Napoleon's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

from the trees just north of the encampment. A small deserted cottage had been commandeered to sleep the ladies, while the remainder of the guards slept in wagons or tents in the fields surrounding a small garden.
    The earl studied the troops. Young and untried, and most assuredly devoted to the beautiful witch that had cast her spell on their young hearts.
    "What I wouldn’t give to be in that cottage." One of his guards lamented in French as he passed Aidan his dinner, stew and a stale baguette.
    " Oui , but I think the Emperor would object to your enjoying his mistress." The shorter man laughed, and Aidan looked down at his food to hide his shock.
    The men left him to eat, which was rather difficult in shackles. But Aidan’s mind was not on the tasteless stew, his mind was busy mulling over how to use this new information to his advantage. He broke the stale baguette in half, hoping that the center would prove easier on his teeth. However, his hand stilled when he caught sight of a shimmer of black buried deep in the heart of the loaf.
    He glanced at the soldiers seated by the fire several yards away, and removed the gleaming metal. A key ? His heart seized, and his brows furrowed in confusion. He looked up and counted his guards, hope swelling in his chest as he slipped the key into the pocket of his trousers. He would need to wait until they slept, giving him time to plan his stratagem for his escape.
    Aidan rolled his blanket into a makeshift pillow and lay down, causing his shackles to sound his movements. The guards glanced in his direction before resuming a game of hazards being played by the campfire. He smiled to himself, filled with the knowledge that he would survive, that he would once again walk the grounds of Blackmore Hall, but all the while wondering who would have given him that key…and why?
    He considered the question for hours listening as conversations died, only to be replaced by the sound of crickets and a soft breeze. Aidan fished for the key in his pocket and unlocked the shackles on his hands and then his feet. Lifting his head to check that his guards were indeed asleep, he rolled unobserved over the side of the wagon facing the woods. And then was gone, swallowed by the dark.

Chapter Four
     
    Celeste waited anxiously for the sounding of the alarm, but it had not come. What was Wessex waiting for? Didn’t the man realize he was wasting valuable time? She shifted impatiently in her bed, and then she heard him. He entered the bedchamber so quietly that had she been asleep, she would never have known he was there.
    She stifled a scream, but realized he would expect a struggle. Celeste flipped over and reached for her knife, but Wessex was too fast. He had her pinned beneath his powerful thighs with one hand over her mouth and the other clasping both of her wrists.
    "What were you reaching for, Mademoiselle?" He hissed, skimming over the small table to the side of her bed. Then he saw it and released her left hand, oblivious to her blows as he retrieved the knife and held it to her throat.
    She stilled.
    "You’re a deadly one, aren’t you? But then I’m sure many of my countrymen have learned that lesson far too late. How many men have died by your graceful hands, I wonder?"
    His face hardened, and even in the dim light she could see the rage that he struggled to control.
    "I should kill you now?" he spat, pressing the tip of the knife into her throat. She winced as the blade pierced her delicate skin, leaving blood oozing from the wound.
    Celeste closed her eyes, strangely calm as she awaited the final thrust. Penance for all the men she had been unable to save. But if this man, this myth could escape…She would happily die for that.
    But what was he doing here?
    "You…you English are more foolish than I had imagined. You escape then wander back into the camp you are fleeing from," she rolled her eyes. "You will be captured by morning."
    "I think not," Wessex said, glaring down at her with