"Rochefort, you're taking this too seriously," Massena cajoled. "You didn't lose that much-a few thousand florins and there are hundreds of other women to replace Miss Blythe, lovely as she is." A rueful philosophical edge colored his voice, his premise put to the test this year without Teo. "What matters whom you fuck," he said, "as long as the woman's willing and available. Tell Pitt that-he drinks too much and doesn't fuck enough. It makes him unimaginative."

"Not Bonaparte's problem," Beau sardonically replied.

"My point exactly." The general seemed to relax again, his familiar insouciant tone restored. "Tell me what you want-another fair-haired beauty? Londes will find you one to soothe your dark mood. And now that we're about to sign a peace treaty with Austria once again, I won't even confiscate your gold. Smile at least for that," Massena said, his mouth faintly quirked, past memories neatly closed away. He could take the gold if he wished; he could take it all and keep Beau prisoner too if he wanted, with England still conditionally at war with France. But the island kingdom was without allies at the moment now that the truce was signed, without a land army of any consequence, not likely to prove a difficult adversary at least for the immediate future. He could afford to be magnanimous.

Beau smiled at his gracious host, at the general who was the most capable of all the marshals of France. And then he said, "What kind of a blond woman?"

Massena roared with laughter and waved over his ADC Londes. "Lord Rochefort will be joining us this evening and he prefers a blonde. Whom do we have that would appeal to him?"

By inclination and choice Hippolyte Londes enjoyed his duties as procuring agent for the headquarter's staff. There were always ladies of every persuasion who weren't disinclined to enjoying the favors of the victors. "The Contessa Figlio, sir, is decidedly blond and very passionate."

"Could you have her brought here, in say-an hour?"

"And for you, sir?"

"Bring me a Gypsy. I'm suddenly tired and beyond wooing." And prey to the disillusion and insidious melancholy Teo's memory always evoked.

22.

Londes appeared at the general's table in an hour as directed. "The ladies are waiting, sir."

Massena looked across the table at Beau. "Have you had enough of cards, Rochefort?" The men had been drinking and idly playing vingt-et-un, discussing mutual friends in the officer corps of their respective nations. Massena had served fourteen years in the Royal Army before the revolution; he had acquaintances in both England and the royalist camp, while Beau had met many officers over the past few years in the course of his missions for Pitt.

"Mustn't keep the ladies waiting," Beau pleasantly said, "although after days without rest I'm more apt to sleep in bed tonight."

"Not after you've seen Countess Figlio, Rochefort," Massena noted, coming to his feet. "Her husband was very old."

"Was?"

"He died in bed after some strenuous activities." The general's smile was eloquent.

"Surely a gratifying way to go," Beau murmured, rising from his chair.

"I can guarantee you'll be satisfied, Lord Rochefort," Londes asserted, directing them with a small bow toward the double doors leading to the hall.

"You've tried her," Beau mildly said, the faintest query in his statement.

"Hippolyte prides himself on his dedication to duty, don't you my boy?" Massena's drollery was softly put.

"I'm only concerned that the women are worthy of your interest, sir." The young fair-haired adjunct's eyes were as innocent as his tone.

"He does damned fine work, Rochefort. You won't be disappointed. Did you bring Delfine?" the general went on, the men striding side by side down the broad candlelit corridor adorned with murals of Olympian gods and goddesses.

"She was most eager, sir."

"She's a greedy little thing in more ways than one. Thank you, Hippolyte. I think I've been working too hard."

"You always do, sir. I'll tell Franco you're going to sleep late tomorrow."

"Breakfast at nine, Rochefort?" Massena said. "Or is that too early for you?"

"Nine's fine. I should start back for Leghorn tomorrow." His expression went grim for a moment at the thought of his useless journey, of his wasted thoughts for a woman who had more avaricious priorities.

"Give my regards to Madelina," Massena said, stopping at the entrance to his suite. "Hippolyte will show you to your rooms." His eyes were half-lidded from weariness but he smiled graciously. "A pleasant adventure, Rochefort."

Londes escorted Beau to a doorway a short distance away and, like a perfect host, showed him into his room and introduced him to the countess. It could have been the most respectable occasion for all the courtesies displayed; it might not have been one-thirty in the morning and sex the transaction.

"Forgive my appearance," Beau said when the door closed behind Londes. "I'll bathe first."

"I'll bathe with you. We met at Naples once, you don't remember."

His gaze came up; he'd been about to toss his saddlebags on the floor. "Where?" The thud of gold punctuated his query.

"At the Reale and later at your apartment in town."

"At my apartment?" He looked at her more closely. "I must not have been sober."

"No, but you were exceptional," she said, a husky intonation to her voice.

"I'm sorry," he replied with a rueful smile. "Demon rum and all that. My apologies." He tried to place her in the profusion of women who had passed through his life: small; cornsilk gold hair; exquisite breasts and she knew it. Her dress was revealing.

"I didn't quite believe Londes when he said you were in Milan. But it was worth coming to see for myself."

He grinned. "Well, I'm pleased to renew our acquaintance, Countess."

And when she dozed off toward morning, Beau found he couldn't sleep regardless his orgasmic oblivion, regardless they'd made love for hours and his days without sleep. Some niggling voice deep in the recesses of his brain badgered him, then eventually turned bullying.

Go after her, the small voice said. Go after her and take her back.

He found himself hastily dressing short moments later as if he were late for a mission. He left a note for Madelina-another apology and a generous sum of gold for her time. He wrote a swift note to Massena as well, thanking him for his hospitality, and within minutes was on the road to Florence.

She was five hours ahead of him.

But she was traveling in a carriage and he could outride her. Quickly calculating, he decided he could overtake Solignac and the carriage by noon.

Dead tired and consumed by spleen, he spurred his mount.

Solignac had given his troop permission to rest on the outskirts of Piacenza for no one had slept the past night and the heat of the day was enervating. While the men found soft beds in the stables, the colonel had taken rooms for himself and Serena at the inn, and weary with fatigue, he'd fallen asleep immediately.

Serena found sleep elusive, no matter that she'd eaten a hearty meal and was almost tranquilized by the creamy tagliatelle and zabaione jam tart she'd been served. Lying on a rustic pine bed in a second-floor chamber with the window open to the summer afternoon, she should have been lulled to sleep by the sound of bees in the garden below. But her thoughts were in turmoil, a litany of logic wrangling with intuitive needs and emotions in her brain. She was right, though, she repeated for the hundredth time since Milan, to have walked away from Beau St. Jules.

Of course she was right.

He was selfish beyond the bounds of normal indulgence and gallingly arrogant to think he could buy her release without so much as a nod in her direction. As if he hadn't been the one to leave her. Did he expect her to have been waiting precisely where he'd last left her like a china doll put away on a shelf until he was ready to play again?

Apparently he did.

Too ... damn ... bad.

Let some of the other thousand women he'd bedded offer him that compliance.

But as easily as her anger flared, so did a covetous need for him distract her. She knew better than to give in to such reckless feelings. He'd only hurt her again when she'd at last made some peace with her loss.

But he'd come back to Florence, she thought in the next beat of her heart, a capricious leap of hope warming her senses. Had he come for her?

What did it matter, though, why he'd arrived in Florence and then in Milan? she restlessly mused a second later, her emotions vacillating fitfully. His conduct in Milan had been outrageous and rude. And the love she wanted from him hadn't been evidenced in a single glance or word. Suddenly smiling at recall of their game of loo, she took pleasure in her swift and conclusive victory, in Beau's churlish response. It was gratifying to triumph, to win her freedom on her own terms. A lesson to Beau St. Jules that all women weren't obedient to his will.

She'd felt invincible last night at the moment she'd suggested the game, even before the hand had been dealt, as though she'd known how the cards would fall. Her father had taught her to recognize that sensation, that small shiver of excitement and she'd almost blurted out, "I'm going to win," so intense was the feeling.

But she'd concealed her emotions; she'd learned that too from her father. And she knew Beau was left wondering whether she'd simply allowed him to win in the past, whether a woman was truly his match.

At midday late in June, the sun was sweltering hot and even if Beau hadn't been chafing and embittered, the broiling sun would have taken the edge off his good humor. Not to mention he was about to approach one of the most corrupt men in Italy and try to convince him to disobey orders and turn over a woman of possible interest to him. Beau had no illusions about Solignac's morality; like Londes, he no doubt tested the ladies gathered for Massena's pleasure.

The one positive note in his distasteful deliberations was the fact that Solignac could be bought; that was a given. But the question was, how blunt could one be in his approach? Or to what degree would diplomacy be required in convincing Solignac to relinquish his prize?

Colonel Solignac was called Massena's extortionist. Or simply his own, those loyal to Massena contended. It was a dubious distinction in a system that paid and fed its army with enforced levies from its conquered territories.

When Beau stopped to change horses at a small posting station later that morning, he learned that a French troop escorting a lady in the carriage had passed through less than an hour before. Spurred by the news, he helped saddle his fresh mount, too impatient to wait for the stable lad to finish the task. He almost had her, he thought, as he swiftly buckled the bridle in place and adjusted the bit.

The carriage first caught his eye some twenty minutes later, the vehicle pulled off the road into the shade of some trees beside an inn. How solicitous Solignac was to the mademoiselle's comfort, Beau resentfully thought, how careful that the carriage interior was kept cool for the lady. Knowing Solignac took what he wanted, Beau decided he was probably sleeping with her, and the jealous rage he'd rationalized into submission on the pounding ride south flared afresh.

Cautious with a troop of French soldiers serving as escort, he first determined their location, and discovering them asleep in the stables, proceeded to find Solignac. The colonel was upstairs, the proprietor said. He didn't wish his sleep disturbed.

Brushing the man aside, Beau took the stairs in a run and barged into the colonel's room, shoving the door open with such force it slammed into the wall with an explosive crash. Standing on the threshold, he searched the front room for Serena, his gaze sweeping the small chamber. A bed and Solignac-just Solignac.

"Where is she?" he barked, any diplomatic inclination overwhelmed by jealousy. The door's concussive impact had set a crucifix on the wall swinging wildly, and as if his harsh voice had suddenly snapped the string holding it, the statuary slid to the floor and shattered.

Solignac groggily surveyed the angry man at his door, his drowsy gaze drawn away by the brittle sound of breaking gesso to the colored bits of plaster lying in splinters on the floor. Then, as the identity of the intruder clarified, he heaved his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Can I help you, Rochefort?" he said, sighing heavily. "You didn't let me sleep long."

"She's not here." There wasn't room under the bed nor in it and no other door into the bedchamber.

Still not completely awake, the colonel took a moment to synthesize the pronoun. "Massena wouldn't have wanted her here," he finally said, his voice arid.

"And you always obey?"

"Always, my dear young hothead," the general blandly said. He didn't, of course, but the woman was to have safe passage, he'd been told. And without a ready profit motive, there was no point in crossing Massena.

"Where is she?" Curt, sharp, more grim than the first time he'd asked.

Solignac's head came up and his eyes from under heavy brows searched Beau's forbidding face. "Down the hall, sleeping. Alone. You wanted to know that most of all, didn't you?" he softly added. Standing, he lazily stretched and then gazed about the room as if seeing it for the first time. A brandy bottle on the table caught his eye. "Would you like a grappa?" he inquired, not easily intimidated after fighting France's wars the last decade.

"No." Beau shut the door.

"I think I'll have one since I'm not likely to go back to sleep now," the colonel ironically said, realizing Lord Rochefort wanted privacy, recognizing the probable reason why. Solignac specialized in deal-making, for which Napoleon should thank him profusely, he often thought. Walking stocking-footed over to a small table, he poured himself a brandy, and waving Beau to a chair, sat down himself.

"You probably know why I'm here," Beau said, crossing the small room and dropping into a sturdy wooden chair painted an intense yellow.

"I have a suspicion," Solignac murmured, stroking the uneven surface of his glass, taking note of the heavy saddlebags Beau had placed on the floor beside his chair.

"Well then ..." A sigh of distaste or vexation punctuated the silence and the colonel didn't think he'd care to be the young lady a few moments from now. "Would you like to set a price," Beau quietly asked, "or should I make an offer?"

"You first, Rochefort. I'm curious what you'll pay for the mademoiselle."

"You don't anticipate any problem with the exchange?" Beau queried.

"None," Solignac complacently replied, smiling slightly.

"I have gold florins."

"Florins are fine."

"I have slightly less than a hundred thousand."

"That will do nicely."

"Will Massena be informed of this transaction?"

"Probably not." The colonel shrugged. "One never knows when a confession is required, but I doubt one will be. Would you like a grappa now that our business is concluded?"

"No, thank you." Quickly rising, Beau set the saddlebags on the table, his restiveness blatant.

"I recall a woman long ago who heated my blood like Miss Blythe does yours," Solignac gently said. "I envy you the feeling."

Slipping a small purse from a snapped compartment of the leather bag, Beau turned to look at the colonel, his gaze chill. "And I appreciate your understanding."

Perhaps not love after all, Solignac decided, reevaluating the young man's motives. "For one hundred thousand florins, my boy, I can be infinitely understanding," he said, smiling, the lady no longer his concern. "Her room is three doors down to the right. Take the key on the bureau. I wasn't certain she could be trusted to stay, so I locked her in."

"One more thing," Beau murmured, sliding the purse into his coat pocket. "How soon will you be leaving?"

He didn't want witnesses, Solignac thought. "As soon as the horses are saddled." One hundred thousand florins also bought a speedy exit.

"Then I'll bid you good day, colonel." Beau's bow was courteous, his smile slightly forced.

"A pleasurable afternoon, Lord Rochefort. And you'll like the food here. The proprietor's wife is an excellent cook." He didn't suppose the jealous young man would be leaving the inn any time soon now that he had the mademoiselle to himself.

Beau inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you for your time, Colonel," he soberly said. Picking up the key from the bureau, he strode from the room.