White Horses
January 1813–the British army is preparing to cross the Pyrenees and advance against Napoleon's army. Only one thing stands in the way–funds. It will take two people masquerading as lovers to carry out a dangerous plan…Despite inheriting the traveling Cirque Equestre–France's proudest equestrian tradition–Gabrielle Rochon has no loyalty to the emperor who destroyed her family's way of life. Independent and headstrong, she pledges to help the British army, knowing her late father would have done the same. But her mission to smuggle gold across France within the cirque to the Duke of Wellington's headquarters in Spain is one the British won't let her do alone.Colonel Leo Branford–an arrogant, striking foreigner–is ordered to play the part of her husband so that he may escort the gold without arousing enemy suspicions.While Gabrielle is annoyed that she must publicly bow to his every whim, the danger of the mission binds them in a disturbingly intimate way. With French troops precariously close to uncovering their charade, it is imperative that neither of them forget their purpose…or themselves.
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Praise for novels by Joan Wolf
“Romance writing at its very best.”
—Publishers Weekly starred review
on The Guardian
“Joan Wolf never fails to deliver the best.”
—Nora Roberts
“…an intensely emotional story…”
—Rendezvous on High Meadow
“Wolf…leaps into the contemporary romantic
suspense arena with this smart, compelling read.”
—Publishers Weekly on Silverbridge
“A quick-moving, enchanting tale…An excellent
choice for readers who want an exciting epic.”
—Booklist on Daughter of the Red Deer
“Captivating…endearing…heartwarming…
Wolf’s assured storytelling is simply the best.”
—BookPage on Royal Bride
“Fast paced, highly readable…”
—Library Journal on The Gamble
“An entertaining and thought-provoking read.”
—Washington Post Book World
on The Reindeer Hunters
“Joan Wolf is absolutely wonderful.
I’ve loved her work for years.”
—Iris Johansen
This one’s for Mike.
Contents
One
London, February 25, 1813
The sun was starting to shine through the fog when, dressed in civilian clothes, Colonel Leo Standish, Earl of Branford, passed through the front door of the Horse Guards building, home of the War Office. There was just the faintest trace of a limp in his walk, legacy of a wound he had taken at the siege of Burgos several months before.
Branford entered a functional room painted in a rich, dark green, with a desk, a glass-fronted bookcase and a large table with a map spread out upon it. Two men were sitting on either side of the desk, and when the earl walked in they both rose to their feet.
“My lord,” John Herries, commissary-in-chief of the British Army, addressed him. “Thank you for coming. I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Nathan Rothschild.”
“No, I have not. How do you do, Mr. Rothschild?” The earl came forward with an outstretched hand. He had certainly heard of Rothschild, the London scion of the industrious financial family, whose brothers were spread throughout Europe.
The short bald man was dressed in a flawless black coat, white necktie and buff pantaloons. He put his hand into the earl’s large grasp. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” he said.
The earl’s blue-green eyes moved from Rothschild to Herries. “What’s this all about, Herries?” he asked.
“Won’t you have a seat, my lord?” the commissary-in-chief said. “We have a job for you and I’d like to explain it.”
The earl drew his eyebrows together. “A job? I don’t have time to do any jobs, Herries. I am returning to my regiment next week.”
“If you would just let me explain, my lord…”
“Oh, all right.” The earl folded his six-foot-two body onto one of the chairs. “Go on.”
“I’m sure you are aware of the difficulties the Marquess of Wellington has been having with funds,” Herries began.
The earl nodded. “He needs to feed and pay the troops, and the local Spanish and Portuguese bankers won’t accept paper money anymore. He needs gold coin.”
Herries continued. “Mr. Rothschild has managed to buy up for us several million newly minted napoléon d’or coins in Holland.”
The earl’s face broke into a rare smile. “Good for you, Mr. Rothschild. Well done.”
Rothschild smiled back.
Herries went on. “Our only problem, my lord, is that we need a way to safely transport the gold to the army in Portugal.”
“It’s still in Holland?” the earl asked.
“Yes, and we need to get it through France to Wellington in Portugal. Needless to say, once the French government gets word of the sale of all those gold coins to Rothschild, they will be on the lookout for anything that might look like an English conveyance.”
The earl arched an eyebrow. “By any chance, does this job you have for me have something to do with the transportation of these coins?”
“It does, my lord.” Herries pulled at his lip, then turned to the other man. “I think I’ll let Mr. Rothschild explain.”
Rothschild looked earnestly at the tall, fair-haired man. “I have had some experience in this sort of thing, my lord. As you may or may not know, my family has transferred money around Europe all during the years of Napoléon’s regime. One of the most trustworthy means we have found for doing this is a French circus, the Cirque Equestre. The circus owner, François Robichon, used to be Master of the Horse to Louis XVI, and he has no love for the Revolution or for Napoléon. The circus can travel anywhere without question, and Pierre has moved money for us successfully on a number of occasions.”
“Two of the circus wagons have false bottoms where the gold can be stored,” Herries put in.
