Napoleon's Woman (26 page)

Celeste waited in the limited comfort of a hired hackney at two o’clock in the morning.

The old man groaned as he pulled himself up and then looked for a clean spot on which to sit. Finding none, he sank into the middle of the squab opposite hers.

"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Lady Rivenhall. I apologize for the late hour."

Celeste waved away Falcon’s apology and waited for him to begin their meeting.

"We would like for you to search Lord Cantor’s home on Sunday as planned. However, I wanted to be the first to inform you that we arrested Lord Ferrell at his home last night. He came willingly, but denied all charges of collaboration and is being questioned as we speak."

"What proof was cited in the charges?"

"The information you retrieved from his home was used by the French to attack the vessels listed in the documentation."

Celeste’s brows furrowed, and her mouth hung open. "I…am astonished."

"Why? We knew one of these men was the traitor, Celeste."

"Yes, however, Lord Ferrell…He did not seem the sort of man. . ." Celeste’s thoughts flew to her bedchamber. "Did he admit to killing Lady Davis and Lord Elkin?"

"No. As I’ve said, the man denied every charge." The old man grasped her hand and looked at her with sympathy softening his features. "It is sometimes difficult to believe, Celeste. I have witnessed it time and time again. A timid man can be a murderer and an angelic beauty…a spy for the Crown."

"Yes, but often an honest man is merely an honest man."

Falcon sat back. "Then you think we have made a mistake?"

"No." She shook her head. "I am unsure."

"We are sure, Celeste. You’ve done what you have set out to do, and owing to you, Wellesley can launch his attack with the advantage of surprise." The old man sighed, showing his age. "Are you still determined to leave in one week’s time?"

"Yes." Celeste stared out the window.

"Have you told him?"

Celeste’s stomach seized, and her head snapped round to the sherry-colored eyes of the observant old man. "No, and neither will you."

"You don’t have to go, Lady Rivenhall. You have done enough."

"It is never enough," she said, her exhaustion clear. "Men will continue to die, and I will continue to try and stop it."

"There are other operatives in place, Celeste."

She smiled with sober affection. "As highly positioned as I am?"

Falcon said nothing, and they sat in silence, listening to the night noises of the park.

"You will be captured this time."

Celeste closed her eyes and concentrated on an owl hooting in the distance. "I know."

She heard Falcon shift, but he surprised her by kissing her on the forehead as he stroked her hair. "Do not leave without saying goodbye."

Celeste grasped the old man’s forearm and leaned her cheek against him in an awkward embrace. "I won’t."

Neither moved, unwilling to say goodbye just yet. Then the old man coughed and pulled his arm away. "I had best be getting back to Lord Ferrell."

She nodded her understanding and then the dear man was stepping out of the carriage and Celeste knew that she would never be able to bid Falcon farewell.

***

Aidan pulled at his stockings, feeling a complete idiot. His gold satin breeches and burgundy jacket were the height of inelegance, and he longed to shed them.

"Why precisely are we dressed in this abhorrent manner?" His question held his irritation.

Lady Rivenhall was concentrating on picking the lock of Lord Cantor’s desk drawer, and he shuddered to think how she had acquired that particular skill. She was dressed as an upstairs housemaid with no adornments of any kind, and Aidan could not help but note how beautiful she was.

"You, as you well know, are dressed as Lord Cantor’s footman, and I must say you have never looked quite so"---she looked him over, searching for the appropriate word---"Frilly."

Aidan raised an eyebrow at her impertinence, saying, "And you, my dear, have never looked quite so drab."

"Thank you, my lord." She added a caustic grin. "Now, do remember, if anyone enters the study, try to look guilty, as if we have had a bit of a tumble."

He glanced at the delectable lady as she bent herself before him. "That should not be a difficulty."

"Good," she said, pulling out the drawer in triumph. "Now, if you don’t mind searching the study, I’ll just look upstairs."

Aidan strolled forward and sat in Lord Cantor’s leather chair. He began reading through countless numbers of meticulous records littering the desktop, and Aidan could not help but admire the middle-aged baron. Every
T
had been crossed and every shilling was accounted for.

Lady Rivenhall returned a half an hour later, only to find Aidan propping his legs on the oak desk as he concentrated on the latest mining records.

"Find anything?"

"No." She shook her head. "And you?"

He looked up at her fair features and said, "I found no seal, but have a look at this."

Her small hands reached for the paper, and he watched her forehead crease in delicate lines as she read. He was smiling to himself when she finally looked up.

"It is a mining report, coal, sulfur…what of it?" She shrugged, handing back the paper so that he might replace it.

"And this?" Aidan handed her a second paper.

She sat down in the chair in front of the desk, taking the document from his hand. "Dates for transport of mined materials to a holding house near the London docks. All appears perfectly respectable."

The earl smiled, inordinately pleased with himself and thankful for his studies at Oxford. "The materials being mined by Lord Cantor are the raw materials required for producing gunpowder. Our industrious baron is a munitions broker."

"You’re joking." Her aqua eyes shimmered with intelligence as she contemplated the implications of his discovery. "We must give this information to Falcon as soon as possible."

She headed for the door with papers in her hand, but Aidan was obliged to stop her. "I’m sorry to disappoint, Lady Rivenhall, but I refuse to be seen in public in Lord Cantor’s livery."

The lady took in his attire and, with a nefarious grin, said, "But, my lord, you could make the dandies of the ton absolutely green with envy."

"Come," he said, rolling his eyes as he seized her arm.

The short distance back to Lady Rivenhall’s home was spent in silent contemplation. Aidan gratefully changed back into his normal attire and joined Lady Rivenhall in her parlor.

"What I cannot comprehend is why a munitions dealer would be on this list of men to be investigated," Lady Rivenhall began as she settled into the settee. "Surely, the Crown would know if he had been supplying the enemy with gunpowder."

Aidan’s brows rose. "Yes, they would be aware of it, as every departing vessel is searched for contraband. Therefore, we can assume he has not." He pulled Lady Rivenhall to her feet. "So, we turn over the innocuous documents to Falcon and are finished with these bloody inquiries," he whispered as he slanted his mouth across hers.

His lips had barely begun to warm when she pushed against his chest. "Lord Wessex, now that the investigation is over, you are no longer obligated to provide my protection."

Aidan tensed. "Meaning?"

She turned her back to him. "Meaning that with the conclusion of our inquires our association is…ended."

His lungs seized, and it took a moment before he could draw enough air to say, "Our ‘association’?"

The lady turned and met his eye, brushing a golden strand from her lovely face. "Do you prefer dalliance? Either way this will be the last time--"

Aidan interrupted, not wanting to hear the words that would inevitably follow. "If you are still angry about last evening…about my legitimate concerns with this liaison…"

"I’m not angry with you, my lord. Quite the contrary. I would like to take this opportunity to wish you a long and happy life."

"This is not amusing, Celeste," he said, alarm constricting his throat.

"No, it is not."

"What the bloody hell do you--"

"I’m leaving."

Aidan’s heart stopped. How could this be happening again? Why was he not enough?

"Where?" he whispered, staring down at her and trying not to feel anything.

She stepped away from him, and he let her go.

"France. It has already been arranged. I came to England to capture a traitor, which we have done. When Lord Wellesley launches his attack, he will need the information that only I am able to provide."

Aidan could not move, could not breathe. "It’s suicide, Celeste."

She stared at him. "It’s no different than your fighting at Albuera, my lord."

Her formality wounded him. "It is very different. You are a woman."

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Lord Wessex, but I doubt the emperor would have me as a man."

"The emperor! You cannot be serious."

"I’ve already written him."

He was speechless, and it took several moments to find his tongue. "When?"

"I leave for Amsterdam Friday."

"Five days?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Marie has already begun to pack our luggage."

He took a step toward her, but she took a step back, maintaining the distance between them. "Why are you doing this, Celeste?" Aidan asked, holding her gaze.

"Why did you fight for your country?"

Aidan shook his head and took another step forward. "I was not running away from something. You are."

Anger flashed through her eyes and she looked up at him, saying, "Oh? And what might that be?"

"Me," he said, his arms banding about her. He kissed her with every emotion he felt--anger, confusion, and desire.

He felt her melt against him a moment before she tore her lips from his. "Really, my lord, your arrogance knows no bounds." She was a bit breathless as she made for the door. "Now if you will excuse me, I really must begin--"

"Marry me." The words escaped him in desperation, and his heart was thundering in his ears. He stared at her back, waiting to have his heart torn from his chest.

She turned, tears swimming in her beautiful eyes. "Don’t…"

"Marry me, Celeste."

She reached for the door. "I can’t."

Aidan, who had scarcely been able to stand a moment ago, leapt for the door, preventing it from opening. "Don’t go to Paris, Celeste. You have done your part. Stay here," he whispered down to her. "Stay with me."

Her fair head was turned down, and he knew that she was crying. Aidan bent his head and kissed her just below the ear. "You saved me once before, Celeste." He paused. "Marry me and save me again."

She turned, throwing her arms around his neck, and then he could breathe again. Aidan closed his eyes and pulled her to his chest. He smiled and stroked her back as she soaked his shirt.

"Say yes, Celeste."

"Y-yes," she said on a hiccup of air.

Aidan laughed at her ineloquence. "Near enough. Now go tell Madame Arnott you are to be a countess and not a spy." He kissed the tears from her cheeks and stared into her beguiling eyes. "We shall talk in the morning when you are rested."

She nodded and left him alone in the sun-filled parlor. Aidan expected to feel the weight of an offer, forced from him to keep her in England, to keep her alive. But he did not feel heavy at all. Quite the contrary. She had chosen to stay…with him, even as duty called her to France.

Celeste had saved his life, had haunted his dreams and now would sleep beside him every night. He smiled to himself. She would certainly hold his attention in bed. In that aspect they were the perfect match, and had been from the moment he touched her.

Aidan gathered his hat and the documents from Lord Cantor’s home and made for the door. The butler raised a brow at the wide grin on Aidan’s face before saying, "Good day, my Lord."

He smiled down at the man and placed his beaver skin hat atop his head.

"Yes, yes it is." And then the Earl of Wessex was out the door and lifting himself into his carriage. "Whitehall," he shouted to his coachman.

Aidan’s smile faded, and the noise from the busy streets blurred into a constant hum as he considered his interview with Falcon. The man would not be pleased at losing his most highly placed operative, but Aidan did not care. Celeste would be safe.

The outer office was empty, so Aidan walked across the room and knocked on Falcon’s door, all the while wishing that Cunningham had been there to soothe the old man’s wrath.

"Enter."

Aidan stepped into the small office, his Hessians announcing his arrival. The old man looked up from the stacks of papers before him and removed his glasses as he sat back in his chair.

"Might I assume that this is an urgent matter, Lord Wessex?"