Napoleon's Woman (13 page)

His touch had ceased to burn and was now causing her body to throb in the most unlikely of places. She could feel the moisture gathering between her legs, but when he dipped his head and tasted her, she very nearly leapt off the bed.

His tongue laved and explored, and she began to feel feverish. She could not breathe and when his mouth closed over a sensitive portion of her femininity, Celeste cried out in a series of soft moans. She felt as though she was falling, but knew she remained firmly on the bed. Her thighs spread of their own volition and then she crashed, shattering into a thousand pieces that fractured into even more.

She pushed him away, unable to take another moment of this delicious torment. He heard him remove his trousers, but just as she began to breathe he was on top of her, holding her arms over her head. He looked down at her with lust burning bright in his green eyes, but all she could think of was how breathtakingly desirable he was as he braced himself above her.

The muscles in his arms were mesmerizing as they strained to hold his body above her. His lean, long form made her hands long for their freedom, and his handsome features and striking coloring held her enthralled. But it was the weight of him pressing her into the mattress that caused her to buck against his shaft.

"Please," she breathed, not sure what she was asking.

The handsome earl groaned and placed the head of his satiny sex at her entrance. He held her gaze and intertwined his hands in hers before thrusting into her. She cried out and bit her lower lip to take her mind off of the pain, and when she opened them again he was looking down at her in utter disbelief.

His brows were creased with confusion and his raven head shook ever so slightly. "How…How can you be a virgin? You did not…Napoleon…" His emerald eyes were troubled as he murmured, "I’m sorry."

Celeste could feel him inside of her, around her. The pain was nothing to her need to have more of him. "It’s done, my lord." Instinctively, she rocked her hips, causing him to shudder in her arms. "Make it worth the sacrifice."

He pulled away from her only to fill her again. She moaned with pleasure each time he returned, and then she began meeting his thrusts, impatient to be filled. She watched the muscles covering his abdomen contracting in a motion that they had been created for. His strokes were coming faster and deeper, but she could see him holding back.

"Show me," Celeste whispered in his ear.

His restraints broke and he crushed her into the bed with a masculine authority she had never imagined. He plunged into her over and over again, his hips rolling, reaching for her womb. His eyes drifted closed and she watched his breathing shorten until, with one forceful thrust, he stopped breathing altogether.

Every muscle in his elegant body strained to push further into her, and for the first time in her life, Celeste understood the power she held over men.

Two of the most powerful men in all of Britain sat in the comfortable elegance of Viscount DunDonell’s drawing room. The dark brown and burgundy in the room bespoke a masculine presence, while the faint smell of tobacco confirmed it. Light from a fire filled the room as the long time companions drained the contents of their crystal snifters.

Daniel looked up from his glass and stared at the man who had shattered all of his dreams. He desperately tried to avoid the Duke of Glenbroke for the mere sight of the man sent his soul into battle. His heart yearned for Gilbert’s wife, while his head told him that she was not, and never would be, his. But he wanted her still, and the guilt and jealousy were killing him.

He had known Sarah Duhearst for as long as he could remember and had always imagined her as his bride. But then she had met Gilbert and all his childhood imaginings had evaporated in the blink of an eye.

"How are the bairns?" Daniel asked to remind himself that Sarah was a mother and the wife of another man.

Gilbert’s silver eyes lit from within and Daniel wondered where the elusive light came from. "Sebastian is eating us out of house and home, while little Constance has developed her mother’s exquisite aim."

The viscount laughed, a part of him happy for his friend, while a smaller, more insistent part envied him intensely. He sighed, anxious to be done with their business.

"It’s all settled, then?" Daniel asked in a throaty brogue.

The duke nodded, following the change of subject. "The baron has assured me that the mining has been completed and they are ready to transport the moment you arrive."

"I assume the warehouse has been properly prepared?" Daniel lifted the heavy leaded snifter to his lips and allowed the brandy to warm its way down his throat.

"Yes, the manager has been told that the warehouse will house barrels of wheat to be used by the military. Wellesley will be able to transfer the supplies to his vessels when he is ready to set sail for the peninsula."

"Do we have a date?"

"The twenty-ninth."

Daniel’s brows rose, and he gave a whistle of admiration. "Less than a month. Wellesley’s an ambitious man, I’ll give him that."

The duke’s face hardened. "We need him to be, or Napoleon will be in London by winter."

The viscount laughed uncomfortably. "Surely you jest, Your Grace."

His enormous friend crossed his legs, and with a shake of head said, "No, we have obtained information confirming that if Napoleon defeats our troops in Portugal, he intends to sail for England."

Daniel’s heart lurched then dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. "How reliable is this information?"

"Very. I’m told that our most highly placed operative sent the details of his stratagem. The emperor intends to invade before winter has taken hold."

"Bloody Hell."

"Quite," the duke concurred and set his glass down with a melodious ping of crystal.  He sat forward, spearing Daniel with his gaze. "DunDonell, I need not remind you of the importance of success. Only three people know of your commission: the baron, Wellesley, and myself."

"Right." Wanting to stretch his legs, Daniel nudged at the wolfhound curled in front of the fire. The hound protested with a low groan, but got up and shook himself awake. "Go on," Daniel said, chuckling at Gilbert’s discomfort as he gave the hound a gentle kick in the backside.

The dog walked toward the doors, and Daniel was taken aback when the paneled mahogany parted as if the hound had summoned a footman to the task. But when he saw his fair friend stroll in as if he owned the bloody place, Daniel gave an indignant huff.

"What the hell are you doin’ here, Christian?"

Lord St. John started then flashed his most charming smile. The one that had already earned him a reputation as a rake of the first order. Unfortunately for St. John, Daniel was immune.

"Oh, sorry, thought you were leaving for Scotland. Hunting, wasn’t it? Splendid time of year to go--"

"Drop it, Christian, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired. What the hell are ya doin’ in my house?" Daniel asked, irritated.

Christian cleared his throat, and Daniel rolled his eyes, knowing his friend had gotten into another spot of trouble.

"Well, I was hoping to reside at your lodging for the duration of your stay up north."

"I’m not leavin’ ‘till Thursday. But do allow me the pleasure of a guess. Your father?"

His friend’s square shoulders fell as they always did when discussing his father, the Duke of St. John. "He seems to have taken a dislike to my latest ladybird."

Daniel chuckled. As the eldest of seven brothers, he himself had dealt with indelicacies committed by the McCurren clan. However, his sibling’s wild oats did not compare to Christian St. John’s infamous exploits. Curious, he asked, "Who is the lady?"

"I really don’t see what bloody business it is of Father’s. I don’t see the Earl of DunDonell reprimanding you about the women that warm your bed."

"That is because, unlike you, Christian.
I
am discreet." Daniel’s smile held a nefarious glint. "So, who is she?"

"Lady Hamilton."

Daniel raised both brows. "Damn, Christian," he chuckled. "You don’t make it easy on yerself, do ya? Your father and brother must be spittin’ fire."

Christian walked to the decanter and gave a dismissive shrug. "I’m not the one who is to be a duke, so I’ve no idea why it matters one whit to either of them."

His friend’s blasé attitude annoyed Daniel.

"Very well, you can stay here until I return. But yer not…" He pointed at his fair friend. "I repeat,
not
to bring that woman into this house. My mother will have apoplexy fer my bein’ such a poor example to the lads."

Christian smiled from ear to ear, lifting his hands in a show of submission. "Never even dreamt of it, old man."

The duke chuckled and Daniel pointed to the settee. "I suggest you shut yer mouth and sit down before I send you packin’."

His friend did, asking, "Right, what are we discussing?" Christian pulled a cheroot for the inner pocket of his jacket, adding, "Women?"

Gilbert’s chuckle turned to out and out laughter, and Daniel could not suppress a grin that pulled at the corner of his lips. "Aye, Christian, that is all we ever discuss."

"I’ve always suspected you were a bit of a lecher, Daniel. As a matter of fact, I was just discussing the matter with my father not half an hour ago."

Daniel’s mouth fell open as he met the impish twinkle in his friend’s eye. "You bastard, you know yer father will speak to mine," he said, wanting to throttle Christian, but knowing that he would be laughing the entire time he did so.

***

Aidan Duhearst stood staring at the silk-lined wall as his valet assisted him in donning his gold and green striped waistcoat.

He was tired, having spent a restless night trying to reconcile in his mind the image of Napoleon’s mistress with that of the virgin he had just deflowered. The woman seduced men for her own ends. He had seen her do so. Yet, she had most assuredly been a virgin until last night, and had obviously allowed the encounters to remain flirtations.

But did it matter in the least that the lady had not bedded these men? She still extracted the information, still turned it over to the French, still betrayed her country.

But it did matter.

She was not what she appeared to be, and the image of traitor and seductress were now blurred. She was an innocent playing a part. A virgin he had coerced into bed with the threat of imprisonment.

He felt a bastard. 

Aidan was beginning to wonder if he would ever be the man he once was. And while his coercion was unforgivable, the thing he feared more was the intensity of his pleasure in taking her. She had pretended to want him, but if she had said "no," would he have been able to stop himself from making love to her?

He was not sure.

A sharp rap at his bedchamber door caused Aidan to jerk his head in that direction.

"Enter," he called and was surprised to see his host stroll in and sink into a chair in front of the blazing fire.

"She’s gone." Lord Elkin held Aidan’s gaze, adding, "Left for London at daybreak."

"Why are you telling me this, John?"

"Because I should very much like to know what in God’s name is going on."

The earl smoothed his hair back before settling into the chair opposite his friend. "What do you mean?"

"Hell’s teeth, Wessex, you know damn well my meaning." Lord Elkin sat forward, placing his forearms on his thighs and lowering his voice.

"Last night I arranged to meet Lady Rivenhall in the boathouse. She came at the designated time and conveniently stumbled into me, straining her ankle. She returned to the house for some laudanum. Then I discovered the key to my safe was missing from my pocket."

Aidan shot out of his chair. "Damn it, John, why didn’t you tell me you owned a safe?"

Lord Elkin laughed. "Well, that would rather defeat the purpose."

"Have you checked the contents? Was anything taken?" He reached for his emerald jacket and shrugged it on.

"Sit down, Aidan. I’m not quite the fool you believe me to be. The safe has been opened, but the contents remain undisturbed."

"What are the items?"

Lord Elkin shook his head. "Oh, no, I don’t reveal the contents until you inform me of the truth."

"I can’t, John. I don’t have that authority."

"Damnation, man, I chair the committee overseeing naval deployment, for God’s sake. If the crown can trust me, I would think after twenty years of friendship you could too."

Aidan hesitated, but he needed to know if Lady Rivenhall had found anything of importance in that strongbox.

"Lady Rivenhall is not only a French spy, but mistress to Napoleon himself."

Lord Elkin sat back, raising his hands to his temples as if to ease the jolt to his mind. "How could you possibly know this?"

"Do you recall that I was injured at Albuera?"

"Yes." Lord Elkin shifted uncomfortably.

"What I have never told you was that I was captured and interrogated in a French prison by none other than your Lady Rivenhall." Aidan jaw firmed. "The lady enjoys collecting British noblemen so that they might be hanged before the emperor. I myself escaped while being transported to Paris for just such an amusement."

His host’s brows furrowed in confusion. "Why hasn’t she been arrested? You have informed Whitehall?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, the Foreign Office has already investigated Lady Rivenhall and found nothing to incriminate her." He looked at his friend. "But they were not at Albuera. So, John, I really must know what is in your safe."

John’s face contorted as he tried to remember. "Nothing of use to her. My will, investments, jewelry, that sort of thing."

"Nothing else?"

Lord Elkin hesitated. "A letter."

"What sort of letter?"

"A private letter that has no bearing on this matter."

Aidan was taken aback by the intensity in his friend’s tone. "Very well, John, but I must leave for London immediately. Have my carriage sent to town, will you? And I’m afraid I shall need the use of a horse."

"Have Alfred saddle Samson, he is my fastest mount."

"Thank you, John. And I am sorry. I would have told you--"

Lord Elkin waved away the apology, saying, "I know you would, Aidan."

John watched Lord Wessex leave the bedchamber and as he contemplated the information he had just been given. His hand drifted to his pocket, where he touched the letter from the only woman he had ever loved.