Madeleine's Christmas Wish (8 page)

Georges's eyes twinkled down at her. “I thought of wakening you, but you looked so peaceful sleeping.”

Madeleine pushed away. “I apologize for importuning you.”

“Oh, but you did not.” He lowered his lashes a bit, and his tone was warm and seductive. “I enjoyed every minute of your sleeping on me.”

Diable!
“Well, I would not have done it if I'd known.”

One lazy brow rose. “I didn't suppose you would have.”

He rose and reached for his robe.

Mon Dieu,
he was naked! She quickly closed her eyes but not before taking in the strong muscles in his back and his extremely nice, firm derrière. So sculpted it could have been carved from marble such as the sculptures in the park.

Chuckling, Georges left the room and closed the door. Moments later, the maid from last night entered with warm water.

 

 

Two hours later, Georges glanced around the hotel's yard as he helped Madeleine into the
diligence.
Then, instead of sitting next to the window himself, he sat between her and an old man, giving her more space than she would have otherwise had, and pulled down the shade.

The coach was said to hold six comfortably, but eight of them were crowded together. The four other passengers on their bench left when they stopped for dinner. Much to the consternation of the other travelers, Georges had apparently purchased the additional seats from that point on, leaving him and Madeleine the only ones on the bench.

“Monsieur,” a man on the other bench said, “I know you will not mind if my wife”—a stout woman of indeterminate age—“sits with you.”

Georges pursed his lips. “Not at all, provided you pay me for her seat.”

The woman glared, and her husband fell silent. Madeleine wanted to roll her eyes. How did he think to pass unnoticed if he behaved like that? “I am sorry for your discomfort, madame. You see, I am not a good traveler, and if seated too close to someone, I suffer from sickness.”

Georges slid a sly glance at her. “Indeed, unless my wife is sleeping, even I must keep my distance, or we shall never get anywhere.”

She rounded her eyes, and used her most innocent voice. “That is true. Even my husband's presence will make me ill.”

Georges nodded solemnly.

The heavy woman glanced from Madeleine to Georges and back. Soon a smile of understanding graced her mien. “I understand, madame. If you are interested, I have a receipt for a nervous stomach. Women in your condition must be careful. Never fear. It will soon pass. Are you traveling to your family for the holidays?”

Madeleine was speechless. Never in her life did she consider the woman would think she was
enceinte.
She shot a quick glance at Georges, whose eyes danced with mirth. It would serve him right if she was ill. “We are. I need my mother at a time like this.”

“I agree.” The woman took out knitting from a bag. “I was the same. My
maman
always knew best.”

Madeleine thought she heard a choking sound from Georges, yet when she looked, his eyes were closed.

During the next several miles, Madeleine was given advice on everything a newly married woman could want. Georges pretended to sleep, but several times, the corner of his lips tilted up the slightest bit. Drat the man for leaving her to talk with their companions. Although before she knew it, the other passengers were yawning. The woman's husband pulled his nightcap from one of the many pockets lining the coach walls, and fell asleep. The woman followed shortly thereafter.

Georges's arm snaked around Madeleine, and he kissed the side of her head. “Sleep, my love. We have a long journey.”

Madeleine found herself sinking into Georges's warmth. When she awoke, she was stretched across most of the seat with her head in his lap. She sat up as if she'd been scalded. How could she have done such a thing?

He calmly set her bonnet on her head, and announced, “We are in Paris.”

 

 

After discovering that the next day's mail coach was already booked, Georges asked to be notified of any cancellations, and purchased tickets on the next available
diligence
. A few hours later, he and Madeleine ambled through the streets, taking in the sights, until they reached the Notre Dame.

Christmas market stalls filled the large area around the cathedral and backed up to its walls. After strolling around for several minutes, he found what he was looking for: artists painting likenesses on small disks that could be hung by a ribbon or gold cord on a Christmas tree.

Georges led Madeleine by the hand to a woman who was saying good-bye to a young couple. He approached the artist, and said, “We would like our portraits done.”

“Together or separately?” the artist asked.

“Together.” He had to show Madeleine they were meant to be together.

They sat on a small bench, and he wrapped his arm around her. In the years to come, what would their children think of them depicted in traveling clothes?

The artist resumed her place behind an easel. “Please remove your hat and madam her bonnet so your faces are not in the shadows.”

He and Madeleine did as the woman asked. Fortunately it was not so cold as to be uncomfortable. While the painter worked, music filtered from the church.

“ ‘Noël nouvelet,' ” he whispered to Madeleine.

“I recognized it,” she replied softly.

“Madam, monsieur.” The artist's tone was firm. “Please, you must be still.” A half hour later the woman stretched her back. “Come back in an hour and it will be ready.”

“Merci, madam,” he replied. Glancing at his pocket watch, he turned to Madeleine. “Shall we do some shopping first, or have something to eat?”

“Shopping.” She grinned. “I saw a stall with cheese I'd like to look at. Then perhaps we can eat at the restaurant with the large trays of oysters. That is always one of the best parts of Christmas.”

He tucked her closer to him. “I agree.”

 

 

Stars still twinkled in the antelucan sky as Georges gazed down at Madeleine sleeping soundly in their bed. He prided himself on his control, but being celibate with her was about to kill him. When he realized that would be treating her as he had all those he'd needed information from over the years, his plan to seduce her had turned to ashes. He'd not despoil his love for her.

He played with the idea of hiring a coach, but it would have taken longer, and he had a feeling he could not shake, that they must get to Beaune as soon as possible. At least he had another day alone with her before they left for Dijon.

He kissed her brow, and Madeleine made a small sigh.

Yesterday, they had visited so many of the Christmas markets, their bags were now overflowing with presents she had brought for her family from countries such as Germany and Belgium. He'd placed their ornament in his valise. It would be the first one on their tree this year. The oysters had been delicious, and later the spiced wine and sausages tasted particularly fine as the cold nipped their noses. He'd bought a cone of candied nuts, and ate more than half of them, protesting they would make her ill again. Although, Madeleine had seemed content enough to allow him to pay for her purchases; he could almost see her calculating what she would owe him.

He lay back down. Fortunately there was no reason they had to be up early this morning. He could enjoy merely holding her.

Last night, he'd decided that before he made her his wife in truth, he must disclose some of what he'd done during the war. Considering her father had passed information, Madeleine would probably not be shocked. Not like the English who considered spies the lowest form of life. At least he prayed she would not be. Still, he couldn't tell her everything. Some of it was too gruesome.

Climbing back into bed, he brought her flush against him. Georges's groin jumped at the prospective treat.

Soon
.

Lord, she was so lovely and innocent. He might not be able to make her completely his yet, but . . . He untied the row of ribbons holding the gown's bodice together, baring one breast and shoulder. Surely a taste wouldn't hurt.

Georges moved slowly, so as not to wake her. He circled one nipple with his tongue and lightly sucked. God, she tasted so good, like warm honey. Madeleine moaned, and rolled onto her back, dislodging the other half of her nightgown, and showing him the other tightly furled nipple. Would it taste the same? Most likely, yet how would he know unless he tried? And it looked in need of attention. He positioned himself over Madeleine, careful not to rest any of his weight on her, before bending his head, and licking the other breast. She arched, encouraging his attentions. The scent of her musk led him lower. He bunched up the gown, licking his way over her softly rounded stomach to the pale curls covering her mons. He dipped his tongue into the soft curls.

“
Georges, no!
You must not.”

He swiped his tongue across the small nub, and she cried out in pleasure. He did it again, her knees clamped around his ears, wincing as Madeleine tugged his hair.

Her breath became harsh. “
Georges. Mon Dieu.
”

“Let yourself go,
mon amour.
”

He blanketed her mouth with his own, swallowing her scream as she shattered.

Afterward, she lay quietly in his arms. Georges fought not to crush Madeleine to him. He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted her. If she thought he would leave her, she was mistaken. She was his. His wife and his lover.

A
s Madeleine floated on a warm sea of love, she thought she'd gone to heaven. Even though Georges's muscles were like tempered steel, he held her gently. What would it be like to wake up to him every day? To have him make love to her?

If only there was some way to keep her family's heritage and Georges at the same time . . . but his place was in England now. Hardly any of the families who had left France had received their lands back. King Louis dithered and promised yet he gave nothing. Those who had followed him had only empty titles to show for it. She wondered who now owned Cruzy-le-Châtel.

An ache that began in her heart spread rapidly through the rest of her body. In only a few short days, they would part, and this time she'd be more alone than ever. Yet even worse, she didn't think she could let him go.

Someone began banging on the parlor door. “Monsieur, we have news. There are seats on the
diligence
. I have brought your
petit-déjeuner
, and wash water. Marie will come to Madame.”

Georges sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. “Put the tray down. I'll get it.” He turned to Madeleine. “Come, my love.” He lifted her from the warm bed, setting her feet on the cold floor, and smiled down at her. “You wash while I set up breakfast.”

Fighting the tears threatening to fall, she hugged him tightly. “
Merci.
”

My love
.

She barely stopped herself from saying the words out loud. How stupid of her to have fallen in love with him.

“Madeleine?”

She lifted her head, and he kissed her.

“All will be well.”

Nodding she turned away. It would never be right. “Yes, I know.”

Less than an hour later, they had turned the corner and were in sight of the inn from which the
diligence
left, when a man shouted.

Georges pushed her behind him. “Keep your head down.”

Oh God, she'd been caught!

Madeleine stared at the pavement, tucking herself close to his back as he slipped his hand into his greatcoat pocket. “May I help you, monsieur?”

“I want to see that woman.”

“Perhaps you should first tell me why you wish to see my wife.”

“Your wife?” he asked sharply.

She wished she could see their faces.

“Indeed,” Georges said in a stern voice, “and I will not have her frightened by a bully. She is from Denmark, and it took me long enough to convince her to visit Paris.”

“I'm sorry, monsieur.” The man's tone seemed wary, as if he was afraid of something, or someone. “I mistook her for another.”

A few moments later, Georges turned, drawing her to him. “I take it he was one of the men who took you from your home?”

She nodded, fighting down latent tears. “The leader.”

He held her close for a few moments, then kissed her gently. “It's time we leave.”

 

 

There were only two seats left, making a total of six passengers including herself and Georges. Once again, he had her sit next to the window. A few hours into the journey she was more bored than she'd ever been in her life. Unlike the woman in their first coach, two females sat on the opposite seat, speaking to no one but each other.

At one of the many stops to change horses, Georges took down a box from his valise. “Do you play chess?”

Pleasure surged through her. “Yes. Papa taught me.”

He set up the small set made for travel. Though she was good, he was better. Fortunately, he stopped to teach her as they played. Before she knew it, the coach came to a halt before an inn. Her stomach rumbled.

Georges smiled. “It's time to feed you.”

“Thank you for bringing the chess set.”

“I'm only sorry I didn't think to bring books. It would have made the journey less tedious.”

A half hour later they were traveling once more, and Madeleine vowed that after this trip ended, she would never again take the
diligence.

By early morning they'd arrived in Dijon. Across from the inn, the Christmas market stood empty, waiting for the day to begin. Beaune's own small market would also be set up. Madeleine straightened her shoulders. She would enjoy everything about Christmas this year, even if she was alone.

Shortly after the coach came to the end of its route in Dijon, Georges ensconced Madeleine in a suite at the Hôtel le Sauvage. He ordered baths and food.

They would need to decide whether or not to continue to Beaune on the
diligence.
Once they'd bathed and eaten, he sat across the table from her, sipping a cup of coffee, as she finished a pot of tea. This is how he wished to begin every day for the rest of his life. He prayed for a miracle, one that would keep Madeleine with him.

He reached his hand across the short distance, and covered her fingers with his. “It is about four hours from here to Beaune if we hire a coach, or three hours on the
diligence.
What is the best way to enter the town and your home?”

“Our house borders the city wall.” She took a page from her pocketbook, sketching the wall, river, and house. “At the back of the garden is what appears to be an old stone shed built into the wall.” Madeleine grinned. “It is one end of a tunnel.”

A tunnel? That might come in handy. “Where is the other entrance?”

“In a farm house about a half mile away.” She put down her pencil. “We have always kept the house and tunnel in good condition, and very secret. I don't know who will be watching the house, if anyone, but using the tunnel will ensure no one sees us until we wish them to.”

He nodded slowly. She was right. They needed all the advantage they could get, particularly if Coupe was involved. “Hiring a coach would allow us to time our arrival to suit our plans. Shall we go to-night?”

Her smile broadened. “Yes.”

“Come, let's sleep for a while.”

“Before we leave, I'd like to go to the
marché de Noël
here. I haven't been in a long time.”

He couldn't blame her. One of his mother's favorite things to do was visit the different Christmas markets. Each of them seemed to have different items, and he'd missed not celebrating all of the Christmas season from the beginning of Advent to Three Kings Day. Just thinking about it, the scents of roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, and spiced wine swirled around him. “I can't think of a better way to spend part of the day.”

Later that morning, he made arrangements for a coach and driver, before escorting Madeleine to La Place Royale where the Christmas market was situated. Memories of his childhood swamped him as they meandered along the alleys created by the stands. A light snow sprinkled down, causing his heart to yearn for simpler times.

“Oh, look.” Madeleine pointed to a man huddled over a grate. “Chestnuts. We have them in Beaune as well, but I didn't see them in Paris.”

Georges bought a dozen wrapped in paper, and fed them to her as they strolled along. Soon they reached the booths with gingerbread men, other sweets, and spiced wine in large copper pots.

Even though they'd spent most of the day going from one market to another in Paris, this one seemed different. The tastes and smells would be unlike those in Paris. He was in heaven. “I didn't realize how much I'd missed visiting Christmas markets.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Was it hard adjusting to England?”

“Not as difficult as one would imagine. My father's cousin helped a great deal.”

The duke had made sure Georges was accepted into Eton, then Oxford, and when he'd wanted to join the army, sent him instead to the Foreign Office, thinking to keep him safer. If his cousin had known about Georges's missions, the duke would have put a stop to them.

When the clock struck two, they made their way back to the inn where the coach would be waiting.

 

 

Four hours later, Georges and Madeleine descended from the carriage as it reached Porte St. Nicolas, the northern gate of Beaune. Other than a few comments about the season, they'd traveled in companionable silence, dozing on and off.

Georges made arrangements for Madeleine's trunk to be left at an inn she knew well. He took his valise. If anything went wrong, they'd have money and travel documents, as well as a nice selection of easily concealed weapons.

They skirted the vineyards, until they reached a clump of trees at the beginning of the forest. The cottage was neatly kept, almost as if the owner had just stepped out for a while.

Madeleine led Georges through the small main room, to a surprisingly large bedroom. The floor was intricately painted in red and black to resemble a rug. She slid aside one of the black vines, revealing a latch.
Very clever
. Stairs led down into the darkness.

When he started to descend, she put her hand on his arm. “Let me go first. I know where the candles are.”

Georges didn't like it, but Madeleine was correct. She knew her way, he did not.
Merde.
It would have been difficult, but what if someone had found the tunnel and the way into the house in town? Light flared ahead of him.

When he reached her, she handed him a candle. “Follow me.”

They were almost to the end by his calculations, when something ahead of them moved, and it was too large to be a rat. Georges kept his voice to a harsh whisper. “Behind me.”

She stood still. “There is no reason. We are safe here.”

Why was it women never listened? At least those one loved. He pulled Madeleine back.

“But . . .”

Clapping his hand over her mouth, he placed his lips next to her ear. “There is someone ahead of us.” He pinched the flames, plunging them into darkness. “Hold on to the back of my coat.”

As they got closer, it was clear the other person was not attempting to hide his presence. Georges pulled a small Manton pistol from his coat pocket. “Raise your hands, and you will live.”

A string of French curses erupted, and the other fellow's light went out.

Madeleine harrumphed in disgust and, in a haughty tone, said, “Your language is not suitable for a lady's ears.”

“Madeleine?” A surprised voice called back.

“
Oui.
” She shook off Georges's hand. The air moved as she rushed away. “
Armand. You're alive!
”

Damn. If only he could see what was going on, but it was too dratted dark.

“Of course I am,
ma puce.
” Her brother chuckled. “But who is the blackguard living in the château?”

The next thing Georges heard was Madeleine stamping one of her feet. “Do not call me a flea.”

So much for the happy reunion. As close as they were, he'd never been around Madeleine and her brother when they were not arguing about something.

“What does he look like?” Madeleine asked.

“I don't know,” Armand responded. “One of our workers warned me off.”

Georges felt the anger radiating from Madeleine. “It is probably Coupe, the
cochon.
”

Feeling slightly left out as brother and sister engaged in their lighthearted bickering, Georges hung back, then she bumped into him. “There you are. Light the candles again.”

He struck his flint, and a flame started. “Let's get out of here. We can discuss this in the house.”

Armand went first, unlatching the opening to the shed. Once they were in the small building, he stared at Georges and sneered. “Welcome, monsieur. I didn't expect to see you here.”

Madeleine frowned. “I do not know why you suddenly don't like Georges, but he is correct, we can discuss it in the house.”

Her brother crossed his arms. “He's not coming in the house.”

Georges tried to think of what Armand might have heard. Whatever it was, it was bad. He placed his arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps I should remain here.”

She firmed her jaw, and shoved a finger at the brother's chest. “He came to help me get Maman and Genevieve to England where they can be safe.”

Armand's chin jutted out pugnaciously. “The war is over. They are safe right here.”

“Ha! You know nothing. They are anything but safe.”

Soon they were shouting more than listening.

Georges debated the idea of remaining silent and letting the two of them battle it out, yet he wasn't sure anything would be accomplished, and he'd already recognized her brother's other identity. Armand had also worked for Louis.

Now Madeleine's hands were on her hips. “You always think you know what is best.”

“You little—”

“
Enough!
” Georges's command echoed off the stone walls.

Brother and sister ceased, but it wouldn't last long. “I believe Armand is under the impression that not only did I leave France, but that I did nothing during the war.” Armand's lips formed another sneer. Georges's fist clenched. One punch and the look would be gone, but that would further upset Madeleine. “I believe you may remember Monsieur Renaud.”

Armand's mouth fell open. “You?”

Georges inclined his head. “
Certainement
.”

“I don't believe you.”

It needed only this. “Perhaps you remember a Monsieur Meran, now a member of Louis's court?”

Armand's feet shifted, suddenly he was not so sure of himself. “How do you know him?”

Georges had smuggled the man and his wife to England, saving their lives. He'd also dispatched the guards by planting information on them and taking them to stand trial as traitors to the empire. He raised a brow. “I think you know.”

Her brother shook his head as if trying to clear it. “But how?”

“It is a very long and boring story.” Georges glanced at Madeleine who watched him intently. He should have found the time to tell her before, but he had not and it had to be now. “I was a spy. Napoleon thought I was working for him, but I was actually working for Louis. Not even a handful of people knew.”