Napoleon's Woman (25 page)

The dark man paid the hackney and stepped into the dirty streets of London.

Music from a bawdy ballad drifted toward him as he made his way to the front entrance of the bordello. The moment he walked in women sat up, smiling their interest. He settled at a corner table and found a pretty blonde whore in his lap.

The girl wiggled her rounded backside against his cock, saying, "What can I get for you, me lord?"

He smiled into her bright blue eyes. "A drink and some information. I’m meeting a friend of mine. A Frog, long blond hair."

"Oh, Violet just took him upstairs. Nice looking bloke." Her hand began rubbing his cock. "Not as pretty as you, though."

The dark man smiled. "Get us some refreshments, and I’ll take you upstairs and make you forget every man you have ever rode."

"I bet you will." The girl laughed and left to retrieve their drinks. He glanced about the dim room to see if he recognized anyone. He did not. The girl returned with two glass tumblers and he said absently, "Fetch a cheroot, would you?" before reaching into his jacket a pulling out a bottle of laudanum.

The girl returned to the bar, and the dark man put two droppers of the drug in her drink. He knew from experience the amount needed to keep a woman conscious, but not cognizant.

He stood when she returned. "Finish your scotch so we can go upstairs."

The whore tossed back her drink with the ease of experience and led him up the narrow staircase. "Which room is my friend in?"

"Violet’s room is that one. This is mine," she added. The doxy opened the door and stumbled into the room.

"Take off your cloths," he ordered, knowing that soon she would not be able to do so.

He removed his jacket as he watched the whore peel away the layers of her clothing, revealing pink nipples crowning small breasts and an exceptional backside.

"Back in a moment." He glanced down the hall. "Where’s the privy?"

"End of the corridor," the girl said, fighting to stay awake.

The dark man closed the door then slipped into the room across the hall. He tilted his head to one side so that he might better view the sight displayed before him. The noise from downstairs faded and was replaced with the cries of the whore bending over the small bed. The Frenchman was looking down, watching himself enter her feminine flesh.

The fair man spoke with a French accent. "You like that, don’t you?"

"Oh, yes," the girl breathed.

Lord Renault stood naked with both feet planted on the floor. His eyes roved over the girl and then the Frog gave an appreciative slap of her backside. The girl lifted herself, meeting the man’s thrusts. He groaned his pleasure and grabbed her hips, plunging deeper until his moans of gratification mingled with her feminine cries. His head fell back, and his body tensed as he held himself inside the doxy, grunting his release.

The Frenchman’s eyes snapped open the moment he heard the pistol being cocked behind his head. He came off the girl and raised both hands in a show of submission. The whore made for the door, but the dark man stopped her with his eyes.

"Don’t," he warned, aiming a smaller pistol at the girl who now cowered in the corner of the room.

"Might I at least face the man that is to rob me?"

He looked down at the Frenchman’s muscular body and knew from his investigations of the man that the he would be a formidable match.

"No, I think not." The musky scent of sex lingered in the room, and his heart began pounding in his chest. "And I’m not here to rob you, Monsieur Renault. You have been looking into my affairs, and I would like to know why."

The Frenchman laughed. "Ah, now I see it. You are Lady Davis’s lover. Non?"

The dark man waited.

"I was asked by a certain lady to investigate the matter of her death. See if certain parties were responsible,
n’est-ce pas
?"

"
Oui
," the dark man said in French. "And what have you told the stunning Mademoiselle Rivenhall?"

"Nothing. I had hoped that we might come to some sort of…arrangement. That we might work together. Share the fruits of our labor, so to speak. What do I care that you have killed a stupid English cow? We both labor for France,
non?
"

"That is where you are mistaken, Monsieur Renault. I work for no one," the dark man said, pulling the trigger and spattering the Frenchman all over the filthy counterpane. The whore pulled air into her lungs to scream, and he shot her in the forehead before a single sound escaped her lips.

The man bent over the Frog with a knife and after a moment made for the door. He confirmed that the corridor was empty before slipping into the room across the hall.

"Now where were we?" he asked the pretty blonde strumpet that lay naked on the bed.

The girl attempted to smile, but the laudanum he had given her was making her groggy. He stripped off his clothes as footsteps thundered up the stairs, and his heart began to race with excitement.

"Spread your thighs," he whispered.

He heard screams and curses as he drove into the harlot. He stroked her knowing that they were searching for him, wondering if they would suspect him. He reached deeper, his excitement building.

"Put your ankles on my shoulders," he ordered as he planted his feet on the footboard to give himself the leverage he wanted. He drove harder, deeper, and when the door finally opened the thrill of being hunted was so stimulating he forced himself to prolong his climax so he could feel the danger a moment longer.

The door closed, and the light in the room dimmed as he exploded into the whore. He thrust again, extracting every drop of pleasure before collapsing on top of the girl. His head lay on her breasts, and he smiled, reminding himself that he should not be taking such risks. The dark man turned his head and suckled on the strumpet’s nipple to wake her up. It was not yet two in the morning, and he was determined to get his money’s worth.

***

Lady Rivenhall awoke to a dark room with a fully clothed Aidan Duhearst warming her back. He rolled Celeste onto her stomach and stretched out on top of her, pressing his arousal against her backside. Warm tendrils unfurled in her stomach, and she smiled to herself, pleased that he had woken her before he left.

"Haven’t you had enough this evening, my lord?"

He grasped her wrists and bent to whisper in her ear. She turned her head, wanting to feel the heat of his breath as he said, "Expecting someone?"

Celeste’s heart stopped, and ice coursed through her veins. The deep baritone voice that caressed her ear was not that of the Earl of Wessex. Her sluggish heartbeat double. She jerked her body against the man, but she was pinned beneath his weight.

"Don’t scream, Lady Rivenhall, or I will be forced to harm you."

Celeste attempted to devise a means of escape, but all she could think was that she was going to be raped, and she could do nothing to stop it.

"What do you want?" she asked, afraid she already knew.

"We have matters to discuss," the man breathed. "You have been looking into my personal affairs, and I’m afraid I cannot have that, even by the emperor’s mistress."

The man pressed his shaft against her, and she shuddered. She closed her eyes and tried to think past the fear and revulsion. How did he know who she was? And then she realized.

"Why did you murder Lady Davis?"

The man chuckled. "I see that your mind is just as intriguing as your body. Very well, but what do I get for telling you?" His hand made its way up her bare leg.

"The gratitude of the emperor."

The man’s hand lingered on her hip. "I would rather have yours."

"You won’t get it."

The man pressed his hips into her. "Don’t be too sure, my lady. As a matter of fact, that is the reason I killed Lady Davis. The stupid cow was threatening to identify me if I quit her bed." He leaned closer, and Celeste could feel his lips skimming her ear. "The lady was exceedingly appreciative of my skill."

"And Lord Elkin?" she asked, feeling a bitter rage.

"Careful, kitten," the man warned. "John Elkin was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was attempting to retrieve information for your lover, the emperor, when Elkin returned to his office. Unfortunate, but there you have it."

"And what do you want of me?"

Celeste could hear the blood surging through her ears, through his silence.

"I want a great many things from you, Lady Rivenhall, but I shall settle for an alliance. The profits from the information we retrieve could be shared. Together, we could see a great deal of blunt."

"The emperor pays me well."

The man scoffed. "Yes, the lover who sends you into the Lion’s den provides for you, but how long will that last, Lady Rivenhall? Or do you enjoy the danger of it?" The man released her wrist to cup her breast, and she could feel his lust as his breath began to shorten. "The stimulation?" he whispered.

"The emperor is not finished with me yet, so I advise you to remove your hand before he hears of this incident. And as for your proposal…I work alone."

"Yes, you do." The man laughed, confusing her. "So my dear lady, I suggest you consider my proposition before you reject me out of hand, and as a token of my sincerity I offer you a gift."

Celeste felt something cold next to her right hand. She reached for it and touched a small box.

"Next time you want to investigate me, Lady Rivenhall, make sure the gentleman you send is more worthy of the task."

"Next time?"

"Yes." Celeste could hear the satisfaction in the traitor’s voice. "I put a bullet in Henri Renault’s brain no more than two hours ago."

Her mind seized, and she started when he took her earlobe in his mouth. "Mmm." He sighed, and then she felt the tip of his nose caress the nape of her neck as he inhaled her scent. "I will see you very soon, Lady Rivenhall."

She was shaking as she heard the man leave by way of her balcony. When Celeste was sure he was gone, she rolled over and lit a small candle. A ball of light illuminated the room and she reached for the tiny box, full of trepidation. She separated the lid from the base and fought waves of nausea as she gazed down at the contents---a lock of golden hair spattered with blood.

Aidan sat reading the
London Times
over a slice of toast and a soft-boiled egg. He did not want to think about the hours he had spent making love to Lady Rivenhall, so he sipped coffee and turned to the financial pages.

The embargo had hit everyone particularly hard, and the price of common goods had become exorbitant. Goods such as wine and wheat, which were normally reinforced by a continental surplus, now had been priced out of reach for the common man.

The disgruntled masses had caused some unrest on the east end, and the situation did not appear to be ending anytime soon. Aidan salted his egg and dipped his toast in the soft yolk. He placed the portion of bread in his mouth without taking his eyes off the article he was reading.

The French had attacked a shipment of food stores on the twentieth, just two days before. Aidan considered whether the wheat and barley being grown on his lands in Wessex were the most efficient use of his property. He reached for his pencil and noted the price per barrel of corn, coal, and dairy products. The country was going to have to become less reliant on foreign imports, and Aidan planned to capitalize on his investments.

He laid the paper down and sliced several pieces of sausage. Aidan wiped his mouth and took another sip of coffee as he tried to imagine England after the war. How it would change, and how it would stay the same. Would the country squires even note the difference?

Then he froze as he tried to remember something tickling the back of his mind. Something at his estate?
No
. He reached for the paper and looked again at the articles he had been perusing and stopped.

The French had attacked a shipment of food stores on the twentieth.

And then he knew in a rush more clear than a summer’s sky. The twentieth had been one of the dates on the documents he had retrieved from Lord Ferrell’s study.

"We found you, you bastard," Aidan mumbled toward the paper.

A smile spread across his face. The bloody traitor must have passed the information to the French before they had retrieved the papers from his home. Aidan took one last gulp of coffee and rose from his chair, anxious to speak with his brother-in-law.

***

Aidan caught up with the Duke of Glenbroke at Tattersall’s. The duke was examining the withers of a white Irish jumper. It was not particularly pretty to look at, but Gilbert was known for his judgment of horseflesh.

"I’ll take him," the duke said to the small man at his elbow. "I want him prepared for travel by Thursday."

"Yes, Your Grace." The man bowed and led the horse away.

Gilbert was grinning from ear to ear when he turned toward Aidan. "Damn fine piece of horseflesh. Going to have him cover my black filly, Delphi." He paused to enjoy the moment as he looked over the horses being led in a circle round the gravel paddock. "What is so urgent that you would track me down in the middle of the afternoon?" He raised one brow over steely eyes, sharpened by acute intelligence.

"We’ve got him."

The duke jerked his head back in shock. "You’re serious. You’ve found the traitor?"

Aidan nodded and was unable to suppress a smile. "Yes, Your Grace."

His brother-in-law lifted his arm to indicate that they should walk. "Did you find the Lion seal?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Then how can you be sure, Aidan?"

"The information Lady Rivenhall and I retrieved form Lord Ferrell’s home was forwarded to France. Every transport ship on that list was intercepted, and there are too many ships for this to be coincidence. The man must have sold the information before we were able to retrieve it from his study. There is no other possible explanation."

The duke reached his carriage. He paused and Aidan could see him taking the information in, weighing the validity of his claim. And then the enormous man gave a lazy smile. "We have our man."

Aidan nodded in agreement. "We have our man."

***

The earl slid off the back of his mount and tossed the reins to a footman. He was on the stairs to his townhome when a messenger came barreling up behind him.

The boy bowed and on a gulp of air asked, "Might you be the Earl of Wessex?"

Aidan stilled, contradicting his heart. "Yes."

The boy stuck out his arm with a letter clasped firmly in his hand. Aidan reached into his red brocade waistcoat to retrieve a piece of silver, tossing it to the boy before he walked into his home. He glanced down at the communication as he ripped it open and instantly recognized Lady Rivenhall’s handwriting.

My Lord,

I would very much appreciate your coming to my home as soon as is possible. There has been a development in our investigation that I feel I am unable to manage on my own.

Yours,

C

Aidan could not imagine a situation in which the lady would not be able to cope. His heart was pounding as he bounded down the stairs, stopping the stable boy who had just taken charge of his mount.

He arrived at the Lord Rivenhall’s home in ten minutes’ time. The butler answered his knock and directed him to the parlor. Aidan remained on his feet, his black Hessians wearing a hole in the thick carpet.

The moment the door opened he should have been relieved, but he was not. One look at the dark circles under Celeste’s haunting eyes told him that she had not slept. He ate up the distance between them and grasped her by the shoulders in a gentle caress.

"What happened?"

Lady Rivenhall, commander of troops, mistress to Napoleon, English patriot, collapsed against his chest. Aidan’s heart contracted, and he tried to slow his breathing as his arms banded around her.

"What has happened, Celeste?"

"He came to my bedchamber after you left," she whispered, so softly that he could scarcely hear her.

"Who?" Aidan asked, more sharply than he had intended.

"The man that killed Lady Davis and John Elkin. He. . ." She hesitated, causing his heart to stop.

"Did he touch you?"

"No," she said, looking down. "Yes, he touched me with his hand and offered an alliance."

Aidan pulled her closer, not wanting her to see the rage blazing in his eyes.

"He gave me this."

Aidan took the small box and opened it, staring at the contents in confusion. The box contained a lock of blond hair splattered with blood. "I don’t understand, Celeste. Is this your hair? Are you hurt?"

Lady Rivenhall shook her head as she looked up at him. "No, it belonged to my French operative, Henri Renault. The man shot him." Celeste held his eyes, and Aidan guided her to the settee. "It is all my fault. I asked Henri to discover who killed Lady Davis. I thought that the French would know, that they would be able to discover information that we could not."

"You are not to blame, Celeste." Aidan rubbed her arms and bent his head to kiss her on the cheek. "Renault was a French spy."

Lady Rivenhall lifted her head and stared at him. "He was a man, Aidan. Henri thought he was a patriot, just as I do. I was fond of him and will mourn his loss."

"Forgive my callousness, Celeste," Aidan said, wondering what toll had been taken on this woman as she lived amidst her enemies for four long years. "Now, I’m afraid I must leave you for the moment, but I promise to return before luncheon."

"Where are you going?" Panic tinted her words and tugged at his heart as he ached to protect her.

"To speak with the Foreign Office about arresting our traitor," Aidan said, smiling for the first time since entering the house.