Napoleon's Woman (19 page)

Gilbert de Clare, Duke of Glenbroke, sat atop his mount as the animal sliced through the morning mist, which clung to life in the recesses of the riding trail before being burned up by the ascending sun.

"With the murder of Lady Davis, Whitehall will be forced to reevaluate your suspicions of Lady Rivenhall. So, until--"

"Whitehall can sod off," Aidan said harshly. "The Foreign Office all but called me mad when I brought forth my assertion."

Stunned by his brother-in-law’s uncharacteristic show of temper, it took Gilbert several moments to respond. "Aidan, men’s lives hang in the balance. She must be watched."

His brother-in-law took a steadying breath, his emerald eyes staring at the horizon. "Then hire a runner, or convince Whitehall that the woman is dangerous. Either way, I am finished. I find that I lack the objectivity needed to do the job."

The duke turned his head and sent Lord Wessex a speculative glance. Aidan Duhearst, who rarely raised a brow at the intrigue of the ton, was disconcerted, and Gilbert wanted to know why. He directed Apollo closer to the earl as a group of riders passed them on Rotten Row in Hyde Park.

Gilbert waited, having learned long ago that allowing a person room to speak often provided more answers than a direct question.

"Lady Rivenhall is…difficult."

The duke’s face remained placid, but his mind was reeling. "And have you tried to control her as we discussed? Did you seduce her?"

Gilbert did not turn toward his brother-in-law, but he did fall back a half pace, watching him from the corners of his eyes. The earl’s jaw tightened, and the easy elegance with which he rode was replaced with jarring rigidity.

"Yes," he said finally before clamping his jaw shut.

"And this disturbed you? Aidan, the woman is Napoleon’s mistress."

"She was a virgin."

"What?" the duke said, jerking his reins and eliciting a snort of protest from his mount.

The earl’s horse slowed to a stop, and Lord Wessex glanced about at the riders that had begun to turn their heads with curiosity.

"You heard me."

Gilbert gave Apollo a squeeze with his thighs and the pair was once again ambling down the path. "How is that possible?"

Aidan rolled his eyes.

"Damn it, Aidan, you know my meaning. Then she is not Napoleon’s paramour?"

Aidan shook his head beneath his beaver skin hat. "You would not believe me if I told you. Regardless, Gilbert, I am unable to contain the woman. If information were passed to the French due to my inadequacies, I would never forgive myself. Tell Whitehall that if they wish to investigate the lady then they can handle the matter themselves."

The pair rode in silence for several minutes, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Gilbert contemplated the situation.

If Lady Rivenhall was indeed a French collaborator, and after meeting her, he readily believed the woman capable, then it was crucial that she be watched. However, the woman would be more likely to contact the French without the Earl of Wessex nipping at her heels.

"Very well, Aidan, I shall speak to my contact as soon as is possible."

Aidan’s shoulders relaxed visibly. "Thank you, Your Grace," he muttered, continuing down his path.

***

"Very well. Tell Lord Wessex we will begin a second, more thorough investigation."

The duke sat back in his chair, suspicion narrowing his eyes as the old man’s sinewy hand moved a rook.

"Who will you assign?"

"Fredricks."

"He’s in France," the duke sat forward and stared at the old man. "You’re keeping information from me, my lord."

"Am I?"

"Don’t be vague, Lord Falcon. I have seen the maneuver too often."

The old man chuckled. "I suppose you have, Your Grace."

"The prime minister will want to be informed." Gilbert positioned his knight, waiting for an explanation that was being formulated behind Falcon’s sharp eyes.

"Wessex has complicated the situation enormously." The old man sighed.

"What situation?" Gilbert knew he would be told only what was deemed necessary.

The old man leaned forward. "Has it never occurred to the Earl of Wessex that his escape from Albuera was rather…unencumbered?" The man gave a raspy chuckle. "I mean to say, the French are fools, but not that bloody incompetent."

The duke’s eyes widened. "Are…are you saying that Lady Rivenhall is--"

"Yes, a double agent recruited by myself seven years ago after her father was murdered by the French. She was only sixteen at the time, but if you have seen the girl then you know why she is now in favor with the emperor himself.

Her father, Lord Rivenhall, was the liaison officer at the British embassy in Paris when he met her mother, a French noblewoman. They married and remained in France to be near the lady’s family. Unfortunately, the lovely woman died suddenly when Lady Rivenhall was but three.

I watched that little girl grow more stunning with each visit to the embassy, and when her father was executed before her very eyes, I offered to bring her here. She refused." For the first time in Gilbert’s remembrance, he saw emotion in the old man’s eyes.

"If her father was murdered by the French, why would Napoleon trust her? Surely, he would question her loyalty."

"Lady Rivenhall is quite resourceful and so beautiful that a man wants to believe what she tells him. She arrived at court in Paris and offered her services to aid in the war effort.

When interrogated, she told authorities that her father had beaten her all of her life, and that she hated him and his country, which she had scarcely seen."

"They believed her?" Gilbert asked with skepticism.

"Not initially, she was forced to prove herself time and time again. Smiling triumphantly as she witnessed British officers being put to death. Men she knew she could not save." Sadness pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Gilbert waited for the old man to take a sip of sherry before continuing. "At the age of eighteen, Lady Rivenhall caught the eye of the emperor himself. Having any number of officers to attest to her loyalty, Napoleon took her into his confidence."

The old man looked up and held the duke’s eyes. "For the past four years Lady Rivenhall has been our most valuable agent. If not for Celeste, the Earl of Wessex would have been dead two times over."

"How so?"

"Not only did Lady Rivenhall arrange for the earl’s escape, she also gave us vital information Lord Beresford needed to win the battle of Albuera. If not for her, your brother-in-law would most assuredly have died there."

The duke’s blood ran cold. "What can we do to assist Lady Rivenhall in unmasking this traitor?"

"Nothing! You must do absolutely nothing, Your Grace." The old man spoke with fervor. "Only the two of us know of her existence, and it is imperative that it remains so. Since Wessex’s escape, the emperor has watched Lady Rivenhall very closely.

I suspect he has allowed the girl to come to London as a test of her loyalty. If she is suspected in any way, she will be killed, and the traitor will continue his activity." The elderly man shook his head. "No, better she be believed a French spy than suspected as a double-agent."

"Are you suggesting that I am not to inform even the Earl of Wessex of her identity?"

"Particularly, Wessex. With this man, this Lion, walking amongst us, it is too dangerous. Time and time again, he has accessed privileged documents contained within the walls of Whitehall. I, myself, took the precaution of destroying Lady Rivenhall’s file in order to protect her. Lion believes her to be Napoleon’s mistress. He will trust her, but if there is even the whisper of suspicion…"

"My brother-in-law would never divulge the lady’s identity." The duke’s voice was harsh, insulted.

"No, not intentionally, but remember this." He paused to emphasis the importance of his point. "In every ballroom, every soiree, every event of importance held in London, there with be a French collaborator present, watching. Some we know. Many we do not. One amiable glance from the decorated Earl of Wessex, the man she is suspected of helping escape, could put the girl in danger and send the Lion into his den." The old man sat back, straightening his mundane waistcoat.

"You will inform Wessex that the Foreign Office is satisfied with its investigation. That you personally have had a look at Lady Rivenhall’s dossier and are in total agreement with the findings." The old man pierced him with a glance. "You must trust me in this, Your Grace. We cannot allow this leak to continue, even if it means sacrificing Lady Rivenhall."

"I am not sure that Wessex will let the matter rest. The girl seems to have disconcerted the man."

"Wessex?" The old man asked, surprised. "The boy is as steady as a rock."

"Quite, but the fact that Lady Rivenhall was a virgin when he came to her bed seems to have confounded our young earl."

The old man’s laugher was lined with sorrow. "Well, well, well, the lady is more skilled than I gave her credit for. She managed to become Napoleon’s mistress without ever having bedded him. Quite amusing, that. Well, never mind. Inform your brother-in-law that the situation is resolved and that he is to give Lady Rivenhall a wide berth."

"He will not be happy."

"Yes, well, none of us are happy about the war, Your Grace. Cunningham’s been complaining about the embargo all week, says he can’t procure the proper parchment to write my missives as Whitehall is being rationed. Can you imagine?" The spymaster chuckled, moving a pawn. "Checkmate. Now"---the old man rose---"If you will excuse me, Cook is preparing her special beef stew and has threatened to give it to the dogs if I’m late to supper."

Gilbert stood, watching the old man shuffle down his marble corridor. He bent his head to study the chessboard, thinking that if they wagered on the outcome of their weekly chess match, Falcon would be able to purchase enough beef stew to fill Hampton Court.

***

"Aidan, you will soil your garments." Sarah flicked crumbs off of his Bath superfine with one hand while bouncing her ten month old daughter on her right hip.

Aidan looked down at his nephew who sat happily on his lap. He spooned bread pudding into the boy’s tiny mouth and asked, "You would never think of soiling my garments would you, Sebastian?"

The boy mumbled through cheeks full of bread pudding.

Aidan laughed and accommodated the boy with another spoonful of the dessert. He watched his nephew’s crimson lips close around the spoon, so sure that his needs would be met.

"Do you ever wonder why Father did it?"

"Went to war?" Sarah asked still bouncing Constance on her hip.

"No, at Lincelles?" Aidan stared at his nephew. "Why he charged the French line?"

"No, I have never wondered. It was his duty. Father was a very brave man."

Aidan tried to stave off the irritation he felt every time he was reminded of his father’s bravery, because he knew his irritation would inevitably be followed by guilt. His father had been the best of men.

Everyone said so.

"Mmm," Aidan said, wishing he had not broached the subject.

Sarah reached for a spoon and began feeding Constance before her twin brother consumed the entire bread pudding. "I don’t know why you of all people are asking me. You have fought in far more battles, and just as bravely I might add, as father ever did." Sarah smiled, her cheeks pulling into dimples. "Bravery must run in our family."

Sebastian burped, saving Aidan from having to agree. "I see that you take after your boorish father," he said, tickling his nephew on the neck and eliciting a laugh that always made Aidan wonder if the babe had lost his ability to breathe.

"Aidan, you really are so good with children. Perhaps you should think about having your own."

The earl glared at his sister, saying, "Thank you for the oh-so-subtle probing into my personal affairs, Sarah."

The duchess reached for the bread pudding and with a frustrated huff, said, "Well, Aidan, here I thought I had made you a wonderful match and you let Lord Elkin steal your bride right from under your nose. I mean really, how are the twins to play with their cousins if there are no cousins to play with?"

Aidan lifted a brow toward his sister. "Foolish me, I thought it was my happiness you were concerned with, sister dear. Perhaps I shall just pop ‘round the corner and produce a playmate for the children."

"Oh, cork it, Aidan." Sarah wiped her daughter mouth. "What about Juliet? Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my assessment. The girl really needs watching, and you can be absolutely pedantic at times."

"Pedantic!" he protested.

"She needs a steady hand, Aidan. You would cringe at some of the things the girl says in public." Sarah sighed.

"What things?" he asked, not really caring.

"Just the other day, she was telling Felicity and me a rumor about Lady Davis’s lover. We have tried time and time again to dissuade her predilection for gossiping--"

"Who was he?" Aidan interrupted.