Napoleon's Woman (27 page)

Bad start.

"It is," Aidan said, holding the man’s eyes and preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation. "I have come to inform you that Lady Rivenhall will not be boarding a ship to Calais Friday next."

Falcon’s eyes narrowed, and Aidan saw a flash of the very formidable man he must have been in his youth. "Oh, and why is that, my lord?"

Aidan lifted his chin, bracing himself for the man’s outrage. "Because the lady has consented to be my wife."

The old man raised a brow as he lifted himself from the chair. He said not a word and walked around the desk, coming to rest directly in front of him.

"I knew I could rely on you, boy. Steady as a rock. Steady as a rock!" Falcon broke into a broad smile and shook his hand in ardent congratulation. "Thought I was going to have to hold the girl against her will." The old man laughed. "Celeste is extremely stubborn, as you well know."

Aidan’s blinked, feeling suddenly as though the world were topsy-turvy. "You’re pleased that we are to be married?"

"Pleased! Damnation, boy, why do you think I partnered you with the lady in the first place? Always knew the girl would want to return to France. Needed something to keep her here, didn’t I?"

"You mean you…you anticipated my offer?"

Falcon shrugged modestly. "Don’t know if ‘anticipated’ is the correct word. More of a hope, really. That girl has had more men than I can shake a stick at attempt to seduce her, and not once did she bat an eyelash. But the night you discovered her at Reynold’s ball…well, the girl was fit to be tied."

"Are you suggesting that she was in love with me then?" Aidan could not believe it.

The old man chortled. "Good God, man, how should I know if the girl was in love with you? But she was attracted to you, of that I was certain."

"But I thought she was a French agent." Aidan’s tone held his skepticism.

"Yes, but she knew that you were not, and that your behavior stemmed from a sense of loyalty and patriotism, which she admired greatly. In that, at least, you are a perfect match."

A perfect match. Aidan smiled. "Yes, I suppose we are."

"So," the old man began with a grin. "When is the happy day?"

Aidan shook his head. "We have not discussed the matter."

"Take some advice from an old man." Falcon’s sherry-colored eyes looked anything but old. "The woman will want to delay the wedding until the perfect flowers are in season or some silly nonsense, but put your foot down. Three months at the most. That is all any man should wait to have the woman he intends to make his wife."

Aidan laughed, "Three months?"

"Less if you can manage it, but I think that sister of yours will cause problems for you."

"Always has."

"I can only imagine." He smiled. "Now, go back to your betrothed and keep the girl out of danger. A woman that beautiful and clever will be pursued by the ton’s most notorious rakes until the day of the ceremony, if not afterward."

A surge of possessiveness overcame Aidan, and he was startled by its intensity. He bowed, saying, "I can assure you, my lord, that will not be a difficulty."

Falcon laughed and sat behind his desk. "A rock."

"Oh, Aidan," his sister said, flying into his arms. "I am so happy for you."

"I believe I told you, dearest."

The duke’s comment, accompanied by his smug grin, earned him an orange hurled at his head. He caught it, having grown accustomed to his wife’s fits of irritation.

Aidan laughed. "You really should stop tossing things at your husband, Sarah."

"Glenbroke is enormous," she said, lifting her elegant hand in the direction of her husband. "One or two dents will hardly be noticed."

"Do you promise to examine me later, darling?"

"Only if you are very, very good."

The duke chuckled at his outrageous wife, as Sarah turned to Aidan, all smiles. "A Christmas wedding. Oh, it will be perfect. We shall have less than six months, but I’m sure we can manage."

"You have three."

"Three!" Sarah all but shouted.

"Very well, two."

The duke laughed and his wife glared in his direction.

"What I really want is for you to take Celeste under your wing. She has been in France for the past several years and will need to be reintroduced to her peers."

"She is very brave, your Celeste."

Aidan sobered. "Yes, she is, but she need not be any longer."

"Well, old man. I believe this calls for a tall drink of congratulations." He handed Aidan his finest brandy. "I must confess, I thought Daniel would get shackled--"

"Shackled!"

"My apologies, darling." The duke bowed in Sarah’s direction just as an apple went sailing overhead. Gilbert pretended not to hear the loud thud as the fruit hit the mahogany paneled wall of their dining room. "I felt sure Daniel would be the next to take the path to matrimonial bliss, to wedded jubilation, to--"

"Very amusing, Your Grace." Sarah attempted to appear annoyed but only managed affectionate exasperation. "At least give us the pleasure of announcing your betrothal at our ball on Wednesday."

Aidan laughed at the desperation in Sarah’s emerald eyes, eyes that matched his to perfection. "Very well, sister dear. If Celeste is amenable, then Gilbert may announce our betrothal Wednesday."

Sarah bounced up and down and clapped with excitement, prompting Aidan to add, "The sooner the announcement is made, the sooner the preparations can begin for the wedding."

The duchess grunted her disapproval. "Three months. Really, Aidan, people will think you were forced to marry Lady Rivenhall."

Aidan felt warmth spread through him at the possibility of his bride increasing. "Perhaps I am," he said, teasing his sister as if she were still ten years of age.

Her mouth fell open and the duke chuckled. "Well, if you are going to make such indelicate comments, darling, you should anticipate such answers." Gilbert’s silvery eyes fell to his. "You do not, do you?"

"What?" Aidan asked, playing the innocent.

"Need a hasty wedding?"

Aidan smiled, his dimples contrasting with the wicked glint in his eye. "Three months," he answered, calculating that if his sister believed there was indeed a need for a hasty wedding, she would not hound him for the next three months. "Until Wednesday, Sarah." He bowed. "Your Grace." 

He took his leave, delighting in the fact that he had rendered his talkative sister utterly speechless.

***

Celeste was polishing off her second glass of scotch when the Earl of Wessex arrived. She set the tumbler down by the decanter and ripped open her reticule, pulling out a sprig of mint. She chewed voraciously and spit the mangled leaf into her handkerchief.

She searched for a place to dispose of the soiled cloth and in desperation stuffed the white linen between the cushions of the settee. Her smile was perhaps a bit too bright as she awaited the arrival of her fiancé. Truth be told, she was having a bit of difficulty comprehending that
the
Earl of Wessex, the legend, was indeed her betrothed.

Was she truly that fortunate?

No, the earl had made the offer to keep her from returning to France, of that she was sure. He had proven his honor by attempting to protect her yet again. Oh, the earl was attracted to her. She knew that by the way her looked at her, touched her.

Therefore, the question remained. Could she accept this marriage? For her part, Celeste knew she would never find a finer man in all the world. He was breathtakingly handsome and had only to enter the room to make her weak in the knees. He had offered his life in defense of his country, and she would always admire him.

No. If she were honest, she would admit that she more than admired Aidan Duhearst. Celeste knew beyond all doubt that she had fallen in love the Earl of Wessex. But he was not in love with her?

How could he be?

The door opened, and Celeste fixed a polite smile on her face. Aidan’s forest green jacket was of the finest quality, and his black trousers and boots made his powerful legs appear as long as she knew them to be. She blushed, and he gave her a lopsided grin, revealing those dimples that made her stomach flip.

"Good evening, Lady Rivenhall," he offered, bowing elegantly.

"Good evening, my lord," she said, feeling awkward. Celeste tugged at her cerulean gown and suddenly wished that she had left her hair down. She felt exposed and vulnerable.

The earl walked forward, standing before her, and Celeste had never felt so small. She looked up into his clear green eyes and for just a moment she thought that he was pleased with their arrangement.

"You look lovely, Celeste," he whispered as he bent his head and kissed her. His hand drifted to cup her cheek, and the warmth of his bare hand startled her. His lips were equally warm, and he grinned. "Mint." He smacked his lips with brows pulling together in contemplation. "And brandy?"

"Scotch," Celeste admitted.

His baritone chuckle reached into her, and she shivered as he said, "I’d better have another taste." His lips met hers again, but this time his warm hands pulled her flush against his body. His tongue persuaded her mouth to open, allowing him to slip inside.

He surveyed her mouth, and Celeste heard a soft moan that she realized was her own. His hand splayed on the small of her back as he drew her closer. She could feel his arousal against her hip, and Celeste closed her eyes, remembering the absolute pleasure of feeling his power braced over her as he drove into her body.

"Definitely scotch," he said with a teasing smile meant to put her at ease.

But it did not.

She stared up at Aidan Duhearst and realized that she wanted to marry him, wanted it more than she could have thought. She had always dreamt of a quiet life where she was not forced to do horrible things, a life with many children and a home somewhere in the country.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of her father and the children that would never know him, of walking down the aisle alone as she made her way to take her wedding vows.

Aidan looked down at her, concern creasing his forehead. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, asking, "What troubles you, Celeste?"

She avoided his all too perceptive gaze. "I was just thinking that my father will not be here for my wedding."

"Nor mine," he said, with such sadness that Celeste looked up.

"Sarah told me that your father died in battle?" she asked, realizing that she knew very little about the man she was to marry.

"Lincelles."

He looked away but she saw his pain, prompting her to ask, "How long ago?"

"He left me…us, when I was ten." He shrugged. "After my mother died he, joined the fight against France. He led the charge at Lincelles and died there, leaving the earldom to me."

Celeste was overcome with sympathy. "I am so sorry, Aidan. He must have loved her very much," she said.

Aidan lifted his head and stared at her as if he had never seen her before. He blinked. "Who?"

"Your Mother," she said, confused. "Your father must have loved your mother very much to have grieved her so deeply, to have gone to war rather than face life without her."

Her fiancé stared, his eyes glistening with tears. "Yes, he did." And then he laughed, contradicting his sadness and confusing her further still. "Yes, Father adored my mother. He was not the same man after she died."

"I’m sure losing your mother was difficult for all of you." They stared at one another. "I know how difficult it is to lose someone. I am sorry, Aidan."

"So am I." But she knew that he was not referring to himself, which made her tears start anew. "You could not have saved your father, Celeste," he whispered. "And no matter how many traitors you expose, nothing will change the simple truth that you are not, and never were, to blame for his death."

Celeste could scarcely breathe. His words reached down to the darkest part of her, spreading light there for the first time in years.

"Thank you, Aidan."

He wiped a tear from her cheek and then turned and offered her his arm. "Now, let us go to the ball before your nose resembles a raspberry." Celeste smiled through her tears and followed him to their betrothal party.

***

For the past two days the Duchess of Glenbroke had come to Celeste’s home, interrogating her--it was the only appropriate word for it--on her favorite flower, color, composer, dance, jewels. However, the most enjoyable part of these afternoon teas was hearing of Aidan’s childhood.

Hearing of the boy who loved his parents and spent his days hunting and fishing and concocting horrible ways in which to torture his younger sister. And of a young boy who had shouldered the loss of his father and the devastating responsibilities that followed, a man who requested a commission in his Majesty’s cavalry in order to follow in his heroic father’s footsteps.

"He was wounded several times," the duchess had said with sadness contorting her features. "We had hoped he would return home after the first battle." Sarah sighed. "Alburera was the worst, of course. He had headaches for months after his return."

Celeste had not been able to breathe, and upon seeing her distress, the duchess had come to her side. "He is all right now, Celeste. I’m sorry, I thought you knew."

But she had not.

The thought of the world losing a man like the Earl of Wessex, of her losing a man like Aidan…She glanced over at his masculine profile as he stared out the window. They approached his sister’s home on Governor’s Square.

"Ah, here we are. Now, I must warn you. Sarah will wait until the last possible moment before asking Gilbert to make the announcement. She has always enjoyed a good secret and will not relinquish it easily."

Celeste grinned, saying, "I would never think of ruining the Duchess of Glenbroke’s enjoyment."

They shared a conspiratorial smile, and Celeste relished the moment of closeness.

He handed her down, and as they ascended the stairs the butterflies in her stomach multiplied with each step toward the front entry.

Tonight, she would be the center of attention, and she could not help but squirm under the anticipated scrutiny. For so long she had been avoiding attention, avoiding attachments. She had moved in society in Paris, of course, but never like this, never in the open and never without a goal.

Celeste glanced at her fiancé, and he squeezed her hand, dissolving all of her doubt with his comforting smile. It was at that moment that she realized, truly understood, that she was not alone, that she would never be alone again. She would be his countess and his wife, and in return, he would be her husband and confidant.

They entered the Duke of Glenbroke’s home, and Celeste’s mouth fell open. Roses in various shades of pink covered every column within view, and the duchess’s generosity and acceptance was all too much. Her chin began to quiver, and Aidan inclined his head toward hers.

"What is the matter?"

"Pink roses are my favorite flower," she offered as a weak explanation, unable to voice her overwhelming gratitude and disbelief that she would soon be his bride.

Aidan smiled broadly, and she knew that he was pleased with his sister. "I’m so glad that you are enjoying them."

Enjoying them. His family’s generosity astonished her. They walked into the ballroom, and she could not believe the vastness of the long room. It seemed as though the entire ton could be accommodated quite easily within these paneled walls. Hundreds of candles lit the enormous chandelier overhead, and the Austrian crystal sparkled prettily across the polished wooden floor.

"It’s beautiful," she whispered.

Her fiancé leaned toward her, saying, "It does not compare to you, Celeste." She pulled her gaze from the exquisite chandelier to take in the exquisite man she was to marry. He smiled, his dimples displaying his amusement.

A waltz by her favorite composer began to play, and Aidan met her eyes with his. "My dance, I believe."

He led her to the floor, and before she could form a coherent thought, she was in his powerful arms. Their movements were fluid as she moved anywhere he wished her to go. Celeste marveled at how he managed to maneuver her about the floor while continuing to stare into her eyes. His colorful gaze flared, and she wanted nothing more than to take him to her bed and fulfill the promise she saw reflected there.