Swept Away (49 page)

“Are you so certain he would risk leaving Malmaison for a tryst with an old lover?”

“In the first place, Mademoiselle Georges is hardly old at eight and twenty and he was as besotted with her as I am with you. Secondly, he has not seen her since he was exiled to Elba. He sent repeated pleas to her after his landing at Antibes, but none of his couriers could find her, or if they did, they were too terrified to relay the message that she refused to see him. If it was me, and if I had been trapped in a palace with my mother for six weeks, and I received a note from a woman who could...well...whose talents could send my eyes rolling back into my skull, I would be running on three legs, not two to meet her.”

Since his hands had been on her naked breasts at the time, and she had been sitting astride him, demonstrating her willingness to master the art of behaving like a doxy, it had taken several minutes for her thoughts to process what he had said.

“You seem to know a great deal about this Mademoiselle Georges,” she remarked, halting her movements just as his body was straining helplessly up inside her.

He let the air hiss out from between his teeth and clutched his hands around her waist as he lowered his hips carefully back onto the bed. “She is quite a famous actress.”

Anna leaned forward, her hands pushing firmly against the bedboard as she started to move over him again. “How
well
did you know her?”

“What kind of question is that to ask?”

“The kind that wants an answer,” she warned, halting again. He was big and thick and harder than he had been through several previous ‘lessons’, and she smiled down at his flushed face, confident she could outlast him...this time. She was enjoying the tightness that came and went on his face, the powerful tremors that were shaking his body, the moisture on his brow and the little gasps and grunts that came through his lips on each rolling thrust of her hips. Conversely, he was discovering just how apt a pupil she was, and how inventive

“How well did you know her?" Anna asked again, rocking her hips over him again. "How do you know she makes your eyes roll back in your skull?”

“Rumors,” he gasped. “Men gossip too, you know. Christ, Anna, don’t stop again--! I swear it was just rumors. Rumors, dammit...”

The carriage rolled down a tree lined avenue, the clatter of the wheels pulling Annaleah’s thoughts back to the present. She squirmed in her seat and required a moment to settle the blush in her cheeks, and when she looked out the window again, they were slowing, turning into a gravelled drive.

The house chosen for the tryst was small and clean, set back from the road on a quiet avenue of private residences that followed the lazy course of the river Seine. It was less than two miles from the armed stronghold of Malmaison and set well back in the trees. As the diligence rolled past, Anna saw a shadow here and there step out from the thick trunk of an oak and exchange a prearranged signal with Seamus. There were more of Emory's men waiting down by the river with two boats to ferry their captive across the Seine, from whence they would fly by coach to Calais and take him on board the
Intrepid
.

The carriage halted and a moment later, Emory was opening the door. He handed her out and the two stood in the late afternoon sunlight looking up at the classic baroque design of the house with its long windows and pale stone exterior.

“Seamus managed to get the doors open, but it would take more time than we have to tidy the interior enough to make it look like someone has been living here. Thus, you will meet him there.” He pointed to a sunny spot in the gardens where a wrought iron gazebo had been built in the midst of a small sea of roses. “It should be far enough along the path to deceive him. He is a vain little wretch when it comes to wearing his spectacles, so until he is about ten feet away from you, all he will see is a pale blur. A glowing, dark haired angel, much like I saw when I woke up at your aunt’s house.”

She looked up and suppressed a shiver. “You will be closer than ten feet; are you not worried he will recognize you?”

“He will see this pink buffoon’s costume and dismiss me as nothing of importance. I doubt he has ever looked a servant in the eye."

“But you will be careful,” she whispered. “For you are very important to me.”

He bowed his head and kissed her, then nodded once at Seamus before escorting her toward the rose garden.

Anna could have sworn a hundred hours passed before she heard a landau turn into the drive. Emory had seated her carefully so that she was turned away from the house and he had positioned their own coach in such a way as to force a second vehicle to park in clear view of the gazebo.

The landau was small and nondescript. No crests were scrolled on the doors, no gilt covered the wheels or rimmed the windows. The horse looked lively enough, but a far cry from the teams of six and eight matched blacks that had been the custom in the past when transporting the emperor from one place to another.

One of three brutish-looking servants in a plain black coat and trousers stepped quickly off the back boards and stood to one side, his eyes scanning the trees, the house, the lane they had just ridden along. He did not look pleased when he saw Seamus working so diligently with his cloth to polish the side of the coach, and he nodded to one of the other brutes to go forward. The third man opened the door of the landau and dropped the step into place.

A head appeared in the doorway and some words were exchanged. The first brute--who was as much a footman as Emory or Seamus--shook his head and appeared to be reiterating his discomfort with the entire situation, but then Napoleon Bonaparte caught sight of the gazebo, of the woman sitting in the dappled sunlight, and an impatient hand waved the man to silence.

Displaying the eagerness of someone who cared less about his safety at the moment than hurrying to his lover’s arms, he disembarked and hastened across the lawn, following the narrow path into the gardens. Emory executed a formal bow as he hurried past, then fell casually into step behind him as if he had just emerged from the servant’s entrance. In his gloved hand, he carried a tray with a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses.

“My dearest Marie,” Bonaparte cried in French. “My very dearest Marie! You have no idea how worried I have been over these past few months!”

Huffing, his belly rolling a bit with his haste of his footsteps, the general rounded the last curve in the path and stopped just shy of the arched entrance to the gazebo. The sun was low in the sky and already the few puffs of cloud overhead were turning rosy in anticipation of a glorious sunset. Anna had waited until the last possible moment before she slowly stood and turned to face him.

At a quick glance, she might have thought it was the same man she had seen two days ago on board the
Bellerophon
. The differences were there, to be sure, but unless they stood side by side, she could see how a mistake could easily be made--or encouraged. This Napoleon was distinctly heavier around the middle. His hair was thinner, his nose sharper, and his eyes...

The sheer penetrating power of his eyes would have distinguished him as an emperor of common men. They held all the wisdom, the cunning, the triumph and horror of war. There was arrogance and conceit, smugness and surety, yet when his gaze searched Anna’s face and did not see the familiarity he was expecting, they clouded with the wounded confusion of a man who had already been betrayed too many times by fate.

“Who are you? Where is Marie?”

“I am afraid she could not be here today, Excellency,” Emory said, coming up behind him. He still balanced the tray in one hand, but he had moved aside a linen napkin to expose one of the steel barrelled flintlocks.

Bonaparte whirled around. He saw the gun, saw the lopsided grin on the powdered white face and, in the distance, saw his driver and three bodyguards being disarmed and scuffed against the side of the house by half a dozen men led by a red haired giant.

“Who are you?” He asked coldly. “What the devil is going on here? If it is a robbery, you have wasted your efforts, for I have nothing.”

“You don’t recognize me?” Emory set the tray aside and pulled off the horsehair wig. “I am crushed, Excellency. Your brother Joseph knew me right away.”

As soon as the jet black hair was freed, Bonaparte’s eyes widened. “You! Cipi assured me you were dead!”

“Your wolfhound should have looked to his own health first--which is not too good at the moment I am not sad to say. At the very least he will be needing someone to carve his dinners for him the rest of his life. As for Joseph...well, he is not much happier. He sends his felicitations, by the way, and his apologies. It seems as though he will not be able to keep your appointment with Admiral Cockburn after all.”

“What appointment?” The question came out on a disbelieving rasp of breath. “Who is Cockburn?”

“Rear Admiral Sir George Cockburn, of the
H.M.S. Northumberland
. Both he and his ship are waiting in Plymouth to take you to your new home. It is an idyllic little island in the South Atlantic--St. Helena. Perhaps you have heard of it?”

Bonaparte took one, two steps backward, almost staggering into a bank of rose bushes. He turned, but the gazebo only had one entrance and Annaleah was standing under the arch of wrought iron ivy, a second gun aimed steadily at his chest.

The general turned slowly back to face Emory. If he felt any fear or panic, it did not show, for his eyes blazed and his mouth flattened into a thin, grim smile. “And so they have sent their boldest lion to capture the eagle? How fitting.” His smile faded and the gleam in his eyes hardened. “I should have let Cipi kill you months ago, when he first decided you were dangerous.”

“In hindsight, we are all wise beyond our years.”

Seamus came hurrying up the path then, rubbing a set of scraped knuckles. “Bastard’s jaw was as hard as an anvil, but they’re all quiet now. Trussed up like Christmas geese, they won’t be sounding any alarms for as long as it takes them to chew through their bindings. The men are making for the boats and we’ve about lost the light.”

“I have millions set aside,” Bonaparte said quietly. “Half the wealth of a dead aristocracy. I am prepared to share it with you, Althorpe. More gold, more jewels than you could fit into the hold of your ship.”

“I already have gold and jewels, Excellency. More than I can expect to spend in this lifetime or the next. And besides, I have promised my wife I will do my best to mend my scurrilous ways and I would not want to disappoint her.”

Bonaparte glanced back at Annaleah, at the gun she held so steadily in her hand. He pursed his lips and clasped his hands behind his back, hiding the tremors in his fingers.

“I would like to say farewell to my family.”

Emory shook his head. “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

“My son is expected at Malmaison before the week’s end....” He turned his face to the setting sun, and for the briefest moment, his eyes glistened as he stared at the western sky, thinking of lost opportunities, of the glory that might have been his once again but for this newest cruel twist of fate. “Five days,” he whispered. “Just five more days. Ah well--” he looked at Emory and smiled, his confidence shaken but not destroyed. “St. Helena, you say? I am not familiar with the place, but I expect your English hospitality will be adequate for the short time I shall be there.”

Seamus moved forward and nodded toward the riverbank.

Bonaparte did not raise his gaze above the level of the huge Celt's waist as he unclasped his hands and tucked one into the front of his jacket. With a nod to acknowledge Emory's coup, he turned and started walking across the lawns, flanked closely by Seamus and two burly crewmen.

Anna released the breath she had been holding and the gun wavered down to her side. “Is that it? Just like that? And what did he mean...for the short time he will be there?”

Emory had used the napkin to wipe the powder off his face. He moved closer and took the gun from her hand, grimacing as he eased the hammer down to uncock it. “I imagine he means he does not expect to remain in captivity any longer than he did the last time. In fact--” he glanced over his shoulder. “He is probably discussing the matter with Seamus right now.”

EPILOGUE

Annaleah stood in the center of the conservatory, her arms outstretched, her head back, her skirts settling into a swirl around her ankles. Slightly breathless from spinning, she was still smiling when a movement drew her eye to the door. Florence Widdicombe was standing there, her hands crossed over the silver head of her cane, a snow white eyebrow raised in amusement.

“It was the sunlight,” Anna explained shyly, letting her hands fall to her sides. “All the colors..”

She looked down by way of explanation and spread the soft white muslin folds of her skirt. The sunbeams breaking through the tall stained glass windows had painted her in shades of blue and gold and pink, like a rainbow.

“I may assume then, that Willerkins’ efforts have not been in vain?”

Anna looked around. An army of household servants had been brought out from the village to clean the conservatory, the ballroom, the parlors, and the dozen bedrooms that would be filled though the next two days by guests invited to attend and celebrate the second wedding ceremony that Emory had promised her. His brother Stanley would be presiding, and Lord Wessex was coming all the way from London. There was even a rumor the regent had announced a desire to take in the sea air and would be stopping in Torquay for a few days.