Napoleon Solo scanned the room, his eyes landing on the hostess of this grand spectacle. Camilla Van Doren Wilde was reigning over the festivities much as a woman might who wielded great power, and to a degree she did have some, if knowledge were to be considered power. The real power in this room belonged to her husband, Sir Richard Langley Wilde, however, and he was a member of THRUSH.
Luckily for Solo he was unknown, as yet, to Sir Richard. Unfortunately, Solo's partner, Illya Kuryakin, had been found out and thrown into a cell somewhere in this old castle. Napoleon didn't know the details, but before losing contact with his friend, Illya had indicated that he was being hotly pursued by Lady Wilde. It was Solo's theory that, considering Illya's lack of enthusiasm for playing sex games with THRUSH, Camilla had taken out her ire on the Russian, possibly alerting Sir Richard to the blond's identity. It was a quirk of fate, unfortunate now in hindsight, that Camilla knew both UNCLE agents from a previous encounter in Cannes. Before she married Sir Richard she had been part of the all girl crew employed by Dr. Egret in the Nazarone Affair.
Napoleon's attention was now focused on the lady in question. He approached her with all the charm of a knight gallant ready to ride for his lady love. Turning on the charm was Solo's specialty and he did it now like someone else might turn on a water faucet.
It was a matter of a few turns on the dance floor before Lady Camilla Van Doren Wilde was ready to take her new discovery upstairs and let him have his way with her. Being married to a THRUSH chief meant many nights alone, and certainly she was second or third in his list of priorities. THRUSH occupied his mind, his energies and his virility. Camilla was a THRUSH widow, albeit a wealthy and pampered one.
Napoleon allowed Camilla to lead him upstairs via a back stairwell. The swish of Satin against ancient carpets heightened the mood as Napoleon followed the shapely woman up a spiraling staircase and onto a broad, opulently appointed landing. To the right was a hallway that obviously led to bedrooms, while the left took a turn that seemed to go back down to a lower level. Napoleon knew he would be returning to this spot sometime this evening.
Camilla opened a door to a beautiful bedroom that Napoleon assumed had been used before for clandestine affairs. Once safely inside, he wrapped his arms around Camilla, and began the seduction in earnest.
The woman in his embrace was swooning with each kiss, languid within the arms of a man she had barely dared to hope would be the embodiment of all she needed tonight. The rustle of fabric was the only sound as her gown fell to the floor. Napoleon picked up the petite beauty in strong arms. She sighed in satisfaction.
Low lights added to the mood as he gently laid her down on the bed, caressing each earlobe with a brush of his lips; his hands busily unfastened her brassiere before she found herself lying atop the creamy silk duvet. She was amazed at how deftly he had performed the act, shivering with anticipation of what would surely come next.
"Darling, do you intend to disrobe me completely without removing one bit of your own clothing?" The smile she received in return disarmed her, caused the air to warm slightly as he continued the ritual of undressing her in spite of the lack of covering.
First the stockings, one at a time, slowly and methodically as though he feared causing a run in the delicate items. When she started to speak again he shushed her with a kiss, as light as the stockings and nearly as shear. A deep sigh accompanied the removal of the last piece of lingerie, leaving her lying naked before his admiring eyes.
"You, my love, are a work of art.' He ran a practiced finger along the curve of her breast, hesitating as she sucked in a breath. The smile on his lips curved with the crook of his upper lip, a knowing and wise smile from a master of seduction.
"Do you wish for me to continue, or shall I simply tuck you into your bed?" A shiver made the woman curl into a ball, beckoning this love god to join her as she reached one hand towards him.
"Please Napoleon, you're tormenting me with all of this delicious foreplay. I really do hope you intend to prove your worth to me…' A coy look accompanied that statement.
"After all, I could have turned you over to my husband. If not for me you would have joined your friend, that blond fellow who is now rotting away in the dungeon of this dreary castle. I would gladly do it again, but a little sign of appreciation would be… mmmm…."
Napoleon Solo dove in for all it was worth at that moment, kissing the blonde beauty as he explored her with his hands, setting off sighs and groans that told him she was his for the taking.
"Camilla, my darling…" She cooed as he said her name, ready for him to ravish the willing damsel she imagined herself to be. At just the right moment, without ever having removed a stitch of his own clothing, Solo brought her to a satisfying climax, complete with shrieks of ecstasy and breaths heavy enough to blow down the proverbial brick house.
Napoleon took one of her dainty, perfectly manicured hands and raised it above her head and handcuffed her to the ornate brass headboard.
"Napoleon? Darling, what sort of game are we going to play?"
"Not a game, darling. That fellow, the one you did betray and who is, as you mentioned, rotting down in the dungeon… he is my friend, and my partner. I intend to get him out and, unfortunately for you, your husband will find you here like this; naked and … well, you get the idea."
Camilla gasped at the horror that would probably be hers to endure. Sir Richard was a jealous man, evil and cruel to his enemies; most probably he would treat an unfaithful wife to the same fate.
"Napoleon, please. You charmed me completely with this act of yours, I thought you cared for me just a little." Her voice was clearly strained by fear of what might happen next. All of this because of that ill-mannered Russian, if only he had acquiesced to her pursuit.
"I tried to save him, honestly I did." Napoleon smirked at the vain attempt to dissuade him for this course of action.
"I seriously doubt that, Camilla. He rebuffed your advances and so you betrayed him to your husband, lied about who had tried to seduce whom.
She spat at him then. It was a feeble attempt, and considering her position the spittle landed on her bare belly, much to her disgust.
"I'll get you for this Napoleon. Just wait, I'll make it happen. And your little friend is probably dead by no…." Napoleon had removed his handkerchief and stuffed it into the woman's mouth. Time was wasting and he needed to get to Illya before what she said came to pass.
"Good-bye Camilla. You won't be seeing me again, at least not if you're lucky." He blew her a kiss and exited, aware now of where to look for his unlucky partner.
Illya Kuryakin was chained to a stone wall between two skeletons. It was a dire situation, although he still had hopes of either escaping or being rescued. Napoleon knew where he was, that was something at least.
The Lord of this THRUSH infested manor had been less than hospitable to the UNCLE agent, letting two of his brutish lackeys have their fun at the Russian's expense. His body was aching now from a thorough beating, and he was fairly certain that at least one of his ribs was broken. Why was it always a rib? Better than a leg or an arm, he reckoned.
Kuryakin was stretched to every bit of his ability to reach, his wrists bloodied by now from the stress of metal against skin and bone. The goons had made him strip down to his underwear before pummeling him within near unconsciousness. That made his bones ache even more, the nakedness of it all. It was cold down here, and damp. Hanging as he was, Illya had a sudden surge of empathy for the two racks of bones that hung next to him. He hoped that Napoleon was close by; the thought of dying here like this was distasteful.
A creaking sound alerted Illya to someone opening the outer door to his prison. Unlike the sound of mice or rats that he was sure inhabited this place, the metal sound offered the prospect of human contact. Illya hoped that it wasn't more brutality coming his way.
"Illya?" That voice was unmistakable.
"Napoleon? It's about time you got here." Solo came into view, a welcome sight in a tailored tuxedo. He looked as though he hadn't even breathed hard.
"I see you're just hanging around the old place." Napoleon was relieved that his friend wasn't any worse off than he appeared to be. A few bruises were expected, after all.
"Very funny. Now please, get me down from here and … ouch." As his arms came down the muscles revolted and seized up in identical cramps. Illya wrapped his arms around his aching torso, not sure if it was helpful when he encountered the broken rib.
"Illya, can you move quickly? I don't think we have much time." Solo could easily ascertain the damage, he'd had enough of the same types of injuries to know what was plaguing his partner.
"I can and I will. Hold on…" Illya headed towards the pile of clothes that he had been forced to remove. The shirt was in tatters, but the trousers were still intact. He put his jacket on over his bare shoulders, glad for the warmth it afforded.
"All right, now I'm ready. Let's go." At that word they were off into the winding staircase by which Napoleon had arrived. At the top of the stairs Illya stuck his head out, hoping to see nothing. He was rewarded with that, although the sound of angry voices could be heard a few doors down.
"Oh, well… I think that might be Sir Richard and Camilla. I might have left her in a compromising position." Napoleon shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate his remorse, but Illya didn't believe it.
"I hope she found you thoroughly worth her indiscretion. Sir Richard will not be kind to her." That made Napoleon wonder if they should rescue her. After all, he had seduced her. His charm was like a weapon sometimes, but a weapon of good intentions.
"Perhaps…" Illya cocked his head, considering what he knew his friend was thinking.
"No, I think not. We had better get out of here, and quickly. From the sound of it the alarms will sound any time now."
In fact, they had only minutes to spare as the two men raced through the ballroom and out the front door. Illya managed to hotwire a Ferrari that was parked nearest the drive, and they were out of reach of Wilde's men by the time it was known that Illya had escaped.
While the countryside swept by under the cover of night, Illya felt the effects of his ordeal as the adrenalin began to dissipate in his system. He pulled over to the side of the road, anxious to let Napoleon finish the drive back to London. Illya's jacket was pulled tight around his body to keep out the cool air, while Napoleon still looked like he was just stepping out for an elegant evening. The contrast was not lost on either man.
"You know, Camilla wouldn't have turned you over to Sir Richard if you had simply given in and … romanced her. Why didn't you?"
Illya rolled his eyes, setting off a headache that had been loitering for some time.
"I had a job to do, and at the time … I am not entirely sure why not, Napoleon. Sometimes I just do not have the inclination to romance every woman who demands it. Unlike you, charm does not accompany me everywhere I go. You do have an uncanny ability to make every woman feel wanted, or loved or … something. Even Camilla, I suppose, was better for having encountered the Solo Charm."
"Gee, thanks Illya. I think." Napoleon smiled at his irascible Russian friend. Illya scowled, almost regretting having spoken so kindly about what normally was a source of irritation to him.
"Do not let it go to your head, Napoleon. I still think you ought to try and turn it off once in a while." That made Napoleon smile even more.
"What? Turn off my charm? I think not, my grumpy friend. As long as there are women who need me, I will be there to perform whatever service I can for their benefit; even someone like Camilla. At least she felt good about herself for a while."
Both men were silent then, thinking that Camilla probably wasn't feeling very good right about now. Fortunes of war, and love. When it got down to it, there wasn't much difference between the two.
"Take me home, Napoleon, or as close as we can get to it. I do not feel very well."
"Your wish is my command, tovarisch." Napoleon turned the key in the ignition and drove into the night while Illya considered how lucky he was to have someone like Napoleon to rescue him. All things considered, he felt pretty good about it.
