Reckless Seduction

by Jane Feather

  “They have the same interests,” Silas declared. “Or interest.” He scratched his nose and stared up at the stars. “If it’s mademoiselle they’re after …”

  “Why would they be?” Dominic had no idea what Silas knew of the situation in Vienna, but the old sailor was as canny as they came, and as shrewd as he was intuitive.

  Silas shrugged and continued to examine the sky. “Seems to me that if they were promised something that was not made good …”

  “Damnation!” Dominic dropped his cigar to the cobbles and ground it out viciously beneath his boot. He had thought only in terms of the four men realizing that Genevieve had been spying and had succeeded in her object. It would annoy them, but it was a game they all played so they would surely shrug it off to experience. One won as many as one lost, after all. But Genevieve had been playing ducks and drakes in an area of intense personal pride with men who set great store by their pride. He tried to imagine how he would feel in their situation. It did not require much imagination. To have that entrancing, diminutive body promised, to have swallowed the bait offered by those wickedly sensuous eyes, that inviting little laugh, the deliciously intimate little touches, then to be deprived at the last moment because one’s luck or skill at the cards ran out. And then to realize that she had never had the least intention of making good the promise. They had been played for fools in the one area where a man could not tolerate a sense of foolishness. And there were four of them to share and feed the outrage of the lover scorned.

  “I won’t ask you how you knew,” he said to Silas.

  The old sailor grunted scornfully. “Plain as a pikestaff, it was, if you were prepared to see it.”

  Dominic winced. He had not seen it. “I’ll put Genevieve on her guard in the morning. Do keep close watch on our friends. I see no reason to take action at this point or to let them know that we’re aware of them. Forewarned, we can forestall them if they show signs of making a move.”

  “Right.” Silas pressed his hands into the small of his back, arching against them as if to ease cramped muscles. “I’m off to my bed, then. If you’ve no further need of me tonight.”

  Genevieve stirred and woke as Dominic climbed into bed beside her. “Where’ve you been?” she muttered drowsily, curling into his arms.

  “Talking to Silas,” he replied. “Go back to sleep now, mon coeur. I will tell you about it in the morning.”

  Mon coeur, she thought with a ripple of warmth. Perhaps it was more than just une façon de parler, just a little bit more.

  The next morning, over breakfast, Dominic told her of the presence in Grenoble of her four ex-informants.

  “But why?” She frowned at him as she broke into the fragrantly steaming interior of a brioche. “Are they spying on the emperor for the Allies, do you think?”

  “It’s possible.” Dominic shrugged. “But there may be more to it than that.” He took a sip of coffee and picked his words carefully. “So, I would like you to stay within my sight at all times for as long as they remain with us.”

  “But why?” she asked again, her eyes widening. “What have they to do with me? Our dealings, such as they were, are long past.” Spooning apricot preserve on her brioche, she popped a piece in her mouth and regarded him with genuine innocence.

  Dominic sighed. Her sophistication in certain areas and the fearless bravado with which she faced all situations occasionally caused him to forget her youth, her strict Creole upbringing, and the fact that she had but newly emerged from the shelter of Victor Latour’s capacious umbrella, all of which inevitably produced a degree of naive ingenuousness which, in this instance, could be dangerous. “You may think they are long past, ma chère, but ten to one the gentlemen in question do not. Men, in general, do not take kindly to being made fools of when their manhood is at issue, and particularly not to being made fools of by a slip of a girl with an unexpected talent for cards.” He watched the light of comprehension dawn in her eyes. Ingenuous she may be, but she was never slow to grasp a point.

  “You think they may wish to revenge themselves?” Her voice was thoughtful as she remembered with sudden clarity the morning of Polanski’s ball when they had appeared in force in her drawing room and she had been so conscious of a sense of unease. She had thought then that, gaining encouragement from each other, they might want to even the score, and that night, after the dreadful debacle on the ballroom floor, they had made it very clear that they wished for a confrontation. But she had assumed that by leaving Vienna, she had left the whole sordid episode behind her.

  “It’s hard to be certain. Their presence here may have nothing whatsoever to do with you. But until I am convinced of that, you will be a little more circumspect than is your wont, will you not?” His lips quirked but the azure gaze was steady and serious.

  “I cannot imagine what they can possibly do to me in these circumstances,” said Genevieve. “We are in the middle of an army, virtually.”

  “Nevertheless?” The fly-away eyebrows lifted.

  “Nevertheless, I shall stick closer than your shadow,” she laughed. “All the way to Paris.”

  She was as good as her word for the remainder of that triumphal march when at every stage the Bourbon defense collapsed. When Napoleon reached Fontainebleau on the outskirts of Paris, it was to hear that Louis had already left the capital which lay open, undefended, to welcome the returning emperor.

  At Fontainebleau disappeared also the four followers of the Delacroix. Silas, far from being relieved at their sudden absence, was rendered greatly uneasy. “When I can see them, monsieur, I don’t need to fret,” he said worriedly, as they entered Paris by the south gate.

  “Maybe we were worrying unnecessarily.” Dominic glanced at Genevieve whose face wore a look of wondering excitement at the prospect of visiting this city that so many Creoles considered their spiritual home. “If their task was to report on Napoleon’s progress and reception, the job would be completed here. The Allies do not need observers for the grand entrance; it is quite public enough.”

  “They may have decided to wait until Paris,” Silas muttered. “Much easier in a big city, when everyone’s dispersed.”

  “What is much easier?” Genevieve demanded impatiently. “I think you are making mountains out of molehills, Silas. I have not even seen them, not once on this journey. Have you, Dominic?”

  “I don’t need to,” Dominic said sharply. “Not if Silas says they are there.”

  Genevieve bit her lip and flashed a guiltily apologetic smile at the silent sailor. “I did not mean to doubt Silas’s word. But don’t you think we are making too much of this? What do you expect them to do?”

  “If I knew that, mademoiselle, I would not be worried,” Silas said with a distinct snap in his voice. “All I know is, there’ll be many more opportunities in the city streets, and if you go gallivanting around in your usual careless fashion, there’s no knowing what will happen.”

  “Well, I am not sitting in some inn twiddling my thumbs just because you have an overactive imagination,” Genevieve retorted, nettled by a scolding criticism that she had not deserved for quite some time. Nudging her mount’s flanks, she urged him into a trot, drawing ahead of her two companions.

  Dominic’s eyebrows lifted as he wondered which of them he should attempt to soothe first. But Silas spoke while he was still trying to make up his mind. “Best if I keep an eye out, monsieur,” he said, his tone back to its usual stolid neutrality.

  “Yes, we both shall,” Dominic agreed in the same tone. “I’ve a mind to hire a house during our stay in Paris. We’ll be less vulnerable.”

  Leaving the hopefully mollified Silas, he went ahead to catch up with Genevieve who offered no acknowledgement of his presence for quite a few minutes. Then she said, “I trust you are not going to expect me to beg his pardon. He was as rude as I was.”

  “He is concerned for you and has not had your advantages when it comes to learning how to express himself,” Dominic informed her crisply. “
It will cost you little to make peace.”

  There was another short silence, then Genevieve admitted, “I was going to, anyway. But I do think he is making a meal out a crumb, and I am not prepared to cower immured within doors to some stuffy inn—”

  “You will not have to,” Dominic interrupted. “I intend to hire a house, for a start. But you are not to go out unescorted. Is that too much to ask?”

  “It might be,” she said in all seriousness. “I cannot foresee every eventuality. Supposing I have to go out and you or Silas are not available?”

  The privateer swallowed the sharp surge of irritation that would normally have found outlet in a harsh response. Genevieve was not being deliberately awkward, merely, as usual, stating a simple fact as simply as it struck her. “Let us hope that such an eventuality does not arise,” he said mildly.

  Genevieve gave a sudden, disconcerting chuckle. “Why are you being so genial, these days, Dominic? I expected you to go all quiet and cross when I said that.”

  “Were you trying to provoke me?” he demanded, half laughing because that chuckle was so infectious.

  “No, not really. It’s just that in the past, even if I didn’t intend to provoke you, I did seem to, anyway, so I became accustomed to it. Now, I don’t know where I stand most of the time.”

  “Would you prefer that I revert?” he asked, amused.

  She shook her head. “No, most definitely not. It’s just a little confusing when I don’t get what I expect. But I daresay I shall become used to it. For as long as …” Her voice faded as she brought herself up short. For as long as we stay together, she had been about to say. But some deep-rooted fear of tempting providence kept her from mentioning the prospect of leaving. Perhaps if she never mentioned it, neither would Dominic, and it would just never happen. “Is that Notre Dame, do you think?” She pointed to the elegant, crenelated spire that pierced the skyline over the pitched, gray-slated rooftops.

  Dominic wondered what she had been about to say—for as long as his new restraint lasted, probably. And then she had decided that that would be a little blunt if not downright rude. He turned his attention to satisfying her curiosity about the city as they rode down the wide boulevards that made Paris so essentially Napoleon’s capital. Dominic had been here many times and had witnessed its transformation from a grubby sprawl of fetid faubourgs and narrow alleys into this wide open, beautifully designed show place of triumphal arches and magnificent monuments. In many ways, Paris could be considered one of Napoleon’s greatest achievements. It would certainly be standing to his memory long after the battlefield exploits had become faded ink on the pages of history.

  “An interesting, if somewhat fruitless, journey,” Jean Luc Legrand observed, reposing his slim frame in an elegant Chippendale chair in the salon of his house on the rue de Rivoli.

  “Aye, with Delacroix and that dour sailor keeping constant watch, she’s as impossible to pry loose as a periwinkle on a rock,” Cholmondeley agreed with a sour downturn of his mouth. “I’d thought, in all the mêlée of the march, that it would be easy enough to cut her out from the crowd.”

  “What a delightful residence, my dear Legrand,” the grand duke said with punctilious observation of the courtesies before entering the discussion.

  Legrand bowed in acknowledgement and pulled a tasseled bellrope. “Allow me to offer you refreshment, gentlemen. And you will be my guests, I trust, until such time as we have succeeded in our little venture.”

  “With pleasure.” Sebastiani was examining the furnishing of the salon with a knowing and appreciative eye. For all that it was a bachelor establishment, Legrand’s house lacked nothing in the way of grace or amenity. He accepted a glass of burgundy offered by a liveried footman before observing, “I think a little patience might be in order. It should not be difficult to discover where they are staying in the city. The address will be known to any number of people at the court. If we were seen and recognized, although we were so careful to cover our tracks, it would explain the care they took to keep madame close. However …” He shrugged. “If we now drop out of sight, in a few days they will relax their guard. They have no certainty that we mean mischief, after all.”

  “And they will be obliged to participate in life at court, so closely involved as they have been with the emperor,” Legrand said thoughtfully. “There would be no other reason for being in Paris at this time. Madame will be constantly in the open at balls, dinners, soirées. She will have to go to the dressmaker, the milliner …” He spread his hands in an expansive gesture to include all the myriad of mysterious activities essential to the correct appearance of a lady of the court. “No doubt, she will be accompanied by a maid, but that is easily disposed of.”

  “All very true, Legrand,” Cholmondeley said. “But just how long is this socializing hiatus going to last? Bonaparte has to consolidate his position, and he’s not going to do that by entertaining the polite world in Paris and issuing proclamations.”

  “No,” agreed the grand duke, “he will attack the Allies before they attack him. He has never been one to wait to return an offensive. He will go to war soon enough.”

  “And the Delacroix will leave Paris,” Sebastiani said with calm simplicity. “I do not wish to be balked of my due, gentlemen.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, and Sergei rubbed his soft white hands together. “I am most anxious to discover if the lady plays other games with the consummate skill she displays at piquet.”

  “Then we are agreed, I believe.” Their host drew the unspoken threads together. “We move rapidly but with the utmost discretion. I suggest we employ others to watch for the right moment, and to … to put that moment to good use.” He smiled. “I can lay hands on those who would be more than willing to employ what methods are necessary to achieve their objective. Madame Delacroix must set foot outside their lodgings at some point, and when she does …” His smile broadened.

  “We will leave the matter entirely in your hands, Legrand, and look forward to a speedy resolution.” An air of satisfied agreement settled over the salon as the four turned their appreciative attention to the very fine Nuits-St. Georges that their host made haste to dispense.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The house on the rue du Cirque was small but elegant and very well placed for the various events that marked Napoleon’s triumphal return to Paris. Dominic ensured that he had ample time to show Genevieve the glories of the city in their first few days of residence, and they were seated with Napoleon’s aristocracy to witness the spectacular Champs de Mai, the fete put on by the emperor to solemnize the restored monarchy, a celebration to rival the coronation of 1804. But Genevieve felt a strange pang of sadness—a ridiculous emotion, surely, amidst the pomp and ceremonial magnificence of coaches and uniforms, liveries and satins and embroideries, gold and silver and gems. But none of this meant anything, unless—until?—the emperor went to war and won. And the emperor, himself, seemed curiously shrunken by the opulence and grandeur of his exhibition, as if he knew that the imperial uniform was a sham until he had earned it once again in the blood and terror of battle.

  “Fouché wishes to talk with me, Genevieve,” Dominic said as they left the flag-bedecked grandstand at the end of the spectacle. “I must go to the Elysée. Do you care to come, too? Or shall Silas take you home?”

  “I think I will go home,” she replied. “My head aches like the devil, and there is the banquet and ball tonight.”

  Dominic looked concerned. “It is not like you to be ailing, sprite. Unless it is your time, and it should not be for another two weeks.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “I find it a little disconcerting that you should be as aware of such intimate details as I am myself.”

  “I have a certain interest in them, do I not?” He smiled.

  “Yes,” Genevieve conceded. “But I suspect that your open acknowledgement of that interest is somewhat unusual amongst your sex. I wouldn’t know, of course,” she added with a slightly mis
chievous gleam. “Since my experience of such matters is limited to you and our rather irregular arrangement. I imagine, in regular arrangements, that the prospect of conception would be accepted so there’s no need for such scrupulous attention to …” Sweet heaven, what was she saying? She was sounding almost wistful. A crimson wave of embarrassment rose hotly to her cheeks, and she turned away hastily, thus missing the light that sprang in the privateer’s eyes.

  Dominic hesitated. Had he mistaken that wistful note in her voice? “It’s maybe time for us to talk a little about your future,” he said carefully.

  Your, not ours, thought Genevieve desolately. “Yes, I’m sure we should. But this hardly seems the right place.” She waved an airy hand at the hustling throng swirling around them. By some miracle, her voice was quite normal, perhaps a little brisker than usual, but that was no bad thing. “Besides, I do have a headache, probably because of the crowds and all the trumpets. I would like to go home and rest for a little while.”

  “Yes, of course.” Dominic beckoned to Silas, waiting discreetly a few paces behind them. “Would you take Genevieve home, Silas? I am going to the Elysée but will be back later this afternoon.”

  “Yes, monsieur,” Silas responded in customary fashion. “Shall we walk, madame, or shall I try to find a chair?”

  “Walk,” said Genevieve promptly. “It may help to clear my head, and you would never find an empty chair, today, anyway.”

  The two set off to walk the short distance from the triumphal arch to the rue du Cirque. The streets were so crowded with the dispersing spectators that Silas branched off into the narrower but less populated side streets. They were still sufficiently busy, however, for him not to remark the closed carriage that was taking the same route and moving at walking pace just behind them. The speed was not unusually slow since the streets were filled with pedestrians who showed little inclination to keep to the sides and allow horse traffic free passage.