Madeleine's Christmas Wish (6 page)

“I want to see you.” His voice was warm and seductive. His eyes darkened. “You are the most exquisite woman in the world.”

A shiver speared through her. She almost sighed again, until it dawned on her that he was still fully dressed. “If you get to see me, then turnaround is only fair,” Madeleine was surprised at the sharpness of her tone. She hadn't meant to sound like a shrew, and added as an afterthought, “Please.”

Georges wrapped his arms around her, his bare hands setting her body alight as he ran his palms down her back and over her derrière, before kissing her again. “You had only to ask, my love.”

Oh Holy Mother help me
.
I cannot bear him to call me love, when he cannot truly love me.
Before she knew it, the strong muscles of his bare chest pressed against her breasts. Madeleine almost capitulated right then, but the soft linen of the nightgown slid over her head, and down to the floor, putting a thin barrier between them.

“Do you braid your hair at night?”

He was guiding her toward the dressing table. “Yes.”

Madeleine wanted to close her eyes and not see him naked behind her, yet she couldn't stop from staring into the mirror, watching him as he combed out her curls, deftly making one thick braid.

After she brushed her teeth, he swooped her up into his arms, carried her to the bed, and carefully placed her on it, pulling up the covers.

“Good night, my wife.” He brushed his lips across hers, then blew out the candle and left.

Madeleine snuggled under the covers. The fire was still burning. She shivered wishing she weren't alone.

 

 

Georges closed the door firmly between their chambers. So much for sleeping with her to-night. It had taken all his strength to leave Madeleine. She was the most responsive woman he'd ever had in his arms. If he'd stayed, he could have easily seduced her, but that would be too close to breaking his word. When they finally made love it would be because she had decided to remain with him, not due to a lust-filled frenzy.

For now, they would sleep apart, but this would be the last time. Later he'd have more control, and bit by bit he'd lead her to him, to making the right decision for them.

He rang for his valet, Martel. A few moments later, the man entered the room and bowed. “My lord?”

“Have everything ready to leave tomorrow no later than noon.” Thank God his sister was marrying at nine in the morning. “Her ladyship and I will take the packet to Calais, then the
diligence
to Beaune. Our only overnight stops will be in Paris and Dijon. Have Andrews pack what her ladyship will need.” Since Madeleine had never been to Paris, Georges would take a day to show her the city, and to the modiste Madame Lisette had recommended. “I want you to bring her maid and both coaches to France and meet me in Beaune. Spend the night in Paris and stay at the
hôtel
in Rue St. Honoré. If I have anything for you, I'll leave it there.”

When he stopped to review his orders, Martel asked, “Do we plan to return here afterward?”

“We're going home.”

“To Cruzy-le-Châtel?”

Visions of the castle covered in snow as they brought in the Yule log, the rooms decorated with greenery, and the scents struck him hard. Georges could almost taste the sweets made of almond and sugar, and the candied citron. The need to spend Christmas at home had never been so great.

He turned away as tears pricked his lids. “Yes. It's time.”

His only desire was to spend his first Christmas in twenty years at Cruzy-le-Châtel with Madeleine. But he must ensure she remained his wife. For the first time in years he prayed. There was only one being in charge of Christmas miracles.

T
he next day, after Pauline's wedding breakfast, Madeleine removed the sapphire- and-diamond earrings she'd worn, replacing them with smaller blue-and-white enameled ones she'd hidden in her cloak. The sapphires were part of the Cruzy-le-Châtel family jewels that Georges had brought to her this morning. Her wedding ring was also made of the same stones. There must be something special about the combination, but she'd probably never know what it was.

After last night, she'd resolved to keep distance between them. That was the only way she wouldn't be tempted to make their marriage real. She'd sent up a prayer of thanks when Georges had told her they'd travel by
diligence.
It wouldn't be as comfortable, but they would travel all night. No worrying about inns, and beds, and Georges.

Andrews held up one of the warm wool gowns Madeleine would wear on the journey.

Just as her maid had finished lacing the back, Georges strode into the chamber. “Are you almost ready?”

She nodded. “I need to put on my bonnet.”

He stood behind her as he had last night. For a moment, she thought he was only watching her, then his fingers caressed the back of her neck. A quiver of delight ran down her spine.

“I'll await you in the hall.”

Madeleine didn't trust her voice not to tremble, and nodded again. She couldn't even breathe until the door closed behind him. Oh dear. What was she to do in the coach? They might be on public transportation in France, but until then . . . It was a shame she did not suffer from travel sickness. Hmm. On the other hand, there was always a first time. She had seen people on the river who had mal de mer. Surely it couldn't be that difficult to pretend. Mostly they moaned a great deal.

Happy to have a plan, she rose. “I am ready.”

When she reached the top of the main stairs, she glanced down, meeting Georges's eyes. He was dressed in a Spanish-brown colored jacket, with buff pantaloons and tall boots, yet he seemed more handsome than before. A small voice whispered he could belong to her forever. If only things were different, that might be so, but there was no point in wishing for what could never be.

Georges watched as Madeleine made her way down the staircase. The high-necked dark gray gown highlighted her luminous skin. Her bonnet was trimmed with blue ribbon a shade darker than her eyes. His blood raced through his veins. Each time he saw her, she was more beautiful, and now she was his, and he needed to focus on keeping her safe and removing the threat to her family. He searched her face. There was sadness behind the smile she gave his mother and sisters. Somehow he could, he would do whatever it took to make her completely happy.

He strode forward. “You are lovely.”

Light pink tinged her cheeks. “Thank you.”

He raised her hand, kissing each finger.

“Georges”—Liliane tugged his coat—“you will have all the time with Madeleine you wish. I want to say good-bye.”

He sincerely hoped his mother taught her better manners before her come out.

“Liliane.” Maman frowned. “You know better than to behave in such a way. If you cannot, you may have to remain home for another year.”

His sister pouted for a moment, then smiled. “Oh no, I won't. Georges wants me to marry. The only reason I did not come out this year was that he did not want Pauline and me to be out at the same time. Isn't that right, Georges?”

Actually it was Maman who could not let her baby go. She'd been pregnant with Liliane when Papa had been murdered. As ill as his mother had been afterward, Georges had been surprised Liliane had not been lost.

Madeleine covered her mouth, but her eyes danced with laughter. “I am sure you are not so impetuous with others. Come kiss me so we may go.”

Liliane hugged Madeleine. “You'll be here for my come out, won't you?”

“I shall do my best.”

Pauline and Maman hugged Madeleine as well. Maman held a handkerchief to her eyes. “They will both be back soon. Come girls, we must go back to the wedding breakfast.”

A few moments later, Georges handed his wife into the traveling coach, then jumped in beside her, his thigh pressing against hers. Madeleine gave a small start before staring studiously out the window. He tapped the roof and the carriage moved forward.

Was she attempting to avoid him, or merely interested in the drive? There wasn't much he wouldn't give to know what was going through her mind.

He waited until they'd cleared the gates before taking her hand in his. She stiffened an infinitesimal bit, then relaxed. Perhaps Rutherford was right and Georges should tell her about his wartime activities. Though not yet. The knowledge might make traveling together difficult. “I did not know fields were so fascinating.”

She glanced at him. “It is so tranquil here.”

“That it is, but don't let the countryside fool you. There are still many poor. Areas of London are as bad as those in Paris.”

“
Oui,
but there is little fear. We live with it daily in Beaune.”

Perhaps there was another reason he should not tell her. Her father's and brother's connections with Napoleon might make it dangerous for him. Well, there was only one way to find out. “Why did your father decide to remain in France?”

Madeleine pressed her lips together for a few moments. “Papa loved France. He could not leave, and he was afraid if we were caught trying to flee, they would execute all of us. There was little stomach for the revolution in Beaune, and when the monasteries' vineyards were broken up, he became the
négociant
. Better a wine-trader than a dead
aristo
or a pauper, he always said.” She blinked several times, before continuing. “He thought Napoleon was a fool for invading other countries when we needed to concentrate on our own problems. It was then he began sending information to King Louis. With his business connections, it was easy to pass coded messages that could not be traced back to him.”

That answered that question. “What about Armand?”

She shrugged. “He felt the same as Papa.”

Georges tightened his grip on her hand. “We have heard rumors that Napoleon may return.”

All the color drained from her face. “That would be
cata-strophique
. The country cannot stand another revolution.”

He put his arm around her, drawing her close. “No matter what happens, I will protect you and your family.” He turned to kiss her and found a feather in his nose. He drew out a long and surprisingly strong hatpin. “You'll be more comfortable in the coach without your bonnet.” After tossing the confection onto a top rack, he kissed her hair. “Never doubt I will be with you.”

Let her make what she would of that.

Soon her breathing evened, and her weight was fully against his shoulder. Georges wanted to ask her about Coupe, but it would wait.

Madeleine didn't awaken until after six o'clock. She yawned and stretched. “It's dark. What is the time?”

“Time for dinner. I didn't wish to waken you.”

“Where are we?”

He knew this route like the back of his hand. “On the outskirts of London. We'll stop at the Angel. They are large enough to have a private parlor.”

She shook her head, drawing her brows together. “Shall we not spend the night there?”

“No. I wish to leave on the seven o'clock packet from Dover. The only way to assure that we arrive in time is to travel through the night. I've booked rooms at the Ship inn until we sail.” He grinned. “We'll be in Calais by ten.”

Her lips formed a
moue
. “You could have told me before we left.”

Damn, what had Rutherford said? “I should have. My only excuse is that I had other things on my mind.”

“For example?”

“Which identity we should use while traveling through France.” The coach slowed. “I'll explain everything over dinner. I've arranged for a maid to attend you.”

“Thank you.”

Shortly after the coach came to a stop, the door opened, and a man bowed. “My lord, we have everything ready.”

Georges hopped out first, turning to hand Madeleine down. The young man who'd spoken stared at her.

“Her ladyship will need to go to the chamber I requested.”

“Yes, my lord. Sue's been waiting for her.”

Georges tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, as if he expected her to run away. “You must come here often.”

“I do, but never with a woman. They will be extremely attentive.”

Madeleine gave her head a little shake. “But why?”

“To discover the latest gossip.” He smiled wickedly. “You will notice I did not say whose ladyship you were?”

She could have punched him. “You, monsieur, are a
provocateur
.”

He pouted. “I've had so little fun.”

Then Madeleine pinched his arm.

“
Ow
.”

“You deserved it.”

Georges stepped back, allowing her to enter first. A large, meaty woman waited next to the staircase.

“My lady.” The woman curtseyed. “Me name's Sue. I have everythin' all set up.”

Madeleine inclined her head. “I am . . .” She hesitated for a moment—what was her title now, and how did she say it in English? “The Marchioness Cruzy-le-Châtel.”

Sue's eyes were like saucers. “I'm pleased to meet ye, and I'll do for ye like you was a duchess.”

Behind Madeleine, Georges chuckled, quickly turning it into a cough when she glared at him. “Thank you. I am positive your arrangements are wonderful.”

She followed Sue up the stairs.

The maid lived up to her promise. Warm, lavender-scented water had been provided to wash with, and a chamber pot was behind a screen.

A half hour later, she entered the private parlor. Georges stood next to the fireplace, gazing into it. “They are bringing dinner now.”

He straightened, and for a moment, the lines on his face seemed deeper. “Allow me to seat you.”

Three courses were served, starting with an oyster soup and ending with comfits. She drank the fine Burgundy, rolling it around in her mouth. “I never thought to have such an excellent meal at an inn.”

Georges leaned back in his chair. Though the table hid them, she could imagine his long legs stretched out, relaxed. This is what he would look like at home in a library or study.

“What were the inns you stopped at on the way to Calais like?”

She shuddered to even think of them. “Dirty. One meal had sausage, but it seemed to have hair or fur in it. I didn't trust it and ate only the cabbage and potatoes.”

“That's enough to put anyone off their feed. How did they treat you?”

“The men knew they could not harm me, so they contented themselves embarrassing me in any way they could.”

Georges poured her another glass of wine. “How do you like the name ‘Smyth'?”

Why did it matter? She twirled the glass, watching as wine coated it. “It is very English.”

“I think that is the name we should use if stopped by the authorities in France.”

Suddenly her stomach lurched, and she set the glass down. “Why would anyone stop us?”

“It is merely a precaution.” He sat straight. “Smyth is one set of identity papers I was sent. France is in turmoil now, we cannot be too careful.”

Madeleine breathed in deeply. “You're right. I cannot help being afraid.”

“I know this is difficult, but it is time you tell me about Coupe.”

Why would Georges want to know anything about the man? She didn't understand, but Georges's moss-green eyes shuttered, telling her nothing of his thoughts. “He was sent to oversee me after Papa's death. He began to attempt to spend more time with me than necessary, and I soon realized he thought to marry me.”

“Did he make advances?” Georges's tone was so cold, she shivered.

“No. I think he wanted to, but I always had my butler with me.” She thought back to her last conversation with him. “I kept putting him off. I think he must have realized I would never wed him.” She rubbed her forehead. There was something else. She stared at the white tablecloth, trying to remember. “I didn't think anything of it at the time, but I believe I saw him outside the gate of our house in Beaune when I was taken away.” Madeleine gazed at Georges for a moment, then continued. “I was seated between two men. Perhaps he communicated with one of the people with me.” She shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe I imagined it.”

Georges's large hand covered hers, his gaze warm and comforting. “I don't think you did imagine it. The name Coupe is well known to some of us.”

She remembered the look that had passed between Georges and Lord Jamison. “How is that?”

“I will tell you later.” His countenance shuttered again, and she was unable to read anything from his expression. “For now, we need to get to Beaune as quickly as possible.”

Madeleine's chest tightened. “You mean that Maman and Genevieve are in more danger than I thought?”

“Yes.”