The Reluctant Bride (26 page)

Angus answered to both Levinne, the French spymaster, and Woodhouse, the English coordinator of a network uniting regime-weary French, English and other nationalities in the common goal of bringing an end to Bonaparte's empire.

If all went well, the mission at Pliny would unmask the network of collaborators who would neutralise these anti-French agents at the same time as revealing Napoleon's next strategic initiative.

Madeleine's guile and beauty made her the ideal candidate to set a honey trap for Napoleon's ageing, trusted general, Bethune, who came directly from a military meeting with the emperor and who possessed a map the English would very much like to get their hands on. Angus, from Levinne's point of view, fulfilled the criteria for the so-called husband who would protect his betrothed, though Angus was under no illusions as to their respective roles.

Madeleine had a different agenda. Information supplied by Monsieur Fontenay suggested his wife would be at Pliny to oversee Madeleine, who was under orders to deliver to Angus a false map and information he would dispatch to England.

And unless Angus could unmask Madeleine for the traitor she was with proof of her connection to Madame Fontenay, Emily, his adored wife, was a branded woman, unsafe on English soil.

Emily's life depended on the subtlety with which he managed Madeleine tonight.

So as he and Mademoiselle Delon strolled side by side in the gardens while their trunks were being unpacked in their respective chambers, Angus assumed an air of polite indifference and prayed Madeleine would not test his resources too early.

The evening was closing in with lighted lanterns along the formal walks, lending a romantic air to the entertainment, but Angus's thoughts were far from romantic – except when they strayed to his tender parting with Emily.

Emily, who was hiding in a tavern not far from her childhood home.

Fortunately Angus had credible information that Woodhouse was in France, perhaps even here tonight. No doubt his erstwhile friend feared Angus had fallen under the influence of his ‘turncoat' wife. Perhaps he was even sketching out the preliminaries of Angus's court martial.

Madeleine was in a flirtatious mood as she plucked at a flower amidst the herbaceous borders. ‘You, Monsieur McCartney, will be the handsomest man at Chateau Pliny tonight.' She slanted a sloe-eyed smile at him, adding, ‘Yet I am supposed to be insensible to my
husband's
charms while I run my hands all over the fat general.' Her coy regret disgusted him and prompted a surge of longing for the lovely wife whose safety depended on him.

‘Look at that fat burgher's wife dressed up like a princess.' Madeleine halted on the manicured gravel pathway amongst fountains and topiary-edged terraces and pointed to a carriage which had drawn up in front of the sweeping steps to disgorge its fabulously garbed occupants. ‘A pork chop! Will I not be irresistible to General Bethune this evening?'

‘You'll have to be, otherwise our plans are nothing.'

Madeleine was to render the general insensible from drink, then steal the key he kept on a chain around his neck when she helped him to his room. It was believed the general's desk, which he took everywhere with him, was the most likely place to find the documents and maps he'd brought from his meeting with Napoleon.

Preening at Angus's grunted assent, Madeleine squeezed his arm. ‘I passed him in the hall. When I said I admired a dissertation he'd given at Madame Picard's salon in Paris he was vastly flattered.'

‘With the array of tricks up your sleeve, Mademoiselle Delon, you are assured of success.' Angus strove for gallantry before adding drily, ‘Just don't try them on me.'

She slanted her wicked amber eyes up at him once more. ‘You are less susceptible than most,' she conceded, ‘but then, you are recently married.' She made a noise of disgust. ‘Was it a love match?'

‘On my part.' Immediately he regretted speaking so frankly.

‘Perhaps,
mon mari
, I could pull out some of these tricks you refer to from up my sleeve and show how you might win this heart of Miss Micklen's which still belongs to Jack. You are a very attractive man, but clearly your wife does not appreciate you.'

‘Save them for the general, Mademoiselle Delon.' Steering her back in the direction of the house, Angus was relieved it was time to part. ‘You are a beautiful woman, but I don't need your help beyond the requirements of tonight.'

‘Ah, tonight,' she purred and Angus regretted his poor choice of words. He'd stopped thinking of himself as clumsy with the opposite sex, but he realised how careful he must be to navigate the next hour with Madeleine until they were in public territory. Especially when Madeleine trailed an elegantly gloved forefinger the length of his arm and whispered, ‘You need much help from me tonight, my handsome husband, and you know it.'

Madeleine took his hand and led him behind the high yew wall of the maze. ‘A moment's privacy, my lord, so we may review our strategy now that we are at our location? It will be our only chance.'

It was true but he must be careful. Madeleine might decide now was the time to try to recruit him to her cause like she recruited the susceptible Jack Noble.

The moment they were shielded from prying eyes she rounded on him, her eyes flaring with challenge and disdain. ‘Tonight you play the role of my husband, but I think you do not know how to be anyone's husband. Do you?' she added, with an air of hauteur when she failed to elicit more than a sardonic smile.

‘Emily can answer that, Mademoiselle Delon.'

Clearly she was irritated at failing to whip up more of a response. ‘That little dormouse? You are a fool, Monsieur! You think your Emily will love kind, tame, patient Major McCartney like she loved charming, devil-may-care Jack Noble?' She seized his hand and pulled him along the path deeper into the maze. ‘Is her
gratitude
sufficient for a man of your depth of feeling?'

He had not mistaken Emily's desire for gratitude and nor was it a question worth considering when right now he had much more cause to be afraid of Madeleine than Emily's feelings for him.

‘What kind of a
man
are you, Major McCartney!'

Against the backdrop of yew trees which reached high above their heads, Madeleine with her flashing eyes in her scarlet gown was an arresting sight. She took a couple of agitated steps then angrily swung back to face him, her scarlet skirts frothing at her ankles.

So, thought Angus, this is when she tries to win me over, as she did Jack Noble.

‘Has Emily ever looked at you like this? With aching want of you blazing from the depths of her soul?'

Her breathing was quick and shallow and for a moment Angus was mesmerised, not because he was susceptible but because she was such a malignant version of Emily's confident grace.

‘A woman likes admiration, Major, and to be comfortable and cosseted, but there are times when she appreciates firmness.' Madeleine stepped close, her eyes focused on his as her small hand crept up his arm. He imagined it was Emily's, her light, exploring fingertips conjuring magic, thrusting his emotions to combustible levels. He felt the blood pounding in his head and down to his extremities, then Madeleine's short, outraged intake of breath as he set her away from him, his voice sounding distant to his own ears as he murmured, ‘In that case, you will appreciate my reminding you, Mademoiselle Delon, that we have an important job to accomplish tonight which precludes dalliance.'

Her mouth fell open. Perhaps she really had not expected he would reject her. Certainly Angus did not expect the stinging slap to his cheek she delivered.

‘You are a fool, Major McCartney,' she hissed, spinning away from him. ‘Your tragedy is you do not know just
what
a fool you are.'

Despite his earlier rejection, it was with grudging admiration that Angus, who had made a conciliatory and fairly successful attempt to reconcile Madeleine, watched her insinuate herself into the general's circle.

Her feline grace and the effortless allure which instantly found its mark when she targeted Napoleon's fat and trusted acolyte, went some way to easing Angus's disturbed feelings. What had Madeleine hoped to achieve back there in the maze? If he had succumbed, was he guaranteeing his safety? He'd been fairly confident it was too early for Madeleine to attempt to kill him, for he was needed as the conduit for the false information she and Madame Fontenay intended would be sent to Britain. Later tonight he would have to be more on his guard, and after such a round rejection Angus had no doubt he was a marked man. He only wished he knew exactly who his enemies were. Madeleine and the mysterious Madame Fontenay, to begin with.
Emily's mother.
He put it out of his mind. One thing at a time and first he must ensure Madeleine carried out her prescribed role.

But what of Levinne? And Monsieur Delon? He was all but certain they were not traitors, but how could he be sure?

Pausing beneath a sconce of beeswax candles as the ballroom filled with fabulously garbed guests in full masquerade, Angus wondered how Madeleine could exude such apparently genuine desire for the grey-haired mausoleum. The general, a portly war veteran in his sixties, was clearly flattered by the attention she lavished upon him, leaning towards her to catch a remark she'd made, ensuring her glass was replenished, and once, Angus was shocked to notice, brushing a stray lock of hair from across her breast after she rose from what appeared to be the less than discreet adjusting of her garter.

Madeleine was a consummate actress. Levinne must know it which was why he'd assigned her the role when hitherto he'd been reluctant to place his intended in any overt danger.

Had Madeleine truly loved Jack Noble when they deceived Emily, or did she not know how to love?

Irrelevant right now, he thought, moving between the knots of guests while keeping Madeleine in his sights. Like a scarlet butterfly in her Lucrezia Borgia gown, she hovered about the general who was seated at the far end of the room with a bottle of claret at his right elbow. Even from a distance Angus saw how her eyes shone and her lips, slightly parted, glistened in the candlelight as she listened, rapt, to the general's monologue.

The woman was skilled at pretending feelings she did not harbour. Fleetingly, doubt returned as to whether Emily's feelings for Angus were strong enough to survive a lifetime.

Without a dragon to slay or a churning sea from which to rescue her, would she remain content with a man less forthcoming with his feelings than easy natured Jack Noble? A man whose very personality had, only weeks before, been anathema to her?

What had passed between them in the inn reassured him on every level. Now he just had to prove who the real villains were in order to ensure Emily's continued well-being.

Angus.

Already he'd be travelling across the rutted roads of a country Emily believed she'd never visited. Towards danger and if she was not the direct cause, she was culpable.

Exhaustion and fear on her own account had been replaced by fear for her husband and a growing conviction that she was in a position to lessen the risks he faced.

That she needed to do
something
. Angus was too precious to lose.

Now, warming her hands in front of the fire in The Seagull's front private parlour, Emily glanced edgily at the door.

Captain Whibley would attend to her as soon as he returned, she'd been promised, though she had no idea if he would take her aboard
The Dundas
.

After Angus had left she'd slept the night through in a deep and dreamless slumber from which not even the fight in the taproom downstairs could wake her. She'd only heard about it later.

When she rose she felt refreshed, re-energised and bursting with the knowledge that she was on the cusp of something truly remarkable and that her life would never be the same again.

Then the terror kicked in that her life would only be truly remarkable in a
good
sense if no harm befell Angus and if she could provide sufficient proof to avoid a remarkable end dangling from the hangman's rope.

But Angus was in even more immediate danger and only she could mitigate the threats he faced. She, with her perfect French and her resemblance to the Delon woman who plotted to kill him.

As for her mother, Emily felt nothing but loathing.

Caroline had intimated a woman must be content to prove herself within the domestic arena. But Emily had to prove her loyalty – to Angus and to her country – and that meant going to the Chateau Pliny.

Her brain whirled with plans as she absently watched the maidservant tend the fire. Wisps of red hair fell across the girl's face from beneath her grubby mob cap and her homespun skirts and burlap apron were patched and darned.

Angus's warning to keep a low profile and to wait for him to fetch her rang in her ears as she smoothed the fabric of the silk gown the publican's wife had found for her. Nervously she fingered the diamonds at her throat. No, she'd not change her mind. She had to go. What alternative did she have, for how would Angus prove her innocence when Major Woodhouse had all the evidence he believed proved her a traitor?

If Madame and Emily were half-sisters who looked so alike, it was enough to bolster Emily's belief that she could succeed in her mission to foil the plot which threatened Angus.

She had only to find her way to the Chateau in time. Chateau Pliny was clearly a grand residence, so she had to hope she'd not have too much difficulty getting directions once she was in Pliny. Surely, once there, she'd find a way to diminish or eliminate the threat posed by Madeleine and in the process prove her innocence and protect Angus.

If she remained hiding in the tavern, meekly waiting until someone claimed her, that person might not be Angus.

She must have made some noise for the maid glanced up from stoking the fire and said with evident surprise, ‘You bin here all the time, ma'am? I was waitin' to tell you the cap'n will be about five minutes.' The girl's eyes lingered upon Emily's dress and her diamonds.

‘Thank you.' Emily glanced nervously towards the door, the foolishness of her charade suddenly terrifying her.

‘Sure he won't be long, either,' the maid said chirpily, ‘for he's bin 'specting you, I hear and—'

‘What!'

The girl raised her large brown eyes at Emily's tone and repeated, ‘Bin 'specting you since a feller was here to tell him he was to specially look after a beautiful dark-haired lady what looked like you, ma'am. Oi! What yer doin?'

Emily sprang from the window seat and clutched the girl's shoulders. ‘The captain's been expecting me, you say? Who was here asking after me? What do you know of the captain?'

‘He does his business here, ma'am, seeing passengers what want to come aboard his boat.' The girl looked frightened by Emily's intensity. ‘I ain't bin here so long. I only knows him by sight and I only heard there was a feller lookin' for a fine lady with black hair.'

Of course Woodhouse would think to look for her here – and her father, too, if he realised she'd escaped. Why hadn't she been more discreet? Emily thought quickly as she released her grip and the servant girl edged backwards.

Dear Lord, if the captain detained her
 …

‘I saw you admire my dress?' The words came out too urgently. ‘Would you like it in exchange for yours?'

The girl stared at Emily as if she were a madwoman.

‘Course I like your dress, ma'am, but I hardly think—'

Emily grasped the mantelpiece for support while her head spun. ‘Take me to one of the rooms upstairs. I feel ill, I need to lie down. Quickly!'

She could hear the bluff greeting of the captain as he put his head in at the tap room down the passage. Desperately, she continued, ‘Tell the captain I need to put myself to rights and I'll be down to see him in—' She caught herself up as another serving girl entered the room. ‘No! Tell your friend to pass on the message. I need your help in attending to me. Now!'

Emily was a lady and their job was to pander to the desires of The Seagull's patrons, however odd.

Once inside a sparsely furnished chamber on the second floor, she latched the door and ran to look out of the window.

If the captain had been told to look for a girl matching her description then she was doomed.

Whipping round to face the serving maid, Emily decided upon honesty. Angus had been generous to the publican but she had no coins to pave her way, leaving her vulnerable and ill prepared. Recruiting the carrot-haired maid seemed her only chance.

‘I heard the other girl call you Susan,' she said. ‘Yes? I need your help, Susan, to get to France … but I am fleeing a bad man and the captain mustn't recognise me.' As she spoke she struggled with the catch of her diamond necklace. ‘These are real diamonds … I have no money so I'll have to pawn it.' She thrust it at the girl who stared at it stupidly. ‘It's imperative I sail on the next tide and if you help me I will reward you handsomely. We'll need to swap clothes first.' She didn't wait for the girl's answer, knew that she could expect nothing more than the wide-eyed disbelief with which she was regarded as she hastily undid the buttons down the front of her gown before putting out her hands.

With a squawk Susan jumped backwards.

‘
Please
!' Emily advanced towards her. ‘Help me out of my dress then give me yours and take me somewhere I can get money for my jewels. I won't get what it's worth but I'll pay you a good sum up front and double it if you accompany me to France. I'd wager you'll get more than you'd earn in a year.'

It was apparently enough of an inducement and after a few minutes of frenzied activity Susan was out of her dirty cotton print and coarse burlap apron, pulling Emily's blue silk gown over her own head. When she objected that she could hardly carry off her charade as a lady Emily told her to say nothing. Emily would play the maid and speak for her mute mistress. Nobody who might be after her would look twice at the thin, plain red-headed maid dressed in her fine clothes.

By the time they heard Susan's fellow serving maid trudging up the stairs, possibly at the captain's behest, the two of them were already hurrying down the back steps to a pawnbroker with premises down a nearby back lane.

In a poor bargain, Emily handed over her diamonds for a sum of money and made a quick selection from the second-hand gowns hanging from the walls. These included a dark dress which might once have belonged to a parlour maid and an elaborate, old fashioned sacque gown her grandmother might have worn. The gown would be ideal to wear for the masquerade, as would the powdered wig she discovered that had gone of out fashion forty years before. These she bundled into a bag purchased for the journey, together with a few other necessary items.

With her maid's cap pulled down over her ears, Emily secured passage for her and her ‘mistress' from the tavern, then she and her hopefully loyal companion were rowed out to
The Dundas
.

At first Susan could barely contain her excitement at wearing the gown Emily had been given by the publican's wife, fingering the coins which jingled in the purse that hung at her waist. She seemed a simple, good-natured girl and Emily prayed she'd remain so and not decide she preferred the role of mistress, since Emily had encouraged Susan to treat her with the disdainful manners of a superior to deflect attention from herself. Their roles would be reversed once more when Emily donned the elaborate sacque gown which was made of pink lutestring and adorned with yards of lace, bows and furbelows and which would be perfect for the masquerade.

Her impulsive decision to make the crossing disguised as Susan's maid was bolstered by the intensity with which the captain's rheumy gaze scoured the passengers on deck. By the time the boat drew anchor, Emily and Susan were safely ensconced in curtained bunks in the centre of the vessel.

Depending on the winds they might be in France in a little over three hours. A bad crossing, or if they were becalmed, made it anyone's guess. After that, they would have to negotiate the frightening unknown in order to make their way to the Chateau de Pliny.

While many of her fellow passengers bespoke lodgings at one of the ramshackle inns once they'd docked, Emily was glad she'd not been similarly weakened by seasickness. She needed to press on while she could. When she'd asked Angus how he intended making his way to the chateau she'd had no idea she would be following him within twenty-four hours.

He'd intended stopping a night with the Delons and thereafter would travel to the chateau in Madeleine's company.

Emily knew that he would be dressed as a cardinal. The long, flowing robes could conceal a weapon and, if necessary, a sheaf of documents, but would Emily recognise him?

His height and military bearing might distinguish him amongst the crowd, but she had no idea how many guests were invited. With a surge of longing, she willed the coachman to drive the horses faster.

When it grew dark they stopped at another ramshackle inn and for an exorbitant amount slept the night through on mouldy sheets before resuming their long journey.

The sun was low on the horizon by the time Emily and Susan were set down at a crossroads not far from the chateau.

Darkness offered protection and as they walked they were passed on the road by a procession of carriages heading, Emily presumed and hoped, for the Chateau Pliny. Behind the hedgerows near the entrance to the estate Susan had changed into the unassuming clothes of the serving class and Emily donned her elaborate masquerade costume.

As the chateau rose before them, Emily felt a jolt of amazed self-satisfaction. She'd dared what most young women would never have dared. And she'd achieved the first, difficult part, which was to travel, unchaperoned, across a foreign country.

Certainly the danger increased the closer she got to the chateau, but with so much activity deflecting attention they were able to access the building, Emily in company with a group of well dressed guests, and Susan via the scullery. When they met on an upper floor without incident, Emily heaved her first sigh of relief. Angus could not be far away.

After quizzing several servants, in French, Emily was able to ascertain the location of Mademoiselle Delon's bedchamber.

Some guests were making their way to their respective chambers but others milled about in silks and diamonds and demi masks or elaborate masquerade costumes.

By a stroke of luck, Emily learned though several discreet inquiries that Madeleine had already gone downstairs to the saloon, giving Emily access to her adversary's bedchamber.

‘Look for whatever you can find, Susan,' she directed once she'd closed the door softly behind them. The girl had been helpful and amenable the entire journey and Emily felt she had no option but to trust her fully. She'd imparted the necessary background to her escapade and Susan, no doubt strongly motivated by the fortune she carried with the expectation of soon doubling it, was fired by the adventure.

‘Anything suspicious. Letters, weapons …' Emily rose from a quick search beneath the pillows. ‘Madeleine Delon will baulk at nothing, I assure you. We need to outwit her if my husband is to stay safe and we are to foil the real villains … and I am to pay you.'

As Susan redoubled her efforts at ferreting out something to please her mistress, Emily made for the door. ‘I must find my husband now, but if you hear anything you are to pretend you're a servant attending to the fire in Mademoiselle Delon's chamber, is that understood?'

Angus ran a weary hand across his brow as he watched Madeleine sitting on the general's knee. The general had downed another bottle of claret and laughingly, Madeleine dabbed at his moustache with the hem of her rich brocade gown, revealing the scarlet garter that tied the white stocking of her shapely right leg in the process and exciting the general mightily.

She was succeeding nicely in getting him drunk.

In his guise as a man of the cloth Angus raised his eyes heavenward.

What happened after Madeleine enticed the general to his bedchamber? The question had consumed him from the moment he'd led her away from her father and Count Levinne. Were
they
to be trusted?

‘Will you hear my confession, Father?' A familiar voice speaking deplorable French caused him to whip around and he found himself face to face with Woodhouse dressed as a monk.

His friend raised his cowl slightly and, after seeing they were unobserved, narrowed his eyes and muttered in English, ‘I didn't expect to find you here. Not after choosing the safety of your traitorous wife over the integrity of this operation.'