The Reluctant Bride (15 page)

She'd been ashamed by the force of her ardour during those moments of anticipation. Would Angus believe her wanton for the lustful impulses she'd be unable to hide once sexual congress had begun? What would he make of the ice maiden who suddenly proved she was every bit the depraved creature who'd allowed herself to be seduced outside of wedlock?

So many confusing thoughts and feelings had been whirling through her brain and body when he'd gazed into her face with that tender look which made her heart perform some extraordinary contortion she couldn't begin to explain.

Then, without warning, without explanation, he'd withdrawn. With such terrible suddenness.

It was only after his departure from her bedchamber that Emily, trawling for explanations, wondered if her husband had actually been in
love
with Jessamine. She remembered Caroline, in the carriage, whispering to Jonathan that ‘love' had nothing to do with Angus's union with this woman, but could Caroline have been wrong?

Major Woodhouse, silent beside her, blocked the weak afternoon sun. There was little love lost between them but she thought she saw some relaxing of his features at her veiled apology.

‘The wind is rising, Mrs McCartney. I think we should return.'

Reluctantly, she acquiesced when he offered her his arm, though Emily chose the path that led towards the ornamental lake instead of returning to the house.

The major, still so young and boyish in looks, had survived the weary, soul-destroying retreat from Corunna at Angus's side. He obviously knew more about Jessamine than he was prepared to reveal.

Emily was not about to relent. ‘My sister-in-law tells me this woman was a camp follower Angus met during the retreat to Corunna.'

He glanced at her, his expression set. ‘Few who lived through the horrors of Corunna choose to talk about it. If your husband doesn't, you must respect that.'

She waited, watching him filter his thoughts. ‘Then I have no choice but to think the worst.'

They walked, Emily still clinging to his arm as they negotiated a small, narrow flight of steps. When he finally spoke it was as if he were narrating an ancient saga and his voice was carefully devoid of emotion. ‘So many heroes died in the mud and cold, denied a glorious death in battle. Jessamine—' He hesitated. ‘My apologies, ma'am, but I do not think I knew her last name. She had been the – er – companion of an English foot soldier. From these parts, I'm told, though that is all I know about the woman.' He stopped, obviously struck by doubts regarding the wisdom of continuing. ‘I think, ma'am, that if your husband chose to keep this information from you—'

‘I have been supplied half-truths from various sources. You would be doing my husband a service if you gave me the honourable version.'

With a sigh, the major gazed across the sweeping lawns. ‘Angus deserves the comfort and security he has found. He is one of my dearest friends and I would go to great lengths to ensure his well-being … his happiness.' He sent her a sharp look, as if he doubted that Emily was doing much to contribute to that. Indecisiveness crossed his face. Then she heard his breath escape in a soft sigh, as if he'd made a decision. ‘If it will help you to understand some of the conflicts that torment your husband, I will tell you this.'

At last …

‘Several days into the retreat, with bodies dead and dying amidst the snow, soldiers wounded and wives and camp followers struggling to survive the distance to the shore where British troops were waiting to transport them home, your husband came upon Jessamine tending to her dying protector. The man would not survive his injuries. The enemy was on their heels and his sufferings were acute.'

Tensely, Emily waited in silence for him to go on.

The major's tone changed. She thought she heard pleading in his voice. ‘To elaborate on the nature of this soldier's injuries would be too much for your delicate sensibilities, Mrs McCartney, and yet I would want to do so in order to exonerate those actions which your husband was called upon to expedite'—he paused—‘entirely as a result of decency and humanity and the urging of the wounded soldier himself and his woman. Death was inevitable, either through cold and deprivation or the advancing enemy.'

Emily pressed her hand to her heart. Dear God, was this the burden her husband lived under? The premonition of what Major Woodhouse was about to say was almost overwhelming and without realising it she pre-empted him in a whispered rush. ‘Jessamine prevailed upon my husband to put hers out of his misery?'

Major Woodhouse inclined his head. ‘Consequently she was left without a protector. She believed she owed your husband a great debt'—his tone grew dry—‘though it took her some time to persuade him to agree to the contract.'

After a tense silence, he changed the subject. ‘I hope you are reconciled to Major McCartney's need for discretion.'

Emily's reply was distant. She could think only of the woman Angus had taken reluctantly into his bed after she'd begged him to kill her husband. The liaison had been formed through duty and necessity, not love.

When Angus had come to Emily's bed the night before he left, she wondered how he'd felt, knowing he was about to make love to the second woman whose husband's death he was responsible for?

‘I'm sorry, Major Woodhouse, what did you say?' She struggled to attend to him. ‘Oh, discretion? Have no fear, Angus speaks in only the vaguest of terms about his work.'

She was still in shock but she forced herself to turn, saying with a grim smile, ‘Tell me, Major Woodhouse, should I be concerned for Angus's safety?'

‘I will offer you no platitudes, Mrs McCartney. There are always risks in defending one's country.'

Sadness washed over her. ‘Poor Jack. He should have died defending his country. Instead, he died defending my husband.'

‘I beg your pardon?' Major Woodhouse jerked his head up. ‘Is that what Captain McCartney told you?'

Startled, she replied, ‘Have you heard otherwise?'

He flushed to the roots of his brown curls. ‘I will not refute what he has told you. Angus was chosen for his discretion, ma'am. It's not my place to elaborate where he chooses to keep his own counsel.'

She struggled to understand him. More untruths? ‘Even if his wife is kept in ignorance?' she whispered.

‘Especially if he deems it
safest
to keep his wife in ignorance.'

There was no arguing that Madeleine Delon was a beautiful woman. Irresistible to the majority of men, perhaps.

Angus was conscious of the pride that radiated from Monsieur Delon as they watched his graceful only child descend the stairs into the hallway of the Delon residence.

Except Madeleine wasn't a child and therein lay the problem.

She was a lush, sensual woman, completely aware of her seductive allure if the look she trained upon Angus was any indication of what was going on inside her pretty little head.

She'd changed out of the simple muslin morning dress she'd been wearing when she'd greeted Angus in almost sisterly fashion. With the dimming of the light she'd become the grand temptress. Her gold lutestring gown with its gauze trimmings brought out the lustre of her skin and the amber of her sparkling eyes. They were sparkling at Angus right now and he seriously questioned whether he would have had the strength, were he not emotionally engaged elsewhere and ignorant of Madeleine's true character, to resist their pull. What man could resist the allure of a beautiful woman who single-mindedly set about luring him? Especially if he was not used to such attention and lived with a disinterested wife?

Jack Noble had been unable to resist and Angus wasn't about to go the same way. He was quite certain Mademoiselle Delon's motives for her interest in him went beyond simply notching up another conquest.

‘She is a rare prize, is she not, Major McCartney?' her father demanded, blinded by his daughter's beauty. ‘Count Levinne is a lucky man,
non
? My daughter has made the catch of the century.'

Yes, she was a beauty, a rare prize, but she was no substitute for the wife Angus had left behind: the young woman he still hoped – God knew how – would somehow grow to love him. Painfully he reflected on their disastrous bedroom encounter the night before he left.

With her oblique references to being ready in half an hour to greet Angus ‘as a husband would wish to be greeted by his loving wife', Emily had all but insisted that he come to her.

He hadn't felt it was the right time in view of their earlier strained relations, but he could hardly reject her outright. And God, how he wanted her.

In the flickering candlelight he'd searched Emily's face in vain for some sign that she truly welcomed him with love in her heart. While he'd not read revulsion she'd certainly not greeted him with joy. Emily had simply been going through the motions. The reflection of Jessamine doing the same was enough to pour cold water on any feelings that went beyond simple protection.

Madeleine placed her dainty, gloved hand upon Angus's forearm and slid him a sly glance from beneath her dark lashes. With her vibrant smile, her glossy dark hair, straight little nose and small but generous mouth there was a far greater resemblance between her and Emily. The confident, dazzling Emily, he amended.

‘The count is indeed a catch and I must pretend the honour is all mine,' Madeleine said, her tone brittle as the doors opened to the street outside, and with a glance at her father, as if to ensure he'd not heard.

Madeleine had indicated to Angus before that this marriage was not the wonderful match her father clearly regarded it. Had she not voiced her reluctance in such a plaintive tone as she'd pretended to pick lint off his coat, and had Angus not been told by Monsieur Delon that Madeleine's wishes regarding her marriage partner were paramount, Angus would have felt sympathy.

If Madeleine felt such aversion towards marriage to the count, avarice was clearly motivating her to the altar.

In the flagstoned reception hall of the fortress where the ball was being held, Angus prepared to act his part: that of a regional painter visiting galleries, both public and private. Count Levinne's was reputed to be among the best in France, and mission aside, it gave him a thrill.

Although Angus's French was perfect and his charade close enough to the truth had he followed his painterly inclinations, he was always mindful of the potential for error. Above all, he must not reveal himself as an Englishman.

This was his second mission. His first had been straightforward: to deliver Allaire's papers.

The dangerous female spy of whom Major Woodhouse had spoken during their first meeting was now the focus of this, and perhaps subsequent, missions.

In just one month Madame Fontenay had slain two English agents. In each case the dying men claimed they'd been lured into a honey trap, drugged and poisoned. They'd both described the woman with whom they'd thought to enjoy untold pleasures making off with their official documents. The descriptions indicated the perpetrator as Madame Fontenay and subsequently the identities of numerous other agents had been revealed. Some had fled the country, others had been arrested.

The consequences for national security were devastating.

Angus had been recalled to France shortly after Madame Fontenay had been spotted in the Saint-Omer region where she was believed to be intending to lure a newly arrived English recruit into her clutches.

The young man, a twenty-four-year-old posing as a diplomat, had been apprised of the danger and would be meeting Angus this evening as both were briefed on their intended roles by Count Levinne.

Madeleine nudged him as they waited to be admitted to join the other guests into the grand saloon. ‘Genuflect, Monsieur. Levinne has seen us.'

Angus followed her gaze as the stern, gaunt young man, eyes bright with purpose above a hawk-like nose, bore down on them.

‘Mademoiselle Delon, Monsieur McCartney, I have been waiting.'

Levinne bowed over Madeleine's hand. The saloon was already near capacity and much of the discussion, Angus presumed, concerned Napoleon's defeat at Leipzig the previous week. The reports filtering in told of hundreds of thousands slaughtered. Napoleon had fought hard to retain his hold on the country but after several victories earlier in the year he had miscalculated. Speculation was rife as to what this meant for France.

Madeleine tilted her head, arranging her smile for the count's benefit and Angus saw the flare of lust in the young man's eyes as she said, coquettishly, ‘My apologies if I've kept you waiting, Levinne. I'm aware I must expect to be punished for my lack of punctuality once we are married.'

She touched her betrothed on the arm in a show of intimacy and he gripped it, trapping it there for a moment while his eyes roiled with an emotion Angus was all too familiar with: an as-yet unsatisfied desire for that which was his due.

‘Allow me, Mademoiselle Delon.' The count's slender fingers caressed Madeleine's neck as he unfastened the bow which tied her cloak beneath her chin and Angus registered the spasm that crossed the young woman's face at her fiance's touch.

Quickly he turned his head away so as not to betray his surprise at seeing the filigreed silver locket Madeleine wore.

‘This way, please.' The count ushered them into the midst of the throng, hovering over his beautiful future-wife like a spider with a fly, yet Madeleine seemed unconcerned by this display of jealous attention, charming men and women alike.

Tonight she wore her glossy jet hair pinned upon her head in the Grecian style with curls about her forehead and cheeks. Without a doubt she was the most beautiful woman in the room, though she would rival Emily, thought Angus, striving for dispassion as his host's daughter smiled up at him when they danced together. He turned his head away, wishing Emily would smile at him like that and wondering how he would bridge the impasse that yawned between them.

With the truth, he supposed, though he had no idea how Emily would react to proof of Jack's duplicity. She would start by refusing to believe anything Angus said, but in the end she would have to concede the weight of evidence was overwhelming.

Would she love Angus then, when Jack's noble edifice crumbled before her eyes?

At the end of the quadrille Madeleine drew Angus into an alcove a few feet from the count, who was sympathising with an elderly gentleman's tale of peasant treachery.

‘I am honoured, am I not, to ally myself to a man such as Levinne?' She did not wait for him to reply, her agitation apparent as she twitched the curtain tassel. ‘It has always been my fate. I've known it since I was a child. I was given a reprieve due to a death in the family, but I fear there will be no further reprieves. The most strategic members of both our families are in robust health.' She smiled sweetly. ‘I saw you admiring my locket, Major McCartney.'

She was flirting; drawing him into her orbit as she no doubt did every man who fulfilled her need for admiration.

What did she hope to gain by her coquetry? Was it simple venality, for how could he feel sorry for her when he knew she could sever the connection if she chose?

A sudden thought intruded. If Madeleine's heart had been broken by Jack then Angus owed it to Madeleine to reveal the truth about Jack's duplicity just as he intended to reveal it to Emily.

‘I have seen its copy recently.'

‘Are you an expert on women's jewellery, Monsieur?' she asked with a toss of her head. ‘The piece is simple but I treasure it infinitely more than the diamonds my future husband will expect me to wear to add to his consequence.'

‘The giver is always more important than the gift.'

Madeleine sent him a wary look before glancing at Levinne. Lowering her voice, she said, ‘You think it dangerous to wear this when it contains a lock of hair belonging to another man?'

‘As long as your heart does not belong to another man, Mademoiselle Delon.' Angus put his hand beneath her elbow to steer her back into the throng. ‘Do not marry if your heart is not engaged.'

Though who was he to be giving such advice, knowing how much Emily had railed against marrying him?

Madeleine narrowed her eyes, the coquetry quite vanished now. ‘You think I am marrying Levinne only for his money and title, don't you, Monsieur?'

Angus shrugged. ‘I do not trouble myself over your motives. You must live with the consequences.'

She sucked in an angry breath. ‘I have no choice in the matter! Do you know how hard it is to have discovered what love is – and to know I will never enjoy it with the man fate has decreed I must spend the rest of my life with?'

‘Your father told me—'

‘It is not my father who compels me, it is duty.'

Angus raised his eyebrows. ‘You had not struck me as such a dutiful young woman.'

She glared as she tapped her heart. ‘You think duty is the preserve of plain and dull but good wives such as yours.'

She must have seen the shock that reverberated through him, for she hissed, ‘Jack told me all about Emily Micklen. How dreary she was but what a good wife she would make.'

He swallowed. ‘Perhaps you should have married Jack, then.'

‘I would have if it had not been my destiny to marry Levinne.'

‘Nobody is forcing you.'

‘It is my mother—' She stopped, her look frightened. Clearing her throat, she whispered, ‘It was always my mother's wish that we should marry.'

She was fingering her locket once more and Angus stared at it, remembering his own feelings when he'd laid eyes on it hanging round Emily's neck before she'd removed it to wear his diamonds.

‘You should know that Captain Noble gave more than one of these away.'

The vivid colour which contributed so much to her beauty tonight faded to a waxy pallor. She caught her breath and he felt her falter beside him.

‘He gave one to the … Micklen creature?' Her devastation was real. Gently, Angus asked, ‘Did Jack Noble lead you to think his heart really belonged only to you? That his intended marriage to Miss Micklen was just a sham?'

She lanced him with a look from beneath sweeping lashes, her little ivory fan affording her the protection she needed from Levinne's scrutiny.

‘Jack Noble loved me. He knew me long before he went in search of the Micklen slut. Do you know how eagerly she responded to his address, how easily she succumbed to his advances?'

Angus winced and she blushed at her coarse language. Heaving in a breath, she exhaled on a hiss. ‘Jack loved
me
but it was expedient to wed an Englishwoman and since I had no choice but to wed Levinne …' She trailed off, her look helpless.

‘You were not yet married and nor was Jack. Was there not a chance the two of you could be together?' Angus asked reasonably.

‘No, we were not yet married and no, I could not have been Noble's wife, for it would not have been sanctioned by … by anyone who mattered.' Trembling even more, she added, ‘How he laughed to recount the ease with which he wooed her. She was not backwards in coming forward, he used to tell me.'

‘Was it necessary for Captain Noble to acquaint you with all the facts if he was concerned with your happiness?' Angus asked. It pained him to hear it as much as it obviously pained Madeleine. ‘I think Captain Noble enjoyed making you jealous, Madeleine. Just as he enjoyed exercising his power over Miss Micklen.'

‘Miss Micklen was a fool. She knew the risks and she paid for them. When I was given the news of Jack's death I heard she'd been forced to marry some soldier she cared nothing for to salvage family honour.' Madeleine's mouth puckered. ‘
You
, Major McCartney, I believe.'

Angus didn't know if she was sneering or trying to stop from crying. ‘Serves her right if her forced marriage makes her so unhappy,' she said bitterly. ‘I hope she rots in hell.'

‘My dear, are you well?' The count was at Madeleine's side having obviously observed her distress. Grasping her elbow, he cut a path for them through the throng.

Angus watched them disappear onto a balcony. He was relieved when Monsieur Delon appeared and introduced him to the young diplomat, Monsieur Boulais.

Monsieur Delon's murmured warning brought him back to the present. ‘Monsieur Boulais has just been welcomed with unusual felicity by one of our prime objects of interest, that gentleman over there.
Le Petit Trione
, they call him.' He pointed to a sandy-haired
exquisite
dressed in pale blue, in conversation with a slender young woman who might have been his sister. ‘He was seen in company with Madame Fontenay last week and as he is also known to be courting anyone suspected of being English, on the pretext of sympathising with anti-French causes, we believe that he may lead us to her.'