Napoleon's Woman (12 page)

His mouth descended to the exposed portion of her breasts. He moaned and Celeste could feel his arousal pressing against her hip. He captured her mouth, his tongue intertwined with hers as his hand closing around her breast.

"John, your guests."

The man’s frustration was palpable. He released her with reluctance and smiled down at her. "I would relinquish my title to be rid of the bloody lot, so that I might spend hours making love to you on this very spot."

Celeste laughed then blushed at the compliment. "But your guests are here."

"Yes they are. Damn them," he said with an amused smile and Celeste decided that if she were an ordinary woman she like this handsome Lord Elkin very much. "I don’t suppose that you could wear those lace drawers tonight, Lady Rivenhall."

"No, I’m afraid not." Celeste’s arms drifted around his neck, and she laughed at the disappointment scrawled in his features. "I’m wearing a different pair of lace drawers, as that is all that I possess."

His blue eyes flared bright and he muttered, "Bloody hell," before slanting his mouth over hers. He kissed her one last time and then, with great reluctance, escorted her back to the manor house.

That evening at dinner, Celeste was seated to the right of her host. Fortunately, Lord Elkin had the foresight to seat the Earl of Wessex at the far end of the table. The young earl appeared engaged by the throngs of females that seemed to follow the man’s every move, so Celeste turned her attention to Lord Elkin and the task at hand.

She sat dutifully by while Lord Humphrey droned on about fishing, and on a whim Celeste ran her foot up Lord Elkin’s calf. He tensed, but did not turn to look at her. Irritated, she removed her right slipper with her left foot then placed her stocking clad toes on the inner portion of his knee.

Lord Elkin turned his head with a comment about trout and met her eyes, his thoughts unreadable. He lifted his wine glass and returned to his discussion. Her foot inched higher, and she noted that his breath was becoming short. He lowered his glass and reached for the napkin in his lap. He dabbed his lips and then returned the napkin, seizing her foot under the table with his left hand.

Celeste tried to pull her foot away, but his grip firmed and his thumb began stroking the bottom of her foot in sensuous circles.

Damn!
What had she been thinking? It was one thing to tempt the man, but she was waving a red flag in the face of one of the ton’s most notorious bulls. Lord Elkin released her foot and his hand returned to his wine glass, but something in the way he moved his lips along its crystal rim told her that he was not thinking of his claret. True, she needed him alone, but perhaps she had gone a bit too far.

Marie had learned that Lord Elkin kept a strongbox in the library and she needed to gain access. The difficulty, of course, was not seducing the man, but acquiring the key. She had searched John’s bedchamber last night after leaving the Earl of Wessex in the study, and had found nothing to implicate the man.

The strongbox was the only other possibility before he could be cleared of suspicion. She needed that key and, unfortunately, Lord Elkin was the only person that possessed it.

***

Celeste arrived at the boathouse at midnight as agreed and was not surprise to find Lord Elkin already there with lit candles and chilled champagne. The setting was very romantic and should have been deeply moving.

Celeste rarely respected the men she seduced. However, with John she felt guilt digging into her side as she walked toward lush cushions carefully arranged on thick Aubusson rugs. But Celeste reminded herself, as she always did, that she had a duty to perform.

Lord Elkin made no pretense about the reason for their meeting and kissed her soundly the moment she was within reach.

"I promised myself that I would take my time enjoying you. But now that you are here, I’m afraid my need has overcome my sense." John brushed her hair away from her face as he smiled down at her. "You are so beautiful, Celeste," he whispered and then kissed her again.

Celeste settled into his powerful arms and let the slow, sensuous kiss come to its natural conclusion. Lord Elkin pulled away from her and took a step toward the elaborate bedding. He lifted his arm, holding his hand out to her in open invitation.

Her heart began pounding and she swallowed for courage. Celeste placed her hand in his, but when she stepped toward him, she stumbled, landing hard against him.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

"Oh," Celeste hissed, limping on her left foot. "No, I’m afraid not, John. I believe I have just injured my ankle."

Lord Elkin dropped gallantly on one knee. "Is it broken?"

Celeste hissed in pain as he probed her ankle.

"No, just a sprain, I should imagine. However, I do think it would be prudent to return to the house for some laudanum." She looked into his blue eyes and was taken aback by the amount of disappointment she read in them. "I’m so sorry, John."

"Nothing to be done, my dear," he said, his smile weak. I’ll just take you back and leave you in the care of Madame Arnott."

Lord Elkin bent to lift her, but stopped when Celeste gave an adamant, "No." His slashing brows furrowed with concern. "It would not do for us to be seen coming from the boathouse together at this time of the evening, John. The house is not far, I shall manage."

The chivalrous man nodded, clearly not happy about having her walk to his home unassisted. "If you’re sure you will be all right. . ."

Celeste’s smile reflected her genuine affection for John Elkin as she pulled him toward her for a kiss. "I shall survive, my lord, just so I might have the pleasure of seeing you in London."

He chuckled and patted her on the backside. "Well, go on, then, or I shall ravage you, injured or not."

Celeste limped to the door and glanced over her shoulder to look one last time at the fetching Lord Elkin. He smiled in farewell, but the disappointment had crept back into his masculine features.

As she walked to the house, guilt overcame her. Celeste shook off the weight of it with the toss of her head, reminding herself that she was eliminating John as a suspect and that the emotional distress he suffered was nothing compared to the damage Lion could inflict.

She reached into the pocket of her gown, pulling out Lord Elkin’s keys. They clanked together as she spun them around the brass ring, looking for one that might fit a strongbox. She found it. And as Celeste continued toward the library, she wondered if she would ever forgive herself for the cruel acts she had committed on behalf of the Crown.

***

John Elkin stood staring out the boathouse windows with one hand in his pocket and a champagne flute in the other hand. He exhaled, utterly disillusioned and admonishing himself for having hoped that Lady Rivenhall would be the woman to heal his wounded heart.

He downed a substantial portion of the sparkling liquid, trying to wash down the memories that bubbled forth of another stunning woman. John had hoped that making love to Lady Rivenhall would dull his pain, and that perhaps she might banish from his mind thoughts of a lady that he would never possess.

But he was wrong.

He had been to enough hells in his time to know when his pockets were being pilfered. And while Lady Rivenhall was very good, he had still felt the weight of his keys disappearing from his pocket.

John continued gazing at the reflection of the full moon on the river as he came to grips with the fact that Lady Rivenhall had never wanted him. She had most assuredly wanted something, but not him.

A surge of pain crested in the pit of his stomach, lodging heavily in his chest and he sank to his knees beneath the weight of it. He would remain in the boathouse long enough for Lady Rivenhall to rob him blind, punishment for allowing himself to dream of being loved for himself alone.

***

Celeste admired the understated elegance of Lord Elkin’s enormous library. And while many gentlemen maintained large libraries, not all of them were used. But this one was used, and often. She lifted her right hand to touch the bits of parchment John had, no doubt, utilized to mark his favorite passages. She smiled, turning as she glanced about the room. The bits of parchment were everywhere, like little signposts marking the undeniable presence of John Elkin.

Her heart sank as she walked toward the strongbox, invading his privacy further still. She pushed the musty tomes to one side so that she might access the box mounted in a recess of the oak shelves. She glanced at the door while setting down her candle, then lifted the small silver key.

The lock gave the instant she turned the key, and Celeste was overcome with trepidation. What if she did indeed find some incriminating evidence? What then? But she knew the answer. After she gave the information to Falcon, Lord Elkin would be interrogated by the Foreign Office and eventually put on trial for treason.

Celeste prayed that she would find nothing incriminating as she turned the handle.

She reached first for the velvet cases nestled in the back of the strongbox, and was not surprised to find an impressive array of jewels. The case held emeralds, sapphires, jade, diamonds, and an enormous ruby that she could not help but hold up to the light of her candle.

She smiled at John’s impeccable taste and returned the cases from whence they had come. Next, she reached for the papers: legal documents, deeds, investments in shipping and coal, Lord Elkin’s will, and a letter.

Celeste removed the communication, noting how worn the edges were, as if it would break apart at the folds if it were opened once more. Celeste held the seal up to her candle but did not recognize it. She carefully opened the letter and began to read.

July 14, 1809

My Dearest John,

To say that I was surprised by your proposal of marriage would be a lie. I had feared that our growing affection for one another would lead to an offer, and I blame myself entirely. It is my selfish desire for your companionship that has led you to declare yourself.

And while your friendship means the world to me, I am not in love with you. I would give any sum to change my heart but, regrettably, I cannot. My heart aches not only for the pain that I shall cause you, but for the loss of my dearest companion.

John, if you can ever forgive my selfishness, I ask that you consider preserving our friendship. Your voice, your smile, your humor brightens the darkest of my days, and I do not know what I should do without them.

I shall reserve the first dance at the Earl of Wessex’s ball for you. If you honor me with your partnership, I will know that I am forgiven, and we shall remain companions for the rest of our days.

Your Devoted Friend,

Felicity

Celeste was stunned and her heart ached for Lord Elkin. This wounded lord was obviously still in love with this woman, or he would not have kept this letter for the past two years. She wondered if John had danced that first dance, or if he had let their friendship dissolve with the sting of her rejection.

Perhaps this woman had set her sights on another man?

Felicity?

She had heard of a Felicity…yes, Lady Appleton. The woman had some connection to Lord Wessex. She was a close acquaintance of the Duchess of Glenbroke, if Celeste remembered correctly. Perhaps the lady had set her sights on the young Earl of Wessex?

The flash of annoyance that accompanied her thoughts startled her. Surely, she did not expect the legendary Wessex to remain a bachelor. No doubt the man would take a worthy wife once the war had ended. As he should. A strong, young war hero returning to offer for the beautiful Lady Appleton.

Damnation!

Disgusted with herself, Celeste returned the letter to the strongbox. She needed to concentrate on surviving this war, not contemplating the romantic attachments of the very man who was hell-bent on seeing her executed.

She closed the strongbox and pushed the tomes back into position, then made for the door. She blew out the candles with an irritated huff and slipped into the darkened corridor. The house was quiet, and she padded up the stairs without seeing so much as a servant.

Her uneasiness dissipated as she reached the bedchamber door and she began contemplating her next assignment. She was thoroughly relieved that, for all intents and purposes, Lord Elkin could be crossed off the list of suspected traitors.

Aidan sat in the corner of the darkened room, awaiting the arrival of Lady Rivenhall. He rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger, but stilled when the door began to open.

"Marie?" the woman asked in confusion. When the door closed, Aidan lit the three-pronged silver candelabra sitting on the table to his left.

"I’m afraid Madame Arnott cannot hear you, Lady Rivenhall."

"What have you done to Marie?"

He saw panic in her lovely eyes, and for the briefest of moments he regretted his choice of words.

"Calm yourself, my lady," he said as he rose. "Your maid is experiencing the same sleep I enjoyed at Lord Reynolds’s ball. I fear she will have a tremendous headache tomorrow morning, but somehow I cannot seem to muster the slightest bit of sympathy."

He followed as Lady Rivenhall ran to the adjoining room to check on her companion. And when she was satisfied that the woman was unharmed, the lady turned her attention to him.

"How dare you enter my private bedchamber? I shall scream."

"And I will stop you." She glared at him, but Aidan ignored her. "I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I thought you preformed your duties in bed, so naturally I began in the bedchamber."

"Naturally."  The single word was caustic.

"I’m afraid I shall need to search you once again, Lady Rivenhall."

"Yes, I’m sure that you do," she said, furious.

He smiled, not allowing his amusement to reach his eyes. "I shall begin with your reticule while you disrobe."

She hurled the satin handbag directly at his head, and Aidan instinctively reached up, catching the thing in mid-air. "Let me guess. You had a slingshot as a child?"

"Two," she answered sarcastically.

"I see you still throw very accurately," he conceded before pulling roughly at the pink satin ropes that held the reticule closed.

Inside, he found an expensive gold hair comb, an embroidered handkerchief and a perfectly balanced knife. Aidan removed the deadly dagger and looked up.

"I was afraid that you had lost…" His mouth went dry.

She stood before him, as before, in nothing but lace drawers and matching garters, this time adorned with blue satin ribbons. Her arms were crossed over her breasts, but he knew what they looked like, what they felt like. He imagined what they would taste like as he reached into his trouser pocket, withdrawing a single sheet of paper.

"What have I found in your reticule, Lady Rivenhall?" he asked, his broad smile filled with satisfaction. Her lips were parted and her blonde brows furrowed. "I believe you said I needed proof? It would seem that a dear friend of mine had his office burgled several days ago, and the only items taken were schedules of cargo shipments from his mill."

"No one will believe you," she said, but her apathy sounded forced.

Aidan tilted his head to one side. "Surely, you don’t believe you are the only one that can be convincing, Lady Rivenhall." He lowered his voice a notch. "I don’t understand, the woman invites me to her bed and then begins questioning me about my time in service. My battalion, my commander, their present location, and then I discover this…" He held up the forged document. "In her reticule and became suspicious."

When she said nothing he backed her toward the bed and shrugged out of his russet jacket. He pushed her onto the mattress with a forceful shove and watched her breasts sway with the impact. Aidan dragged his gaze to her wide eyes.

"But, you see Lady Rivenhall, I have a bit of a dilemma," he continued as he crawled over her, grabbing her right wrist and carefully removing her ingenious gold ring. "I could turn you over to the local magistrate on the morrow so that you can be held over for trial. However…"

He rocked his hips against her femininity, concealed only by the light fabric of her thin, silk drawers. His words became harsh as he ground his hardened shaft against her in a vulgar display of masculine longing. He took care to conceal his distaste of the crude behavior, knowing that his actions were requisite.

"However, I find you have something I want." Her eyes were locked with his as though mesmerized and unable to look away. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck. "You see, it has occurred to me that you must be rather extraordinary in bed to have become the whore to Napoleon himself."

"I have
never
been Napoleon’s whore," she spat.

Aidan lifted his head and stared in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that the emperor keeps such a tempting treat at his side without ever having had a taste of you?"

"He tried," she began, but stopped abruptly as the earl grasped her chin and forced her to look up at him.

"He tried, and what?"

She jerked her chin from his grasp, but he turned her toward him once again, waiting for his answer. "I slapped him," she said when she realized he was not going to relent.

He gave a burst of laughter. "You struck the most powerful man in the world?"

"Yes," she answered, her fair brows furrowed in irritation.

"Yet, you remain alive."

"The emperor…" Lady Rivenhall took a deep breath to ease her anger and began again. "The emperor…enjoyed it."

Aidan pushed back a bit in order to see her beautiful face more clearly. "What do you mean, he ‘enjoyed it’?"

The earl watched color rise from her chest all the way to the tips of her ears, but she did not look away. "The emperor became…He found…" She sighed and spoke in a rush. "The emperor became aroused when I beat him."

Curious and more than a bit skeptical, Aidan asked, "How?"

She closed her eyes, embarrassment tinting her cheeks to a beguiling shade of pink. "On the…on the posterior."

"Nude?"

"No!" she shouted, as if offended. "Both of us remained fully attired."

"And he would find
satisfaction
in this?" Aidan was dumbfounded.

"Yes, well…I was required to say…things."

"What sort of ‘things’?"

She closed her eyes, mortified. "I am half English and he... he enjoyed for me to beat him and say…" She trailed off.

"Say what?" he prompted.

"That he would never have me, nor England."

Aidan attempt to comprehend the pleasure in that, but he was at a complete loss. "So the emperor has never…?"

"No! I think it was the
not
having that he…" She shrugged one shoulder. "Enjoyed so much."

Aidan shook his head. "Leave it to the French to muck up the simplest of pleasures," he muttered, rolling half-way off the woman.

"It is not ‘simple’ about pleasure, Lord Wessex. You English have such prudish concepts of sensuality."

The earl’s forehead creased with indignation. "Prudish?"

"Yes," she said, pulling her hands from his slackened grasp and pushing him away as she removed herself from the bed. He followed, pinning her to the wall between his muscular arms.

She ignored his physical threat and continued. "I have found the higher a man’s station, the more he enjoys being dominated by a woman in the bedchamber, and conversely, the
lower
a man’s station, the more he savors dominating. It has been an invaluable insight when seeking information."

Aidan could not conceal his disbelief, which for some incomprehensible reason seemed to irritate the woman. Her eyes narrowed and she was clearly offended by his skepticism.

"Kiss me," she commanded.

Never had a paramour demanded to be kissed, but Aidan eagerly complied. He bent his head over hers, his black hair skimming her forehead. He began softly, roaming leisurely over her soft lips and then effortlessly slipping his tongue between them to taste her.

Aidan wanted to make her ache for him, an Englishman. He sucked and tasted every corner of her delicious mouth before finally pulling away. A lazy smile spread across his features as he looked down at her, waiting patiently for her eyes to open.

"Prudish?" he asked arrogantly.

The woman’s dazed eyes fluttered open. "And
that
is your preferred method of lovemaking, Lord Wessex?" Her tone indicated that she was unimpressed.

Aidan’s smile was full of sensual promise as he stared at her lips, saying, "It seems to have been more than satisfactory thus far, yes."

"Ah. And would you say that your appetites are similar to other men of your station?"

Aidan shrugged his assent.

"And you would not enjoy having your lover in control?"

Aidan’s brows furrowed. No gentleman would be stimulated by such wanton behavior from a gently bred lady. "No," he answered with confidence.

But before the word had passed his lips, Lady Rivenhall had grabbed his waistcoat and pushed him against the wall, causing him to grunt with the impact. Her lips devoured his mouth in a savage kiss that thrust her tongue into battle with his. The sensation sent a surge of heat spiraling from his abdomen to his groin.

Her hands dove into his thick hair, pulling him closer and deeper into her mouth. She stripped him of his waistcoat and pushed him down on the large bed. His expulsion of air was due not only to the forceful impact with the mattress, but to the feel of Lady Rivenhall stretched out along the entire length of him.

His body was responding to her wild caresses, his shaft growing, hardening. She ground her hips to his as she kissed him. Her hands grasped the top of his shirt and she yanked, sending the ruby studs that held the garment in place flying. He moaned with pain and pleasure as he felt her nails scrape his flesh.

The temptress untucked his shirt and began trailing kisses between the hard muscles of his chest, pausing to nip at his nipple. His skin jumped at the sensation and Aidan reached to pull her against his aching cock, but the siren pinned his arms to the bed and smiled.

"No," she ordered, and for some unfathomable reason he complied.

Her tongue laved its way downward, following the lines that crisscrossed his belly. Aidan swallowed hard and discovered that he was holding his breath, willing her to proceed lower.

Her hands quickly unfastened the buttons to his trousers, her tongue tasting him all the while. He watched in wonder as her golden head descended. Aidan shuddered with pleasure as desire began to ripple and lick at his senses.

He groaned as her soft lips pressed the sensitive skin just above the nest of black curls revealed by his gaping buckskins. Her hands rubbed his abdomen as her lips sent him to new levels of ecstasy. Aidan’s mouth opened, and his eyes closed as he eagerly anticipated her next caress.

And then she was gone. His eyes opened in frustration, only to see the vixen looking down at him with contempt filling her light eyes.

"You’re all the same." She bent down to retrieve her discarded garments. "So easy to control."

It took several moments before he was able to speak.

"Have you never," he began on a heavy breath, "lost control, Lady Rivenhall?"

"To a man?" She laughed, but the sound was anything but amused. "I have never had that luxury, my lord."

Aidan stared into her aqua eyes, trying in vain to comprehend her meaning. He wondered once again what had driven this beautiful woman to betray her country. He tried to imagine a plausible explanation. But there was none. His anger boiled to the surface and he felt an overwhelming need to make her quiver with desire for her countryman.

His right arm darted out and he had her on her back before she had time to step away from him. She struggled, but his arms tightened about her waist as he looked down into her eyes.

"Let us see if I can thaw the ice that flows through your veins."

Aidan covered her mouth with his. He savored the feel of her bare breasts against his chest as he consumed her lips. His tongue glided into the heat of her mouth, and she sucked in a breath. He circled her tongue, giving her senses no respite from his sensual demands.

He shrugged out of his gaping linen shirt without lifting himself from the heat of her enticing form. Her breathing was becoming shallow, and his desire reached deep into the pit of his stomach.

He released her mouth and burned a trail down her neck, reveling in the taste of her nipple in his mouth. Aidan shuddered when she cried out with pleasure as he laved and suckled one breast and then the other.

Her head fell to one side and he doubted that she was aware of the rhythmic rocking of her hips against him. He moaned with masculine need and grasped the delicate lace of her drawers, ripping them from her slender hips.

The siren’s garters were fastened at mid-thigh, holding silk stockings to her shapely legs. She made no attempt to remove them and the thought of having his head between those silk-clad thighs sent him to even greater heights of anticipation.

He kissed the sleek skin just above her garters, but when he saw her sex, plump and wet, ripe to be tasted, he was forced to grit his teeth or climax then and there.

***

Celeste was floating.