The Westminster Intrigue, page 32
"You were Bonaparte's mistress." Julien was never afraid to be blunt.
"Yes. He actually found out about Pierre. He wasn't pleased. To put it mildly. He accused me of spying on him for various people."
"Were you?" Malcolm asked.
Danielle met his gaze. "Some information I got from Bonaparte I passed to Carfax." She glanced at Julien. "Your uncle. The former Lord Carfax. But not all. And I never shared information about Bonaparte or anyone else with Pierre. That would have violated what we had. But when I saw Bonaparte's anger, I realized I was putting Pierre at risk. I ended our relationship. Which led to a quarrel every bit as intense in its way as my quarrel with the emperor. And in the midst of it all, Bonaparte was sent to Elba. I went off to Vienna in advance of the Congress. It was there that I realized I was with child."
She glanced at the company, all of whom had gone still. "Ilia is Pierre's. I know how to be careful. And I know the timing. But I knew Bonaparte wasn't sure. I knew others would wonder. It seemed safest to keep my pregnancy secret."
"Did you tell Monsieur Ducroix?" Mélanie asked.
Danielle glanced at her lover, then her child, and drew a hard breath. "Not then. I told myself I couldn't burden him. That our lives were too complicated. Which they were. By the time Ilia was born, Bonaparte had escaped from Elba. The world seemed to be falling apart or putting itself back together, and it felt as though both Pierre and I had to be part of it, but we couldn't do so together. I went to Brussels, and then back to Paris after almost a year." Her fingers trembled for a moment over her daughter's hair. "It was a very different city. You were gone." She looked at Julien.
"It seemed a good time to make myself scarce, for a lot of reasons," Julien said.
"It was a dangerous time. Pierre didn't seek me out, and I was too proud or too worried for him or too afraid of the consequences to seek him out. Then I went to a café one night after a performance, not thinking I might see him—or perhaps knowing all too well I might." She drew a breath that tightened her gown across the shoulders. "A lot had changed. For both of us. But at the core what had drawn us together was still there. Only of course now there was Ilia. Pierre—wasn't happy that I'd kept her secret. And he wanted us to marry." She frowned. "When he asked me, I burst into laughter, which wasn't the best response. Then I accused him of wanting to put me in a cage, which was worse, because of course he'd never do anything of the sort. Eventually we settled it that for the time he'd see Ilia and we'd go on as before. Having our relationship in secret but going on with our separate lives. Only—I found I was less and less satisfied with that life. In truth, I'd been dissatisfied with it for a long time. I found myself imagining things that had never seemed possible." She glanced at Julien. "From what I've heard about your life of late, I think you may know what I'm talking about."
Julien leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle. "A bit, perhaps."
She nodded. "And then, just when I was at the point of committing myself to the unthinkable, Pierre disappeared." Her fingers tightened round Pierre's. Her gaze went to Edmund. "Edmund was in Paris then. He and Pierre were friends. I went to him for news and he helped me search for information."
"I'm not an agent," Edmund said, "but in some ways being a journalist is similar."
"And then I went to Bertrand," Danielle said. "We'd been friends for some time."
"Danielle was very helpful in getting a number of people out of Paris after Waterloo," Bertrand said.
"It was little enough. I knew I was absurdly fortunate at the time. We were terrified Pierre had been killed, but finally we learned the Comte d'Artois was holding him secretly. Pierre managed to get a message to me. He wanted me to leave France. He said my connection to him only put him more in danger."
"Which was undoubtedly true," Julien said.
"So I allowed myself to be persuaded. I came here. Bertrand helped me. I settled in Marylebone with Ilia and lived quietly. While Bertrand tried to work out how he could get Pierre out of prison. I tried entreaties. I tried what leverage I could."
"The memoirs," Mélanie said.
"I wrote them as insurance. To keep us safe once we got Pierre out. It was too dangerous to use those secrets with him still in prison. I never meant for them to actually be published. Then Henry Brougham came to see me."
"Did you realize James Blayney had them?"
"He'd been seeing my maid, Grace Arbuthnot. I think they met first because I sent Grace to Edmund to deliver a message and James happened to be there. Later I sent Becky, my kitchen maid, with messages."
"Did you confront Blayney?" Malcolm asked.
"And kill him?" Her mouth curved with hard-edged irony. "I was furious. I trusted Grace, but I was mostly furious with myself, because I was stupid to trust her, stupid not to see her flashy lover was a risk, stupid to let them get anywhere near the memoirs. Stupid perhaps to have written the memoirs in the first place." She glanced from her child to Pierre. "Though we needed a line of defense."
"And you use the weapons at your disposal," Julien said.
"Yes."
"The instincts of a good agent," Malcolm said.
Danielle looked at him for a moment. "I've heard of you, Mr. Rannoch. And of Mrs. Rannoch. I know how good you both are."
"Their reputations aren't exaggerated," Julien murmured.
"We've heard a great deal about you, Mademoiselle Darnault," Malcolm said. "I understand you know Alexander Radford."
Nerezza tensed. Ben reached for her hand.
Danielle continued to stroke her child's hair. "Yes, he's in the memoirs. Not the most sensational chapter."
"Do you know who he is?" Malcolm's voice was masterfully level.
Danielle raised her brows. "Alexander Radford. An English gentleman abroad. If he's more than that, he didn't reveal it to me."
"The people after the memoirs—some of them, at least—seem to feel differently." Malcolm watched her for a moment. "Have you heard of the Elsinore League?"
Danielle's fingers stilled on her daughter's hair. "They're a group of powerful men. Some of whom I've been involved with. Including your late father."
"My putative late father. My actual, very much alive father is off with Rupert Caruthers and Harry Davenport covering Pierre's tracks."
She gave a faint smile. "I wasn't sure how much you knew."
"We're in the same predicament." Malcolm sat back in his chair. "Alexander Radford is trying to take over the League."
"I didn't know that."
"The League—or his people in the League—think you know a great deal more than you're admitting to. They're desperate to recover the part of the memoirs where you mention Radford."
"They tried to have me killed," Nerezza said, "and I don't know who he really is."
Danielle turned to look at her. "You were entangled with him as well? He's a challenging man. Though not particularly noteworthy. Not from what I saw."
"Nor I," Nerezza said. "And they do seem to have decided I don't pose a threat."
"Seem," Ben said.
"It might be enough that you'd both recognize Radford if he appeared now," Julien said.
"That would mean Radford is getting ready to become more public," Malcolm said.
"He's hardly of great concern to me now," Danielle said. "I've had many more important things to focus on. But we need to recover my memoirs as soon as possible. For a number of reasons. I'll do everything I can to assist you."
"Julien." Danielle caught up with him in the upstairs passage. Raoul, Harry, and Rupert had returned, and the others were all talking to Bertrand before dispersing to their various houses. Danielle was going to stay with Pierre for the present. This was the first moment Julien and Danielle had had alone. She gripped his arm. "I'm holding off for now. I assume that's what you want me to do."
Julien grimaced. "For now. We can't tell him tonight."
"But you're going to have to tell him. Surely you realize that."
"Only too well." The weight of what was coming settled more firmly on Julien's shoulders. "It's the when, and persuading others, that are challenging."
Danielle nodded. "It's good to see you."
He smiled, despite everything. "You as well."
"I could scarcely credit the stories I heard about you until I saw you."
"I'm not so very changed."
"Not at the core, I don't think. But then, I think your core was quite different from what a lot of people imagined. You've always been a good friend."
He squeezed her fingers. "I only hope when this is over, I manage to keep my friends."
"Will they be safe at Blayney's?" Ben asked as Rupert poured brandy for him and Nerezza and Bertrand in the Caruthers library. "Rannoch said the print shop's already been searched once."
"Which may make it less likely to be searched again." Rupert put a brandy into Ben's hand. "But O'Roarke and Harry and I arranged for guards. It's a quieter place for them now than here. Then we'll figure out where to move them."
Ben nodded. He'd become so matter-of-fact about missions, Nerezza realized, taking a sip of brandy. Hard to believe he was the same man who'd been so shocked by the events the night she arrived in Britain. Save that, fundamentally, Ben would always be Ben.
"If Alexander Radford means to emerge from the shadows, Nerezza's in more danger, isn't she?" Ben said.
Bertrand exchanged a look with Rupert. "Not necessarily. If Radford's decided to emerge, he may not find Nerezza a threat anymore."
"The League gave up on me almost a year ago." Nerezza tossed down half her brandy. "I'm old news."
"None of this will ever be old news," Ben said. "Not until Radford is vanquished, at the very least."
"I'll be all right, Ben." Nerezza reached for his hand, then released it. "We have more important things to worry about."
Ben kissed her hand. "Nothing's more important."
"I agree," Rupert said. "But we've kept Nerezza safe. We'll manage to do so while we confront other things."
Bertrand cast a sharp look at Rupert.
"Sorry," Rupert said. "It's been a long day. We should go up."
"Can you stay a minute, Nerezza?" Ben asked.
"Of course." Nerezza hid a smile at a memory of the days when he'd still been aware that it would be considered improper for them to be alone together. Not that they ever did anything that might be considered improper. Well, not very. But even now, Ben would never knock at her bedchamber door or talk alone with her anywhere but in the public rooms of the house.
"Ben?" Nerezza studied him when Rupert and Bertrand had said goodnight and gone up. "Is something wrong?"
"On the contrary." Ben moved to her side and stopped a foot or so away, face uncharacteristically serious. "I should have said this months ago. In Italy and certainly since we've been back. But we were so focused on the immediate danger, it was hard to think beyond. Tonight proves we can't wait."
Wariness shot through her. Thinking beyond the present forced a reckoning she knew they would have to confront but couldn't bear to face. Really, she was a shocking coward. "Ben—"
"I love you, Nerezza." Ben closed the distance between them and took her face between his hands. "Marry me."
Chapter 39
Now the words were spoken, dizziness rushed through Ben. And fear. He felt his fingers trembling against Nerezza's cheeks.
Nerezza stared at him. Her eyes went wide with shock and for an instant something Ben thought might have been wonder. Then her gaze closed. "I can't, Ben. You know what it would do to you."
"Make me happy. What else have we been doing these past months?"
"Enjoying the time we had." She put up a hand to cover one of his own. "Making memories we'll always have."
Disquiet coiled within him. He twined his fingers round her own and gripped her hand hard. "How did you think this would end up? You can't—"
"Go back to what I was before?" She tilted her head to one side. "I could. I can take care of myself."
"I wasn't questioning that." Not that he wouldn't worry about her, but he'd never win that way.
"I'd have freedom. I might even manage to be rather happy. At least as happy as I was before. Except—" Her brows drew together. "It's difficult to imagine being happy without you."
Relief shot through him. He caught her other hand so he was gripping both her hands in his own. "Well, then."
"Ben. Sweetheart." She gave a husky laugh. "You make it sound so easy. We've been living in an idyll. We're never going to live in the same world."
"We've been living in the same world for almost a year."
"Not really. We've been pretending, and hiding from the League, and able to ignore society. Or we've been with people like the Rannochs, and Bertrand and Rupert and Gaby, and Kitty and Julien, and the Davenports, who don't care."
"That's what I mean. We already have plenty of friends who'll be happy for us. We don't need the rest of them."
"Ben, the rest of them include your parents."
Ben let himself smile. "Father’s always been fond of you."
"Ben—" Nerezza hesitated, as though struggling with a truth she couldn't quite put into words. "Your father and I—I knew him in Italy."
Ben looked steadily into her wonderful green eyes. "I know that."
"I didn't just encounter him. I knew him in all sorts of ways." Nerezza swallowed and he saw fear flash in her gaze, followed by determination. "I was his mistress. Assuming one can even dignify it with that."
"I know that." Ben pulled her closer, gently.
Nerezza's gaze flew to his face. "You what?"
He felt himself color, but didn't let himself look away. "I may not be the quickest at piecing things together, but it was fairly obvious some time ago. Not long after you came to England."
"You never said."
"Well, it's not the sort of thing one wants to put into words. And it didn't really impact me. It didn't impact us."
Nerezza eyes widened. "Ben—"
"It was over before you met me. I knew there were others. I mean—" He swallowed, feeling his cheeks go warmer. "I was fairly sure there were. The fact that one of them was my father didn't really make a difference. Not to what was between us. Not if it was over." He almost managed to keep the question from his voice.
"Yes, of course it was over. But—" She looked at him, as though seeking traces of a familiar person beneath a disguise. "You've always been so—You treated me as if—"
"I treated you as I would any lady."
"That's just it. You saw me as—"
"What you were. A remarkable woman deserving of my respect."
"But you knew—"
"Nerezza, I may be a bit slow, but it was fairly obvious you hadn't had the same life as my sisters."
"But if you knew I—You never asked—"
"Well, no. That's not what I wanted from you. That is"—for a moment his voice went unsteady—"of course I want it, but not like that. That's not how I think of you."
"What isn't?"
"I always knew what I felt for you wasn't something temporary. I never wanted a liaison with you"—leaving aside that he'd never had one with anyone, but he wasn't quite ready to put that into words—"I wanted you to be my wife."
"Ben—" Nerezza squeezed his hands. "You don't know how much that means to me. But I'm not really cut out to be anyone's wife."
"What does that mean? You don't"—he hesitated, but it had to be said—"you don't want to be with one person? Only?" Perhaps that should have occurred to him. It was going to be a challenge.
She shook her head. "No. I'd have once said so, perhaps, but you must know it's hard to think of anyone but you now."
"Well, then. Is it children? Seeing you with Stephen, and the Rannochs' children, and the others, I thought—But we could—"
"Oh, God. I hadn't thought—I like children. I mean, I've mostly been worried about not having them, but if—That's not what this is about."
"What, then?"
"I'm not your mother."
"Thank God. I love Mama, but I certainly wouldn't want to marry her. Or anyone like her."
Nerezza choked. "You know what I mean. I'm not even Dorinda or Gaby or any beau monde wife."
"Who said I wanted a beau monde wife? And I'm not sure what a beau monde wife is anyway. Mélanie? Kitty? Cordelia? Laura? Gaby? Lady Frances?"
"They're not typical, but they can afford not to be. And I'm not them either."
"No, you're you. You're unique. And we don't have to live in the beau monde. Not that you aren't navigating it very well."
"That's different. We've had friends about us and we've had a good cover story."
"No reason that has to change."
"Ben. Do you want to live that way forever? Pretending?"
Ben regarded the woman he loved, caught up short for the first time. "Not if it would make it harder for you. I don't mind if we never set foot in a Mayfair drawing room again. Are you worried about being without fortune?"
"Ben." Unexpected laughter gurgled from Nerezza's lips. "I'm far more used to being poor than you are."
He put a hand under her chin and tilted it up. "I know there's a lot I don't have to offer, Nerezza. But I'll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to make you happy. And I know I won't be happy without you."
"Oh, Ben." She clutched his coat and gave a sound between a laugh and a sob. "I've always been damnably selfish."
He stared down at her, fears and hopes racing though his mind. "What does that mean?"
She leaned into him and kissed him. "That I'll marry you."
Malcolm dug his latchkey out of his greatcoat pocket in the portico of the Berkeley Square house and unlocked the door. How many hours was it since Nerezza and Ben had fetched them? Mélanie wondered as she stepped into the hall. So much had shifted. Including something she hadn't mentioned to Malcolm and Raoul yet. A silk fan she'd glimpsed on a chair in the print shop on her way out. Which she was quite sure she'd seen Pippa Haworth carrying at the ball earlier in the evening.
