One Night of Passion (28 page)

Georgie’s eyes widened. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“
Non
. Not to me.” Bertrand looked about to agree with Colin’s earlier suggestion and toss Georgie overboard.

She sighed and edged closer to him. “For one thing, this English dog kidnapped me, my maid, and my child from the transport ship
mon cher
general sent to Alexandria to bring me home.”

“The First Consul sent a ship to Egypt for
you
?” The disbelief in the man’s words echoed through the room. “Why would he do that?”

Undaunted, Georgie leaned even closer, this time her voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s why it is imperative that we speak in private, Capitaine. It is such a delicate matter that I would not like to bandy it about in front of just anyone.” She glanced over at Colin, her nose pinched in dismay.

But Bertrand was done with pleasantries. “Out with it, madame. Why would the First Consul send a ship to a British-controlled port for you, the widow of his assistant surveyor?”

Georgie blushed. Actually turned a bright shade of pink. The woman was beyond incorrigible.

Colin almost felt a surge of pride at her consummate skills of deception. At least he wasn’t the only fool being taken in by her pretty glances and pleas for help.

She smoothed a hand over Chloe’s dark hair. “You see, after my husband died of a fever, the general took a great interest in my welfare. As it was a difficult time for him, with all the rumors circulating about his wife, well . . . well . . . he sought my companionship.”

“That’s all? You were the general’s lover?” Bertrand laughed heartily and loudly, his great belly shaking over his belt. “And you would have me believe he went to such great lengths to bring a former paramour home? Madame, really, that is unbelievable.”

Georgie drew herself up, and Colin didn’t miss the aristocratic tip of her nose or the outraged flare of her nostrils.

He considered warning Bertrand about her right hook, but decided to let the bandy-legged Frenchman find out about that for himself.

“He may no longer seek my company, Capitaine,” Georgie was saying, her words as aloof as if she were a queen. “But I assure you, he is very interested in the welfare of his son.” She thrust out Chloe so the squirmy child was right under the man’s nose.

Capitaine Bertrand sputtered for a moment. “His what?”

Georgie drew Chloe back to her breast. “His son. This child is the acknowledged issue of Napoleon Bonaparte, and now that you have rescued us, Capitaine, I am sure you will be forever in the general’s indebtedness.”

Colin could only stare at her as if she had lost her mind. The bastard son of Napoleon? Only a fool would believe such a claim. Notwithstanding the small detail that the child she held was a girl.

But it seemed Georgie knew the measure of the man before her. And for whatever reasons, she’d found her cat’s-paw.

For Bertrand sucked in a deep breath, and eyed the child as if he’d been handed Midas’s treasure.

Georgie continued to do her best to hold her horror in check at the sight of Colin.

Dear God! He looked as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life.

“The First Consul’s child?” the French captain repeated.

“Oui,”
she said, beaming down at Chloe, not sparing a glance in Colin’s direction. “The finest son a man could ever ask for.” She was counting on the fact that Capitaine Bertrand didn’t appear the type to want to change a nappy, for that would surely unravel the dangerous web of lies she was spinning to save all their lives. “And now, Capitaine, you are our dearest salvation.”

He bowed slightly at her pretty words of praise. “Madame Saint-Antoine, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Yes, well, Madame Saint-Antoine, it would be my deepest honor to see you safely to the shores of our beloved country.”

“And mine as well,
mon cher capitaine,”
she told him, sparing a glance at Colin. “Mine as well.”

Chapter 12

“T
ake him away. Put him in with the rest of his crew,” Capitaine Bertrand ordered, waving his hand over Colin’s beaten form.

The henchmen dragged him away and Georgie could only pray that there was a real surgeon amongst Colin’s crew who could tend to his injuries. If not, she’d find a way to see that he got the medical attention he so obviously needed.

Mr. Pymm’s purported medical prowess she discounted as a complete fraud.

“Madame Saint-Antoine, I would invite you to move over to my ship, but I fear my best accommodations were destroyed in the exchange with that devilish man.” He glanced around the wreckage of Colin’s cabin and sighed. “I myself am moving over here to the
Sybaris
to personally oversee her delivery to the authorities in Toulon. If you could bear a few more weeks aboard this ship, I will see that you are treated with every accord.” He held out his arm to escort her out of the cabin.

Georgie pasted on her prettiest smile and placed her hand on his sleeve, allowing him to lead her next door to her cabin. He opened the door for her with the gallantry and smooth finesse of a courtier.

So courtly manners hadn’t died with the Revolution,
she thought, considering that perhaps Colin had been wrong in his assessment of his adversary. But when she glanced up at Bertrand and found him surveying her cleavage, a hungry light in his eyes, she quickly shifted Chloe so the baby covered her from his wolfish gaze.

Chloe, unhappy at the sudden jostling, let out a wail of dismay.

The
capitaine
jumped back, eyeing the child’s ear-piercing laments with obvious distaste.

“Perhaps we can—” he tried to say, his words drowned out by Chloe’s ever-increasing screams.

“Oh dear,” Georgie shouted over Chloe’s head. “This could go on for hours. If you’ll excuse me.”

The
capitaine
bowed and took his leave with what Georgie would have guessed was relief at not having to endure much more of the babe’s squalling—son of the First Consul or not.

She backed into her cabin and closed the door, throwing the latch to bolt them in. She sat down on her bunk, opened her bodice, and gave Chloe a breast to suckle. The babe grinned and happily settled in for her late breakfast.

Kit eased off from the cask where, in her guise as Georgie’s maid, she’d sat darning a stocking. “What happened?” she asked, the garment tossed aside and quickly forgotten.

Georgie put her finger to her lips. “They believed me.” she whispered. She glanced around. “Where’s Rafe?”

At this Kit positively beamed. “Do you remember the hold Captain Taft used for brandy? The one that the excise men never found?”

She nodded.

“I put him in it,” Kit said. “And you’ll never believe this—there are still brandy casks in there. When Captain Taft’s cargo was sold off, they forgot about his brandy hold.”

“Perhaps we’ll drink a toast to all this business when we get the
Sybaris
freed,” Georgie said.

“How are we going to do that?” she asked. “I overheard two of the French officers talking and they said they were going to tear the ship apart beam by beam until they found what they wanted.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we’ll find a way. We must, for all our sakes.”

Though Colin thought of her as a faithless traitor and he might never again regard her with anything but contempt, she would not stop until she’d found a way to free him and his crew. He’d risked his own safety twice to rescue her, so if anything, she owed him some portion of that in return.

Snuggling Chloe closer, Georgie glanced out the porthole.
Toulon.
It wasn’t that far away, which gave her little time not only to come up with a plan, but to execute it as well.

For the moment the
Sybaris
arrived at that French port, her lies would unravel and then, she suspected, there wouldn’t be a hope or a prayer for any of them.

*   *    *

That evening, Capitaine Bertrand knocked on their door and invited Georgie to join him for dinner.

She had little choice but to say yes. She could hardly count on Chloe to set up a fuss every time the man came by.

He took her by the arm and led her on deck, where a dining table, complete with white linen and silver settings, had been set up. Candles flickered from a heavy candelabra, while the plate appeared to be rimmed in gold. A basket of fruit and cheese sat to one side, and from somewhere the delicious odor of fresh-baked bread wafted enticingly.

The night was clear and warm, and apart from the wreckage and damage of the
Sybaris
around them, it held all the evidence of an elegant and formal repast. “We would dine in the captain’s quarters, but we are still searching the room for contraband.” He glanced at her, as if he thought she might have something to add on that point.

“You’ll have to excuse my ignorance on these matters, Capitaine Bertrand, but wouldn’t they be carrying such things in the hold?”

He laughed. “Yes, if it were, say, brandy or Holland laces, but Capitaine Danvers is more than just a smuggler. I believe he is a spy.”

At this Georgie laughed.

“What does the lady find so amusing?” This question came from a stranger who stepped out of the shadows of the ravaged deck.

The unspoken authority of this man was unquestionable—from the way Bertrand immediately began bowing and scraping, to the way his deep, imposing voice sent shivers down Georgie’s spine.

“Ah, monsieur, there you are” Bertrand said, rising from his low bow. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to offer us the privilege of your company.” He turned to Georgie. “Our guest prefers the shadows, for he lives in fear of being discovered.” Bertrand waved his hand over the feast. “Come now, Mandeville, this is a loyal lady, you have nothing to fear from her company. Except perhaps falling in love with her fair beauty.”

Georgie ignored Bertrand’s thick flattery; it was as oily as the man was loathsome, and instead she concentrated her attention on this newcomer in their midst.

“You set a tempting repast, Capitaine,” Mandeville said, sliding toward the table in a sleek, dark movement. “But the company you have discovered is the true
pièce de
résistance.”

Cloaked at first in darkness, he came looming out of the shadows, a great cape over his shoulders and a black patch over his eye. Mandeville could have been the devil himself. His tricorne hat sat low on his brow, obscuring his features, while the rest of his black clothes aided in his ability to meld into the night.

But what frightened Georgie the most was that she found something oddly familiar about him, something about his voice, perhaps the superior set of his shoulders, that jolted her with awareness.

And when he took her hand and placed a cold kiss on the tip of her fingers, that awareness filled her with an icy fear.

“Have we met, madame?” he asked, releasing her hand and tipping his head to gain a better view of her.

There were lines about the one dark eye she could see, and his face was weathered. From his voice, Georgie had thought him younger, but now looking at him, she gauged him to be much older. Perhaps even as old as Uncle Phineas, though in far better figure.

“I was about to ask the same thing,” she said, taking her seat and trying to pull from her jumbled memories where she could have seen him before.

He shook his head. “I don’t believe we have, for I would have remembered you. I never forget a face.”

The deadly finality of his words set Georgie’s heart racing.

Bertrand took his seat and waved his napkin at the young boy standing off to one side. The lad jumped forward and began pouring wine. “Madame Saint-Antoine, allow me to introduce Monsieur Mandeville. He has joined us from the—”

“Tut, tut, Capitaine Bertrand,” Mandeville said. “The lady cares not for our business. Tonight we dine as friends. Does that not sound pleasant, madame?”

“Yes, quite so,” Georgie replied, wishing they could indeed discuss business. She needed to know how far the French would go to find the information Colin carried and who this dangerous man to her left could be. “I only hope your business here will not delay us in reaching France.”

“No, madame. For I depart on the morrow to continue my own affairs.”

I depart on the morrow . . .

Georgie’s hand faltered as she reached for her wine-glass and splashed some of the contents onto the table. She stuttered an apology and said, “I fear I will never manage dining aboard a ship.”

Both men laughed and accepted her apology and explanation.

I depart on the morrow . . .

Why did those words set her hands trembling, while her heart went still? She could swear she’d heard them before, spoken by this very man. But that couldn’t be.

Capitaine Bertrand poured her another glass. “You were laughing before, Madame Saint-Antoine, at my assertion that the
Sybaris
is a spy ship.”

“Actually I was amused at the idea of her captain being intelligent enough to be a spy. I fear he is a rather stupid, ignorant man. Hardly smart enough to fool anyone.”

Mandeville had started cutting into his meal but stopped, his knife poised in his hand. “Why do you say that?”

“His manners, his way of speaking. Why, his French is atrocious. He is no spy. Just an opportunist.”

The
capitaine
tore a piece a bread from the fragrant loaf. “Those kinds often make the best spies. But I fear your sex is often deceived in these matters.”

Mandeville leaned over his plate. “Perhaps you are wrong,
mon capitaine.
The lady has had a unique opportunity to observe our adversary, intimately.”

“Hardly intimate,” Georgie protested, doing her best to sound appropriately indignant.

“My apologies,” Mandeville offered. “But your proximity to the man may be able to give us some clues as to what we seek.”

“I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid the man, monsieur.”
How much, you’d never guess,
she wanted to add, but instead said, “I doubt I could be of any help.”

“Oh, but you can. Say, to begin with, how long have you been on this ship?”