Wicked (32 page)

Queen Marie Caroline, "the only man in Naples," as Bonaparte had described her, had been longing for revenge against the French ever since her sister, Marie Antoinette, had been guillotined. She'd already asked her son-in-law, the Austrian emperor, to send her a good general who could put some energy into what passed for the Neapolitan army. It was she, in fact, who virtually ruled the kingdom since her husband avoided royal duties. He was passionately devoted to the slaughter of animals and fornication, which left little time for the business of ruling. "The queen's intelligent, devious, devout, and proud of her white skin and white hands. You might want to compliment her on them," Beau said, "but avoid any discussion of the French," he warned.

What he didn't warn her against was the overwhelming number of women who seemed to know him personally.

When they entered the reception room at the Palazzo Rea
l
e that evening, Beau was immediately surrounded by a rapt audience of fawning females inquiring into his plans. How long would he be staying in Palermo? In Naples? Since the
lazzaroni,
the mob, had taken control, the city was dangerous. Would he dance later or play cards? Did he remember where they'd met? Could he be persuaded to sit by them at dinner?

Holding Serena firmly by the hand, he fielded the flirtatious demands and questions as graciously as he could. Her anger became a palpable energy at his side after the Countless Niollo shamelessly reminded him of their rendezvous at Capri last year. Ignoring Francesca's insolence, Beau said, No, he wouldn't be staying long in Palermo, nor in Naples either and he was promised to Miss Blythe for the evening. It was her first evening in Palermo. A regretful sigh drifted through the throng along with less benign reactions to the beautiful, superbly dressed Englishwoman at his sid
e
—
i
cy glares; heated, angry looks; snide, impertinent comments having to do with boudoirs and expertise.

He extricated them from his former lovers in short order but Serena's silence warned him that a profound degree of delicacy was going to be required to restore the agreeable companionship they'd enjoyed before coming to the palace.

"I told you I didn't wish to come to court," Serena hissed, trying to free her hand from his, smiling artificially at Emma, who was waving at them from across the room.

"If Admiral Nelson wasn't being honored tonight we might have refused," he said. "Here they come. We should be able to leave in three or four hours. Admiral, how nice to see you again. And Emma, you look ravishing in blue." Her dress was decorated with nautical themes in honor of her lover's achievements; the bandeau around her forehead was emblazoned with Nelson and Victory. "May I introduce Miss Blythe to you, Admiral? Miss Blythe, Admiral Nelson, England's greatest hero."

Nelson was a small man, not remarkable in person a
l
though he was dressed in full regalia tonight, all his honors and medals adorning his uniform. The empty sleeve of his right arm, amputated after the battle of Santa Cruz, was pinned to his chest with the Star of the Order of Bath. A curate's son who'd made his way up the perilous ladder of promotion by boldness and bravery, he had a quietness about him that belied his exalted position. "It's an honor to meet you, Admiral," Serena said, bowing with grace.

"Isn't she just adorable, Horatio?" Emma said, her hand resting on her lover's arm. "I told you she had the sweetest smile."

Serena blushed at such fulsome praise.

"And she blushes too. Isn't that wonderful."

"Like an English rose," Nelson said with an adoring smile for his mistress, then turned back to Serena. "I'm afraid you'll f
i
nd Sicily quite different from home."

"But a stalwart ally to England," Lady Hamilton interposed. "Thanks to Horatio's presence."

"Nothing can console the queen but my promise not to leave them." The Admiral's weather-beaten skin creased into a faint smile. At forty, he looked much older, the loss of upper teeth cautioning against smiling broadly, the sight in one eye irreparably damaged from shrapnel, his other eye partially filmed over, his hair completely white. "Spring is the very best time here," he went on. "I hope you enjoy your visit."

"Thank you, your grace." Beau addressed him with the courtesy accorded his new title, Duke of Bronte, which had been recently given to him by King Ferdinand.

"Lady Hamilton is making our stay exceedingly pleasant," Serena added.

While Emma beamed, the admiral turned away to listen to an equerry and moments later he and Lady Hamilton took their leave to wait on the queen.

"He doesn't look like a hero. He's so small and soft-spoken," Serena said, her pique with Beau forgotten in the company of so great a man. Nelson's name and victories had been feted in England for years, beginning with his victory over the Spanish Fleet at Cape St. Vincent, followed soon after by Aboukir. The Lord Mayor had given a banquet in his honor at the Guildhall, the king had received him and invested him with the Order of Bath, a knighthood had been bestowed on him and then a barony, the East India Company had rewarded him with ten thousand pounds, schoolchildren were given holidays on news of his victories, church bells rang, bonfires were lit, special prayers said and songs
composed.
¹¹

"His personal touch as a leader sets him above other commanders," Beau said. "His men will fight for him against any odds. But he likes his acclaim as well. Watch Emma show him off tonight. It pleases him."

And the dinner was a glorious fete for the admiral with speeches and songs and sonnets proclaiming his victories. The queen presented him with a diamond-hilted sword for his rescue of the court from Naples. To the accompaniment of the court orchestra Emma performed "See the Conquering Hero Comes." Several local officers presented their thanks to the admiral in flattering speeches. Fireworks completed the festivities.

After dinner Serena was presented to the queen. At forty-eight, having borne eighteen children, eight of whom had survived, Marie Caroline was not a prepossessing woman and at best the Hapsburgs were no more than attractive, but she was gracious to Serena, and more than gracious to Beau, taking him aside for a few minutes of personal conversation.

"Another conquest?" Serena asked when Emma and the queen strolled away to mingle with their other guests.

"I've known her for years," Beau blandly replied
.
"With our stables outside Naples, the Neapolitan court is fairly familiar to me."

"A familiar of the queen," she said. "Does that require any special duties?"

"She likes young men," he casually noted. "You'll see several about her tonigh
t
—
b
ut not me."

"So very kind of you, Lord Rochefort to be so restrained. But tell me, is there a woman here you
haven't
bedded?"

He
w
asn't likely to answer that question, at least not honestly, and his smile was sweetly boyish. "I've reformed since meeting you, darling."

"That's not precisely an answer."

"The music is beginning. Would you like to dance?"

"I thought you didn't like to dance."

"I do with you."

"All the females making eyes at you are hopeful as well. I'd say you're going to be much in demand on the dance floor."

"You
dance with me instead."

How could he so casually dismiss all the women, how could he ignore her jealousy? The result of long practice, she suspected, which only nettled her more. "I particularly dislike the Countess Niollo," she moodily said, the stylish vixen currently in her line of vision.

"You have to overlook Francesca. She's known for her boldness."

"You
apparently didn't overlook her."

"I didn't know you last year. Oh, hell," he muttered. The lady in question was now bearing down on them in a flutter of sheer white
m
uslin that only minimally concealed her voluptuous form.

"Darling," she cooed, her mouth lush, crimson, her smile intimate, her greeting disregarding Serena and the entire ballroom of guests. "You know how I love to dance, my scrumptious Glory. Come . . ." And she held her hand out to him.

"I've promised the dance to Miss Blythe," Beau said, declining with a courteous smile.

"Why don't I claim the young lady's hand instead," General Mack interposed. The handsome Austrian noble sent by the Hapsburg court to command the Neapolitan army, arrived a half step behind the Countess Niollo.

"How perfect, Karl," the countess purred, touching the general's arm with an affectionate little squeeze that couldn't be mistaken for casual friendship. "Dear Glory and I haven't seen each other for far too long. I'm sure this little miss would much prefer dancing with a general."

"She wouldn't." Beau's voice was flat, curt. He knew Baron Karl Mack von Leiberich; the man was a rake and a scoundrel who spent more time with women than his troops.

"I'd love to dance," Serena announced looking up at the general and smiling prettily.

"If you'll excuse us, Rochefort," the army commander said, his voice laced with derision. "I'll show the lady how we"—
h
e hesitated an insinuating small secon
d
—"waltz in Palermo."

Beau's mouth was set in a thin straight line, his temper barely leashed. And he held Serena's gaze for one flashing momen
t
before she fluttered her folded fan at him and walked away.

"She seems to have a mind of her own, darling," the countess purred. "A large measure of her appeal, I'm sure. Would you like to beat me tonight, dear Glory, and release all that frustration?"

"It's a thought, Francesca," Beau muttered, his gaze on the couple whirling away. Their blond heads were far too close, their smiles too intimate. His rage grew so intense, he flexed his fingers to ease his tension.

"Dance with me," the countess whispered. "Or better yet, come away with me. I was lustful from the moment I saw you tonight; you know what you do to m
e
—
t
hose days in Capri ..." She sighed, swaying closer so he could feel the swell of her breasts against his arm.

He should go, he thought, and a month ago he would have without hesitation. One woman hardly differed from another then, his libido indiscriminating, sexual release the ultimate goal, pleasure a by-product of the amorous game.

Why
didn't
he go?

His gaze swiftly passed from Serena to the countess and back again, as if the comparison or the lack of it would answer his question. But nothing fell so conveniently into place and yet, he knew, gut-deep, that he couldn't leave Serena in that rakehe
l
l's arms.

"You're jealous," Francesca murmured, surprised.

He turned back to her. "Don't be ridiculous."

"She's very fresh." No fool, the countess.

“She's no younger than you."

"A
h
—
a
nd ye
t
. . ." murmured the lady he'd made love to for a fortnight in Capri last year, her understanding keen. She glanced at the dance floor. "Karl will eat her alive."

Beau smiled for the first time. "I don't think so."

"So she keeps you under control," Francesca softly mused. "A formidable woman beneath that pale blondness and pastel velvet."

"She keeps me interested."

"Harder yet, darling, for a man of your amusements. Where did you find her?"

"She's a distant connection," he smoothly replied.

"Very distant, I suspect. How polite you are, Rochefort, when you're never polite."

"She needs protection," he said, his gaze flicking back to the dancers. "She's not familiar with this world."

"Al
l
the better for her. Have you told her how dull it all is and only glorious men like you mitigate the boredom?"

He looked at her quizzically. "You should marry again, Francesca."

"Are you proposing?"

His eyelids lowered gently and his gaze, half shuttered, was forbearing. "You know better than that. I like my freedom."

"And I mine. Thank god the count died before I killed him. He was the most annoying man. And if I were you, my sweet, I wouldn't leave that young miss out there too long with Karl. His suave golden charm has turned many a young lady's head."

"Perhaps you could take him off my hands tonight."

She tipped her head flirtatiously. "As a personal favor?"

"As a personal favor."

"I'll expect a suitable reward once she's, er, gone wherever the women in your life eventually go. Your word on it?"

"My word on it."

"Well then," she said, making a trifling adjustment to the extremely
 
low
 
neckline of her gown, any more forcible movement likely to release her bounteous breasts from their moorings, "let's see if Karl notices my new gown."