyone was given plenty of wine in which to drink the health of the newly-weds. To account for Pauline's golden-bronze skin, Roger had given out that she was the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner in Guadeloupe and had only recently arrived in France. No one recognized her and she enjoyed enormously assuming her new role as the lady of the manor.

  The last days of December and the first week in January

  1803 had been occupied by their journey from Bordeaux. For a month they revelled in being alone together in the winter sunshine by the sea.

  Roger found that Pauline had only a very small knowledge of great affairs and little interest in them. She was extremely self-centred, concerning herself only with love, her personal appearance and frivolous amusements. But she was straight­forward, generous, easily pleased and spontaneously gay.

  At times he still thought with bitterness of the terrible ending to his life-long bond with Georgina, but Pauline's ardent passion for him and his delight in her loveliness had restored his zest for life, just as his unflagging desire for her had restored hers. With no single duty or commitment to observe they lived entirely as they pleased, sometimes lying in bed until well on in the afternoon, at others getting up at dawn to go fishing. On some nights they went on moonlight rambles and made love in the woods or on the beach. They never saw a journal and cared nothing for what might be happening in the world outside their own little Paradise. Like Venus and Adonis, they thought only of their love and of pleasing one another.

  Yet, as with all mortals, there had to come an end to this dispensation from all care that the kind gods had granted them. One night towards the middle of February Roger said to the radiant goddess who faced him across the supper table:

  'Beloved, my heart is heavy with the thought, but soon now we must return to Paris. It is more than seven weeks since we disappeared from Bordeaux. However great the preoccupations of your brilliant brother, he
must at times wonder what has become of his favourite sister. If he has not already done so it cannot be long now before he sets his police on to discover your whereabouts. Should they find you here, living as Madame Breuc, that would be disastrous. It would mean for me at least several years' imprisonment for having abused his confidence, and for you, with your hus­band only four months dead, a scandal that would besmirch your name through France.'

  'Oh, must we go!' she cried in protest. 'I have been happier here with you Rojé than ever in my life before. I cannot bear the thought of returning to that dreary round of behaving like a great lady and being pleasant to scores of people, most of whom are atrocious bores. Can we not stay here for another month, or a fortnight at the least?'

  He shook his head. 'No, dear goddess. I dare not risk it, for your sake even more than my own. We will have one more week here but not a day longer. On that my mind is set, and with all your wondrous wiles you will not move it.'

  So, one week later, their stolen honeymoon ended. On February 20th, sad but resigned, they took the road to Paris.

  17

  Of Love and War

  Napoleon's face was black with anger, his broad jaw stuck out and his eyebrows were drawn down. In his harsh, Italian-accented voice, he rasped, 'Two months! Two whole months and not one word from you!'

  Roger raised his eyebrows, ‘I would have thought, First Consul, that you had enough anxieties to occupy you without worrying about your family.'

  'My family! Sacri Nom! They are the cause of half my worries. My brothers do me more harm than I can do them good. And now Madame Leclerc must get herself lost in southern France for eight weeks.'

  'But, mon General, you knew that I was with her, so could be certain that she would come to no harm.'

  'You, and who else? No one but a serving wench! And Leclerc but four months dead! If this gets out, 'twill be the scandal of the year.'