The Reluctant Bride (27 page)

Angus glanced at the disinterested guests nearby then took a contemplative sip of his champagne. ‘Had I not, Emily would now be dead.' The curl of his lip and the flare in his eye would, he hoped, leave Woodhouse in no doubt as to his fury at the man he'd once considered his closest friend. ‘Tonight will prove Emily is no traitor.'

‘What, by proving Madeleine Delon
is
? The women are
sisters
.'

Angus finished his champagne and fought for calm. Putting his head close to Woodhouse's, he hissed, ‘Emily escaped to her father's house and asked Micklen for refuge. Do you know where I found her?' When Woodhouse merely raised one eyebrow as if a flaw in Angus's logic could be found in any answer, Angus gripped his friend's shoulder and shook him. ‘Emily had been lured into a cave in the cliffs by her father and entombed. By the time I reached her the tide was high. We both nearly drowned.' He pointed to a graze across his temple.

Woodhouse digested this in silence. Finally he said, ‘She had to take a risk to prove her innocence and you bought it. Wait, I'm sorry.'

Angus had been about to shoulder his way out of their conversation but he allowed Woodhouse to continue. ‘Of course, if you can prove the allegations I've made against her are false then I have no case. But she is not a loyal wife, Angus. She wanted to marry Jack Noble, not you. She could not have made that more plain when I met her shortly after your vows.'

‘She made it very plain to me, too.' Despite himself, Angus felt his expression reflect the warmth of his feelings as he added, ‘Things have changed.' He turned and indicated Madeleine with a jerk of his head. ‘There's the
only
traitor we need to concern ourselves with right now, though Madame Fontenay is no doubt lurking in the shadows. Mademoiselle Delon is behaving very nicely while she has an audience but what about when our backs are turned? She has no loyalty to Levinne, although it's possible she put on a good show so as to elicit my sympathy.' Angus gave a rueful grin. ‘I don't pretend to be an expert on women.'

‘You know that we have it on good authority Mademoiselle Delon plans to kill you once she's satisfied you've dispatched the information she
supposedly
elicits from the general,' Woodhouse said bluntly. ‘That's the point at which we'll have the most chance of proving her disloyalty. Believe me, Angus, my greatest fear is for your safety. You are surrounded by enemies and we have no idea when Fontenay or Mademoiselle Delon will act …' He hesitated, adding, ‘and if you can disprove all the evidence I found to link Mrs McCartney with Mademoiselle Delon and Madame Fontenay then I'll be as pleased as you.'

Angus snorted. ‘A mere accident of birth does not make her a traitor. Is it not enough that Micklen tried to kill Emily?'

Woodhouse put a placatory hand upon his shoulder. ‘We'll talk about that later,' he said. ‘In the meantime, tell me what you anticipate as regards Mademoiselle Delon.'

Reluctantly, Angus dropped his defence of Emily and answered the question. ‘Once the general is drunk enough she intends to accompany him into his bedchamber – for our benefit, of course.'

Woodhouse agreed. ‘The maps and documents will be those that Madame Fontenay and Napoleon Bonaparte want the English to have. Once you've dispatched them to a trusted courier your job will be complete. With the false documents on their way to England and you an easy target, here, you need to guard your back closely. Rest assured,
I
will be.'

Grimly Angus clapped Woodhouse on the shoulder. ‘Any advice as to how I avoid the final outcome would be welcome.'

Woodhouse looked so like the old comrade Angus had fought alongside in France that he chuckled when his friend raised the overlarge wooden cross that hung around his neck.

‘God will be watching you, Angus,' he said, tapping the crucifix with a meaningful look.

It was hollow and Angus grinned, despite the imminent danger that confronted him, saying, ‘I'll ask no more and be satisfied that God works in mysterious ways.'

Still, once Major Woodhouse had departed and as Madeleine continued her ovation-winning performance at the other end of the room, Angus could think only of Emily. She'd insisted her head wound was a mere graze, but what if that proved not the case? What if Micklen had not gone to France and instead had discovered her whereabouts?

He could do nothing but console himself with the knowledge he'd tried his best to cover every contingency.

For now, he must concentrate on the task at hand.

To deflect attention from his lone state, he engaged a powdered and bewigged clergyman in conversation while keeping Madeleine in his sights. Her flirtatious behaviour bordered on outrageous but the general was enthralled.

When the clergyman introduced a third man into their midst Angus bowed and excused himself to seek a quiet corner beneath a sconce of candles. In the distance Madeleine slanted a self-satisfied look in his direction as she curled an arm about the general's neck.

‘Monsignor, I have a confession to make.'

Startled, he gazed down upon a woman in an elaborate pink Madame de Pompadour court gown decorated with yards of lace, bows and furbelows. A powdered and curled wig and a demi mask made her unrecognisable but the glint in her eye and a glimpse of dark hair beneath the wig caused him to step back in disbelief. A plethora of mixed emotions rose up to consume him as he gasped, ‘Good God …
Emily
?'

‘Hush, Monsignor,' she whispered, touching his hand only briefly as if afraid of drawing attention to herself. ‘It was too dangerous for you to be here alone and too dangerous for me to remain where I was.'

Horror and joy roiled inside his gut. He'd never been so overjoyed to see anyone, but in the same instant he was deeply dismayed. ‘I'd have come back for you, Emily. I'd have protected you.' Angus glanced over her head and when he was satisfied Madeleine was too occupied with her own charade he returned his attention to his wife. She was smiling, her small, white teeth sparkling in the candlelight and the sudden urge to hold her close and keep her safe was almost painful. The guests that milled around them seemed like circling wolves.

‘Come to my bedchamber. You'll be safer there. Follow me discreetly.' He exited through the nearest door and in the passage a minute later he caught her hand and pulled her round a corner. Still, he kept his head down and his voice low, careful to reveal no emotion nor to excite the interest of the occasional passing guest. ‘You've taken a huge risk. Emily, why? It's much more dangerous here.'

‘For you, yes, for your life is in danger …' She tugged at his hand and whispered, ‘… from a woman who resembles me, Angus.'

In his bedchamber with the door closed behind them, an oil lamp turned low upon the desk and the gentle glow of the fire it was like some strange paradise created just for them.

‘Angus, Madeleine is my sister and we look alike. I can help you.' She threw herself into his arms and he felt the tension seep away as she sagged against him. Her voice broke. ‘I couldn't bear to think of you in danger.'

‘Emily, you have put
yourself
in grave danger,' he muttered, stroking her hair and revelling in the sensation of being wanted while all the time alert to the impending danger each faced. ‘How can your presence possibly reduce the risk Madeleine Delon poses?'

‘Maybe it can't, but while Major Woodhouse believes me a traitor to England, a traitor to my husband, how else can I prove my loyalty?' Her clear gaze implored him to understand her. ‘Do you not see why I had to come? To prove to you, Angus, in the only way I know how, that I am none of these. And to prove it to Major Woodhouse.' Her hands twined behind his neck and her breath fired his senses as she contoured his jawline with a trail of kisses. ‘And that I love you.'

Fire powered through his loins.

In more overt terms than ever before, the wife he'd desired since he'd seen her on another man's arm all those years before was asserting in the most passionate terms how much she loved him.

‘What risks you have taken to be here, Emily!' he muttered, holding her tightly. I understand you want vengeance against the woman who deceived you with Jack—'

‘I don't care about that … about Jack.' She sounded angry as she pulled back and raised her face to his. ‘I care about
you
and the harm that woman may do you when you least expect it. Kiss me!'

He was not going to refuse. Every nerve ending was poised for such glorious relief and with a sigh he dipped his head. She clung to him, her mouth flowering beneath his, her slow, deep exhalation further proof of the change in her feelings over the past few days.

She'd taken huge risks to prove it.

But time was short and it took every ounce of his willpower to put her away from him, gripping the hand that looked in danger of stroking his cheek and imperilling his good intentions. ‘We are in danger and the safety of England rests upon our task tonight. Madeleine is in the ballroom and—'

‘
Madeleine
.' It was more a hiss. Closing her eyes, Emily whispered, ‘How can I let you walk out of here and into that woman's orbit when I know she intends to kill you?'

‘Because you have no choice. Right now Mademoiselle Delon is downstairs insinuating herself into the affections of a very drunk general in Napoleon's army and I can't afford to take my eyes off them for very long because soon she will lead him away to procure the information we need.'

‘Seducing him like she seduced Jack and like she plans to seduce you … otherwise she will kill you.'

Angus held her face between his hands. ‘Madeleine intends passing on false information which I will dispatch with the courier and then she will strike. In the wings, we anticipate the woman she's reporting to will be watching.'

‘You mean my mother.'

He felt her shudder, look away and then whisper as she gazed at the wall, ‘The traitor who would run you through with a rapier with impunity. My
mother
. You are courting death, Angus.'

He sighed. ‘I am forewarned and well armed. It's the best I can do, Emily. We must reconcile ourselves to the fact we may be unable to lay our hands on the real information – the maps which the general keeps in his desk – but if we can apprehend Madeleine and Madame Fontenay, discreetly, and spirit them back to England, England will be all the safer for it'—his gaze softened—‘and you will no longer be the traitor Woodhouse has branded you.'

‘
I'll
get you the real information you want.'

He stopped his derisive grunt when he saw Emily was serious.

‘I'll pretend I'm Madeleine.' She fixed him with a steely stare. ‘If the general is drunk he won't notice—'

He took her shoulders and shook her gently. ‘You can't possibly. You wouldn't know how to flirt like—'

Her moment's silence was punctuated by a short laugh. ‘I would not pretend for your sake, Angus, when I didn't love you, but I can pretend if your life depends upon it, if the success of the operation and'—her eyes glowed with a different light: the desire for vengeance—‘if it will expose this woman Madeleine for the witch she really is.'

Angus laughed, stroking her cheek and tucking back the strands of dark hair which had escaped from her elaborate, powdered coiffure, but she pulled away from him.

‘I am guilty by association.' She looked helpless. ‘Tell me what else I can do, Angus, to be exonerated? It's immaterial if you believe me, but Major Woodhouse doesn't and he has enough evidence to see me hang.'

Tenderly he cupped her face. ‘Keep yourself safe, Emily, and leave the exonerating to me.'

She seemed to shrink into herself. ‘Why won't you let me take over the role Madeleine is performing? Don't you trust me?'

Desperately he tried to explain. ‘Your safety means more to me, Emily, than anything else and to swap roles with Madeleine is madness.'

‘Not if the general is drunk.'

He wanted to allay her fears with more than a few inadequate protests, but time did not permit. ‘Just because Micklen and Fontenay are connected with you, and they recruited Jack Noble—'

‘Madame Fontenay is my mother …' She choked on the words and threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh God, Angus, I don't know how I can live with the truth. I thought surviving after being in the cave was my greatest trial. What am I to do? I am tainted—'

He held her tightly and kissed her brow. ‘You're not tainted, and all that matters is whether
you
are true … to me and to Britain and that we get out of France safely.' He kissed her hard on the mouth then and set her away from him once more. ‘Now stay here. Sleep. You are exhausted and I cannot believe the bravery and resourcefulness you have shown in getting here.'

‘Not unless you kiss me again, Angus.'

She raised her head and he took her in his arms. She was trembling but not only through fear, for her tremors increased as he brought his mouth down to hers.

It was meant to be a kiss of reassurance, for time allowed nothing more. Instead the burning touch of her lips seared him with the promise of how much more she was willing to offer him; and in return he offered her his brand of ownership and protection, his promise that he would not fail her and that he believed in her … to the end.

Confined to Angus's bedchamber, Emily paced, her wide skirts swishing alternately against the fire screen and the escritoire at each turn of the room. It didn't matter what he'd said, Emily knew the only way to ensure their safety was to masquerade as Madeleine – vanquish her, if possible – and locate the information the British needed regarding Napoleon's forthcoming offensive.

Only someone true to the cause could retrieve the real maps and not the erroneous battle plans that were to be supplied to Angus.

Only
Emily
.

Vitriol pulsed through her veins. Madeleine had stolen Jack and now she threatened her husband's safety. Madeleine would happily see Emily swing and so, it seemed, would her mother. Madame Fontenay was only interested in ties of loyalty to her traitorous cause.

No, Emily could not remain passively in Angus's chamber while Madeleine continued her path of destruction at Emily's expense.

‘Has Mademoiselle Delon returned here?' she asked Susan in a low voice, putting up her hand to allay Susan's fears as she slipped in through the door to Madeleine's chamber. Then, ‘Good, for surely a woman of such vanity would return and attend to her appearance before she embarks on her final deadly onslaught.'

Susan was decidedly more reluctant to carry out Emily's latest plan than she had been any of the other escapades upon which her new mistress had led her.

‘Attack her when she comes back and tie her up and strip off her clothes?' she asked, aghast, hands to her cheeks. ‘A grand lady? It'll be the gallows at Tyburn for sure, just like them highwaymen, for we'll be no better.'

‘You'll be handsomely rewarded for your services to the security of England and given a medal of bravery to impress your friends and family,' Emily contradicted her. ‘Now hush, someone's coming! Stand by the door, Susan, for we can't risk her getting away.'

Soft, satisfied humming accompanied Madeleine's arrival as she quietly entered the room and went to turn up the Argand lamp.

Was she always so self-satisfied? Emily wondered, straining from the shadows to see the features of the woman who'd made sport of her for all these years. Her half-sister.

She was beautiful, there was no denying it. Her dark hair was caught up in a simple top knot caught with a gold and diamond comb and her skin gleamed lustrous in the dim light.

Was she as beautiful as Emily? Had Jack loved her more than Emily?

Emily dismissed the thoughts almost immediately. What did it matter? Jack and Madeleine deserved each other.

The thought that Madeleine exerted any sexual allure over Angus was far more concerning. He knew she was dangerous, but had he felt any attraction?

Again, what was the point in even wondering when the plain fact was that Madeleine was her nemesis with the power to destroy the foundation of Emily's life? She'd nearly succeeded once already.

‘Madeleine Delon?'

Madeleine's gasp was followed by a polite but quizzical smile as Emily stepped out from the shadows. Obediently Susan had taken up position by the door. Emily was taking no chances.

‘Who are you and what are you doing in my room?' The regal hauteur was as Emily had expected as Madeleine raked her with a glance that seemed to miss nothing. She almost expected her to comment that Emily had a curl out of place.

Emily studied her in return. In the pool of lamplight Madeleine looked like an exquisite Gallic Madonna; a very disdainful one. Her scarlet gown clung to her curves – almost certain proof she'd dampened her petticoats with water. Such a woman would stop at nothing to achieve her ends.

Emily swallowed down her fear. For so long she'd embraced this moment but with secret dread. Now her fear dissipated and righteous bravery gave her voice strength. ‘I am Emily McCartney.'

She waited, studying the young woman's graceful, arrogant bearing, enjoying Madeleine's dawning realisation as she added slowly, ‘Jack Noble's fiancé, Angus McCartney's wife.'

Madeleine, however, was well trained. Any shock she might have registered was muted, disguised beneath a veneer of supercilious disdain.

‘Jack's fiancée,' she repeated softly as she half turned towards the fire, dismissing Emily as if she were of no importance though her appearance here could only be astonishing. ‘Jack said you were tolerably presented—'

It was a barb designed to sting. Madeleine's ability to belittle her feminine rivals was not a weapon to be sneezed at.

‘—and not very adventurous,' she added with a cold glance in her direction. ‘So what are you doing in my bedchamber?' She answered her own question. ‘Chasing after your husband? Desperation is such an unattractive trait.'

The clock in the passage began to chime. Midnight.

Straightening, Madeleine indicated the door with a flourish. ‘Please leave my chamber now.'

Emily fought for studied calm. ‘I am here on business, Mademoiselle Delon, and we are to swap gowns. Please disrobe now.'

The flare of astonishment in the young woman's eyes was quickly replaced by amusement. ‘Ah,' she said softly, ‘you've escaped from Bedlam. That explains why poor Angus has been so unhappy.'

Emily flicked a glance at Susan, relieved the girl's determined scowl suggested she would guard the door at all costs, before turning back to Madeleine. ‘I am fully cognisant of the mission with which you've been charged, Mademoiselle Delon, and I am here to ensure that the
correct
information is conveyed to the Foreign Office in London. Please, take off your gown.'

This time there was no disguising Madeleine's shock. ‘Someone! Help me! There's a madwoman in my chamber!' Her prompt response took Emily by surprise but perhaps it was easier this way, she thought, as she hurled herself upon the young woman. Attacking a controlled, supercilious stranger would hardly have excited the senses to action like this.

Susan joined the fray. She was stronger and more determined than she looked and to Emily's surprise succeeded in divesting Madeleine of her gown with minimal damage.

Together they bound her wrists, stuffed a rag in her mouth and shoved her beneath the bed, her muted cries fading to nothing as they closed the door.

Angus heard the clock chime midnight and glanced once more at the three doors which led into the grand saloon. Where was Madeleine? The general was swaying on his feet. The effects of too much claret would soon have him snoring in his bed, though perhaps it was easier this way.

Yet Madeleine's disappearance was worrying.

Edgily he surveyed the entrances once more. It was not like Madeleine to disappear unaccountably. Had she had second thoughts about betraying them? Was she consulting a third party about the direction the operation should take?

A flash of scarlet sidling through the far double doors caught Angus's eye. Despite the brilliant candles, he squinted to see better. Madeleine, dark eyes bold and challenging through the slits in her demi mask, sashayed through the throng, exuding confidence and sexual allure.

She certainly knew how to excite a man's pulses, he thought sourly, aware of the male interest she aroused. It almost crackled through the air. He saw her slant a glance up at a raven-haired guest and the gentleman's response as he stooped to catch her question. Lower and closer than necessary as he pointed towards the general.