Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) Read online

  “That would rather be up to the tsar. One thing is certain, though, if we don’t find the culprit, Vanya will never be able to go home.”

  “He could come to England, take up the reins at Launceton,” Mrs. Fawcett observed. “But it’s true his name would be tarnished by such a scandal.”

  Count Lebedev nodded. Spying, selling the secrets of any country to any other, even one’s own, was hardly gentlemanly conduct.

  “Well, let’s think about it very hard,” Lizzie said, “and talk about it tomorrow—at your house, Mrs. Fawcett?”

  “Come before two,” said the redoubtable Mrs. Fawcett, rising to her feet, “so that we might be private. Count Lebedev, might I have your escort to the ball?”

  “Of course,” the count said gallantly.

  At the door, Mrs. Fawcett turned back. “Aren’t you worried about him?” she asked, low. “Don’t you wonder how he’s coping alone with no roof over his head?”

  Lizzie laughed. If it was a laugh with a tiny catch in it, she hoped Mrs. Fawcett wouldn’t notice. “Of course not,” she said determinedly. “He fought Napoleon’s army all through the Russian winter, living off his wits and scraps from the land in between. I really don’t think there’s much harm an unseasonably warm Austrian autumn can do him.”

  *

  A man, Vanya thought, could learn a lot from Herr Schmidt. The policeman had an extraordinary talent for blending into his background, so much so that Vanya, who’d fought with him, been more or less responsible for shooting him, dug a bullet out of his flesh and watched over him during several days and nights of fever, almost walked right past him without noticing him. Which was even worse when he considered he was actually looking for Herr Schmidt at the time.

  Under cover of darkness, he’d got into conversation with the coachmen behind the theatre and discovered where several of them passed on their information. It seemed all foreigners’ domestic staffs were riddled with spies. And so Vanya walked round to the coffee house and was about to simply walk out again, when a voice at his elbow murmured, “They’re looking for you, you know.”

  Brown hair, gray coat, a pleasant face expressing neither interest nor disinterest, pleasure nor dislike.

  Vanya dropped into the chair on the other side of his table. “You’re a hard man to find.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “How are you?” Vanya asked.

  Herr Schmidt blinked, as if surprised by the question. “I’m well. Why are you looking for me?”

  “To find out what you know. You’ve heard of what I stand accused. It’s mainly spite against me, but I think a document really was stolen and passed on, and I need to find out who did it.”

  Herr Schmidt picked up his coffee cup and drank. “I don’t know.”

  Vanya sat back, dug his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t yet disappointed since he didn’t know whether or not Herr Schmidt was telling the truth. “The men who attacked me last night are under the command of my enemy who accused me. But they claimed to be working for an Englishman. Why would an Englishman want to kill me? So that I couldn’t deny it when I was accused?”

  Herr Schmidt shrugged. “That sounds more like your enemy’s plan.”

  “Then did Blonsky himself take the document?”

  “Probably. I don’t know.”

  Vanya curled his lip. “And yet they say no one sneezes in Vienna without your people being aware of it.”

  Herr Schmidt set down his cup and regarded Vanya with alarmingly steady eyes. For the first time, he had a glimpse of just how badly this might affect Schmidt’s suspects. In his own highly understated way, Herr Schmidt was a dangerous man. He fought dirty, too, as Vanya recalled.

  “And you think I owe you help in this matter because you saved my life?” Herr Schmidt inquired.

  Vanya raised his eyebrows. “No. It’s my belief you’re made of old shoe leather and would survive any number of such wounds until you’re a slightly tattered old man. I asked from simple friendship, but I see I have assumed.” He rose to his feet. “Forgive the intrusion.”

  Unexpectedly, Schmidt stood, too. “Austria is not the only nation buying secrets,” he said quietly and rapidly while he took a handful of small coins from his pocket and counted them out on the table, presumably to pay for his coffee. “Information is being traded like water in a desert, fanning suspicions that were always going to be there and which are now spiraling out of control. I thought at first someone was trying to sabotage the Congress, but now I believe the failure would be just a secondary repercussion. Representatives of all the governments are paying handsomely – far more handsomely than we – for this information. It’s become like an exchange and someone is making a lot of money out of it. Especially if he’s selling and reselling the same information to lots of different people.”

  Schmidt, without so much as a goodbye, began to move on.

  “Who?” Vanya demanded moving with him. “Who’s doing this?”

  “An Englishman,” Herr Schmidt murmured. “Stay, enjoy your coffee. He has some connection to you and to the Daniels’ household. Beyond that, I don’t yet know.”

  Herr Schmidt moved away in front of a waiter, accidentally—perhaps—preventing Vanya from leaving with him. A distracted smile flickered across Vanya’s face as he sat back down at the table and asked the waiter for a cup of coffee. But most of his mind was already wrestling with Schmidt’s parting words. The connection could be no more than James. But the real, gnawing question was what danger it presented to Lizzie.

  “May I take this chair?” The Russian voice was just part of the increased noise that Vanya became aware of. It was time to leave.

  “Of course,” Vanya said, without thinking.

  Perhaps it was his answering in Russian that caused the sharp intake of breath. It would have been smarter not to find out, simply to slink out of the coffee house, meeting no one’s gaze. But Vanya had never been good at discretion. He couldn’t resist glancing up into the wide-eyed face of an officer he knew. An inn on the road to Paris, a rowdy party with women and too much brandy and a duel with his old childhood bully, Blonsky. And a very young, untried officer bringing him the news of Lord Launceton’s death. He couldn’t even remember the boy’s name, but he was damned sure the boy knew his.

  You couldn’t wear a sabre with civilian clothes. His only weapon was the dagger in his pocket and that really wouldn’t be much use against the swords of…how many? Six officers, not all of whom were yet drunk. He’d make a fight of it, but he didn’t care for the odds.

  There was no doubt of the young officer’s recognition. And he clearly knew Vanya’s fugitive position. For an instant, neither of them moved. Vanya didn’t really want to hurt him. He’d rather liked him for his disapproval which was probably why he’d taken the time to win him over. A hundred contradictory expressions crossed the boy’s face now, revealing his struggle with duty and honor and, probably, belief. Behind him, his friends were arguing over the relative beauty of the Duchess of Sagan and Princess Bagration.

  The young man dropped his gaze, lifted the chair, and turned back toward his friends. “No, the Duchess of Sagan is the more beautiful,” he said. “Just in a subtler way.”

  Vanya exhaled slowly and stood. He walked out of the coffee house, well aware what he owed the young officer whose name he couldn’t even remember.

  *

  Having slept badly, Lizzie rose and dressed early. Her first ambition of the day was to speak to James. If Vanya was suffering for something James had done, then they had to put it right somehow, preferably without James going to prison or disgracing his father. As she walked past James and Michael’s room, she paused, closing her fingers around the handle. It would certainly be the quickest, quietest place to talk, although she wasn’t sure it was something Michael should overhear. And in any case, James made no sense when he hadn’t had enough sleep. There was no point in even trying to talk to him this early.

  A scratching and wheefling at the do
or told her that Dog already knew she was up and about, so she opened the door just enough to release him and quietly closed it again. Dog gave her the usual long-lost-friend welcome and then galloped down the stairs, skidding around the corner into the hall, piling rugs into a heap as he went.

  Lizzie followed more sedately, straightening everything as she went. Since she could never be sure which servants were in the garden doing what and if the back gate was closed, she picked up the leash from its hook by the back door and slipped it on Dog before opening the back door and allowing herself to be dragged outside into the pale, early morning sunshine.

  There was a definite chill in the air, as if the late summery weather was finally being forced away. Or perhaps it was just her own feeling, colored by recent ominous events. Dog, having stood still for almost ten seconds with his twitching nose lifted into the breeze, made a sudden lunge at the clothes pole and lifted his leg, during which procedure he continued to sniff the air. As soon as he’d finished, he set off down the garden at a brisk trot, nose to the ground, making excited little whining noises as he went.

  Lizzie let him pull her on—it was too early for her to have anything better to do than watch Dog and think—until they reached the potting shed close to the gate. Whatever he was after seemed to be in there for he pawed at the door in a most peremptory fashion.

  “What do you imagine’s in there?” Lizzie murmured. “A cat? You won’t like it, you know. Or at least,” she amended, “it won’t like you.” Since the dog had actually managed to paw the door open by this time, she hung on tight to the lead, prepared to be spun in circles as he tried to play with whatever creature was inside.

  A shadow filled the doorway and Lizzie dropped the lead anyway, for Dog was hurling himself with joy upon Johnnie. Vanya. Cousin Ivan. Colonel Savarin. And what she called him really didn’t matter as much as the fact that he was here. A little rumpled and definitely unshaven, he caught the dog with one hand while holding a letter in the other.

  “Are you insane to be here?” Lizzie demanded, fear lending a scolding tone to her voice. “Don’t you know they watch this house?”

  “The Austrians watch it. The Austrians watch everyone. It’s the Russians I have to worry about.”

  “You don’t look very worried,” Lizzie observed, although she anxiously picked out lines around his eyes and mouth that she’d never seen before. For some reason, they hurt her. Her gaze fell on the letter in his free hand. It was addressed simply to Michael. Frowning, she lifted her uncomprehending gaze to Vanya’s. “Why are you here? Why are you writing to Michael?”

  “I’m not. I just thought he’d be the first to pass this way in the morning with Dog.”

  “Have you slept in there?” Lizzie demanded.

  “Sort of.” He held out the letter. “It’s really for you. And James.”

  “James!” she exclaimed with foreboding. “What is going on, Va—” She broke off.

  An unhappy half-smile flickered across his face and died. “Go on. You can say the name without fear of reprisals.”

  “I don’t need to. I need an answer.”

  “The answer is, I don’t know but I need to find out. I think we all do. Someone’s playing havoc with all our suspicions and making a lot of money at it. If we want to save peace in Europe, I think we have to stop him.”

  “Will it save you?” she blurted, taking the letter and hiding it in the folds of her shawl.

  “I don’t know.” His gaze drifted up and down the garden and then he stepped out of the shed.

  “Where are you going?” Lizzie asked in alarm.

  Vanya bent and retrieved the leash, handing it to her before he released Dog with a last pull of his ears. For an instant, the blaze in his eyes melted her bones and her stomach. He smiled. “To the devil, Miss Gaunt. Ask anyone.”

  Her breath caught as he moved closer and she had the insane desire to touch the stubble on his jaw. She wondered wildly how it would feel against her face if he kissed her… And then he did, a sudden lunge, capturing her lips, hard, and then releasing her almost in the same moment, as if he feared her retribution—or her embrace. The suddenness left her staggering, as he brushed past her to the gate and vanished. His last muttered word drifted back on the breeze, barely audible.

  “Sorry.”

  “For what?” she whispered to the empty garden. Only by the movement of her lips did she realize she was touching them, as if to hold his kiss in place.

  She dropped her arm and drew in a shaky breath. Then, giving herself a brisk shake, she dragged Dog back into the house, desperate now to read whatever it was Vanya had written to her and James. Hurrying back upstairs, she saw Michael emerging, yawning from his bed chamber.

  “Michael, is James awake?” she hissed.

  Michael, about to close the door threw it open once more. “James! Lizzie wants you!” And leaving the door wide, he walked past Lizzie, grabbing Dog by the collar as he went. “Come on, Dog, let’s play ball,” he encouraged, rushing downstairs with Dog barking at his heels.

  Lizzie walked into the bedroom. “James, are you awake?”

  James sat bolt upright in bed. “Lizzie!” he expostulated. “What the devil—”

  Lizzie closed the door behind her. “Hush, for goodness sake.”

  “You can’t be in here,” he protested. “At least not while I am.”

  “Don’t be so silly. We practically grew up together. Who cares? Pull the covers up to your chin if it makes you feel better. I’ve got a letter for you and I need to talk to you.”

  “Well, leave the letter and go away!”

  “I can’t until I’ve spoken to you.” And if she got the wrong answers, she wouldn’t give him the letter.

  She sat down on the edge of Michael’s bed and held his bewildered gaze. “When I saw you in the living room the other night, did you take one of your father’s documents?”

  A hunted look came into his eyes and her heart sank. Worse, she was sure he meant to deny it or at least evade the question with bluster. Then his shoulders slumped.

  “Yes, I did. I was desperate. It was something that didn’t matter to us, something to do with the Russians and the Prussians.”

  “Oh, James.” How could he imagine that was unimportant to Britain or to the Congress in general? “What did you do with it?”

  “I went to meet this bloke who’d promised to buy it from me.”

  Her heart beating hard, Lizzie said, “Who did you meet, James?”

  James’ lips twisted. “Ivan the Terrible.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lizzie felt the blood drain from her face so fast she had to grasp the bedclothes to scare off the dizziness. “You met Cousin Ivan?” she whispered. “You sold him the document?”

  “Not exactly…you know, despite evicting you all from Launceton so indecently fast, he’s not such a bad chap. In fact, he’s a great gun.”

  Lizzie pressed both hands into her temples. “But this doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t! Even if he would, why should he? Surely my uncle had already seen it?”

  “If you ask me, it’s you who’s not making any sense. He didn’t buy the document from me. He made me take it back and he lent me five thousand to pay off all my debts in one. I’m going to work for him to pay it back.”

  Lizzie, feeling like a fish gasping in the air, said, “As what?” in a strangled voice.

  “We haven’t decided yet. Perhaps helping to manage one of the estates. Who knows? If he goes back to Russia, I might be able to sneak you all home to Launceton Hall.”

  “Oh James, you idiot,” Lizzie said, going to him and throwing her arms around his neck in a brief, hard hug of sheer relief. After a second of stunned surprise, just as she released him, his arms came around her, just as the door opened and Aunt Lucy stuck her head in.

  “James, I need you to—” She broke off, her mouth falling open in astonishment. “James?” she floundered. “Lizzie?” In horror, she leapt into the room and closed the door, le
aning against it with both palms flat against the wood.

  James’ arms, fortunately, had fallen away as soon as his mother had opened the door, but neither could pretend she hadn’t seen and grossly misunderstood.

  “It’s not what you think, Mama,” James announced. “Lizzie and I are going to be married.”

  “No you’re not!” Aunt Lucy exclaimed.

  “No we’re not!” Lizzie uttered at the same time.

  “You can’t,” Aunt Lucy declared. “You’re first cousins and neither of you has a bean!”

  “We don’t care,” James insisted. “We’re engaged.”

  “We are not engaged,” Lizzie said irritably. “Stop being so silly, James. You’re practically my brother and we are not compromised!”

  “But Lizzie, I’m surprised at you,” Aunt Lucy raged. “What in the world are you doing in here cuddling James?”

  “I wasn’t cuddling him!” Lizzie protested. “Exactly. It was just…we’d managed to solve a problem together and it was a great relief.”

  “Well, there you are, you can’t marry a man because you’re relieved!”

  “Of course you can’t,” Lizzie agreed and Aunt Lucy, although still a trifle bewildered, began to look mollified.

  Until James said determinedly, “But the reason isn’t relief; it’s love. I love Lizzie and I wish to marry her.”

  “Since when?” Aunt Lucy demanded.

  “Since never!” Lizzie exclaimed. “James, you do not love me or want to marry me! Only last week you were in love with that awful Fischer woman!”

  But if she’d hoped to fire him into defense of his first love with the insult, she was doomed to disappointment. James merely waved the beautiful Louise Fischer to one side as an unimportant fancy of his youth.

  “Perhaps he’s still drunk,” Lizzie said to Aunt Lucy and left them to it. She had more important things to think about, such as what Vanya’s letter said.

  It wasn’t much of a letter, more of a military instruction, asking for a list of all the British people she knew in Vienna, especially those who had visited the house or who were at all intimate with either James or his father. Clearly, Vanya, too, was trying to track down the mysterious Englishman who traded in state secrets and, knowing James’ moment of weakness with the purloined document, assumed her cousin knew him.