“A servant in hispay?”
“Improbable.” Bascombeground out his cheroot into a saucer. “Not withLouis Marchand, Napoleon’s loyal valet for ten years, inattendance.” He paused to drink from his glass.“Only two people had close contact withNapoleon daily. One was his valet, and the other was Charles,the Marquis de Montholon. Charles interestsme the most. Initially, it was self-interest that motivated him,for why would he volunteer to serve Bonaparte on the barren islandof St. Helena, for possibly another twenty years? Especially afterhe’d ordered de Montholon’s discharge from his post as the Frenchenvoy to Wurzburg after he married the twice-divorced Albine Rogeragainst Bonaparte’s wishes.”
“Perhaps he didn’t intendto remain on the island for long?”
Bascombe nodded. “He did become themajor beneficiary of Bonaparte’s will and it is common knowledgethat he needed the money. He’s a gambler and in debt. But there’s amore significant possibility. He’s known to be a strong royalist asis his stepfather, the Comte de Simonville—a tricky customer, and aclose friend of Louis XVIII. Could it be that de Montholon wasacting as an agent of the Bourbons who considered Bonaparte to bean enemy of peace in Europe?”
“Interesting.”
“Indeed. Charles deMontholon was thesommelier. He had exclusive access toNapoleon's wine. Arsenic powder was used to kill the rats on theisland. It is neutral—it has no taste—and could be put into winewhenever de Montholon wanted to.”
“So, who is this FrenchmanCaindale spoke of?”
“That is something we mustfind out. He is the key to Butterstone’s death, I feelcertain.”
Jack stood. “Let’s hope we find himbefore any more blood is shed.”
“Indeed.” Bascombe saw himto the door.
Thepied-à-terreJack’s father had lefthimturned out to be asubstantial townhouse with a mews behind and a stable for sixhorses and two carriages.
His father’s secretary, Stinson,opened the glossy black door beneath a decorative fanlight. Jackentered the lofty marble tiled entry hall where a gracefulstaircase swept to the upper floors. An elegant crystal chandelierhung from the high ceiling.
“The house is furnished. Atpresent it is empty of staff. As you requested, most will arrivetomorrow. I can be here to introduce you to the butler and thehousekeeper if you wish.”
“I would be grateful, thankyou, Stinson.” In the comfortable library, Jack signed the relevantdocuments, briefly discussed his other properties, then sent thesecretary on his way. He was moodily staring down into the streetfrom his grand new bedroom wallpapered in a pattern of gold andcream, with elaborate matching curtains and bedhangings, when acarriage drew up in front of the house. An unaccompanied ladydressed in a black cloak with the hood pulled forward over herface, emerged onto the pavement and hurried to the door.
Jack ran down the stairs his pulsebeating hard with a desire to greet the lady, plus a degree ofconcern for her reputation. He flung open the front door, graspedher arm and drew her inside. Before a word was spoken, he pushedback the hood and covered her mouth with his.
Ashley clung to him with a little sob.“Foolish man, did you think you were free of me?”
“Oh, my darling.” Jackswept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.
“I have no pride whereyou’re concerned, Jack,” she whispered, hiding her face against hisshoulder.
Jack drew in a breath. “I’m profoundlyglad of it, Ashley.”
In the bedroom, he gently removed herflowery hat. “Pretty thing.” He aimed the veiled concoction at thepadded chair near the fireplace. It sailed to land neatly on thecushion. Ashley giggled.
He turned his attention to the claspson her cloak. “You look lovely.” He slowly removed each item of herclothing, until she stood naked before him, a rival of Botticelli’sVenus. “Mmm. Better.”
He drew her slender body into his armsand laid her on the bed, then bent to kiss her breathing in herdelicate fragrance.
Ashley pushed him back, a hand againsthis chest. She rolled over onto her front, and cupped her chin,with one long, slim leg bent at the knee, toe daintily pointed. Thehalo of white gold hair loosened and curled about her neck as sheoffered him an enticing smile. “Now you must oblige me, sir. Beginwith your coat if you please.”
If ever he saw an angel, they mustlook very much like Ashley. Perhaps not an angel, he amended, but asprite. Angels weren’t known to be so naughty. With a grin heshrugged off his coat.
Sometime later, as their breathingslowed, Ashley leaned over to trace along the line of his jaw withher finger. “Would you consider marrying a twenty-six-year-oldwidow?”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Ifshe were not the daughter of a marquess? In aheartbeat.”
She pulled her hand away and sat up,offering him a vision of cream, pink and gold curves that wouldmake a painter weep with joy. Frowning, she drew her knees upblocking his view, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She restedher chin on her knees. “Why must you be so concerned withridiculous conventions?”
“Because, sweetheart, I wasnot born into the aristocracy like you.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “If Idon’t care why should you?”
“I don’t intend to subjectyou to the vicious gossip that would result from ourunion.”
