Vienna Woods (The Imperial Season Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t know. I agreed to keep silent to let you investigate, but I’ve no more idea of who shot him than I had the first time we met. Have you?”

  “Some,” he confessed.

  She gave a lopsided smile. “You see? We are not allies. You tell me nothing. As for the documents, if you truly wish to help me, you’ll keep quiet.”

  “I can’t, and neither can you. Where did you get those documents?”

  “I can’t tell you that. I found them suddenly in my possession. I’ve no idea how to get them to the right authority without implicating myself and therefore my father and my country.”

  “I see your dilemma,” the agent sympathized. He gazed at her for a moment, his fingers tapping out an intricate pattern on the back of the sofa. “They belonged to Prince Otto, did they not? He hid them with you for some reason.”

  “Possibly,” she allowed. “I really don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “It’s what I suspect,” she admitted, “but I can’t think why he would have given them to me without even saying.”

  “Because he knew you would do exactly as you have, probably. Hide them and say nothing.”

  She flushed once more. “You think me a very poor specimen, sir.”

  “No, I think you’re out of your depth; and not surprisingly. Prince Otto was something of a loose cannon, which made him dangerous in all sorts of ways. Am I correct in thinking you want to put this right?”

  She felt her eyes widen under his steady gaze. The mask seemed to lend his eyes a magical, almost mesmeric quality. “More than anything,” she admitted.

  “Then, if you will trust me, I can get these papers to the proper authorities without involving you. I will arrange the protection of Prince Metternich and arrest the assassin. The other documents will be decoded and discreetly stored or returned to Kriegenstein, whichever will be best for the Congress and Europe as a whole. No one need know where I found them.”

  Esther searched his eyes. A thousand questions crowded her mind. Her instinct was to trust his honesty…and yet to distrust so easy a solution. She wanted too much to relinquish the dangerous problem. Her brain told her this man could be anyone, any enemy desperate to make personal use of the information. As soon as he had the documents, he could use them as he wished. Her father could be discredited, her country could be blamed for something its government neither sanctioned nor wanted.

  And yet, he’d brought the documents back to her. Let her choose.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she said despairingly. “Let alone your true position with the police. You could be a gentleman informant, an unprincipled spy, or one of Baron von Hager’s reputable officers. How would I know?” She clutched the reticule tighter under her shawl and swallowed. “I heard all about the Englishman arrested for selling information only a couple of weeks ago. I know it happens. I can’t trust a man who won’t be open and honest with me. Not about something like this.”

  He hesitated. Then, he said reluctantly, “I work for Baron von Hager. I have for years. I am paid a salary by the Austrian government.”

  “In what capacity?” she demanded at once. “Do you catch thieves and murderers or spy on people? Who do you answer to, apart from the baron?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not, if you’re an honest man?”

  “One can be honest and keep secrets. You know this.”

  She frowned at him. “But it’s the secrets that prevent my trusting you!”

  His lips quirked beneath the mask. “And yet if I told you, I might lie. I could be lying now. But you should follow your instincts and trust me as you wish to.”

  He was right, damn him, she did want to. Too much. “Can’t you at least tell me your name?” she pleaded.

  His lips curved further as he slowly shook his head.

  “You don’t trust me,” she said slowly. It shouldn’t have hurt. She’d expected it. “Which means I can’t trust you. I’ll keep whatever is in my possession.”

  He stood up and walked toward the door. Her breath caught in panic. She couldn’t let him go like this, not if there was a chance of him actually being able to sort this out for the good of everyone.

  “Wait!” She acted from instinct, not thought, launching herself from the sofa and sliding in front him, her back to the door, with her palms flat against the wood behind her. “Tell me what it is you suspect me of. Show me that we are allies. I want to trust you. Please.”

  For an instant their eyes held. Then he raised both hands and placed them on her shoulders. With despair, she thought he would simply move her aside; there was no way she could prevent him. But instead, his fingers slid down her arms and closed around her wrists, lifting them gently but inexorably.

  Her heart thudded, her brow twitched as she wondered what on earth he was doing. He raised her hands above her head and held them pressed lightly over the door. All the air seemed to have left the room, certainly she couldn’t seem to breathe. He stood so close to her that the heat from his body seemed to scorch her. Her stomach fluttered with sudden fear.

  With quiet deliberation, he bent his masked face over hers and kissed her mouth. But not like before. That had been quick, light, over almost before she’d had time to notice let alone be outraged. This was slow, invasive, consuming. It felt like possession. No one had ever kissed her like that, and it paralyzed her. His body touched hers at breast and hip and thigh, spreading heat and a sweet, heady arousal that she recognized but had never given into. She hadn’t known how. She still didn’t. Right now, she seemed to have forgotten how to move. There was only his warm mouth seducing hers, and hot, melting desire.

  Somewhere, she knew she should be angry. Or frightened. Or both. Mostly, she couldn’t even think.

  His mouth loosened. Through the slits of the mask, his eyes were clouded grey and silver.

  “Garin,” he said huskily, and she groped desperately for a context to understand him. “My name is Garin.”

  His name. Did that mean she’d won?

  Blindly following the pressure of his hands, she stepped aside. Freed, her arms dropped to her side and he reached for the door. Her reticule dangled from his fingers.

  Her lips parted in shock.

  “Thank you,” he said, and went out.

  God knew she was in no state to follow him. Instead, she slid down the closed door until she was crouching on her heels.

  “Oh dear,” she said shakily and wiped her face. She didn’t know if she was laughing or crying.

  *

  Zelig left the hotel swiftly, the reticule tucked under his domino cloak. In spite of everything, he still didn’t put it past her to set up a hue and cry after him. Not that it would make any difference in the long run, but it would be annoying. The doorman summoned him a waiting fiacre at once, and he jumped inside.

  As soon as the horses started, he tore off the mask, and opened the reticule, emptying out the thick lump of paper. As he unfolded it by the light of the outside lamps, he frowned. The top sheet was unmistakably blank. Hastily, he rummaged through the others. Something that looked like a shopping list, several receipts, and tradesmen’s accounts.

  His lips twitched. He leaned his head back against the squabs and shook with silent laughter. “You really are rather magnificent, are you not, Miss Lisle?”

  Chapter Seven

  One of the things that surprised Count von Meyer was that Otto had actually found a useful tool within the Austrian police. When Otto had boasted about this, Meyer had been convinced the police agent would, in fact, be passing everything Otto said on to his Austrian masters. But no, the boy seemed to have done something right. He’d found a discontented, amoral brute of an employee who’d have sold his own grandmother for a gulden. And one, moreover, with knowledge and influence.

  Happy to have given the man something to do, Meyer walked silently through the dark, insalubrious back streets, reaching a more respectable area of the city just as dawn began to lighten th
e sky.

  He found the livery stable favored by himself, Otto, and General Lisle already bustling. Hannes was already tending the white mare, brushing her in the dimly lit stall with such concentration that he didn’t hear Meyer enter or stand by the stall door.

  Without any greeting, Meyer said, “Why didn’t you tell me the girl was there?”

  Hannes jumped, though not, it seemed, through guilt. “I didn’t know she was. She looked as if she was going to bolt as soon as I left them. Couldn’t blame her. The prince was ripe for trouble.”

  Hannes would, Meyer thought dispassionately, have to die. Perhaps protecting his mistress. Trying to protect his mistress. Would the Austrian police even notice the death of a mere groom when their capital was full of kings and princes?

  “Keep her safe,” Meyer said, abruptly, and left the stall. Probably, they both knew that nothing in the world could keep Esther Lisle safe now.

  *

  Esther woke with the name “Garin” in her head and sat bolt upright in bed.

  “Garin,” she whispered.

  She supposed it spoke volumes for her shaken state that she hadn’t remembered until now hearing the name Garin before. Count von Meyer had spoken it while telling them of Otto’s natural brother, for whom Meyer and the police were searching, possibly because they suspected him of the prince’s murder.

  She dragged the backs of her hands over her cheeks in a gesture of distress. The man had kissed her. She’d let him kiss her and steal her reticule. Thank God she’d had the forethought to leave the documents in her trunk and stuff the bag with bills instead. On the other hand, he’d already seen them, or said he had. It might have been another ruse to induce her to give them up. He certainly hadn’t had time to study them in any detail.

  Deep inside, beneath her speculation, she was aware of a corrosive disappointment, because everything he’d said and done last night had been to get his hands on the papers.

  Then why had he returned them to her in the first place? Had it been to convince her to keep silent about them, to make her think he would deal properly with the entire problem? Would he?

  Of course not. More than probably, he isn’t even with the police! The man is a thief and a liar and, possibly, a murderer. And I have just crossed him.

  Her stomach lurched. Would she really be in danger from this man? If he’d killed Otto and tricked her into keeping quiet about it, why would he have given her his name, almost like an exchange for the reticule? Surely, he didn’t mean her ill?

  Was it all part of his pretense of needing her help? Had he just used her to keep word of Otto’s murder from reaching the authorities? She remembered he’d made no effort, actually, to catch the suspicious lurkers at Metternich’s masquerade.

  And would she even be thinking these things if he hadn’t told her he was called Garin? Other men must have the same name. Maybe, she thought wistfully, he really was trying to help her. But one thing was clear, she couldn’t rely on him or anyone else. Even Lord Harry had made no effort so far to take the documents from her as he’d promised. She had to sort out this mess herself.

  Baron von Hager, the police minister, was generally considered a decent man. She would take the documents to him, explain that she’d found them on her person with no idea who they belonged to, and assure him her father had nothing to do with them.

  He wouldn’t believe her, not after the trouble with Grassic selling documents.

  Lord Castlereagh, she thought with sudden inspiration. Surely no one would doubt the British Foreign Minister and delegate to the Congress! She would go round this morning and give him the documents, trust him to do what was best… And if he doubted her father? The general’s diplomatic career would be over and he’d be sent home in disgrace. And there was no guarantee any of Otto’s mess would be made right.

  With a groan, she dragged her fingers through her hair and tugged. The most important thing was surely that these papers of Otto’s ended up in the right hands and soon, in order to save Metternich’s life. Of secondary but still vital importance, was that neither the precarious Congress nor British interests were hurt by the discovery of the documents. After all, the mercenary Grassic had already hurt the British name.

  What if she visited Lady Castlereagh and just left the documents somewhere?

  No, she was too well known by the British who frequented the house. A connection could be made too easily.

  Where wouldn’t she be known, then? Where was too busy, too international for one woman to stand out?

  Her breath caught. The Hofburg. The Emperor’s palace. Not during a social event when anyone could find documents left lying around. But in the Emperor’s private apartments!

  “Maybe not,” she muttered, balking. But Metternich’s offices? Baron von Hager’s? She could pretend to be a maid, cleaning, and just leave the papers on his desk.

  Was that not what he had promised to do last night? More or less. It would, indeed, have been the perfect solution, if only she could trust him to do it, to be who he said he was. And she couldn’t. Would the son of the King of Kriegenstein, even the illegitimate son, really be earning his living as an agent of the Austrian police?

  Banishing the pointless speculation, she forced her mind to the Hofburg. How would she get in? During the Emperor’s balls one could, it was rumored, get in easily with a forged invitation, but the rest of the time, with several crowned heads of Europe staying there with their entourages, it was surely well-guarded, and she didn’t want to give her name or that of the person she wished to see.

  No, the simplest and best solution was to go directly to Baron Hager’s office in the Chancellery, located in one wing of the Hofburg, and just ask if a gentleman called Garin was on his staff. If so, she could surely follow her instincts and trust the man…even if he had kissed her in such a shocking way.

  Throwing off the memory before she was tempted to lie back down and dwell upon it, she pushed off the covers and jumped out of bed. Daylight was only just creeping under the shutters but there was enough to dress by. She chose an older, drab printed calico gown that she often travelled in, and a little-worn brown hat with a net veil she could draw down over her face. Although there was no point in hiding from spies on this trip, she didn’t particularly want it discussed in fashionable society that she’d been abroad without a chaperone at this time of the morning.

  Then, she stuffed yet another reticule from her dwindling collection with the documents she’d hidden under her pillow last night, fastened her old warm, discreet cloak around her shoulders, and quietly left the room.

  From the Imperial Hotel, it was just a short walk to the Hofburg at the inner city wall. The city was almost eerie at this time of day. Apart from a few tradesmen and servants scuttling about their business, or cleaning doorsteps, the streets were almost empty. The pale, morning sun rose over the magnificent, sleeping palace, but it looked more ominous than hopeful. She was too used to seeing it teeming with brilliantly dressed men and women, busy state functionaries and the carriages of the wealthy and powerful. She walked on to the grounds, which weren’t guarded against the lesser mortals in the city, through the oppressive quiet. She could have imagined she was the only person awake in the whole vicinity.

  Of course, she couldn’t be. There would be servants scurrying all over the palace, cleaning, polishing, washing, preparing for the day. Secretaries, administrators, even ministers, were no doubt busy about their affairs. At least, she hoped they were.

  Catching sight of a maid armed with a large sponge, leaning out of a ground floor window, Esther asked her for directions to the Chancellery. The girl responded cheerily and without surprise, and Esther’s heart began to beat faster as she wondered what she might discover about the mysterious Garin.

  *

  Count von Meyer was about to indulge in a few hours’ sleep after his labors of the night, when the vaguely familiar female voice outside his open window caused him to push his chair away from the desk and gaze downwar
d. The young woman, having obtained her directions, hurried out of his vision toward the Chancellery. Even veiled, he recognized her by her figure and her carriage and her quick, distinctive step.

  “What the devil are you about at the Chancellery?” Meyer wondered aloud. Whatever, there were limits to what he could do about it with such short notice. He could only hope she would find no one to see her at this hour, for right now, he could neither catch her nor silence her in time.

  On the other hand, if luck favored him and she found no one to confide in—supposing that was her intention—then it was probably time he did something. And her presence here was providential…

  Hastily, he seized his coat and hurried out of the door, around the corner to the passage windows, where Miss Lisle again came into his view.

  A couple of gaudy courtesans, giggling together over their night’s earnings, no doubt, weaved down the passage and past him.

  “Girl,” he said abruptly.

  They both looked back over their shoulders. Meyer crooked his finger. The girls exchanged glances, then the younger shrugged and swayed toward him while her companion went on her way.

  “Your Excellency,” she purred. “How may I serve you?”

  “Do you see that veiled lady down there?” Meyer said, pointing out of the window. “Take a good look at her. I want you to take her a note…”

  *

  “Miss Lisle.” Baron von Hager spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I hate to disappoint a lady, particularly one so young and beautiful, but I really cannot discuss my staff with anyone.”

  So much for the direct approach, Esther thought ruefully. “Then should I trust this man or not?”

  “Mademoiselle, it is a matter for your family, not for me!”

  “My family is less likely to know anything about a man called Garin than you are,” she said with a hint of tartness. “But I see that I must apologize for wasting your time.” She rose to her feet, and the baron stood with her.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “if you were explain to me this man’s connection to you, then I could more easily judge.”