Reckless Seduction

by Jane Feather

  Genevieve endured two hours of inexpressible tedium listening to the pompous pontifications of her guests. She longed to go up on deck, but was fairly certain that if she appeared prematurely, Danseuse’s master would simply send her back to her caretaking duties. After a rubber of three-handed whist, the mayor and his deputy began to show distinct signs of cabin fever, and Genevieve suggested that they might all go on deck, but that they should station themselves in the stern where they would not be in the way. Her companions bristled at such a suggestion, but the memory of the privateer’s voice and eyes as he had banished them earlier sufficed to bring grudging agreement.

  It was full night, but, as Dominic had predicted, the bright moon hung heavy in the jeweled sky. The sails stretched taut under the southerly breeze, and Danseuse’s hull skipped across the gentle swell. Her seven companions at sea were all making good headway although none were as fast or as elegant as Dominic’s frigate. Genevieve looked up into the masthead, manned, as she had expected, by a sailor with glass. They knew that these waters were patrolled at the moment by one British ship and three French, and when the lookout called softly, “Sail to the north,” Genevieve abandoned her companions and ran to the quarterdeck.

  Dominic was sweeping the horizon with his telescope as she came to stand silently beside him. “Looks like the Partridge,” he said. “With luck, she’ll not recognize the Inconstant at this distance.” A tense silence held the ship as they waited for some reaction from the British vessel, but nothing happened, and after five minutes Dominic lowered his glass. “What have you done with your charges?”

  “Left them in the stern,” she answered. “I could not keep them below any longer.”

  “Well, just as long as they do not come up here again.” He raised his glass as another shout came from above.

  “Sail to the northwest.”

  “What ship is it?” Genevieve stood on tiptoe, peering into the darkness as if she would thus be able to see with the naked eye.

  “Fleur-de-lys,” Dominic said shortly. “Too far away, also, I trust. They’re right where I expected them to be, so that’s one satisfaction.”

  Genevieve looked at him with respect. She would like to have asked how he had known the positions of the French and British vessels, but now was not an opportune moment. “Will we avoid the others?” she asked instead.

  Dominic stroked his chin. “Doubtful. See that island over there.” He pointed to the northwest, and Genevieve strained to make out the dark hump of land. “That’s Capraia, right in the middle of our course to France. I suspect that we shall run up against one of the other French ships somewhere in the vicinity.”

  “Will you fight?”

  “Not if I can help it. If they recognize Inconstant, it is to be hoped Captain Taillade can bluff his way through.”

  “And if not?” Genevieve knew she was pushing a fine line with her questions, but Dominic seemed very relaxed, as he always did when facing danger. The higher the tension mounted, the more relaxed he became.

  “If not, Danseuse and Saint-Esprit will engage battle, hopefully drawing off the enemy so that the rest can get through.”

  The island of Capraia drew ever closer, and Dominic raised his telescope again, his preoccupied stance signaling to Genevieve that she should attempt no further intrusion. She felt the sudden-alert ripple run through his body a few minutes before she could herself make out the sail approaching from the west. “Zephyr,” Dominic said quietly. “As I expected. Send the men to quarters, bosun, to stand by.”

  “Yes, monsieur.” The bosun vanished on silent feet, the order given by whispered word of mouth so that the crew took up action stations and remained in silent watchfulness, ready to run out the guns or to stand down, whichever became appropriate. Genevieve knew that Silas would have given the same order on Saint-Esprit. She retreated into the shadows in case Dominic noticed her and decided to be tiresome about her presence on deck at a risky time.

  A loud hail came across the moon-tipped water as Zephyr intercepted the Inconstant. Genevieve listened to the exchange, the voices through the megaphones carrying over the water on the breeze. A rustling and snuffling announced the arrival on the quarterdeck of the mayor and his deputy. Dominic silenced them with a sharply impatient gesture. The captain of the Zephyr was asking Inconstant business in these waters. But the request was friendly, seemingly a matter of form, and it became clear from the tone of the exchange that the two captains were old acquaintances. Captain Taillade assured the other that he was on a routine trip to Genoa, that Napoleon remained safe on Elba, and the assurances were accepted cheerfully by one who had no reason to doubt them.

  Comradely farewells were exchanged and Zephyr changed tack, beating back into the lee of Capraia. The crew were told to stand down, but it was another two hours before Dominic, with a deep sigh of contentment, lit one of his little cigars. He had completed the task he had undertaken all those weeks ago at the behest of the burghers of New Orleans.

  “We are through?” whispered Genevieve, recognizing the signs and speaking for the first time since Zephyr had been sighted.

  “You should be in bed,” Dominic reproved, inhaling so that the tip of the cigar glowed in the gloom. “Yes, we are through by the usual combination of extraordinary luck and a modicum of good judgment. We should reach Juan Bay in three days.”

  “And then?” She came into the circle of his arm as he leaned against the taffrail.

  “And then we shall see.” He stroked her hair in that absently caressing manner that she found peculiarly comforting. It was as if she was simply a part of him, an accepted and inseparable presence. “It’s a crazy adventure, sprite, and I’ve a mind to see it through.”

  “I also.”

  “But of course,” he said quietly. And her heart lifted as she stood beside him, sharing the night, the moment of achievement, and the promise of the future.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Mariotti says they were here last week.” Grand Duke Sergei tossed his high-crowned beaver hat onto the settle in the parlor of Leghorn’s most salubrious inn as he offered this piece of information to his three companions.

  “But does he know where they are now, dear fellow?” inquired Cholmondeley, cracking and consuming a walnut with some concentration. He washed the sweet meat down with a generous gulp of madeira.

  “Apparently, they went to Elba—joining the pilgrims.” Sergei gave a short, bitter laugh. “Mariotti says that they infiltrated the networks like professionals. Bartolucci could not do enough for them.”

  “Madame Delacroix is presumably using the tidbits of information she somehow picked up at piquet,” Sebastiani said with a snarl. “It seems to me, gentlemen, that we have a duty to apprehend such an experienced spy and ensure that she is brought to justice.”

  “But if Napoleon succeeds in his bid for France, my friend, Madame Delacroix will have been spying on the side of the victor,” Legrand pointed out. “She will be considered a loyal follower deserving of reward rather than the spy’s noose.”

  “Bonaparte has yet to succeed,” said Cholmondeley. “He may have assumed the title of emperor again, but the Bourbon still holds Paris.”

  “Mariotti believes that the Delacroix were instrumental in achieving Bonaparte’s escape from Elba,” Sergei went on, taking a seat at the table and reaching for the decanter of madeira. “Monsieur Delacroix apparently owns a frigate and, in addition, purchased a merchantman, which also sailed into Porto-Ferrajo. They are not there now, and Zephyr’s captain says that when he intercepted Inconstant, there was a fast frigate among the flotilla.”

  “Then they landed at Juan Bay with Bonaparte three days ago.” Legrand walked to the window that looked out over the circular bay. “The question is: Do they remain with him, or do they consider their task completed and go on to fresh pastures?”

  “That should not be difficult to discover. The governor of Antibes witnessed the landing at Juan Bay. He presumably made note of Bonaparte’s
companions. Such a distinctive figure as Madame Delacroix would be hard to miss.”

  “Then I suggest we proceed to Antibes.” Sebastiani smiled his meagre smile. “If they are marching with Bonaparte, we should be able to come up with them without difficulty. Four men can travel a great deal faster than an emperor’s glorious, conquering progress.” A sardonic note informed these words. “I have little interest in the husband, myself, but am most anxious to play a little more piquet with madame.”

  “I, also,” Legrand chimed in. “And if the law will not punish a spy, then we must do it ourselves.”

  The grand duke chuckled richly and rubbed his soft white hands together, the skin making a little rasping sound. It was a habit he had when contemplating something pleasurable. “Assuredly, Legrand. Spying is a heinous activity, and it matters not that the fortunes of war should have made right wrong and vice versa. Madame Delacroix must pay for her deceptions.”

  “I imagine that amongst us, we can contrive a suitably appropriate vengeance,” Sebastiani murmured. “But let us be honest, gentlemen, and admit that our motives are largely personal.” He shrugged. “Madame’s spying does not concern me unduly. Her methods do.” His pale eyes darted from face to face. “To be deceived in that way is more than a little mortifying. The lady had no intention of fulfilling her promises.”

  “Then she should perhaps be encouraged to do so,” the Frenchman said softly. “It is never too late to right a wrong.”

  “Quite so.” Cholmondeley rose to his feet, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “To Antibes.”

  “He is magnificent,” Genevieve breathed, stilling her mount rendered anxious by the tense expectant hush outside the town of Grenoble. Napoleon and his now rapidly grown following faced their first overtly hostile garrison since leaving Cannes.

  The little round figure in his impressive uniform was sublimely unperturbed by the ranks of soldiers ranged beneath the Bourbon standard. With a superb flourish, he threw open his greatcoat, baring his breast to the enemy garrison as his voice rang grandiloquently. “Soldiers, if there is one among you who wishes to kill his emperor, he can do so: Here I am.”

  Dominic whistled softly, shaking his head in amazement. “They’ll be eating out of his hand in two minutes.”

  “And can you blame them?” Genevieve whispered, watching, fascinated, as one by one the Grenoble soldiers laid down their arms. It was impossible to describe the magnetism of that sleek fat man, who looked more like a well-fed priest than a battle-hardened soldier, and who had pronounced himself emperor by the will of the people before he had even tested that will.

  A great roar went up from the crowd as the emperor rode into Grenoble, the once hostile soldiers falling in behind him, cheering. Genevieve urged her horse forward and glanced up at Dominic as he rode beside her. He was habitually pensive these days, although, if she called him on it, he tended to laugh and change the subject. But being basically a stubborn soul, she persevered. “What are you thinking?” she asked now, as directly as usual.

  “That this is madness,” he answered her, this time frankly. “Ever since the Grand Alliance declared war on Napoleon again, his defeat has been inevitable.”

  Genevieve’s jaw dropped. “It is heresy to say such a thing. You are doubting the outcome of this grand and glorious adventure!”

  “That is all it is, sprite. A grand and glorious adventure. Napoleon has lost two great armies in two years. Where is he to find another large enough and experienced enough to meet the Allies whose armies have won the last two campaigns? He knows it, too.”

  “But the royal army at Lyons has defected,” she pointed out. “And Marshal Ney has turned coat again and rejoined the emperor. The people of France are anxious to be rid of the Bourbon; they will stand behind Napoleon.”

  “Maybe so.” Dominic did not, however, sound convinced. “For all his magnetism, Genevieve, Napoleon is a man scarred by resounding defeat. He has been defeated and dethroned once, and I fear that he will not be able to bounce back again.”

  Genevieve rode in silence for a few minutes before asking, “Why, then, do you continue to ride with him? Your task is completed and there can be no gain for you in this. Piracy awaits on the high seas, does it not?” She asked the question with a laugh in her voice, hoping the laugh would hide the desperate anxiety lurking beneath. When this escapade was over, what would happen to her? When the privateer took to the seas again, where would she go? The future beyond this adventure had not been mentioned between them since the night of her abduction, when he had offered her the opportunity to seek her own destiny.

  Dominic smiled. “Perhaps it does, but I may still be of service to Bonaparte. In the event of his defeat, he will need a refuge, and America is more than willing. Danseuse is at Rochefort at Fouché’s suggestion. Should the emperor find himself in need of swift transport …” He shrugged and wondered if this might be an opportune moment to broach the subject of Genevieve’s own plans. It would certainly help in the formulation of his, if he could glean some idea of whether his courting tactics had at least given her something to think about beyond setting herself up as a courtesan in some European capital—a plan he had no intention of countenancing whether he could win her to his own point of view or not.

  “Monsieur?” Silas, his generally impassive features carrying an anxious twist, rode up on a stout cob, ending Dominic’s reflections. “A word, monsieur.” He spoke softly with a meaningful glance at Genevieve.

  Dominic frowned and pulled a little ahead. “Why the secrecy, Silas?”

  “Maybe nothing,” the old sailor said, “but I didn’t want to alarm mademoiselle for no reason. I swear I saw that Italian from Vienna.”

  “Italian?” Dominic looked nonplussed. “Oh, you mean Sebastiani?”

  “Some such,” Silas agreed. “Mademoiselle spent one of her evenings in his house, and now he’s hanging around in the square.”

  “I fail to see why he should not, Silas.” Dominic shrugged. “Or why you think Genevieve might be alarmed by the news. He’s probably observing Napoleon’s progress for the Allies. He’s not the only one along the route, you can be sure of that.”

  “I don’t like it,” Silas said with a stubborn nod. “Just a feeling.”

  Dominic, over the years, had developed a certain respect for Silas’s feelings. He was fairly certain that by now Genevieve’s duped informants would know that they had been bled for information and why, but to pursue their deceiver across France, particularly in this time of upheaval, seemed a little extreme. He could not imagine what they could hope to achieve by it. “Well, let us find lodgings,” he said to Silas, “and then you can scout around a little, see what you can dig up. I’ll keep Genevieve under my eye.”

  “It would be best,” Silas agreed. “No knowing what she’ll get up to if she gets an idea in her head.”

  “What are you whispering about?” the subject of this comment demanded, drawing up alongside. “I don’t like secrets. At least,” she added, “not ones that aren’t mine.”

  Dominic chuckled. “We were discussing lodgings, as it happens. Do you care to accept the emperor’s hospitality as usual? All we need do is ride up with him.”

  “No,” Genevieve said definitely. “There will be nothing but speeches and formality, and I am sore from riding, and my ears ache from speeches, and I am hungry, and if we dine with the imperial party there will be so much talking there will be no time for eating and—”

  “Enough!” Dominic held up a protesting hand to stop the breathless torrent. “I am overwhelmed with your eloquence, madame, and take your point. We shall find a quiet inn and indulge ourselves in a little privacy.”

  “Now that,” Genevieve stated, “sounds like the best idea anyone has had since we left Antibes.”

  “I might have some more if you play your cards correctly,” he said, and was rewarded with that mischievous little giggle and the sensuous crinkling of those tiger’s eyes.

  “I’ll see what the inns h
ave to offer, then,” Silas said in a dignified monotone, and turned off down a side street.

  Grenoble had difficulty accommodating this triumphant and trumpeting invasion. The emperor was received in the governor’s mansion, his entourage billeted in the town’s best hostelries. For those seeking lodging as private citizens, little was to be found. However, Silas was a resourceful man and by dint of venturing beyond the city walls, found an agreeable landlady in the shape of a farmer’s wife who offered a pretty bedchamber under the eaves. Silas was provided with a palliasse in the barn, but before he took his rest, he returned to Grenoble, eyes skinned for a sight of Signor Sebastiani.

  Dominic was sitting by the open window of their chamber, breathing in the soft night air of late spring and the remembered fragrances of the now sleeping Genevieve when Silas returned, the cob’s hooves clattering in the stable yard below. Dominic let himself out of the room, quietly latching the door and treading softly down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the yard where Silas was waiting for him.

  “Well?” The privateer lit a cigar and sat on an upturned rainwater butt.

  “They’re all here, monsieur. All of mademoiselle’s gentlemen.”

  “I don’t think you need call them that,” Dominic said drily. “As far as I know, she lays no claim to any of the four.”

  “None of my business, monsieur,” replied the sailor stolidly.

  Dominic gave a short laugh. “You do surprise me, Silas. Are they together?”

  “Seemingly. I ran them to earth in a tavern near the market square. Very close, they were.”

  “They are in the same business, on the same side,” Dominic mused. “Although which side that is now, is probably a matter for debate. There have been so many turncoats in the last twelve months, there’s no way of telling.”