Wicked (40 page)

"Good evening, mademoiselle," Massena said as he reached her, bowing slightly. "Solignac tells me your name is Miss Blythe. Welcome to Milan." He didn't introduce himself and she wasn't sure whether it was arrogance or diffidence. Unlike several of his fellow officers, arrayed in full dress uniform ablaze with gold embroidery, he wore a severe black uniform without medals or ribbons. "The emeralds are very lovely on you," he added, his voice without inflection.

"I'm not sure what to say, sir." Did one thank one's captor for his gift, regardless it was probably someone else's in the not too recent past?

He smiled and took her hand, drawing her into the room, gesturing gracefully in her direction; his hand, she noticed, was strong, tanned, devoid of jewelry. "Comrades, Miss Blythe has consented to bear us company at dinner tonight. Please welcome her."

A hearty round of applause greeted his remarks as well as a number of more exuberant cheers from the younger subalterns.

"As you can see, Miss Blythe," he softly said, smiling faintly, "your presence is much appreciated. Could I offer you some wine?"

"No thank you." She tried to keep her voice from trembling, but the struts of the fan she held in her hand were near to snapping.

"I won't take advantage of you, Miss Blythe, if you have some wine," he remarked with amusement, taking note of the strained curve of the ivory-and-
l
ace fan. He waved a footman over. "The lady would like a glass of wine."

The footman reappeared with the filled glass, and Massena handed
it
to her, watching as she obeyed him and lifted it to her lips. "The evening won't seem so threatening after a glass of wine," he gently said. "I have no intention of hurting you. Now come," he went on in a less cajoling tone, Solignac is impatient to talk with you. He's a connoisseur of art and he tells me your painting was very good. He'll talk endlessly of his collection, so when you've endured enough, simply walk away. I've already warned him you have my permission to ignore him."

She smiled, as she knew she was expected to do, and leaning over the merest distance, so his mouth was nearer her ear, he murmured, "That's better."

Perhaps the wine
did
help or the general's urbane chivalry reassured her or the officers' amiable courtesies calmed her worst fears, for after a time she found herself relaxing in the
c
onvivial company. Seated beside the general at dinner, she listened to the good-humored fellowship, the talk not of war
b
ut of families or horses, of homes they'd left behind and of who was most apt to win the bank tonight at faro. She found herself laughing too on occasion and when Massena spoke to her, she no longer weighed each word before responding. It was very strange at first when she realized these men were little different from those she might have dined with at a country party in Gloucestershire. And she even forgot for a time that she was not a guest but a captive.

They retired after dinner to a large drawing room that had been arranged for cards, and while several officers played faro the general invited her to sit with him at his table, where the game of choice was loo.

He handed her some gold coins and without asking, had the dealer allot her cards as well. Under the circumstances she would have had to make a scene to refuse.

He knew that of course. He'd been watching the alarm diminish in Serena's eyes throughout the evening, taking pleasure in wooing her. He wanted her to play cards because he'd see that she won and ladies liked to win.

And then later in the evening, he'd play a very different game with her. One that he'd win.

******************

She was many ducats richer before long, as he'd ordered, although the lady had a refreshing expertise that made him question her pose of innocence. In his experience, women that skilled at cards were also skilled at other more pleasurable amusements. The paradox between her naïveté and that gamester facility more likely seen in the demimonde piqued his interest; he'd have to inquire into her background. Although countess or maid, the pleasure they offered was identical. Massena wasn't looking for permanence, only orgasmic diversion.

They drank some excellent wines and laughed more often as the evening progressed and empty bottles accumulated. Serena had decided the general was right. The inevitable conclusion to the evening would be more palatable with a glass or two of wine. And she had no illusions as to the general's intent.

An orderly interrupted their game shortly after midnight, apologizing as he handed Massena a note.

Scanning the message, the general said, "Show him up," and then finished dealing the cards. "A merchant from Florence wishes to discuss a donation from Fiesole," he abstractly noted, Solignac's questioning look requiring some response. "I'll ante four thousand."

"Who from Florence?" Solignac retorted, cautious of businessmen arriving at so late an hour.

"A Signore Allori. A banker, I'm pleased to say. Are you playing, Solignac?"

The chief of staff quickly perused his cards and tossed them down.

"Solignac's passing," Massena blandly remarked. "Is anyone else standing?"

"I will," Serena said. "Did you say four thousand or ten thousand?" she casually inquired.

"I like reckless play in a lady," Massena softly said. "I believe it was ten thousand, mademoiselle," he added, sliding several more markers into the center of the table. "And what will you do now?" The ice had thawed from his cool eyes; he had an insidious quiet charm. And she began to understand why his men would follow him anywhere, why rumors of his unbridled appetite for women held genuine merit.

"I think I'll relieve you of your money,
m
on général. Pam-flush," she pleasantly said, slowly turning over each of her cards until they were all faceup on the green baiz
e
—
f
our diamonds and a jack of clubs.

"It's a pleasure losing to someone as beautiful as you, Miss Blythe," Massena murmured, pushing his cards aside. "What are you going to buy with all your winnings?"

Before she could answer, Massena's attention was diverted, his gaze shifting away from his companions. "I see our banker has arrived," he said, bending over to whisper something to Solignac, whose head swiveled around with a snap, his attention hard on the man walking toward them.

Taking note of the men's intense scrutiny, Serena looked up and gasped.

Turning around at the sound, Massena watched Serena's face suffuse with a rosy blush. "Do you know Mr. Allori?" he softly inquired.

"N
o
—
I
'm not certain ... I don't think so," she stammered, averting her gaze from Beau, not wishing to give him away or add to the danger of his position.

His leisurely progress across the large room drew everyone's attention, not just for the unusual time of his arrival but for his appearance. The dust of the road clung to his clothes, his hessians, chamois breeches, and dark coat a haze of pale ocher, the leather saddlebags slung over his shoulder clinking loudly as he walked, the faint jingle of his spurs counterpoint to the sudden stillness of the salon. He walked slowly, his expression composed, aware of the interest his entrance had produced. He'd seen Massena once at the Truce of Leoben, Beau recalled. Would the general remember him from the crush of people at Schloss Eggen-wa
l
d that day?

The orderly preceding him announced his name as he approached Massena's table. "Mr. Allori, sir."

"What brings you to Milan, Rochefort?" the general genially asked. "And in such haste." His cool blue gaze drifted over Beau's dusty garb.

"A matter of business, general," Beau smoothly replied. The general's coup de l'oeil was remarkable. Leoben was three years ago, there were over a hundred people in the conference room, and he'd never been introduced.

"Government business?" Massena inquired, utterly calm.

"No. Private business." Beau's gaze was drawn to Serena, dressed like a courtesan at the general's sid
e
—
o
r rather,
un
dressed like a courtesan, he thought, resentful and jaundiced. "Collecting jewelry, mademoiselle?" he murmured, a cutting edge to his voice as he noted the emeralds lying on her breasts. Only Russians created necklaces like that.

Serena drew in her breath as if she'd been slapped and then she flushed bright pink. How da
r
e he think she was here by choice.

"Ah . . . ," the general said in abrupt understanding. Coolly surveying the other officers at the table, he dismissed them with a nod. As they rose, he motioned to Beau to sit down.
  
"So
  
you
  
know
  
Miss
  
Blythe?"
  
Massena
  
casually inquired. The anger in Rochefort's eyes when he looked at her had been so obvious he needn't have asked.

"Very well." A whip-sharp murmur.

"Miss Blythe wasn't sure she remembered you when I asked."

Beau glanced at Serena briefly. "Perhaps I'll have the opportunity to refresh her memory."

"Why would I let you do that?" An indolently tossed gauntlet.

"Because I'm willing to make it worth your while," Beau softly said.

"Are we negotiating for the lady's time?"

Beau shook his head in negation, a barely discernible movement. "I've come to buy her from you."

Massena's dark brows briefly arched into half-moons, but his voice when he spoke was mild. "Have you bought women before, Rochefort? I wouldn't have thought you had the need."

"Mistresses always cost money, General. You and I both know that."

"Some more than others," the general agreed, recollecting Countess Gonchanka's extravagant tastes, unlike those of the pretty seventeen-year-old ballet walk-on who was content with bonbons and new dresses. And then there was Teo, he thought with a pang of regret, who wanted only his love. And he'd failed her.

"I knew you'd understand," Beau said, breaking into Massena's reverie. "Name your price, General, and I'll take Miss Blythe off your hands."

"I'm not for sale, Lord Rochefort," Serena snapped, leaning forward pugnaciously, furious at his effrontery. "I'm not a horse or a painting or a bit of property you covet!"

"Miss Blythe was your mistress?" Massena queried, his attention restored by Serena's revealing outburst.

She seemed oblivious to the flaunting spectacle she presented, Beau irritably thought, her pale, bounteous breasts almost spilling out of the flimsy bodice as she shifted forward to confront him. He wanted to cover her nudity with his coat, rankled that other men openly gazed at her. "I brought her here from England," he said, a muscle twitching high on his cheekbone, only an iron will keeping him seated.

"You've been in Florence? A bit of a campaign backwater for a man of your talents." Massena knew Beau St. Jules was one of Pitt's best and brightest young men.

"He
left
me in Florence," Serena acerbically said, her gaze scathing.

"Did you lose interest, Rochefort?"

"He always loses interest," Serena tartly interposed, hating him for so casually walking in, for discussing her as though she weren't there, most of all for his shocking, carnal appea
l
—
a
ll command and demand and authority.

"I'm not sure the lady wishes to go with you." The general's shrewd gaze drifted between the two people, assessing.

"She doesn't always know what she wants," Beau brusquely replied, his dark eyes hot with temper.

"She seems rather displeased with you, Rochefort."

"I've always been able to change her mind if I'm imaginative."

Serena blushed.

"A sexual allusion, I presume," Massena drawled. "While / haven't yet tasted of Miss Blythe's pleasures. I'm afraid you've come too early, Rochefort. You can't expect me to give her up without"—
h
e shrugged delicatel
y
—"enjoying her lovely charms."

Was he serious about wanting Serena or merely raising his price? Beau wondered. Not that any subtlety, real or imagined, mattered after Beau realized Serena was yet untouched by the general. "Perhaps I could change your mind," Beau said, and reaching down for his saddlebags, he heaved them up on the table, where they landed with a resounding thud.

"This is outside governmental boundaries?" Massena queried, the obvious weight of the gold altering his notions of possession. The normal course of his day required constant bargaining and deal-makin
g
—
t
he corrupt politics of victory more cynical than making war. He'd welcome the gold to augment the constant financial shortfall under which he operated his command. And if it was English gold, so much the better.

"This is strictly personal," Beau declared. "And there's no point in haggling. I'll pay whatever your price."

"Wait," Serena indignantly rebuked, stung by the unceremonious consignment of her body. "Just a damned minute!"