Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) Read online

  “It’s done now.” As Vanya, he’d unconsciously let the Russian intonations more into his speech with her and, in fact, mostly they’d spoken in French, the generally accepted common language of the Congress. “I couldn’t come anywhere near you. Everyone was looking at you.”

  “Oh dear,” she said worriedly. “I’d hoped that was nonsense… None of this has gone according to plan, has it?”

  “Well, there’s the necklace,” he said, jangling the coins in his pocket as they walked across the square.

  It didn’t seem to comfort her, although she did glance up at him through the gloom with her eyes so big with worry that it was all he could do not to kiss her there and then. “What did you do? Did you scare her? Why was there no hue and cry after you? She didn’t look frightened…”

  “Stop worrying,” he said, leading her to a waiting fiacre for hire. “It was all quite civilized.”

  Lizzie stopped in her tracks, eyes widening. “She doesn’t know it’s gone,” she said in wonder. “You flim-flammed her!”

  He grinned. “Unladylike.”

  “But she will know it’s stolen?” Lizzie said anxiously. “Once she notices, I mean. She won’t just think it’s lost and blame herself?”

  “She won’t think it’s lost,” he assured her, handing her into the fiacre before he turned and spoke quietly to the driver.

  “Where are we going?” Lizzie demanded as soon as he joined her and the horses began to pull. “Do you have a buyer ready?”

  “At an inn just outside the city.”

  Lizzie frowned. “Really? I imagined some mean back street with thieves in every corner.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  In the pale light shining in from the coach lamps, she regarded him with some suspicion. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the bag in her lap. “You wouldn’t…let me down, would you, Johnnie?”

  Vanya sat back and stuck his hands in his pockets, meeting her gaze through the shadows. “What do you think?”

  She shivered slightly, hiding her moment of fear in a glare. He had to admire her courage. There weren’t many young ladies of her upbringing who could put themselves in such a situation, let alone deal with it as she was.

  She took a deep breath. “If you take advantage of me, I’ll kill you.”

  Vanya blinked. “Kill me? How are you going to do that?”

  “Pray you never find out,” she said loftily. “Stick to our agreement.”

  “I always meant to. If you insist on mean back streets, we’ll go there and hope for a decent-ish price, but my buyer will be at the inn and he’ll give us twice what any back-street fence would.”

  Lizzie searched his face and he held his breath, glad of the poor light but still waiting to be recognized.

  “You trusted me when I was drunk,” he observed, when she didn’t speak. “I’m a better man sober.”

  Her eyes fell. “I’m sorry. I suppose I just don’t feel very good about this whole plan now we’re actually doing it. I feel dishonest and…dirty.”

  “Don’t,” he said, leaning forward and touching her tense hands. “Who are you hurting? Not Ivan the Terrible and not your aunt. The necklace can make no real difference to your cousin’s chances of a good marriage. And I’m sure your father would have been happy to know you and your siblings will be comfortable.”

  “Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “He wasn’t a terribly responsible parent.”

  “He looked after Michael,” Vanya pointed out. “That is definitely in his favor.”

  “Yes, but in truth, although he didn’t object to having Michael with us, it was my mother who insisted on it when Michael’s mother died shortly after his birth. There was a bit of a scandal, I believe, but it didn’t touch us much in the country.”

  “Is your mother still alive?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No, she died some years ago.” Although she spoke matter-of-factly, a shadow of grief crossed her face. She squared her shoulders. “I think, after this, you should give up thieving.”

  “But I’ve only just begun to enjoy it,” Vanya protested.

  She gave a little choke of laughter, swiftly swallowed. “You won’t enjoy it when you’re caught,” she said severely. “Why don’t you use the money from this to begin some other trade? Do you have a family?”

  “I have a mother and several sisters.”

  “Maybe you should go home.”

  “I will. Eventually. I’ve a few things I need to do first.”

  “Not more thievery?” she asked with an anxiety that seemed genuine.

  He shrugged. “Just a little duty, a little sorting out and a little kicking.”

  “Kicking? You’re not going to hurt someone, are you?”

  “No one you know,” he soothed.

  “Well, I suppose that’s all right,” she said doubtfully. “If they deserve it.”

  “Oh, they do.”

  She leaned forward. “Tell me, Johnnie, did you know Madame Fischer before you stole her necklace?”

  Several evasions sprang to Vanya’s mind. He really didn’t want to get into a discussion about how, precisely, he knew Madame Fischer. In the end, he simply said, “Yes.”

  “What is she like? Is she a good person?”

  “On the whole I would say…why do you ask?”

  “Just because my cousin seems most smitten with her. And I’m not convinced she would be good for him.”

  “She wouldn’t,” Vanya said bluntly.

  “Because she’s married?”

  “No, that’s the one thing in her favor. She can’t marry anyone else.”

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. “You don’t think she’d commit bigamy with James, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. You told me his family isn’t wealthy.”

  “Ah.” Lizzie sat back, deep in thought.

  “Does he go to her house?” Vanya asked reluctantly.

  Lizzie nodded. “Is that bad?”

  “It would be better if he didn’t.”

  “Maybe I’ll go with him next time,” Lizzie said with a sigh.

  “Good God, no,” Vanya said with enough fervor to attract her astonished stare. “I’ll sort it out for you,” he promised recklessly.

  She regarded him, her head leaning slightly to one side. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be a thief, either,” she observed. “You’re much too good.”

  “No one’s ever called me that before,” he said with perfect truth.

  “What do they call you?”

  “Wastrel. Rakehell. Irresponsible. Reckless. Foolish.”

  “Are they desirable traits in a soldier? Because I don’t think Michael has any of those.”

  “No, they’re not. I wasn’t a bad soldier, though. It was always civilian life I messed up.”

  “Where did you fight?” she asked.

  “Oh, all over the place.” He nodded out of the window. “Look, we’re making good time while the city is quiet. We should be there soon.”

  If she noticed his rather blatant change of subject, perhaps she merely put it down to the understandable reticence of a thief, for she didn’t press him. She merely looked out of the window, allowing him to examine her profile without distraction.

  Hers was a much subtler beauty than her sister’s, he thought. And very different again from Sonia’s or Louise’s or any of the other women who’d passed through his erratic life. They were like a different species from her.

  It wasn’t even that he was in danger of placing Lizzie Gaunt on a pedestal—where she would be most uncomfortable. She just…stood out from the crowd. He wondered what she’d say or do if Johnnie the thief kissed her as Colonel Vanya had done. Would she finally connect the two?

  Really, he had to stop caring. He had only to get tonight over with and take her home with her money. After that, Johnnie could disappear. And sooner or later, she’d find out who Vanya was. Perhaps he’d be gone by then. To Russia or even England. Perhaps she’d remember him kindly in the end. Or
with spitting fury for his pretense.

  The fiacre was slowing, turning onto a quieter road. They were nearly there. Vanya thought he’d chosen pretty well. The inn was far enough off the beaten track and well-hidden enough to be a possible den of thieves. In fact, it was, so far as he could gather, a respectable house where Lizzie was unlikely to come to any harm.

  “You wait here,” Vanya said, as the fiacre pulled into the yard. “Stop the driver from abandoning us and heading back to Vienna without us.”

  “Just don’t pay him,” Lizzie advised with unexpected worldliness. She prepared to rise. “I’m coming with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Vanya said. “Unless you want to get a lower price once my buyer sees the aristocracy’s involved. Or worse, connects you to the crime.”

  Lizzie paused, her hand already on the door.

  “I won’t run away with it,” Vanya assured her. “This is the only way out, so you may watch just as well from the comfort of the carriage.”

  With obvious reluctance, Lizzie sat back down. “You won’t be long, will you?”

  “A quarter of an hour, no more.” He winked at her. “Hold on to your hat. It’s nearly finished.”

  He jumped down from the fiacre, gave the driver instructions to wait for him and to have a care for his passenger still inside, and strolled across the courtyard to the house. He crossed with the ostler who approached to see what the horses’ needs were.

  Vanya entered the inn and turned into the taproom. Misha rose silently from the table nearest the door. Vanya nodded to him and jerked his head toward the door. Still wordless, Misha went out to keep watch on Lizzie as they’d agreed in this eventuality. There was another plan for Misha to play the buyer, should Lizzie have insisted on accompanying him inside.

  Vanya stretched out his legs, smiled at the buxom girl approaching him, and ordered a beer.

  *

  Lizzie was only too aware that she was out of her depth. Worse, her mind had developed a wayward habit of slipping away from the present to dwell on the unsettling encounter with the masked Colonel Vanya at the ball. An odd way to receive her first kiss. Well, her first serious kiss. She didn’t count the rather embarrassing lunge of Maurice, the vicar’s son, when they were both eighteen. She’d boxed Maurice’s ears and that had been the end of the matter. But for some reason, she’d had no inclination to slap Colonel Vanya or, indeed, to stop him at all.

  The Russian officer had been fun, cloaked in an air at once dashing and self-deprecating, experienced and devil-may-care. And although he’d taken liberties, there had never been any doubt that she could dismiss him whenever she chose. When she finally had, he’d stopped. Her heart smote her at the memory of his eyes at that moment. She touched her lips, wondering…

  Outside, the inn door creaked open again and a man mooched out. Not Johnnie, but a smaller, fair man with exotic whiskers and a leather jerkin. He leaned against the wall of the house and lit a pipe. Getting some air, perhaps, because he’d drunk too much ale? Or…Lizzie’s heart beat at the thought….a lookout making sure no police interfered with the transaction Johnnie was making on her behalf.

  Another vehicle bowled quietly into the courtyard, an undistinguished trap driven by a nondescript man in a peaked cap. He got down, gave the reins to the ostler and walked toward the inn. Without any obvious interest, he spared a glance at Lizzie’s waiting fiacre, then went inside, ignoring the smoking man who watched him.

  Lizzie was aware she had too great a tendency to trust. And now that she thought of it, she knew no more about Johnnie than she did about the stranger who’d just entered the inn after him—the buyer?—or the man who propped up the inn wall near the door.

  Would Johnnie just take the money and run? He owed her nothing.

  At any rate, it simply wasn’t in her nature to sit here and do nothing. With sudden decision, she opened the fiacre door, clutching her carpet bag, and jumped down.

  “All good, Miss?” the driver asked.

  “Oh yes. Just getting some air,” she said. “I won’t be long.”

  Just long enough to walk around the building and make sure Johnnie wasn’t lying about there being other exits. She hurried out of the lit courtyard around the side of the house. Some of the light followed her, more shone out from the inn windows, so it wasn’t pitch dark. On the other hand, she couldn’t see very much as she blundered around the building.

  Behind her, something cracked and shuffled, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Was someone following her? If so, she couldn’t go back for fear of running into them. Trying not to panic, she hurried on her way as fast as she dared, hugging the wall of the house.

  She did, at least, discover one other door, apparently leading out from the kitchen. A pig was asleep in a small pen with a pile of her babies. The mother opened one eye and snorted. Lizzie hurried on, looking around her. If Johnnie did come out that door, there was nowhere obvious for him to go except over the back wall into fields, and she couldn’t really imagine there was much point in him doing that. So it seemed her suspicions were unjustified. Only…

  Behind her, she heard nothing. She wondered if her sense of another presence there was pure imagination. When she finally fought her way through a large rose bush back into the front yard, the fiacre was still waiting. The new arrival’s pony and trap had been taken into the stable, and the smoking man had vanished—back inside? Or behind her, following her…

  Another crack, a swish and a breath of annoyance from the rose bush at the side of the house, told her what she needed to know. Someone had followed her. With sudden decision, she swerved away from the fiacre and inside the inn. She was undoubtedly safer among people.

  *

  The man known as Agent Z was, in fact, a police officer, who had risen through the ranks to be one of Baron Hager’s most trusted lieutenants. He’d done so by a mixture of intelligence and diligence and an instinctive perception that led him to the heart of most cases. Since the Congress had come to Vienna, this perception had been vital in cutting through the mountain of information dumped on him by his many spies, new and old, to those few snippets of information that actually mattered to his country and his Emperor.

  Major Blonsky’s accusation against Colonel Savarin was one of those few which interested him enough to merit further investigation by himself. He was only too aware that getting such a thing wrong could cause havoc, not to mention embarrassment. But if it were true, then Austria needed a countermeasure.

  Agent Z doubted that it was true. Blonsky’s personal hatred of Savarin was obvious and the choice of an indiscreet, womanizing Cossack commander as the tsar’s go-between to the British didn’t make much sense either. On the other hand, many of the tsar’s choices baffled Agent Z and no one had ever questioned Savarin’s loyalty or bravery. Discreet inquiries had revealed that he was something of a hero in Russia, considered an intelligent commander by both his superiors and his men, which was rare enough to make him worthy of further investigation.

  So, although Z suspected Blonsky’s accusation came from a desire to say something to earn his fee and get Z off his back, while at the same time paying off old scores, the connection between Savarin and Jeremy Daniels’ niece did give it a certain vague credence.

  The niece was certainly up to something. She’d been observed leaving her home alone and had been followed to the Hofburg where Z had himself seen her with Colonel Savarin. He’d watched them vanish together into an alcove, which may have been an amorous assignation, as perhaps was this.

  Z had witnessed the couple meet again outside the Hofburg and hurry into the fiacre, which he’d followed in his own waiting vehicle, throwing off his domino and mask and donning a peaked cap and a tatty overcoat, instead.

  The inn was an odd place for a lovers’ tryst…and he’d seen at once that the girl waited alone in the fiacre. As if they were returning to Vienna tonight. On the other hand, Z clocked the colonel’s servant leaning against the wall outside, smo
king, as if keeping watch. So what the devil was Savarin doing in the inn?

  Drinking beer. He sat alone and looked perfectly comfortable, his elegant legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. Z did what he did best, melted into the crowd, insignificant and unnoticed, while he observed his prey.

  He learned nothing, until the girl came in. Savarin glanced up without interest, as did everyone else, then leapt to his feet with almost comical speed. The surrounding noise of talk and laughter died down as the other denizens of the taproom blinked at the sight of a clearly noble young woman, however ill-dressed, in their midst.

  The girl halted inside the door, her eyes searching the room. They skimmed over Z, glimmered with rather worrying recognition—Z wasn’t used to being recognized by anyone—and moved on to Savarin with some relief.

  Savarin was already starting toward her.

  “What is it?” he demanded in English, taking her arm and spinning her around to face the door once more.

  “Someone was following me,” she hissed.

  “Following you where?”

  “Around the building in the dark.”

  “I thought we’d agreed you should stay put in the fiacre.” The colonel sounded harassed and more than a little frustrated.

  “It was hardly a solemn and binding oath,” the girl retorted.

  “Well, never mind, we can go now.”

  “Really? Is it done?”

  “Of course it is. I was just finishing my beer.”

  That definitely interested Z. What was done? And when? Z couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes behind Savarin and the Russian hadn’t said or done anything in that time. Z could almost have imagined he’d been escaping for five minutes from a nagging wife, only the man’s posture was all wrong: hovering, protective rather than truly annoyed to be discovered. And yet, Z was fairly sure Savarin had just lied to her.

  His nose told him something was going on here. And he needed to know if it was important or just some amorous intrigue that hurt no one but the participants.

  “Where is it?” the girl whispered.

  Savarin patted his pocket once and Z knew he had to see whatever was there.

  “Put it in my bag,” the girl instructed.