‘You are,’ she purred, tilting her head aside as she enjoyed the sensation of his lips grazing her flesh there. ‘You are the best.’
Napoleon wanted to believe it, more than anything he had ever believed in his life. Yet the knowledge of her infidelities twisted in his mind like a blade and his body trembled with rage.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Take your clothes off.’
She pulled away and looked at him. There was a wild glint in his eye that she took for passion and she murmured, ‘Yes, my love.’
He stood and watched as she hurriedly removed her dress, her bodice, her stockings and finally undid the lace straps of her underwear. Then she stood before him, naked, and trembling in the cold air even though a servant had lit the fire in the corner of the room. He took one of her small breasts in his hand and rolled his thumb over her dark brown nipple, all the time staring into her eyes. Then he let his hand slide down her ribs, over her stomach and in between her legs. Josephine shut her eyes and bit gently on her lip.
He suddenly withdrew his hand and wrenched at the buttons of his jacket. Josephine took the opportunity to draw away from him and jump into the bed, sliding down under the thick coverings and curling into a ball. It took him a fraction of the time it had taken her to undress and then he clambered in beside her. There was no preamble. He mounted her, thrust himself inside and worked to a swift, vigorous climax and then collapsed on to her with a groan.
‘That was quick,’ she muttered with a trace of disappointment evident in her tone.
‘I’m a busy man,’ he replied huskily as his heart pounded.
‘Too busy to pleasure me it seems.’
Napoleon rolled off her and lay on his back. They had had this discussion several times before in recent months, and he knew the steps by heart. She would accuse him of sparing her no thought, of no longer being the partner of her soul. He would promise that he would give her all of his attention the moment he could afford the time. He genuinely meant it. He loved her more than ever, but thanks to his public duties there was very little time to share that love with her. But the argument would go round and round until she had obtained a promise to join her at the theatre, or the opera, or spend an evening at one of the salons of Paris.The latter were tiresome affairs where men and women either toadied to him or went out of their way to try to impress upon him their greater intelligence or better breeding. And all the time he would be thinking about the pressing difficulties facing France.
It was becoming clear that the Austrians had no intention of signing a peace treaty and Napoleon had ordered Moreau to mass his forces on the Rhine. If there was no treaty by December Napoleon had resolved to renew the war.Then there was a fresh outbreak of rebellion in the Vendée, led by the royalist Georges Cadoudal. Fouché had given orders that Cadoudal and his followers were to be hanged on the spot if they were captured. Yet they were still at large and plotting to spread their rebellion, and there were even rumours of an attempt to be made on Napoleon’s life.
He pressed his head back into his bolster and yawned.
‘I bore you then?’
He swore under his breath and leaned over her. ‘You are the centre of my world, Josephine, but there are demands made of me from every direction of the compass. What can I do? France depends on me, and I cannot ignore her, even for you. Surely you can see that?’
‘I can see where your priorities lie well enough.’ She turned on her side, away from him, and Napoleon was left looking at the shallow arch of her spine for a moment before he kissed the nape of her neck.
‘As soon as I can, I will spend an evening with you.’
‘When?’
He thought quickly. There was a new production of Haydn’s oratorio The Creation opening in December. He would take her to that, and make a lavish evening of it.There would be a dinner at the Luxembourg, and then the guests would proceed to the Opéra in a convoy of coaches. Napoleon made a mental note of the details and resolved to have Lucien make arrangements for the event first thing in the morning.
Towards the end of November, Napleon’s patience with Austria finally gave out and he gave the order to General Moreau to march towards Vienna. He was eating dinner with Josephine one evening early in December when they were interrupted by Berthier. Napoleon noticed his chief of staff’s excited smile at once.
‘What is it, Berthier?’
‘A great victory, sir. The Austrian army blundered into Moreau’s forces at Hohenlinden and was cut to pieces. They lost over eighteen thousand men.’
‘What is Moreau doing now?’
‘He’s sent two of his generals, Ney and Grouchy, to pursue the Austrians.’
Napoleon recalled the names from the personnel records in the Ministry of War. Both were aggressive commanders who were far more likely to keep the pressure on the enemy than Moreau. He nodded with satisfaction, before turning his gaze back to Berthier. ‘I want a full report on the battle as soon as possible. Make sure that Lucien gets a copy, and that he gets an announcement into the papers for tomorrow. If all goes well, the war will be over before Christmas. That will give the people more than enough cause to celebrate.’
‘Yes, sir. Will that be all?’
‘No.’ Napoleon’s eyes glittered as a new thought struck him. ‘Tell Moreau that if he can force an armistice on the Austrians, it is to be signed on Christmas Day.That will be a fine story for the newspapers. And the day before, we shall attend the Opéra.’ He grinned at Josephine. ‘That will give the people of Paris a Christmas to remember for years to come.’
The carriages set off from the courtyard of the Luxembourg Palace shortly after six in the evening. The First Consul’s carriage led the procession. Those that followed carried friends, including Josephine’s son and daughter, Eugène and Hortense. A cold night had closed in over the capital and a mantle of freezing fog lay across the tiled roofs. Even so, the streets were crowded along the route to the opera house. Details of the procession had been published several days before and the people had turned out in their thousands to catch sight of the First Consul and his wife. Many had already been drinking and the streets echoed to the sound of singing and cheers. Torches had been lit along the route and cast a rosy glow in the fog that added to the gaiety of the scene. A squadron of dragoons rode ahead of the carriages, the breastplates of the riders gleaming, and the horses’ coats shining as they snorted plumes of breath into the night air.
Napoleon was wearing the scarlet coat of the First Consul, heavily patterned with gold braid. He smiled as he waved to the crowds. He felt happier than he had in many years. Earlier in the day he had received news that the Austrians had asked for an armistice, and guaranteed to sign peace preliminaries as soon as possible. They could hardly do otherwise with Moreau’s army poised to take Vienna. At long last, peace in Europe was in his grasp. And then England would be on her own. Napoleon’s celebratory mood, and that of the people of Paris, were as one. He reached a hand across to Josephine and entwined his gloved fingers about hers. She turned to him, and even though she wore a thick fur coat he felt her hand tremble.
‘Cold?’
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘Excited. And proud. So very proud of you.’
The carriage suddenly lurched as it turned into the Rue Saint-Nicaise, pressing them together, and they laughed in surprise, and Napoleon darted his head towards Josephine and kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘I love you,’ he said softly. ‘This night more than ever.’
‘And I love you.’ She kissed him back and squeezed his hand. ‘I just wish Eugène and Hortense could have shared the carriage with us.’