Vienna Woods (The Imperial Season Book 2) Read online

  With her chaperone comfortably settled, Esther set off again in search of Lord Harry. Although in this throng, it was a little like looking for a needle in a haystack, he was such a familiar figure to her, that she was sure she’d come across him eventually. And fortunately, as the orchestra struck up and couples spilled onto the dance floor, she was allowed a clear view of an elegant man in a silver-gray domino and mask, paying court to an extremely lovely lady in a dampened, low-cut gown. Esther rather thought she was the beautiful Russian Princess Bagration.

  Flatteringly, Lord Harry actually saw Esther approach and straightened, just as another man swept the princess across the floor and into the dance.

  “Fair Scottish beauty,” Lord Harry said, stepping into Esther’s path. “Allow me this waltz!”

  “Are you foxed?” Esther asked suspiciously.

  Lord Harry grinned. “Devil a bit. Don’t tell the general. I can still dance creditably, I promise you.”

  “I don’t want to dance,” Esther said, changing the position of his arm so that they could promenade around the edges of the ballroom instead. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to be sober!”

  He frowned down at her, the spark of humor dying in his blue eyes. “Is everything well with you?”

  “No, not really.” She looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “I found documents,” she blurted. “I think they’re Otto’s, and I don’t know what to do with them.”

  “What sort of documents?”

  “Letters from the Prussian Count Hardenberg and the king, one of them in cipher. And a handwritten document that seems to be an invitation and an acceptance to assassinate the President of the Congress, Metternich himself!”

  Harry blanched. “Oh, good God! Where did you find these?”

  “In my trunk this morning,” she said, not entirely untruthfully. “The point is, I don’t know how they got to me! And I don’t know what to do with them.”

  “Burn them probably, before they burn you!”

  “Yes, but we can’t let Prince Metternich die! Not when we can stop it. Do you think if I give it to an Austrian police agent, he’ll think I’m part of the conspiracy?”

  “Yes,” Harry said brutally. “And that would be disastrous for all of us.” He scratched his head with his free hand, looking more harassed than Esther had ever seen him. “Where are these documents now?”

  “In my reticule.” Although they made the prettily embroidered little bag somewhat eccentrically plump, she’d had to bring the documents with her.

  She couldn’t have left them where any hotel maid or spy could discover them. The thought of them lying in her trunk while she danced still chilled her blood. She and her father and Lord Harry could all be sent home in disgrace, the British reputation in tatters. A new war could break out because of this.

  So, after calming herself with several deep breaths, she’d folded the papers as small as they would go and stuffed them into her reticule, which at least could go everywhere with her unnoticed.

  “I didn’t want to leave them in my room,” she murmured to Harry.

  “I should think not,” Harry agreed with feeling. “There really are spies everywhere. Look, you’d better give them to me and I’ll try to smuggle them somehow into Count Meyer’s papers. Whatever else he is, he’s a realist and won’t let anyone kill Metternich.” He frowned. “At least I don’t think he will. I—”

  “Where?” Esther interrupted, desperate to have the documents out of her hands and Prince Metternich properly protected.

  He thought. “On the terrace, at midnight, during the unmasking. If there’s no one else there. Otherwise, we’ll try and manage it discreetly in the general’s room some time tomorrow.”

  “Very well,” Esther agreed with some relief.

  “Until then, don’t let them out of your sight,” Lord Harry begged. “Even for a moment. Here’s some fellow bearing down upon us. I think you must be promised to him for this dance.”

  “Oh dear, so I am.”

  Masquerade balls were the rage in Vienna, and Esther still enjoyed guessing at the important and not so important faces behind the masks. While the ladies’ costumes tonight occasionally gave a clue, at least as to their country of origin, the gentlemen nearly all wore severe black under their domino cloaks. Without the dashing military uniforms normally so prevalent at the Congress balls, Esther found it much harder to recognize anyone, even her dancing partners.

  However, tonight the safety of her host preyed on her mind so much that she kept the distinctive Prince Metternich in her field of vision as much as she could, maneuvering her dancing partners with aplomb until one of them, an aide of the Tsar’s by his accent, whispered in her ear, “Tonight’s your chance. The Duchess of Sagan is not here.”

  Baffled, she glanced up at him for a moment before she understood, and let out a rather breathless peel of laughter. The duchess was rumored to be Metternich’s lover, or former lover, depending on one’s informant. And he was certainly an elegantly handsome and sophisticated man. When previously in his company, Esther had found him both witty and charming, but in truth, her mind boggled at any kind of intimacy with him. She rather thought his would do the same if anyone suggested her as a substitute for the absent duchess.

  “You quite misunderstand,” she assured her partner. “But I apologize for my rudeness.”

  “Then there is hope for me?”

  “There’s always hope,” she said vaguely, relieved as the dance came to an end.

  “Ah, it’s midnight!” her partner exclaimed. “Time for the unmasking. Come, mademoiselle, reveal yourself!”

  Although anxious to escape in order to meet Lord Harry on the terrace as planned, her Russian was persistent as well as charming. And, in fact, the unmasking proved to be rather more hilarious than normal, since several guests had already swapped masks to trick their friends. The Russian presented her with a glass of champagne and insisted on toasting her beautiful eyes. She only managed to give him the slip while being escorted, supposedly, to her chaperone. Esther all but skipped through the merry, laughing throngs—many of whom were swapping masks all over again—in the opposite direction from both her amorous Russian and Mrs. MacVey.

  A curtain had been drawn across the terrace door she sought, presumably by Lord Harry when he went out to meet her. Hoping he was still there, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Everyone seemed to be having far too much fun to pay her a blind bit of attention. The orchestra struck up the next waltz, and partners were seized somewhat more exuberantly than usual. Their host had, perhaps, been overgenerous with the champagne.

  Satisfied that she was unobserved, Esther twitched the curtain aside. Not one but two shadowy figures showed ominously against the glass, causing her heart to lurch with alarm. But she was already committed. She had to step outside for at least a moment, whoever waited there and why. Surely, neither she nor Lord Harry, could be in any real danger? Especially if they exchanged no more than a few words about the ball before returning inside.

  These speculations flashed through her mind in an instant. But before she could move, another hand closed over hers on the curtain fabric, an arm seized her around the waist, and she was twirled onto the dance floor before she could do more than gasp.

  She would have stumbled, even fallen, if her feet had properly touched the floor. Instead, she found herself mechanically following her partner’s steps while she stared up at a familiar silver-grey mask. A domino of similar color fell from his black-garbed shoulder.

  “Lord Harry,” she said in relief. “Someone is on the terrace already and I have my doubts that they’re revelers!”

  Lord Harry said nothing.

  “This business must have shattered my nerves,” she said apologetically. “I imagined them to be quite sinister, but I expect they’re merely guests sobering up in the fresh air before they return to their wives. Maybe we could just…dance our way out there and wait until they go?”

&nb
sp; Beneath the silver-grey mask, his lips quirked once. He inclined his head as though it was the only reply he would make, but turned her in the opposite direction, weaving among the other couples.

  “Well?” she said impatiently. Really, it would be too bad if he were so foxed he couldn’t remember their plan.

  “Maybe,” he said without emphasis.

  Her breath vanished. She felt her eyes widen as she searched his masked face. Surely the eyes gazing back at her so steadily were gray rather than blue? It could have been due to the dazzling candlelight on his silvery mask combined with her own distress, but she didn’t think so. His lips were surely too thin, his chin less square than Lord Harry’s. And his voice, soft, deep, and somehow soothing…

  Her heart lurched into her throat. She missed a step and hastily caught up. Even the light, firm grip of his fingers on her gloved hand was familiar.

  “It’s you,” she blurted.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Oh God, she’d fallen straight into the police agent’s trap!

  Chapter Four

  What had she said? Surely, she hadn’t actually mentioned the documents? With luck, he would imagine she was conducting some kind of intrigue with Lord Harry. On the day her betrothed had died? He wouldn’t think much of her. And why did that even matter? There was much more at stake here.

  “Where is Lord Harry?” she demanded in sudden panic that he’d been arrested.

  “In the card room,” her partner replied. “Amusing everyone by prancing about in Princess Bagration’s jeweled mask. Her domino only comes to his knees.”

  In spite of herself, a choke of laughter escaped. She swallowed it down. “You swapped masks with Lord Harry?”

  “Sort of.”

  “But, why?”

  “So that you’d dance with me without making a fuss.”

  “Haven’t you seen enough of me for one day? Why in the world would you want to dance with me?”

  “To scold you for not resting, of course. Your head must still ache.”

  “It didn’t until now,” she said ungraciously. “But I thank you for your concern. What do you really want with me?”

  For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Between the slits of the mask, his flint-gray eyes remained steady on her face. The rest of the world seemed to slip. It was as if she held his full, undivided attention, as if, for him, she was the only woman, the only being in the room. The knowledge took her breath away. Was the answer really as exhilarating, as simple as that?

  He said, “Why did you engage yourself to Prince Otto?”

  It felt like a bucket of cold water. She wanted to laugh, and yet for some reason, it wasn’t quite funny. She should be frightened to have quite so much police attention.

  “Why?” she repeated, giving herself time. Because my father wished it, and Lord Harry convinced me it was my duty to my country. Because it suited Otto to be seen as tied to the British cause. She wanted to throw the words at him with defiance and pride… and perhaps just to tell him the truth. The man was too good at his work.

  Instead, she said lightly, “It’s a good match for me. You must know I am on the shelf at one-and-twenty, having carelessly lost not one but two previous affianced husbands. Besides, having followed the drum with my father for most of my life, I am apt to behave badly by the world’s standards. And then, I have very little fortune to speak of. I am, in effect, a difficult sale on the marriage market.”

  “Which rather begs the question,” he said thoughtfully. “Why did Kriegenstein buy?”

  Esther blinked, quite unused to having her shockingly blunt analogies continued. “You don’t believe in flattery, do you?”

  The ghost of a smile seemed to flit across his fine lips. It was the first she’d seen.

  “I, too, am a difficult sale,” he conceded. “On the other hand, even I can see that you have qualities which outweigh eccentricity and a lack of fortune.”

  “You are too good,” she marveled. “But I think I preferred your bluntness.”

  “I’d prefer yours, too. You’d be much more comfortable if you’d just tell me the truth.”

  Ruefully, she conceded that he might be right. She even considered doing so, for almost half a second, until another thought struck her. “Are you here to protect Prince Metternich?”

  Something sparked in his otherwise expressionless gaze and then his lashes came down, veiling whatever it was. She might have imagined it. “And the crowned heads of Europe present here.”

  “Of course.” She could say no more, and yet she thought it might have been enough just to speak Metternich’s name.

  He would wonder still, but surely he would act to protect the Congress president? She might even have relaxed had she not been afraid he’d imagine that she and Lord Harry were conspiring against Metternich’s life.

  Somehow, they had danced back to the window side of the ballroom. Her partner’s gaze shifted beyond her to window as he turned.

  “Does Lord Harry know about your morning’s adventure?” he asked, glancing back down at her.

  “No, of course not,” she said impatiently. “Have you learned anymore?”

  “Have you?” His eyes flickered back to the window.

  “Only that Count von Meyer was with the prince last night and doesn’t appear to know he’s…missing. Although he’s looking for Otto’s half-brother for some reason—an alternative heir, perhaps?”

  “Or to remove the possibility of one.”

  Before she could make the shocked response forming on her lips, she was whisked abruptly across empty floor space. Cold air swished through her thin gown, stirring her hair, and she realized he’d actually danced her out of the ballroom door and onto an unlit part of the terrace. He halted in the darkness, though he didn’t at once release her. Instead, he stood very still, listening, gazing into the darkness.

  Esther looked too, while he slowly dropped his arms to his sides. Surely, shadows moved deep in the grounds, away from the house. Men-shaped shadows.

  Without looking at her, he said, “Follow the building to the next glass door and you’ll come to the card room. Your father is there. Stay with him.”

  And the next instant, he strode off into the darkness in the same direction as the moving shadows.

  “Not a chance,” Esther murmured, following him across the terrace and along a winding pebble path lined with the last late roses of the year. It struck her that the shadows were the same she’d glimpsed earlier, when she went to meet Lord Harry on the terrace. Perhaps—terrifying thought—the men had even been there to kill Metternich…or to steal the documents still stuffed into her reticule. Maybe her conversation with Lord Harry had been overheard.

  So were the shadows more Austrian police spies? Or assassins employed by the late Prince Otto? She had to know. Only they were getting away. One had already vanished from her sight into a sudden dip as if in to some hole in the ground. The other seemed to be following in that direction. They must have burrowed underneath the wall to get in.

  Straight ahead, the police agent leapt, silently hauling himself up the high boundary wall, as if he meant to fall on the miscreant once he reached the other side. Which might enable the second man to attack him from behind while he was engaged.

  Esther paused, breathing deeply, and searched for a loose pebble at her feet. She didn’t have long before the second man would disappear as quickly as the first, but she took a moment to weigh the stone in her hand and take careful aim through the darkness. The police agent must have jumped already, for she could no longer see him on the wall. She drew back her hand and with her gaze locked to the running shadow’s head, summoned all her strength.

  Without warning, another hand closed over her wrist and yanked down her hand. The second shadow vanished downward.

  “What are you doing?” the police agent asked evenly. She hadn’t even seen him climb off the wall.

  “You’ve let them both get away!” Esther hissed indignantly. “I could have got t
he second one!”

  “I thought you might. Which is why I stopped you.”

  She stared at him. In the moonlight, the silver threads in his mask glittered, reflecting in his eyes. “They were your men?” she suggested, quite deflated. “Why were you chasing them, then?”

  “Not mine,” he said with odd grimness.

  “Then shouldn’t we have caught them?”

  “You can lock up lots of thugs—you can even kill them—without ever learning who pulls the strings.”

  “So…you watch,” she said slowly.

  “Dull, isn’t it?” He dropped her hand and began to walk back along the path. “I thought you were going to your father?”

  “Why would you think that?” she wondered, falling into step beside him. She thought his lips twitched, the closest he seemed to come to a smile.

  “I have no idea.”

  “What did you see?” she asked.

  He shrugged, the gesture quite clear in the glow from the small terrace outside the card room.

  “You’re not playing fair,” Esther observed. “If we’re allies, you have to tell me.”

  “We aren’t allies,” he said brutally. “You haven’t yet told me the truth.”

  Her stomach twisted. “I’ve never lied to you.”

  “We both know that’s not the same thing.”

  She climbed the two steps up to the deserted little terrace and halted to face him. “It’s difficult to be open with a man who doesn’t even tell me his name.”

  “It would make no difference. It’s not a name you know.”

  “And yet you know mine. You know who my father is and where he is.”

  “I’m paid to know such things, Miss Lisle. And I’m good at my work.”

  She drew in her breath and lifted her chin. “Do you believe I shot Prince Otto?”

  His eyes moved, searching hers. “I believe you might know who did. And I believe you might be in danger because of that. Tell me everything, for your own safety.”