Stormfire (81 page)

He kissed her, then opened her robe to find the breasts still high, still perfect. "You're beautiful, Leine," he said simply. "Time will never be your enemy."

Madeleine laughed lightly. "You made me sound indestructible." She gave a nod to Meh Lih, then took Sean by the hand and led him into her bedroom to sit on the bed. A candle burned on the side table.
"Mei
Lih will prepare a bath. She'll massage you and then you'll sleep." She blew out the candle and undressed him, her hands gentle, expert, not lingering on scarred flesh.

"All is prepared,
madame," Mei
Lih's silhouette murmured from the doorway, the yellow sheath rimmed with firelight.

Madeleine slipped Sean into a robe, then led him to the bath. The fireplace gave the only light, but he tensed slightly as Madeleine removed the robe. Their eyes impersonal, the women eased him into the bath, then bathed him. He grew drowsy in the copper tub and accustomed to their hands, until
Mèi
Lih started to soap his genitals. He caught her hand swiftly. "I'll do that."

She began to lather his hair. They let him soak until the water turned tepid, then
Mei
Lih held out a large towel and, half-asleep, he stepped out of the tub.

Mei Lih
indicated for him to lie face down on a thick cotton pad before the fire. She left the towel over his hips and began to massage him with almond oil, beginning with the toes and working upward to the fingertips and neck until he felt liquid. Almost asleep, he idly watched Madeleine, who sat on the divan, her robe parted to the waist, her beautiful breasts glimmering in the firelight.
Mei
Lih turned him over and began again to slowly work up his body.

As if the heat of the fire were too intense, Madeline unfastened her robe and let it fall away until her body was a luminous white shape against the black silk. Seeming to believe him asleep, she began to slowly make love to herself, carressing her own breasts, thighs and belly, then dipped her long fingers into herself. At the same moment,
Mei
Lih slipped the towel from his hips and massaged his chest and belly, his inner thighs. Dimly, he felt a vague desire, but his eyelids and mind were leaden and he slept; his last conscious memory was Madeleine's
soft
moans and disappearing fingers.

His next awareness was of darkness and a warm, slow mouth at his partly swollen sex. He stiffened and a second mouth gently kissed him, then licked his lips, exploring, probing unhurriedly like the soft tongue that caressed his groin. He was too full of cognac and too relaxed to feel panic. Easier to surrender. To feel. Hands stroking every inch of his body, tongues at his nipples and encircling his glans until he felt a full, sweet pressure. At long last, he felt amost unbearable relief.

"Sleep again, my love," Madeleine murmured.

Later, in the darkness, he pulled Madeleine to him, putting his mouth where her fingers had been.

He awoke to find a stream of sunlight across a sprawled body, only now he was alone with the Indonesian. As she felt him stir, she lifted her head and smiled. Then without giving him time to protest or cover himself, she slid down to his groin and stroked her cheek against him, nuzzling him, her almond eyes half-closed and sleepy. As the girl made love to him, he closed his eyes, remembering Catherine and that stormy night in the deserted cottage. Then just before the moment, he eased
Mie
Lih up and under him and made love to her, slowing his thrusts to a powerful, undulating rhythm that made her eyes widen. When her need matched his, he took her with him until her slim body shuddered as if in a storm wind.

"Mon Dieu, mon ami,
I've been concerned!"
Raoul
exclaimed as Sean walked through the front door of their apartment. "When you didn't return last night, I feared you had either run into trouble or collapsed in the street! After all, you're not long out of a sickbed."

Sean shrugged off his cloak for
Guillaume,
the waiting manservant. "Sorry to have worried you. I was visiting an old friend."

"Ah, well." Amauri stirred his coffee and leaned back in his chair at the breakfast table. "I suppose you don't feel like going to the artillery drills today."

"I feel fine. Where are they?"

"In a field on the city outskirts. We can wager on the firing times. Want an Omelette before we go?"

"I've eaten, thanks, but a second cup of coffee sounds good.
Café noir,
Guillaume."
The valet headed for his tiny kitchen.

"La Noire
last night was
tris bonne, aussi, "
Amauri observed. "Didn't you like her?"

"Very much."

The Frenchman grinned wryly. "Too much of a good thing, eh? You may be right. One needs to be celibate occasionally, just to purge the system." His smile faded. "Catherine's the one woman I cannot get out of my mind. I was wild when I heard she was married. The trouble is, I seem to be in love with her. But half of Paris saw her at the ball. Even Napoleon wants her! How do I fight them all? Christ!" He kicked back his chair and stood up. "I don't want to be married. Catherine's no Caroline a Murat can stroll away from."

"Caroline makes no pretense of being faithful to Murat."

"Well, Catherine's no whore," Amauri replied tightly. "I don't care what they say of her in England. The rumors are already drifting into Paris. Soon, no matter where she goes, lies will follow. She must be protected. Not only
that, . ."
He hesitated. "I don't want to worry you, but
Fouché,
the minister of police, has Mother's house under surveillance. I think Napoleon himself ordered it." Sean stiffened and Amauri shook his head. "No,
mon ami,
there's nothing we can do. If we try to smuggle Catherine out of the country,
Fouché
would pick her up before she got a mile outside the city. She entered France without papers.
Fouché
can come up with a hundred legal technicalities to detain a possible Royalist."

The Irishman snorted. "So much for
détente!"

"Oh, Napoleon's intentions are honorable in that respect, but Catherine's too damned beautiful, that's all. He's made his interest clear to everyone. He wants her as his mistress."

"I suppose it's naive to suggest he might accept a refusal?" Sean asked tightly.

"Of course. He's no boor. He'll simply wait until she changes her mind." Amauri sympathetically touched Sean's shoulder. "I'm sorry, my friend; I feel entirely responsible. After all, I gave you my assurance of her safety. Short of betraying France, I'll do anything I can to help, even to the cost of my life."

"Thanks, Amauri, but as you say, it's too late now."

A week later, after attending a reception celebrating the Peace of Amiens between England and France, Sean reached Amauri's quarters and the laconic
Guillaume
handed him a sealed note. Recognizing the handwriting, Culhane ripped it open. "I must see
you
immediately. Catherine."

Although Culhane asked the butler if he might see Lady Culhane, it was the
baronne
who greeted him in the drawing room. "My dear monsieur, what a pleasant surprise. Catherine will be down in a moment. She's putting on her habit." Her voice altered subtly. "May I suggest, under the circumstances, that you refrain from riding in public areas?"

"Circumstances,
madame?"

Her silk dress nearly the color of her hair, she walked to the window. "Did you notice the kite vendor across the park? He's a representative of Monsieur
Fouché."
She turned. "Those white roses on the mantel came today; the card contains a single 'N.' Similar arrangements are scattered throughout the house. Catherine refuses to have them in her bedroom. Thank heaven, roses are short-lived; the scent is beginning to cloy . . . ah, there you are, and so quickly, too."

With cheeks flushed from a race down the stairs, and blue eyes brilliant under a tilted, feathered hat, Catherine came into the room. Her new habit was moss green velvet with eream silk ruching about a high Medici collar, and Sean thought she had rarely looked more adorable. She said nothing, her eyes widening slightly, drinking him in as he was her. Then she turned to the
baronne.
"We won't be long,
madame."

"Dinner won't be served until eight, my dear. You have plenty of time. Perhaps you will dine with us, monsieur?"

Catherine's face lost a little of its luster as Sean replied, "Thank you no,
madame.
I have another engagement this evening. . . . Why don't Kit and I go out the back? The hostler can bring my horse around as if to the stables."

Chestnuts rose tall and straight-shafted against the rusty gold of the setting sun as the riders reached the outskirts of the Luxembourg. With no birds twittering a summons to winter twilight, the wood was strangely silent. Creeping away from clusters of skeletal underbrush, tree roots twisted bare across parchment-dry leaves and lavender, pebble-strewn earth. When the horses reached a clearing, Sean dismounted and Catherine slid off her mount into his arms. Her face was luminous in the golden light and he held her so closely she found breathing difficult, but she clung to him even more tightly. "Take me away from here. I'm beginning to be afraid."

He tipped her face up. "What are you afraid of?"

"Everything. Everyone. Since the ball, this house has been like a prison. Every time I suggest going to see Mother's old friends or into the city, the
baronne
says it's unwise. This is the first time I've been
out.
Now even you won't stay to dinner."