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Synopsis
The bachelors in Ella Quinn's Marriage Game series make a habit of resisting the irresistible. But during the season for giving, surrendering to temptation may be the greatest gift of all. . . A French spy, Georges, Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel, has lived in England for years, sacrificing his life for his country—but not his heart. For he's never been able to forget his childhood friend, Madeleine. And now, in her hour of need, he is there to rescue her. . . The victim of a ruthless statesman, Madeleine, Comtesse du Beaune, has been abducted and sent to England to work in a brothel. Her greatest wish is to return home for Christmas, and her only hope of it is to marry Georges—though she will be his wife in name alone. Yet as they steal across the snowy countryside, Georges decides to woo her—with kisses that melt the winter's frost and leave her longing for a holiday miracle. . . Praise for The Temptation of Lady Serena "This charming, sweet love story is the perfect addition to the Marriage Game series." -- RT Book Reviews 30,600 Words
Release date: October 1, 2014
Publisher: eOriginals
Print pages: 92
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Madeleine’s Christmas Wish
Ella Quinn
November 1814, Beaune, France
Madeleine, Comtesse du Beaune, set her pen down on the old cherry desk in the château’s study. Thank the Lord she had a head for numbers. Each vineyard, even the ones that held as few as one or two rows, was accounted for. If only the central government had allowed her to completely take her father’s position as négociant for the local growers after he died, her life would be easier. Instead, Monsieur Coupe had been assigned to oversee her work. It might not have been so bad if he knew anything about the business of wine, but he did not.
She gazed out the window at the now bare vines. The signs of the first frost were fading as the sun rose higher. In another few weeks, the Christmas season would be upon them. The first one without her father. She would do her best to make it a happy Christmas for her mother and sister. Perhaps they could make new ornaments for the tree, and plan a large fête. Not to mention the market that would take over the central square in Beaune. For some reason, the hot, spiced wine always tasted better from the vendor from Alsace.
A knock sounded on the door before it opened. “Mademoiselle, Monsieur Coupe”—the lip of her butler, Durant, lifted in a sneer—“is here to see you.”
Monsieur Coupe would not be invited for the Christmas celebration. She completely agreed with her butler’s assessment of the man. She’d like to cut his male parts off and feed them to the pigs herself. “Show him to the front parlor, and do not let him catch you looking at him like that. He is enough of a problem as it is.”
“He is already there.” Her butler sniffed. “He should not be here at all. He should have waited until you were back at the maison in town.”
Durant was right. Coupe should have waited, but he probably thought to catch her alone. The château was much more isolated than her house in Beaune. She twisted her lips into a wry smile. “Yet we have a way to thwart him. Leave the door open, and remain next to it.”
“D’accord, milady.”
Madeleine rose. When she reached the corridor, she glanced over her shoulder. “And do not call me ‘milady.’ It will only set the man off.”
“There is no reason he should be. The nobility was reinstated years ago.”
Arguing with old retainers was pointless. She suppressed a sigh. “Yes well, apparently no one thought to consult Monsieur Coupe. It is bad enough having to deal with him. I don’t wish to annoy him.”
Durant frowned. “Surely he will be removed soon.”
“One hopes. I have written the minister.”
She had heard nothing as yet. Their lives were so unsettled now, as was all of France. It was as if no one was in charge. Papa had been loyal to France, but would King Louis know the difference between that and loyalty to the monarchy? He’d been harsh with many who had remained. What would happen to her family if they lost their holdings?
A few moments later, she entered the bright, cheery parlor not far from the front door. A tall, slender man with black hair stood at the window looking onto the drive, his hands clasped behind his back. No doubt already contemplating the estate being his own.
He was not bad-looking. In fact, some women might consider him handsome, but there was something not right about Monsieur Coupe. He had a look in his eyes that concerned her. Maman had once told Madeleine the eyes were the windows to one’s soul. If that was correct, Monsieur Coupe’s soul was black. “Citizen Coupe. I thought we agreed we would meet tomorrow in town.”
He turned. “Ah, Madame du Beaune.”
That was a surprise. Before he’d always insisted on the revolution’s form of address.
He smiled at her for a moment. “I have something of a private nature to say to you.”
Drat the man. Despite all her hints that she was not interested, he was going to offer for her, and naturally, he hoped to assume the role of Comte du Beaune.
“I know this may seem sudden.” He glanced at the door, and his dark brows drew sharply together. “Do you mind if we have some privacy?”
She lifted her chin. “I do not think it proper to be alone with you.”
He smiled again. “But I plan to propose.”
“It is much too early for me to marry. My father has been dead less than two months.”
This time Monsieur Coupe’s jaw clenched, and his obsidian eyes hardened to flint. “When will you be free to accept a proposal?”
How long could she put him off without causing suspicion? Madeleine took a breath. “Not until after the New Year.”
“A decision you may come to regret,” he snapped, and strode from the room. Shortly afterward the front door slammed.
“He’ll cause trouble, milady,” Durant said.
“I’m afraid so.” Dust rose in the drive as Monsieur Coupe rode off. “There must be someone I can contact, someone who can help.”
Yet, whom could she trust?
Two weeks later
Loud footsteps sounded from the front of the house. Maman screamed, and Madeleine picked up her skirts, jerked open the door of her study, and dashed to the hall. Four rough-looking men stood there, one grasping the arm of her younger sister, Genevieve, as she sobbed. Two more struggled to hold Maman back and the fourth pointed a pistol at Durant’s head. All of them were laughing and making rude comments.
The one holding her sister barked an order at the others to be quiet. He must be in charge. Madeleine addressed him as calmly as she could. “What is going on here?”
He fished a piece of paper out of his pouch, handing it to her. She perused the document ordering the bearer to find women willing to work in a brothel in England in order to collect information for the glory of France. Whoever volunteered would receive payment from the French government. At the end, there was a signature. Fouché.
Mon Dieu, no! It could not be possible. Napoleon’s former spymaster was a senator now. Yet what if that was not his only position? And why would the king wish to spy on the English?
She kept her voice as calm as possible. “It says here, the women must go voluntarily, and it mentions nothing about taking children. I insist you release my sister.”
“I need a virgin,” he said, not even trying to hide the malice in his face.
“She is only thirteen!” Maman wailed as she struggled against the men.
The man in charge shrugged. “Plenty of girls have had to make their way. At least she’ll be doing it for her country.”
Not likely. Somehow she would find a way out of this, but for right now, there was only one thing to do. Madeleine straightened her shoulders. “I will go with you.”
A flicker of a smile passed so quickly over the leader’s face, she might have imagined it. “Only if you’re sure you’re a virgin.”
Canaille. “I am positive. If you will wait here, I shall pack a few things. My maid will accompany me. Now, unhand my mother and sister.”
The man nodded, and released Genevieve, who ran to Maman. Madeleine grabbed her mother’s hand. “Before I leave I need to speak with you both.”
Once in her chambers, Maman began crying. “You cannot go with them.”
“I must. If they don’t take me, Genevieve will have to go. I will not allow that to happen. I have a much better chance of surviving.”
“I’ll send a servant to the constable or the mayor.”
If only it were that simple. “Even they have no power to stop those men.” Madeleine’s stomach roiled. She held her fingers to her lips, hoping to keep the bile down. She could not give in to the fear and despair attempting to swamp her. Hoping to keep her mother from seeing the tears threatening to fall, she turned toward the dressing room. “Only dark travel clothing, Jeanne.” Once Madeleine had herself under control, she hugged her mother tightly. “Maman, when we reach Paris, I will contact some of Papa’s friends. They will know how to put an end to this travesty.” Madeleine’s throat tightened, but she had to say something to give her mother hope. “Please, do not worry. I’ll be home before you know it. We will celebrate Christmas together. I promise. À bientôt.”
Somehow, she would honor her vow. Schooling her face into an unconcerned mask, she returned to the hall.
As she climbed into the coach, she glanced at the house. Her mother stood at the window weeping.
Whatever happened, Madeleine must return to protect what was left of her family.
Dover, England
Georges, Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel, sat in the plain but clean chamber at an inn. His hand trembled as much as the candle’s light as he rea. . .
Madeleine, Comtesse du Beaune, set her pen down on the old cherry desk in the château’s study. Thank the Lord she had a head for numbers. Each vineyard, even the ones that held as few as one or two rows, was accounted for. If only the central government had allowed her to completely take her father’s position as négociant for the local growers after he died, her life would be easier. Instead, Monsieur Coupe had been assigned to oversee her work. It might not have been so bad if he knew anything about the business of wine, but he did not.
She gazed out the window at the now bare vines. The signs of the first frost were fading as the sun rose higher. In another few weeks, the Christmas season would be upon them. The first one without her father. She would do her best to make it a happy Christmas for her mother and sister. Perhaps they could make new ornaments for the tree, and plan a large fête. Not to mention the market that would take over the central square in Beaune. For some reason, the hot, spiced wine always tasted better from the vendor from Alsace.
A knock sounded on the door before it opened. “Mademoiselle, Monsieur Coupe”—the lip of her butler, Durant, lifted in a sneer—“is here to see you.”
Monsieur Coupe would not be invited for the Christmas celebration. She completely agreed with her butler’s assessment of the man. She’d like to cut his male parts off and feed them to the pigs herself. “Show him to the front parlor, and do not let him catch you looking at him like that. He is enough of a problem as it is.”
“He is already there.” Her butler sniffed. “He should not be here at all. He should have waited until you were back at the maison in town.”
Durant was right. Coupe should have waited, but he probably thought to catch her alone. The château was much more isolated than her house in Beaune. She twisted her lips into a wry smile. “Yet we have a way to thwart him. Leave the door open, and remain next to it.”
“D’accord, milady.”
Madeleine rose. When she reached the corridor, she glanced over her shoulder. “And do not call me ‘milady.’ It will only set the man off.”
“There is no reason he should be. The nobility was reinstated years ago.”
Arguing with old retainers was pointless. She suppressed a sigh. “Yes well, apparently no one thought to consult Monsieur Coupe. It is bad enough having to deal with him. I don’t wish to annoy him.”
Durant frowned. “Surely he will be removed soon.”
“One hopes. I have written the minister.”
She had heard nothing as yet. Their lives were so unsettled now, as was all of France. It was as if no one was in charge. Papa had been loyal to France, but would King Louis know the difference between that and loyalty to the monarchy? He’d been harsh with many who had remained. What would happen to her family if they lost their holdings?
A few moments later, she entered the bright, cheery parlor not far from the front door. A tall, slender man with black hair stood at the window looking onto the drive, his hands clasped behind his back. No doubt already contemplating the estate being his own.
He was not bad-looking. In fact, some women might consider him handsome, but there was something not right about Monsieur Coupe. He had a look in his eyes that concerned her. Maman had once told Madeleine the eyes were the windows to one’s soul. If that was correct, Monsieur Coupe’s soul was black. “Citizen Coupe. I thought we agreed we would meet tomorrow in town.”
He turned. “Ah, Madame du Beaune.”
That was a surprise. Before he’d always insisted on the revolution’s form of address.
He smiled at her for a moment. “I have something of a private nature to say to you.”
Drat the man. Despite all her hints that she was not interested, he was going to offer for her, and naturally, he hoped to assume the role of Comte du Beaune.
“I know this may seem sudden.” He glanced at the door, and his dark brows drew sharply together. “Do you mind if we have some privacy?”
She lifted her chin. “I do not think it proper to be alone with you.”
He smiled again. “But I plan to propose.”
“It is much too early for me to marry. My father has been dead less than two months.”
This time Monsieur Coupe’s jaw clenched, and his obsidian eyes hardened to flint. “When will you be free to accept a proposal?”
How long could she put him off without causing suspicion? Madeleine took a breath. “Not until after the New Year.”
“A decision you may come to regret,” he snapped, and strode from the room. Shortly afterward the front door slammed.
“He’ll cause trouble, milady,” Durant said.
“I’m afraid so.” Dust rose in the drive as Monsieur Coupe rode off. “There must be someone I can contact, someone who can help.”
Yet, whom could she trust?
Two weeks later
Loud footsteps sounded from the front of the house. Maman screamed, and Madeleine picked up her skirts, jerked open the door of her study, and dashed to the hall. Four rough-looking men stood there, one grasping the arm of her younger sister, Genevieve, as she sobbed. Two more struggled to hold Maman back and the fourth pointed a pistol at Durant’s head. All of them were laughing and making rude comments.
The one holding her sister barked an order at the others to be quiet. He must be in charge. Madeleine addressed him as calmly as she could. “What is going on here?”
He fished a piece of paper out of his pouch, handing it to her. She perused the document ordering the bearer to find women willing to work in a brothel in England in order to collect information for the glory of France. Whoever volunteered would receive payment from the French government. At the end, there was a signature. Fouché.
Mon Dieu, no! It could not be possible. Napoleon’s former spymaster was a senator now. Yet what if that was not his only position? And why would the king wish to spy on the English?
She kept her voice as calm as possible. “It says here, the women must go voluntarily, and it mentions nothing about taking children. I insist you release my sister.”
“I need a virgin,” he said, not even trying to hide the malice in his face.
“She is only thirteen!” Maman wailed as she struggled against the men.
The man in charge shrugged. “Plenty of girls have had to make their way. At least she’ll be doing it for her country.”
Not likely. Somehow she would find a way out of this, but for right now, there was only one thing to do. Madeleine straightened her shoulders. “I will go with you.”
A flicker of a smile passed so quickly over the leader’s face, she might have imagined it. “Only if you’re sure you’re a virgin.”
Canaille. “I am positive. If you will wait here, I shall pack a few things. My maid will accompany me. Now, unhand my mother and sister.”
The man nodded, and released Genevieve, who ran to Maman. Madeleine grabbed her mother’s hand. “Before I leave I need to speak with you both.”
Once in her chambers, Maman began crying. “You cannot go with them.”
“I must. If they don’t take me, Genevieve will have to go. I will not allow that to happen. I have a much better chance of surviving.”
“I’ll send a servant to the constable or the mayor.”
If only it were that simple. “Even they have no power to stop those men.” Madeleine’s stomach roiled. She held her fingers to her lips, hoping to keep the bile down. She could not give in to the fear and despair attempting to swamp her. Hoping to keep her mother from seeing the tears threatening to fall, she turned toward the dressing room. “Only dark travel clothing, Jeanne.” Once Madeleine had herself under control, she hugged her mother tightly. “Maman, when we reach Paris, I will contact some of Papa’s friends. They will know how to put an end to this travesty.” Madeleine’s throat tightened, but she had to say something to give her mother hope. “Please, do not worry. I’ll be home before you know it. We will celebrate Christmas together. I promise. À bientôt.”
Somehow, she would honor her vow. Schooling her face into an unconcerned mask, she returned to the hall.
As she climbed into the coach, she glanced at the house. Her mother stood at the window weeping.
Whatever happened, Madeleine must return to protect what was left of her family.
Dover, England
Georges, Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel, sat in the plain but clean chamber at an inn. His hand trembled as much as the candle’s light as he rea. . .
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Madeleine’s Christmas Wish
Ella Quinn
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