Stormfire (88 page)

"Prove it. Tell me to refuse this appointment."

"It would destroy my career," he whispered in genuine misery.

"You're a general, aren't you? How much more do you want?"

"For God's sake, I'm twenty-seven years old! I cannot just stand still!"

"I'm pregnant. Plead my condition. After all, I can hardly be expected to appear at court functions after this month."

"Josephine is prepared to make allowances. Besides, Napoleon would just send over his personal physician to examine you."

"Let him. I'll give the doctor a show! He'll believe Pm about to produce a dancing bear!"

"Catherine, be serious!"

"I am serious," she said calmly, though inside, she felt paralyzed with dread. Still, the axe might as well fall all at once than an inch at a time, for she had no doubt of her husband's reaction. "Either you refuse the appointment or I do. Which is it?"

"You must accept, Catherine,"
Raoul
said tightly. "I cannpt permit you to do otherwise."

"Then why continue to play games?" She rose abruptly. "This marriage was a farce from the beginning, and it will be until the end. If you want me again, you'll have to take me by force."

"You don't mean that," he whispered. "Ryan said Culhane kidnapped you, raped you; yet you endured it. You even gave yourself to
Artois
in trade for Culhane's prison release." His face twisted as his voice rose. "You
whored
for a man who raped you! Why not have a little understanding for me? I saved both your lives!"

Her eyes held his. "What would you have done if Sean had been my husband,
Raoul?"

His eyes flickered. "Why, the same . . ."

"The devil take your lying tongue," she flared impatiently. "You'd have murdered him! He would have simply succumbed to his wounds aboard the
République
and been conveniently buried at sea."

Desperate resolve took the place of Raoul's pleading despair. "If you whored for that bastard once, you'll do it again. Don't think what the British did to him cannot be finished in France. Or perhaps I should notify your father? Why cheat the man of his revenge? After all, he was cheated of attending his only 'daughter's' wedding!"

Although she had known they were inevitable, Cather
ine
went paler with his every word. She had fought with the only weak weapons she had.

But Amauri realized from her silence that while she might submit, the victory was not his. No matter what happened, Culhane had won. He suddenly hated the Irishman. He caught Catherine's chin. "Warn him and he'll die imagining you in Napoleon's bed."

Her blue eyes, hard as minerals, glared back at him.

"And you'll satisfy my wants, too. A whore's first duty is to her pimp." He jerked her to him, dragged her head back, and kissed her brutally. It was like kissing a dead woman: He twisted his hands in her hair. "Show me, Catherine. Show me how much you want him to live . . ."

She kissed him back, startling him with a passion that drove him against her in desire, then pulled back. "How long,
Raoul?
What guarantee do I have you won't betray him?"

"As long as Napoleon wants you, Culhane is safe from me. Then it's a matter of how long I want you. . . and Culhane's luck, of course. You cannot very well expect me to save him from natural calamity, can you?"

"Can I not? The day he dies is the day you lose all hold on me."

"Haven't you forgotten the child,
chérie?"
he murmured as he pushed her down onto the bed. "I think you'll be with me for a long, long time."

Sean tugged on leather gloves as he strode out of Napoleon's receiving room. He was glad to be free of the artillery sketches Napoleon had kept. Most of the expensive changes involved alterations in current casting procedures, which might take months, even years to perfect; but Napoleon had been keenly interested, particularly in the gun carriage modifications.

As he rounded a corner, he glimpsed a woman he could have sworn was Catherine at the end of arutdjoining corridor. He took an involuntary step in that direction, then caught himself. Paris was glutted with slender brunettes.

"So you see, Madame Amauri, your official duties are not demanding. I daresay your informal ones will consume even less time."

"I am at your service, Madame," Catherine murmured politely, noting the only subtle barb the First Consul's wife had permitted herself while she and her ladies-in- waiting toured their new companion about the palace.

Josephine was the consummate official's wife: charming, diplomatic. The tiny lines about the eyes Catherine had expected were there, but Josephine had long been celebrated as the most beautiful woman in Europe and she still deserved the accolade.

But since the Pauline Foures affair and a near-divorce, she had become wary. Obviously, the young countess knew why she had been appointed to the First Consul's family circle, and was wretched. Josephine felt a bit sorry for her, but that twinge of sympathy was dispelled when she saw quickly hidden hunger for the girl in Napoleon's eyes as, flanked by two aides, he entered the room.

Napoleon lightly kissed his wife's fingertips, then nodded to his sisters, Caroline and Pauline, as they curtsied. He turned to Catherine, who curtsied with a rustle of apricot moire.

"We're introducing Madame Amauri to the
Tuileries
and her duties, my love," Josephine murmured.

Napoleon extended his hand, and slowly, Catherine laid her fingers across his. He carried her hand to his lips. "I hope you will find your connection with my household pleasant,
madame."

"To serve France is pleasure enough,
man
Général,
"
she said obliquely.

"True," he replied with an impish quirt to his lips. "The attitudes of patriotic fervor are infinitely variable."

Josephine shut her tiny fan with a click. "Will you join us for luncheon, Bonaparte?"

He eyed her. "Unfortunately, I cannot." He bowed slightly. "I bid you good afternoon, ladies. Why not show Madame Amauri the view of the gardens from the ballroom? The first narcissus are in bloom."

Tucking his foil under his arm, Guy Lavalier slipped off his mask. "Technically, Monsieur Culhane, I can teach you little." He flipped the mask onto a rack and turned to watch the tall, black-haired man remove his equipment and flex his wrist.

"One never knows enough, Monsieur Lavalier."

Lavalier rubbed his nose. "How long do you plan to stay in Paris, monsieur?"

"Indefinitely."

"I see. May I suggest we work together privately to strengthen your wrist?"

Culhane looked at him with an ironic smile. "No profits in dead pupils?"

"Your fight with the late Captain Javet wasn't exactly a credit to me, Monsieur Culhane; he was one of my pupils too." The fencing master's smile echoed the Irishman's irony. "The place is usually empty before noon; you can come up the back way. What do you say?"

Culhane slipped his foil into the rack and hung up his mask. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Of course . . . are you going to your lodging now?"

The Irishman's eyes narrowed, and Lavalier quickly added, "I only mean to suggest you stay elsewhere until your wrist is recovered."

Culhane nodded. "Thanks for the warning." Then went on slowly, "Why not just let matters take their course?"

"Grouchy says you're a good man. That's enough for me."

Culhane went to Madeleine's; he had no other choice. To seek refuge with the Lachaises would endanger Gil. Madeleine welcomed him with open arms and transparent relief. "Merciful God, I was afraid some idiot had killed you! Why didn't you come back? Did
Mei
Lih say something?"

"No. How did you hear about the fight?"

"Madame
Hortense.
Half her military clientele are bragging to their girls about taking you on! I've been out of my mind . . ."

He kissed her to quiet her questions. "Leine, may I stay here for a few days?"

"But of course. As long as you like." Knowing he never would have avoided trouble in the old days, she looked at him intently, but held her tongue. "Come, you're tired. I'll have my cook prepare something for you."

As Sean dug into a bowl of soup, Madeleine twirled a glass of
Chablis.
"I'm glad you came,
chéri;
I was afraid you wouldn't be so sensible. I've been wanting to talk to you."

He glanced at her and buttered his bread. "You sound serious."

Madeleine listened until the cook's footfalls faded.
"Mei
Lih overheard my cook gossiping. Apparently your sister- in-law and her husband aren't getting along too well."

Culhane kept his voice expressionless. "How would your cook know that?"

"Her sister is Catherine d'Amauri's maid."

"Every couple bickers. It takes time to adjust."

"Last night they had a violent quarrel.
Raoul
d'Amauri isn't given to quarrels."