The Reluctant Countess

Dedication

For every woman who fell in love with a

scoundrel like Hippolyte Charles

(including Empress Joséphine)

Prologue

A cottage on the outskirts of Fontainebleau, France

1807

At the age of sixteen, Lady Yasmin Régnier prided herself on her courage. After all, hadn’t she made her debut before the entire French court?

Yasmin had curtsied before the empress, disregarded the curled lips, ignored the giggles. She had held her head high and smiled at everyone who met her eyes. They all knew that her mother was Emperor Napoleon’s mistress, but Yasmin held her ground.

But now?

The unease she felt when she woke alone, her husband nowhere to be seen, her personal maid not answering her call, was turning into panic. She started trembling, not only because the cottage was bitterly cold.

She walked slowly down the wooden staircase from her bedchamber, knowing from the echoing sound of her steps that Mon Repose, the darling house where her husband brought her after their elopement, was empty. Where was the friendly housekeeper, Mrs. Bernard? Where was the cook, Mrs. Recappé? Her personal maid, Desirée?

More to the point, where was her beloved and loving husband, Hippolyte? Her hand tightened on the railing. Something had happened, something terrible. Even if Hippolyte had returned to Fontainebleau, he wouldn’t have left her alone.

Dread clenching in her stomach, she walked into the drawing room. The chamber was small for a lady, hardly large enough for its grand pianoforte, but Hippolyte had assured her that the cottage was merely a place to enjoy their honeymoon, their voyage de noces, while staying within reach of the palace. After all, their elopement would be a huge shock to her parents and the court. Soon they would move into their own manoir, suitable for the daughter of a duc.

But first, Hippolyte had to use his charm to smooth the way for the announcement of their marriage. Yasmin had faith he would succeed. He had a special relationship with Empress Joséphine: anyone could tell that.

She wrapped her arms around her bosom. Without Desirée, she couldn’t lace her corset and her breasts were on the point of falling from her gown. The cottage was chilly and getting chillier by the moment.

The drawing room fireplace was empty. Even if she carried wood from the shed, how would she start a fire? Her maid woke the coals in the morning, or lit the fire with a spill from the stove. She went to the kitchen, but it was still, quiet, and empty, the stove cold to the touch.

Glancing out the front window, she saw that snow had fallen, perhaps three fingers high. No footprints or tracks could be seen. Hippolyte must have left in the middle of the night, taking the others with him. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing. But all she could see around the cottage were tall trees, soaring dizzily toward a patch of gray sky.