Susan Johnson (12 page)

Duras’s gaze sharpened. “Where?”

“On a small peninsula near the river Ob. He and my mother and a handful of warriors.”

“At Obdorsk? That was your father? The Russians brought up cannon, didn’t they?”

“They dragged cannon over five hundred miles of bog and tundra. It took them six months and the lives of hundreds of convicts but human life doesn’t count for much in Russia. When my father wouldn’t surrender, they destroyed his stronghold, him and my mother and all of his men. I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.” Duras had come to sit by her as she’d related her tale and he took her hands in his now and, lifting them to his mouth, kissed them. “I won’t let them destroy us,” he said, placing her hands in her lap, covering them with his.

“Tamyr tells me my father said as much to my mother.”

“I don’t know the details of your parents’ death but I can protect you … us. Don’t ever think I can’t.”

“Even against Korsakov … and Russia?”

“My father was a mercenary, a corsair who fought for whoever would pay him best. He died of old age on a small island in the Mediterranean. I intend to do the same. With you.”

“Really?” she said, tears filling her eyes.

“Really,” he quietly answered, gathering her in his arms. Lifting her onto his lap, he held her close, conscious of the magnitude of what he’d promised, utterly sure nonetheless. It was a revelation of sorts for a man who until now had never promised his life to anyone.

The sound of boots on the porch and male voices signaled the end of their solitude. “May I stay if I don’t get in the way?” Teo asked. “Our time is so short.”

“You can sit on my lap for all I care, but only if you put on something less revealing than this robe.”

“I won’t be so daring as to sit on your lap, but thank you.”

“You needn’t thank me. It’s a thoroughly selfish move.” He understood as well how few hours were left.

Within minutes the downstairs rooms were transformed into makeshift offices, and after Duras and Teo had both changed into more respectable attire, Duras held reign over the plans for mounting a new offensive.

The surgeon worked as the plans were discussed, Duras’s shirtsleeve rolled up, his wrist balanced on the surgeon’s knee. He seemed not to notice the pain, other than to once say, “Have a care, Georges, it’s my sword arm.”

Which caused additional sweat to appear on the young doctor’s brow.

Duras called for a cognac when the stitching was done though and drank it in one gulp. Then he carefully rolled down his sleeve and, looking up at the men around the table, said, “Now how the hell are we going to get the cavalry through that swamp?”

Duras was expected to set up an advance on a fifteen-mile front from Feldkirch to the mouth of the upper Rhine. The marshy valley was treacherous, difficult terrain, the archduke strongly entrenched and waiting for them on the other side. The earliest he could have his men in place would be three days. Would Jourdan be able to hold out that long?

No one slept that night, and while Duras didn’t seat Teo on his lap, he held her hand during the war council that lasted till dawn. Seated beside him at the dining table, she listened while the officers argued strategy and logistics. Duras politely listened to his subordinates, but the bulk of his general staff were still in the Tyrol and ultimately, with or without his general staff, he made the final determinations for the campaign. As the sun began to rise, duties were delegated to the various officers, the clerks were set to work writing the numerous dispatches required to coordinate four columns marching north, and Duras took his leave with a courteous bow to his staff.

“I’m available for any questions or comments at any time,” he politely said. “Cholet will come for me.”

“Hearts and flowers, not his usual style,” Major Vigée remarked with raised eyebrows after Duras and Teo left the room. “The lady must be an original in bed.”

A thought shared by most in the room. Duras’s extraordinary behavior had astonished all his staff.

“I would have thought it damned hard to outdo Claudine,” another man declared with a smirk.

“I resent that,” young Furet hotly declared. “Madame Duras is a woman of refinement.”

“Definitely that,” another officer retorted. “The most refined in carnal artistry.”

“I won’t hear such slander!” Furet protested. “You revile the wrong lady. Claudine is a beautiful woman ignored by her husband.”

“Not, however, by all the other males in Paris,” Cholet plainly said. “She toyed with you, Furet, and continues to for her own gain.”

“Sorry, lad” Vigée said, offering Furet a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Cholet’s right. Ask anyone.”

“Then why hasn’t he divorced her?” Furet indignantly inquired.

“Perhaps because her uncle is Talleyrand,” Cholet replied.

“And she’s Barras’s protégée.”

“Or perhaps he hasn’t had time,” Vigée said, “considering he’s been keeping the English and Austrians from marching down the Champs Élysées the last few years.”

“Madame Duras’s reputation aside, gentlemen,” Cholet interjected, not interested in continuing the debate, “in terms of the Countess Korsakova, may I make a suggestion? Regardless of the state of the general’s marriage, he is currently enamored with the countess. So unless any of you have extremely pressing business, I’d suggest we not disturb
them until Bonnay returns with the army from Chur. You all have your orders. I’m sure you can manage.”

“But if we
have
a question?”

“Naturally if it’s important we’ll interrupt him. If it isn’t, either Lauzun or I will help you. Agreed?”

And with the exception of Furet, who only resentfully nodded, all agreed.

Duras knew they had that day and night together at most. And while he didn’t say as much to Teo, she understood he would soon have to leave.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she quietly said as he locked the bedroom door behind him.

She stood utterly still a few feet away, her face very pale, her eyes huge with sadness.

He shrugged, said, “Maybe not,” and held out his hand. When she touched it and he pulled her into his arms, he felt whole again, and he wondered what twist of fate had brought them together from such distant parts. And how was it that he found himself desperately in love with a woman he’d met not two weeks ago.

“You shouldn’t have to go,” Teo whispered against his chest. “How can you be savior to everyone?”

“I have to try at least. You know that,” he murmured, not sure himself there was much hope. Jourdan had blundered into the full strength of the archduke’s army.

“Perhaps the battle will be over by the time you can bring up your army.”

“We don’t know,” he neutrally replied, the extent of the problem moot at this point. The real question was where France should set up its next line of defense. And while he’d not suggested anything so negative in the war council, he was already making contingency plans. “We won’t know until we reach Bregenz or until Jourdan sends updates. I’d like to take you to Nice sometime,” he said, not wishing to talk of war in the time remaining to them. “I have a villa there.”

“Take me now.” Moving back a half step, she held him at arm’s length. “Say yes,” she whispered.

“I wish I could.”

“Let Bernadotte go to Jourdan’s aid.”

“I imagine he will.” Although with Bernadotte one never knew. He rarely risked his army unless he could garner political advantage. And trying to save Jourdan had all the earmarks of a disaster.

Tears rose in Teo’s eyes. “What will I do when you leave?”

“Write me every day.” He laced his fingers through hers.

“Take me with you.”

He sighed. “No.” And drew her toward the bed.

“May I argue?”

He smiled. “No.” Grasping her around the waist, he lifted her onto the bed.

“May I threaten you?”

Pulling off her slippers, he cast her a glance from under his lashes, amusement in his eyes. “You could try.”

“May I bribe you?”

His smile was wicked this time. “Gladly.” He began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I
could
have been thinking of money.”

“You don’t have enough.” He was a wealthy man after fighting the Republic’s wars for years; victorious generals were well rewarded.

“Some other bribe, then,” she murmured.

He leaned over to brush a kiss down her nose. “Something more personal,” he murmured back, sliding his shirt off.

“Something I made?”

He shook his head, a half smile gracing his mouth, his shirt dropping to the carpet.

“Something carnal?”

He paused in mock drama and cocked his head. “Perhaps I could be tempted.”

She threw a pillow at him. “Libertine.”

He caught it easily. “Only with you.”

“You lie. All the women and all the stories—we hear them in Petersburg too,” she lightly teased.

“I’ve never had the time to be a libertine.” While the women had always been there, he’d never pursued them. “Although I don’t profess to be a monk,” he honestly said.

“Lucky for me.”

“While you have a natural talent,
mon ange
,” he pleasantly said, sitting beside her. “Would you help me with these boots?” His wrist was throbbing painfully.

“Lie down,” Teo suggested, “and I’ll gladly play valet. You might wish to consider bringing me with you,” she flirtatiously added, “and I could help you with your boots every—” His glance arrested her appeal. “On the other hand,” she went on brightly, “we could just make love until you go and not think about the war or the danger or having to leave each other?”

Duras’s smile was grateful. “My thought exactly.”

“I love making love to you.”

“Thankfully,” he drawled.

“Is that terribly unrefined?”

“You needn’t be refined for me, darling. My days in society are rare.”

“How long have you been soldiering?” she asked, tugging off his boot.

“Since I was sixteen. My father was able to place me in a regiment near Nice so I could go to sea with him on my leaves.”

She looked up at him. “You sail?”

“I’ve a yacht moored in Nice.”

“Does your wife like to sail?” She couldn’t help herself; she had to know. Does she pull your boots off too? she wondered, sliding the other boot free.

“Claudine’s never been to Nice. Is that better?” He’d heard the envy in her voice.

“I’m glad,” Teo simply said.

“I’m more glad, believe me.”

Reassured by his caustic relief, she hiked up her skirt, and sat cross-legged on the bed beside him. “Why did you marry her? Surely you weren’t coerced as I was.”

“When I was involved in politics for a time, I met Claudine at Barras’s home. It seemed as though we were both interested in the future of revolutionary France. She, it turns out, simply saw the advantage of being married to me.”

“Yet you haven’t divorced.”
⁷

“I left for the Italian campaign a week after our marriage and didn’t come home for almost a year.
⁸
By then I’d heard all the stories about Claudine’s conduct in my absence. She told me I was provincial to expect fidelity and perhaps I was. The style of our marriage isn’t so unusual. You’ve seen the same at court in Russia, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes. Emperor Paul sets the tone and he’s beyond anyone’s conception of conventional.”

“
Depraved
, I think, is the word more commonly used.” He didn’t ask about her marriage, although the word
depraved
brought it instantly to mind. He didn’t actually care to know. “Are we finished with the litany of my life?” Duras lazily inquired. “The past matters little to me.” As a man of war he lived for the moment; there was no certainty beyond that.

“I’d like to know everything about you.”

“Why?”

Because I may never have another chance to ask, she thought; because she wished to know more about him than a few brief anecdotes. But she knew better than to press him.

They laughed instead and played teasing games and made love and lay in each other’s arms in a bed that wasn’t theirs in another man’s house on the eve of a terrible battle. And pretended they had a future together.

In the hours before dawn she woke with a start, his warmth missing from her side, and frantic, she called his name.

“I’m here.” His voice reassured her, his tone calm. “I couldn’t sleep.”

And she saw him sprawled in a chair near the fire, the half-light of the dying fire illuminating his nude form.

“Would you like some cognac?” His bandaged wrist rested on the chair arm; he lifted the tumbler of liquor he held in his other hand. “Doctor’s orders,” he murmured, his smile flashing white.

Pulling the blanket from the bed, she threw it over her shoulders and padded across the room.

“Sit with me,” he said, putting his glass aside, offering her his hand. And carefully wrapping the blanket around her, he settled her in his lap, her head on his shoulder.

“Your wrist was hurting?” She gently touched his bandaged arm.

“A little. And Bonnay should be back soon.”

“How soon?” She couldn’t keep the fear from her voice.

His arm tightened around her. “Anytime now. He’ll ride ahead with the cavalry units.”

“I don’t think I can be brave.” Her voice trembled. “Forgive me. I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t have a choice. Jourdan’s going to lose his army if I don’t arrive in time.”

“Please, please, Andre, take me with you. I beg of you.” She sat up so she could confront him directly. “I won’t get in your way, I promise, and—”

“Yes.”

“I’ll not speak until spoken to, I’ll take care of your charger and see that you have food. I won’t be any trouble, no matter what happens, not even—
Yes?
You said
yes?
”

He didn’t speak for a moment, the degree of anarchy in his brain requiring mastery. “If you agree to the restrictions,” he finally said, his gaze clearly troubled.

“Of course,” she instantly agreed, the entire world being offered her. “Anything. Anything at all.”

“You won’t be allowed in the battle zone,” he said, his voice so clipped she feared he’d change his mind. “I’ll see that you’re safely quartered before we move up. But you can accompany us until then. I hope you can ride astride.”