Napoleon's Woman (20 page)

"No, idea. Juliet said the admiral’s servants never saw the man clearly. He was tall and wore a hat that obscured his face."

"Then how do they know this man was her lover."

Sarah blushed. "They heard them. Well, to be accurate, Lady Davis’s niece heard them when she was visiting."

"How often did this man visit the admiral’s wife?"

"Aidan," Sarah said, her eyes narrowed. "Why are you so interested?"

"Just curious," he lied.

"You are never just curious, Aidan." Sarah patted her daughter on the back. "As a matter of fact you cannot abide gossip."

"It is not gossip, Sarah." Aidan placed his nephew on the black marble floor. "The lady was murdered by one of the male members of the ton."

But his mind was not on Lady Davis’s mysterious lover, it was on the woman who very likely commissioned the murderer to obtain the information so valuable to France. His mind was on Lady Rivenhall.

John Elkin sat opposite Lady Appleton in a private box at Vauxhall gardens.

They had enjoyed the musical concert and were finishing a dessert of strawberries and cream infused with brandy. The young lord dabbed at his lips and touched his pocket for the thousandth time that evening.

"Are you all right, John?"

Lord Elkin smiled at Felicity over a silver candelabrum. She was breathtaking tonight. Her burgundy gown was cut to perfection to complement the simple elegance that defined the woman who wore it. Large ruby ear bobs dangled over the graceful neck he longed to kiss, and his chest constricted painfully the longer he gazed at her.

"No, Felicity, I am not all right. I have not been all right since Lord Hambury’s ball." Her fair brows creased, and he knew that if he did not act now, he never would find the courage again.

John rose and walked to her side, bending on one knee. She gasped, but he tried not to notice her surprise. He took a steadying breath and then said the things he had wanted to tell her for two years.

"Felicity, I have loved you from the first moment I met you. You are my dearest friend and the desire of my heart."

"John--"

"Please, hear me out." She had tears in her soft brown eyes, and he had no idea of their meaning. "I know that you were not in love with me two years ago and might not love me still. But, my sweet Felicity, I swear to you that I would spend every hour of every day ensuring your happiness. I am well aware that neither I, nor any man, deserve you, but. . ."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the box containing a ten-carat, yellow diamond betrothal ring. "I hope now that you comprehend the depth of my esteem and that you might consider me worthy enough to be your husband." His heart was on his sleeve. "Marry me, my dearest Felicity."

Her gloved hand was covering her mouth, and tears streamed down her lovely face. The lady glanced at the engagement ring and then stared into his eyes. John held his breath as he waited for her answer.

"I…I thought that if this moment came, I would not hesitate." Felicity placed her hand on his cheek and crushed his heart with her gentle caress. "I thought I would be able to say ‘yes’ to the dearest man I have ever known."

John struggled to rise to his feet against the weight of his pain. He turned away from her and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to protect himself. But it did not work. He was bleeding with each word she uttered.

"John, it is I that am not worthy of your esteem, and if I could turn my traitorous heart in your favor…I thought with more time…" His chest ached as she stifled a sob. "Forgive me, John," she said, and then Lady Appleton ran out of their box, leaving behind her a broken man.

As a gentleman, he should go after her, but he hadn’t the strength. Her carriage was just down the crowded path, and he knew that she would be safe. He, however. . .

John sank into his chair and opened the box that held all his hopes and dreams. He stared at the sparkling diamond and snapped it shut, hoping to seal his pain within the confines of the black velvet box.

Lord Elkin sat alone for a very long time, but the longer he sat the more stifling the private enclosure became. He threw back the heavy blue curtain and stepped into the cool night air. How could he have let this happen? How could he have allowed himself to feel the pain of it for a second time?

How could he not?

Lord Elkin reached his carriage, climbed in, and rapped on the roof.

"Where to, my lord?" his driver asked.

"Just drive."

His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared out the window. He tried to allow the rocking of the carriage to soothe him, but he remained restless. He didn’t want time to think, to be alone.

A brothel?

"My club," he decided, but as they made for his club on St. James Street, he began to worry that someone would see his pain beneath the bright lights.

And then he saw it.

"Stop," he called to his coachman.

The man positioned the carriage where he always did when dropping Lord Elkin at Whitehall. It was two o’clock in the morning, but surely someone would be there. And if not, John could catch up on his correspondence; work would be the perfect distraction. He jumped down from his landau, his great coat billowing behind him.

"Evening, Lord Elkin," the night watchman offered.

"Evening."

His Hessians clicked down the empty corridors, and as he approached his office, his brows furrowed in confusion. He stared at the light shining from beneath his door. The charwoman, no doubt, he thought to himself.

But when he opened the door he knew he had been mistaken. His eyes collided with the dark man searching his desk. He recognized the young lord immediately and knew in an instant that he was staring at the face of their traitor.

Had his shock not been so great, had he walked more softly, had his mind not been distracted, perhaps he would have reacted more swiftly.

But he did not.

And when the bullet entered his chest, he was surprised that he had time to look down at the wound before dropping to his knees on the cold wooden floor. He turned his head and watched the man leave, and then the room began to dim.

And as his lifeblood pumped out of his body, the last thought that eased him into unconsciousness was
Felicity
.

***

The Earl of Wessex read the missive a second time as his carriage rumbled down the empty streets of London toward Whitehall.

My Lord,

  The lady in question has left her home dressed as a scullery maid and has arrived at the Foreign Office, where she remains. I shall wait across from the front entrance to receive instruction.

Yours,

Mister Brown

The runner emerged from the night shadows the moment Aidan’s carriage came to rest.

"Where is she?" The earl’s tone was terse.

"Inside. The night watchman would not allow me to pass," he said, his eyes offering an apology.

Aidan slapped the bulky man on the shoulder. "Couldn’t be helped, Mister Brown. If the lady emerges before me, detain her."

"Right," the man said, full of determination.

Aidan dashed across the street and up the stairs. "I am the Earl of Wessex. Perhaps you will recall my accompanying my brother-in-law, the Duke of Glenbroke, on the premises."

The watchman searched his memory, but unwilling to anger a duke and earl the man said, "Yes, I do recall you, my lord. What can I do for you?"

"I need to be given admittance."

The gangly man hesitated. "My apologies, my lord, but I’m afraid I must ask why."

Aidan gave the watchman a friendly smile. "Well, it involves a lady, but I’m afraid I cannot say more."

The man flashed a licentious grin. "I’ve got women problems meself. Seems me wife has found out about the other women." Aidan laughed his understanding and the watchman added, "Just let me know if I can be of assistance."

"I will, and thank you," Aidan responded, and then slipped past the man and into the hallowed halls of the Foreign Office.

Aidan did not know where to begin, but he surmised the woman would need light to conduct her search. He glanced at the floor as he rushed down the long corridors, but when he saw a door was ajar he rushed in the room and nearly slipped as his boots slid across the wooden floor.

He looked down, stunned by the massive pool of blood, and then he saw him. John Elkin lay on the floor, his face a ghostly gray. Aidan fell to his knees and gathered his lifelong friend in his arms.

"John!"

His eyes flickered opened and Aidan saw the recognition in them. "John, who did this?"

Lord Elkin struggled to get breath, but only managed to gurgle as blood settled in his lungs, the sound pulling Aidan back to the peninsula. He clutched his friend to his chest, knowing that there was nothing he could do to save him.

He grasped John’s hand, lending him his strength as they held one another’s gaze, and then…

"No! No, John!"

John’s eyes dimmed, and Aidan knew that he was alone.

He held his friend until the warmth disappeared from his hand, replaced by the cold that now settled in his own chest. Aidan closed his friend’s lids over empty blue eyes and set him gently on the floor. Tears streaked down his face, and he swiped at them, welcoming the rage that replaced his sorrow.

Where is she?

His jaw pulsed as he made his way through the maze of corridors to notify the night watchman. The man gasped when he saw the blood covering Aidan’s shirt and buff buckskins.

"Lord Elkin has been murdered. You will find his body is in his office." His tone became fierce. "And as you failed to protect him in life, I expect you to protect his body in death."

"Yes, my lord," the man said, terrified.

Aidan took the stairs two at a time and stood before Mister Brown with fists clenched at his side.

"Where is she?"

The man stared at the blood on his garment and hesitated when he saw the rage hardening Aidan’s eyes. "The lady…is in your conveyance, my lord. She came out just after you went in."

Aidan’s hand was opening the carriage door with the last of the runner’s words, his thoughts on the traitor inside. He flung the door open and slammed it shut. Lady Rivenhall was startled, but when she took in his appearance and looked into his burning eyes she became alarmed.

"You bitch!" he said, and in one swift move he had her by the hair at the nape of her aristocratic neck. She cried out, more from fear than pain, and as he stared down at her, Aidan realized that she was not the only one to blame for John Elkin’s death.

He was equally culpable.

He had known what the lady was and had not watched her closely enough, had not contained her enough. The heat of his anger was replaced by a chilling numbness. He reached down and removed her knife and retrieved the pistol from her reticule, then fell to the opposite side of the carriage, shouting "home" to his driver.

The carriage lurched forward, but Lady Rivenhall did not stir, sensing like a cornered rabbit that any movement on her part would trigger his wrath. She sat up with deliberate fluidity, and Aidan could feel her staring at him. He ignored her, keeping focused on the passing buildings and not his overwhelming guilt.

They traveled the remaining distance to his home in silence. Aidan dragged her out of the carriage by her wrist, and then they were in his entryway. He ignored the distress in his butler’s eyes as his man viewed his blood-soaked clothing. "Have a bath drawn."

His foot hit the staircase, and the woman balked. "What--"

"I advise you to remain silent, Lady Rivenhall," he growled, "as I am very close to striking you." Aidan continued up the stairs and when she stumbled, he did not even pause.

She scrambled to her feet and followed him to his bedchamber, unable to do anything else. Aidan opened the door and dropped her to the carpeted floor, her chambermaid costume tangling around her. He removed his cravat and gazed at the blood-soaked silk.

John’s blood
.

He threw it at her, wanting her to feel the evidence of what she had done. The deceitful woman picked it up, her brows furrowed with feigned confusion.

"What happened?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Spare the theatrics, Lady Rivenhall," Aidan ripped off his jacket, followed by his waistcoat and shirt.

He lifted his arms and stared at the lines on his wrists where the blood had stopped covering his skin in favor of soaking his jacket. His gaze traveled to his hands, completely covered with John’s blood.
His responsibility
.
Aidan removed his boots and finally his bloody buckskins.

The traitor averted her eyes, angering him further. He wanted her to see John’s blood and wondered what she had seen when she shot him, wondered how John had reacted. He would have been surprised, no doubt. Aidan reached down and grabbed her upper arm, hauling her to the smaller room.

"You will bathe me," he commanded and then sank into the steaming water.

Lady Rivenhall reached for a cloth, knowing better than to question him. The water turned a sickly pink as he submerged his hands in hopes of loosening the blood that had dried beneath his fingernails, but when she reached for his face, he pulled away.

"You have…blood…on your face." Aidan stared at her as she pressed the white muslin to his cheek. "Where did…the blood come from?"

The woman was the consummate liar, and he hated her for what she had done. But hated himself more for not having stopped her.

"My garments were soiled when I held the man you shot, as he died in my arms." Her face paled, and he had to admit that she was very convincing.

But he knew better.

"Who? What man?"

Aidan’s eyes cooled to green shards of ice. "John Elkin."

The woman jumped to her feet and placed both hands over her mouth to stifle a cry of distress.