Stormfire (49 page)

"I reserve gambling to horses. Losses may be expensive, but rarely fatal." He came up behind her. "Would you like to be a queen
, p'tite?"

She laughed scoffingly. "I want more pleasure out of life." Then, as if toying with the thought, she began to adjust her veil. "Still, being a mere-princess might be convenient. I suppose Liam
would
be a prince?"

She turned her head, her eyes luring him as if behind a
harem veil, and he caught her shoulders in spite of himself. "So you are having an affair with him!"

She smiled slowly. "It was you who said he was predictable, not I."

Amauri pulled her close and his senses began to take over his he felt the ripened body beneath her habit. "Catherine, don't meddle in this. It's too dangerous. We're all sitting atop a powder keg. You're behaving as if it were all a game."

"Your concern is endearing, but—"

"Catherine, don't be stupid! You must leave Ireland. Every day you spend with that fair-haired fop—"

"Don't play the jealous suitor. I admit I was infatuated with you once, but then, you said yourself I was a child."

"You still are!" His voice dropped to a murmur. "Only now you have the body of a woman. You're maddening. . ."

She eluded his lips. "You don't have to seduce me to ensure my reliability. It must have been quite a surprise, finding an English bomb in the midst of your conspirators. I have no intention of interfering with your plans, for you see, I
am
in love. The end of this rebellion will see me married to Liam Culhane, my fortunes a barometer of France's success in Ireland."

He released her abruptly. "You're not serious! You don't know your own mind."

"I've never been more sure of anything." Catherine went to Numidian and gathered the reins. "And now, I think we should consider the matter closed."

The Frenchman clicked his heels in an angry bow. "As you say,
Comtesse."

She mounted easily without assistance and watched as he vaulted into his own saddle. "Raoul?"

"Yes?" he replied curtly.

"If anything should happen to Liam, I would hold you personally responsible."

His eyes narrowed. "Do you take me for a murderer?"

She regarded him levelly. "Nothing so crude. For instance, if I had proved difficult this afternoon and unfortunately suffered a broken neck in a fall, my demise would have been classified as an assassihation under the circumstances,
n'eat-ce pas?
A very detached word, assassination. Nothing personal about it at all."

He gave her an appraising look, then rode away at a hard gallop.

Catherine nudged Numidian into a walk in the opposite direction. She felt curiously light-headed and cold, even though the sun streamed warmly though the wasted oaks and rowan trees. She did not even turn her head when Sean's voice drifted over her shoulder. "Well done, Kitten. Though there were moments I thought I might have to shoot him." The Irishman reined in beside her on the path. "Do you play whist?"

She smiled faintly. "Dare I say when I learned?"

"Never mind. Stay away from him, Catherine." She gave him a sidelong look. "It's not that, though his balls make a tempting target. He hasn't swallowed your story yet."

"The story you fed him," she retorted ironically. "Still, I hadn't come up with a better one. If I'd admitted being involved with you, he might have thought you were setting a trap with Father's backing. After all, Papa's allegiances tend to be somewhat shifty."

Sean smiled faintly. "Not anymore. He's becoming a faithful Englishman in spite of himself."

"More of your conniving?"

The Irishman shrugged. "Even I didn't guess Napoleon might have promised him a place in government. That was a deft shot. You're beginning to show a scheming streak, pet."

"Uneasy?"

"Should I be?"

"As Raoul said, things could go wrong.
If. . .
something did, what would you do?"

"What would you want me to do?"

"Cut and run."

"To end up fighting for Napoleon instead of for Ireland? Not likely. I don't like his ideas of conquest any better than you."

"Then fight against him." , "It's a fine choice you're giving me, girl: to join the English army or march with that Corqican bastard all over
Europe. If I'm going to fight and die, I'd as lief do it on my own turf, for my own people."

"Then you won't leave?"

"The others can if they want."

"You'd die, uselessly?" she whispered incredulously.

"Brooding before battle has a way of fouling luck. You'll come to no harm in any case. I'm sending you to Canada to stay with friends until it's over. You sail on the
Sylvie
the morning after the ball. I've set an income aside for you. In case of my death, you'll inherit everything I have. The day the fighting's over, for good or ill, you're free to spit in my eye or on my grave, whichever the case may be."

"You said once . . ."

"That I'd follow you anywhere? I'll never be sure of you unless you're free to turn away and not come back. When those men looked at you this afternoon, I felt as if I'd been making love to a mirage." Abruptly, he twitched Mephisto off the path. "We'd better separate here." He did not look back.

Duels

The provocatively cut gown left Catherine's breasts and shoulders alluringly bare. Her sapphire silk shimmered in the light of massive candelabras that lined the dining table. Sean had chosen to dress her with scandalous, if excellent, taste, and with reason. She felt like another woman, one who had never endured hard work. Exactly what I might have become, she thought behind a smile that expressed nothing but attention to the subtly suggestive repartee of her dinner partner, General Fournel.

"Your eyes are fascinating, mademoiselle; at once inviting a man to the most wicked imaginings, yet distant as the stars."

Amauri lazed in the chair opposite. "Ah, one must beware of cold goddesses,
mon General.
Wasn't it the huntress Diana who had her lover turned into a stag and torn to bits by her hounds for venturing too close?"

"Actaeon was not her lover, Colonel," drawled Catherine. "He was merely impertinent."

Courbier, the puppyish young lieutenant, leaned forward laughing. "Surely, mademoiselle, a woman so lovely as you could never be cruel."

"If men transform women into goddesses, they must expect less than docile behavior."

Liam, on her left, sardonically raised his glass. "Heed the lady well, gentlemen, lest you become dog food ere morn."

The lieutenant looked at him good-naturedly. "Have you had sad experience with goddesses, milord?"

"There are no goddesses, Lieutenant. They're an artistic fiction. As the lady suggests, all lies."

Liam was more inebriated than Catherine had ever seen him. Her eyes flicked toward Sean at the far end of the table. He seemed to be listening to a guest with polite boredom, but when his eyes met hers, she knew he had missed little of the conversation between Liam and the lieutenant.

"But, milord," another officer was protesting, "men must be permitted a few pleasant illusions."

"Especially if they insist on dying for them; otherwise, who would fight to protect another man's potatoes," inserted Amauri, slyly eying Liam. "And women, too, must have their illusions, love being their particular favorite. What do you expect of love, Mademoiselle Flynn?"

Catherine lifted her glass.
"C'est merveil leux,
when one can afford it." Secretly, she was furious with Amauri for taunting Liam through, her.

"Quel cynisme. C'est dommage,"
Amauri sighed. "Still, surely you believe in the immortality of glory?"

"Immortality is a masculine word. To a woman, only life matters."

"Then you cannot be in favor of war, mademoiselle?"

She gave him a slow smile. "I'm relieved I'm not obliged to be a soldier."

The lieutenant laughed. "Bravo, Mademoiselle Flynn! To waste such beauty as cannon fodder would be idiocy!"

Amauri glanced at Liam, then- looked at her. "But surely courage should be coupled with beauty?"

Catherine laughed. "If you doubt my nerve, Colonel, why not call me out?"

"You, mademoiselle? Have you no gallant protector?"

"Will I do?" interrupted Liam nastily.

Catherine lightly tapped his sleeve with her fan. "No, milord. You shall not cheat me. I am the one whose ferocity is questioned."

Amauri gave a Gallic shrug and grinned. "My dear young lady, I cannot fight a woman."

"Why not? Every tradition needs a little airing,
n'est-ce pas?
Come, it will be amusing."

Amauri, in expectation of some parlor game, sighed. "Very well, mademoiselle, if you insist. I challenge."

"I choose knives," said Catherine swiftly, rising to her feet and flicking the fan open.