Authors: Samantha Saxon
"What has happened,
ma petite
?"
Celeste focused her eyes on her companion after having stared out the carriage window for the past two hours. "I don’t know what you mean."
"Something has happened, Celeste. I know you too well." The older woman reached out and placed a hand over hers. "What has occurred?"
Celeste fought the tears that welled in her eyes, but once they emerged, the dam broke. She leaned her head on Madame Arnott’s shoulder and whispered, "I did something very wicked, Marie."
Her companion stroked her hair and dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief. "Lord Elkin was not harmed. You did what you must, no more."
Celeste covered her face in shame. "No, not that. I..." She paused, not sure she could continue.
"Tell me,
mon amie
," Marie whispered, rubbing Celeste’s back as she leaned into the older woman’s shoulder.
"I...I bedded Wessex." Celeste closed her eyes and swallowed a sob when Madame Arnott stilled. "He threatened to turn me over to the Foreign Office if I did not."
Marie kissed the top of her head and resumed rubbing her back in a soft, soothing motion. "Oh, Celeste, you sacrificed your virtue to save English soldiers. This is not wicked."
Celeste pulled out of the comforting embrace and shook her head violently. "You do not understand, Marie. I
am
wicked. I wanted him to make love to me." There, she had said it. "God, help me, Marie. I
wanted
him to touch me. He is so handsome, so noble and brave that every time I look at him. I want to touch him."
"And this is why we leave with such haste from Hartford Hall, oui?"
"Yes. I will finish this assignment, and then we shall return to France."
"No! It is too dangerous for you in France, surely you can see that."
Celeste sniffled and wiped away her remaining tears. "We have no idea how long the war will last, Marie. I am of more use in France."
"Not if you are dead."
"If I am discovered, then so be it. You may remain here, but after this mission, I am for France."
Celeste regretted her words the moment she saw the hurt in Marie’s blue eyes. "Of course I shall accompany you to France, Lady Rivenhall."
"I’m sorry, Marie."
Madame Arnott’s eyes softened, but the hurt still remained. "I know you are,
ma petite
."
"The Dog and Duck is just ahead, me lady," the coachman shouted down.
Lady Rivenhall sat up and adjusted her peach pelisse as Marie adjusted Celeste’s coiffure. "Am I presentable?" she asked as the landau rolled to a stop.
Madame Arnott smiled. "Your cheeks are pink as if you have spent the afternoon in the sun."
"Thank you," she said, stepping down from the conveyance and missing the look of concern that had replaced her companion’s bright smile.
***
The Dog and Duck’s boisterous dining hall gave Celeste the distraction she needed. The wooden beams and low ceiling of the room added to the comforting noise that was far preferable to the seclusion of eating in a private room, where only Marie stood between her and her thoughts.
"I’ve made ready the same rooms as before, your ladyship." The innkeeper groveled. "Nice and tidy, just like last time."
"Thank you, Mister Jones, the rooms were very lovely," she said, smiling in appreciation. The old man beamed from ear to enormous ear, revealing gaps where teeth should have been. "Now if you don’t mind, I should like to eat."
"Yes, ma’am, the private dining--"
"No, thank you, Mister Jones, your dining hall will be more than satisfactory."
Marie’s head snapped round.
"Very well, my lady," the innkeeper said. "Call us if you have any difficulties."
"That is most comforting," Celeste replied, and then the old man left them to their meal.
"We cannot possibly eat in here." Madame Arnott’s tone was filled with indignation.
Celeste rolled her eyes as she walking into the room. "Do not be such an elitist, Marie. Has the Revolution taught you nothing?" she teased, sitting at a vacant table along the far wall.
Lady Rivenhall pulled at the satin ties to her straw bonnet and stretched her neck from side to side. So, it took several moments for her to notice that conversation had come to a standstill in the smoke-filled room. Celeste looked up and saw that the predominantly male patrons were looking in their direction.
Marie huffed. "This is why we cannot eat in the hall. It is the same wherever we go. The men, they…
convet
?"
"Lust."
"
Oui
, the men, they
lus
t
for you. We shall be remembered."
"I do not care, Marie. I am hungry and tired, and I want to sleep. It will take far too long to prepare a meal for us in a private dining room."
"This is not wise."
"What’ll you have, me lady?"
Celeste turned to the serving girl, whom she knew to be the married daughter of the innkeeper. "I shall have whatever is prepared."
The woman’s eyes widened and she licked her lips in nervous agitation. "But, ma’am, all we gots is mutton stew and some bread. Me mother would be ‘appy to make you--"
"No, thank you. The mutton stew will do very well, thank you. And would you mind bringing a pitcher of ale? I am rather parched from our journey."
Madame Arnott gasped, and Celeste ignored her. She stared at the wooden table, knowing that if she looked at any of the men in the room they would view it as encouragement.
The ale was brought, and she poured herself a large tankard full. Celeste sipped the bitter brew and remembered the many times that she had sat with her troops drinking ale when nothing more palatable was available. Her men had looked to her for strength and inspiration before battle, and she had given them nothing but treachery and deceit.
Celeste had tried to hate all the French, but with every passing year the line between good and evil grew indistinct. The young men under her command had joined the army rather than starve in the streets of Paris.
How could these men be blamed for her father’s death?
But it was those men who had suffered for it. The information she had given Wellesley had led to the loss of many French lives. Not the lives of the wealthy men that murdered her father and now sat at Napoleon’s side. No, the men that died on the battlefield at Albuera were farmers and peasants, her troops.
Celeste refilled her cup, tired of war and dying and of the enormous burden she carried. If she unmasked the traitor, French soldiers would die; if she did not, English soldiers would die.
Did it really matter?
"Here’s your stew, me lady."
Celeste smiled in thanks and ate in quiet contemplation. She scarcely tasted the food, noting only that it was hot and filling. But no matter how much she ate or how much she watched the patrons of the dining hall, her mutinous mind continued producing images of last night.
Of course, she knew what she had done was sinful, but when she thought of being held in the earl’s powerful arms she wanted to be wicked all over again. To run her hands the length of his nude body in an attempt to understand why his form enticed her so, why
he
enticed her so.
She had hoped that if she bedded him, her infatuation would be satisfied, would run its course. What an innocent fool she had been. Holding him inside her had only made her body crave more of his exquisite touch.
Despair settled in her chest, and she took another sip of ale, and another, until the emptiness faded. The man despised her. He thought her a spy and would continue to do so. After she had exposed the traitor, she would return to France and continue gathering information for Falcon.
But what if she told him the truth?
The thought flashed in her mind before she could stop it. She knew what would happen--he would not believe her and in the process of proving her claim, the traitor would escape them. Men’s lives were in her hands. It was too great a risk.
And besides, a small voice whispered, she did not deserve a man as fine and noble as the Earl of Wessex. She sipped her ale.
"Need a bit of company, me lady?"
Celeste looked up at the tall man that stood before her. He was young, blond and probably considered very handsome for a small village such as this.
"Marie, please, go upstairs."
Madame Arnott obeyed, all too familiar with the commanding tone of her lady’s voice.
"That’s right," the man said with a wink. "Give us some time to ourselves, won’t it?" His eyes roved over her with carnal speculation, further blackening her already foul mood.
"Sir, I have invited neither you nor your stench to join me, and I strongly suggest you leave my presence."
The large man planted his palms on her table and leaned toward her, saying, "A woman as fine as you ain’t accustomed to sleeping alone." His smile became seductive. "I would be happy to offer me services if you promise not to wake the entire inn when you scream me name."
Celeste’s lip curled in a sensuous smile. "I’m afraid it is you that shall do the screaming."
The burly man’s eyes flared with desire a moment before he shrieked in pain. He looked down at her knife cutting into the delicate skin between his fingers. Celeste held her weapon while he held her gaze, withdrawing his fingers from either side of the blade and examining his injury.
"You bi…" he began, and then apparently thought better of it. He walked back to his friends as their laughter rang out through the noise in the dark room.
Celeste wiggled the tip of her knife from the wood of the table and sheathed it to her thigh. She took one last gulp of ale and rose, heading for the staircase with all eyes fixed firmly on her back.
***
The Earl of Wessex stood at the bar of the Dog and Duck, thankful that he had borrowed Alfred’s coat and hat before mounting Samson. The ride was a relatively easy one, and he had overtaken the lady’s landau before lunchtime. Aidan had spent the rest of the afternoon at a sedate pace, just far enough behind so as not to be noticed by the coachman.
He slipped into the dining hall just as Lady Rivenhall sat down to eat. Aidan ate stale bread and stared, along with every other man in the room, as the lady downed tankard after tankard of ale.
This had no doubt been a source of confidence for the brave young lad that had ventured so high above his station. Aidan thought that he would be forced to intervene, but the lady had proven just as deadly as always…with the possible exception of last night.
A surge of desire swept through him as he watched the woman ascend the stairs. He washed it down with a mouthful of ale and called for another bowl of stew. Aidan waited for his food, trying not to imagine what garments she was removing, trying not to remember the feel of her silk stockings wrapped around his waist as he drove into her, trying not to remember the taste of her flesh as he took her pink nipple in his mouth.
"Another ale," he shouted with a lick of his parched lips.
Is that why the ethereal woman imbibed so much? Was she remembering, or, more likely, was she trying to forget?
He only prayed that he could.
***
Aidan’s morning broke at dawn with the pounding of his head caused by the banging at his door.
"Just a moment," he shouted irritably as he donned his buckskins and opening the small door. "Yes?"
"The lady’s coach is preparing to depart, my lord."
"Well done," he said, tossing the boy a shilling and pulling on his boots and shirt. "Make ready my horse, I shall be down shortly."
"Yes, sir."
Aidan reminded himself that he needed to remain concealed, needed to observe whom she spoke with and where she was staying. He glanced down the corridor before coming downstairs only to see her seated, much as before, eating breakfast. And he had never seen anything more beautiful.
Her golden hair was twisted atop her head with peacock feathers sprouting from a hint of a hat. Her gown was designed to draw attention to her small waist, and when she looked down at her food, Aidan remembered kissing that elegant neck as her pulse thundered with her passion.
"Fancy meeting you here," he said before he knew what he was doing. Her mouth parted in shock and she ceased to breathe. He
remembered that as well. "I assume you are traveling back to London?"
"Y-yes, Madame Arnott is seeing to our luggage," the lady said to the table.
The earl sat down in the chair opposite hers and waited for her blue green eyes to meet his.
"What luck. Then might I offer my services as escort?" he said, infusing his smile with every ounce of his considerable charm.
Her eyes divulged her alarm and he almost felt sorry for her. "No, thank you, my lord, that is not necessary. I’m quite sure you have better ways of occupying your time."