The Reluctant Bride (28 page)

With languid grace she moved in the large gentleman's direction. The general was slumped on a banquette by the wall but he roused himself, putting his lorgnette to his eye as Madeleine approached. She turned, for a second displaying her glorious full-breasted silhouette as she hesitated, perhaps weighing up the right approach having been gone so long.

There was no doubting the general's desire. The grandly upholstered belly lengthened as he pushed himself out of his slump, his hands eagerly patting his portly thighs. Madeleine folded her slender form and perched daintily upon his knee. Gracefully she brushed her ostrich plume back from her mask and put her lips to his ear.

Something inside Angus screamed to attention. Something that wasn't right and that he should have seen long before.

The gloriously elegant creature now making up to the colonel wasn't the dangerous Madeleine Delon.

He narrowed his eyes and pushed his way past several knots of guests, deeper into the throng in the midst of the room.

Oh, dear God, what was she about?

He wanted to part the crowd with a shout and whisk her to safety on the spot.

Not Madeleine. She excited no such emotion.

However this woman, though so similar in looks, could not have been more different.

The lustrous tresses with the sheen of a raven's wing which curled over one creamy shoulder and tickled the swell of breasts designed to send a man mad with wanting belonged not to Madeleine Delon but to his dangerously vulnerable wife.

Helplessly, he saw the two of them rise, the general making the most of the creamy shoulder she offered to help him up as his fat, wet lips appeared to accidentally brush across her exposed flesh.

Emily didn't flinch. Like her gold mask, her smile was securely in place.

As she led her salivating general towards the far entrance Angus was gripped with indecision. Should he guarantee Emily's safety by challenging the general?

Or allow Emily to carry out her daring plan while he ensured that Madeleine remain a spent force which is surely what Emily wanted and must have managed? For now, at any rate.

Angus hurried along the servants' back corridor, hoping he'd reach the general's room before Emily and her escort.

The general might appear a doddering imbecile, but who knew what he was capable of within the privacy of his bedchamber? The idea of Emily being alone with any man was bad enough, but the thought she might be in danger made the short hair on the back of Angus's neck prickle and his blood fizz as he made haste like – well, he hoped – a cardinal rushing to attend to God's bidding.

Capitalising on the fact there was no one around he broke into a run.

And promptly barrelled into a servant as he rounded the corner.

The little maid gasped in English and he took a step back while the girl picked herself up, about to continue her flight. Angus gripped her arm and swung her back to face him.

Muffling her scream with a hand across her mouth he hissed, ‘An English maid? I can only assume you're Miss Emily's. What's happened?'

She reared back before gasping in relief. ‘You be Miss Emily's husband, ain't yer? Oh, sir, we've been discovered. We 'ad Miss Madeleine tied up in 'er chamber good and proper only a grand lady's come in an' found her.'

‘Take me there.'

What was more important? Containing Madeleine or following Emily and the general? If Emily's bold plan were to succeed then he had to give her the necessary freedom while he concerned himself with Madeleine.

The maid led him along a rabbit warren of back passages before halting in front of Madeleine's bedchamber door, which still stood slightly ajar.

‘I dunno if they're still in there,' she whispered, ‘but chances are 'cos Miss Madeleine had no clothes on and it were only a minute ago. Then a grand lady walked in and the games were all up. It were luck I slipped out unnoticed!'

Angus pressed himself against the wall and listened. There was movement within. He heard soft, urgent voices.

Signalling to the girl to stay behind he gently pushed the door wider, braced himself and stepped in.

They were not expecting him. Two dark-haired women, one young and beautiful with a mouth that curved like a satisfied cat's and the other older, statuesque and arresting in purple velvet trimmed with gold, turned at his entrance.

The flare in Madeleine's eyes as she locked glances with him above the shoulder of her companion still lacing her into Emily's Madame de Pompadour dress was defiant. She knew she'd been exposed but her look told Angus she was confident he could not compete with the two of them.

‘Major McCartney,' she crooned. ‘Do you not knock when you enter a lady's bedchamber?'

‘Mademoiselle Delon, I think you are perhaps aware of why I did not?'

‘Ah …' She nodded, straightening as the laces were pulled tight, then bending to pick up the powdered wig that had been cast onto the floor. She toyed with one of its ringlets as the other woman moved to flank her. ‘Could it be that you do not trust me?'

There was no suggestion she was afraid.

Angus laughed softly. ‘I never did, Mademoiselle Delon, which is why I was expecting this. And Madame Fontenay—' He inclined his head, adding formally as if he were meeting her at a
soirée
, ‘I have heard many interesting tales about you. Though not from Emily.'

‘Where is the little fool?' Madame Fontenay's fine dark eyes raked him with disdain, her words delivered with the cold self-possession Angus had expected. This mother clearly had no maternal feeling for Emily. ‘I was disappointed to learn of her marriage to a common soldier after the shocking loss of her …
true
love.' Her eyes travelled the length of his form as if she were sizing up a footman that might fit the old livery.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Major Noble's earlier reports on the girl were not encouraging in the bravery department; however, the fact she was biddable and so
very
in love with dear Captain Noble made her his ideal consort.' She put a hand on Madeleine's shoulder and the younger woman simpered up at her, saying in husky tones, ‘I am far more
sympathetique, n'est ce pas
?' Her gaze narrowed as she turned to Angus. ‘And more beautiful, though I don't deny there is a
small
resemblance.'

Madame Fontenay made no rejoinder. Her flinty gaze did not waver. ‘Might I remind you, Major McCartney, that the only person to have dishonoured you tonight is your wife through her outrageous behaviour: violence and kidnapping.' She nodded at Madeleine. ‘Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Delon was a fool to allow herself to be caught by surprise.'

The thinning of Madeleine's lips was the only indication of her emotions. Angus felt for his pistol and wished he'd entered, brandishing his Flintlock.

A wish more pressing as Madame Fontenay calmly produced one of her own.

‘Emily has proved herself my enemy, just as you are, Major McCartney.' The smile that curved her mouth did not reach her cold eyes. She nodded towards the door. ‘Please, lead us to your bedchamber so we may all welcome dear Emily when she returns from her bold mission.'

This was not far down a narrow passage at right angles to this one. He felt a fool as he obediently preceded the woman whose reputation assured him she'd have no compunction in pulling the trigger of the small, deadly weapon pressed into the small of his back.

A maid curtsied as she passed; a gentleman just issuing from a nearby chamber murmured a greeting.

Once inside his chamber Angus moved leisurely to the sideboard. ‘Regrettably I cannot offer you ladies ratafia, but I have some excellent brandy.' He indicated the cut glass decanter. ‘Mademoiselle Delon? Madame Fontenay?'

To his surprise, Madame Fontenay accepted.

‘Mama!' cried Madeleine. ‘What about the general? He is a loose-tongued buffoon. We must find the two of them and we must kill her!'

Angus, as he poured Madame Fontenay's drink, was chilled by the eagerness of his former compatriot, though there was little point in responding.

‘Madame Fontenay.' With exaggerated formality he offered her the glass.

‘Put it on the sideboard. I am not a fool, sir.' The woman held her pistol steady, trained on him. ‘Madeleine—' Her tone was patient. ‘Emily is out of her depth. Let her make her own mistakes. She will soon return to her husband's bedchamber.'

Angus took a sip of his drink while he thought. ‘Do you really feel nothing for your daughter, Madame?'

‘I've followed Emily's progress for many years, Major McCartney. Regrettably I was unable to influence her childhood or her marriage to you, though when I learned you were Noble's replacement I allowed myself to think it fortuitous. I was mistaken. No, I am not fond of the English but Captain Noble proved himself more than acceptable to me.'

Poor Emily.

He tapped his glass. ‘Emily is accused of being a traitor to her homeland, but her brave actions tonight prove otherwise. At least accord your daughter the admiration she deserves.'

Madame Fontenay snorted. ‘Emily is not brave. She came here because she had nowhere else to go.'

‘There is little loyalty amongst thieves and spies, Madame Fontenay,' he said, forcing down his fury in response to the cavalier way in which she dismissed her own daughter.

‘Having suffered one disappointment I was ready for another. Two of my daughters were not fashioned in my mould.'

Angus shook his head as if he sympathised. ‘Poor Jessamine,' he murmured. ‘She said you were not the mother she had hoped for.'

In the first sign of emotion, Madame Fontenay's steely façade wavered and her hand went to the sideboard to steady herself. ‘What do
you
know of Jessamine?' She frowned but said nothing more.

Ah, so she did not know …

Angus seized the advantage.

‘When I rescued Jessamine at Corunna she told me she had no family. Only later did she mention you.'

Madame Fontenay blanched. Her hold on the pistol loosened but she quickly jerked it upwards as Angus moved forwards.

‘Where is Jessamine now?'

He could see the effort with which she forced the words out. Jessamine was the daughter she'd claimed and who'd grown up at her side before the girl had run away. Of her three children, Jessamine was the one with whom she'd spent most time. Presumably, in view of the emotion she was unable to hide, she'd loved her. It was natural Madame Fontenay wanted to discover her whereabouts. Angus had found her weak spot.

‘Ensure Emily's safety and I'll tell you.'

‘I will not jeopardise this operation, Major.' Madame Fontenay's voice was a soft hiss. ‘Emily means nothing to me. Her father was nothing to me and she's done nothing to raise herself in my estimation.'

Angus tried a different tack, hoping the false threat might weaken her resolve. ‘Micklen will take a dim view of it if Emily comes to harm.'

‘Bartholomew cares for nothing but his pocket book,' Madame Fontenay snorted. ‘He railed against spending a penny on Emily from the moment I forced the child on him, despite the funds with which I supplied him before he left France.'

Madeleine slanted a look up at her benefactress. ‘Emily was good for something,' she purred. ‘When you sent Jack Noble to court her she was very obliging.'

Madame Fontenay did not share Madeleine's smugness. Ignoring her, she continued to address Angus. ‘Emily knows too much. I'm surprised Bartholomew hasn't taken steps to eliminate the risk she poses.'

She jerked the pistol to point at his heart. ‘You accuse me of being an unfeeling mother.' She shook her head, pityingly. ‘I'm more charitable than that. After I have disposed of you, Major McCartney, Emily will be grateful to find a home with me. She's a marked woman if she returns to England where she'd be hanged for a traitor.'

Angus threw wide his arms in a gesture of defeat. ‘Do your worst, Madame Fontenay, and you will never discover the truth about Jessamine who was once my mistress.'

‘You lie!' She spat. ‘You think you can exploit me by turning a brief chance meeting, or a lucky guess, into more, luring me into jeopardising all I've worked for. Well, you're a fool, Major, and I don't take kindly to it.' Without warning she snatched up her glass and threw it at him.

Angus staggered at the impact, holding his wounded cheek as whisky dripped from his coat, the smashed glass tinkling in shards at his feet.

A bruise, no blood, he thought, but he knew not to risk her temper a second time. She'd kill him without compunction, though now he served a dual purpose: a lure for Emily and the keeper of Jessamine's fate.

‘Jessamine's protector was killed during the battle,' he said, blocking his mind to the manner in which this came about. ‘After Jessamine ran away from you she came to England where she'd learned Micklen was rearing her half-sister, Emily. However, Micklen had no desire to see his past unearthed and so he entombed her in a smuggler's cave. Unbeknown to him, she was rescued by a young soldier who took her to Corunna. Jessamine became my mistress when her soldier husband died and she had nowhere else to go.'

‘You lie!'

He remembered Jessamine's refusal to talk about her family in the early days. The girl had been a nervous, jittery creature. He suspected she'd suffered regular beatings but had assumed at the time it had been at the hands of her father or some other male with whom her mother lived. It was clear now her ill treatment had been at the hands of her mother. A mother who nevertheless loved her.

Angus continued. ‘Jessamine was not beautiful. Not like Emily. Her hair was brown and her face narrow and fearful. Jessamine had a small birthmark on her neck which she thought ugly and one on her eyelid.'

‘Jessamine was not your mistress. She would never have lowered herself after all I'd taught her. An Englishman!' Madame Fontenay shifted position. The pistol trembled and her mouth worked to form the words.