The Reckless Bride

by Stephanie Laurens

It was a long stairway. Going up took longer than coming down; he had plenty of time to think about his current obsession.

  Last night, having accepted that he would have to play the part of courier-guide to Loretta as well as Esme all the way to England, he’d lain in bed and lectured himself on the folly of being distracted by a pretty face, a pair of fine eyes, and a lushly tempting body. He’d reaffirmed the importance of his mission, then had closed his eyes and slept—and dreamed of making very slow love to a goddess with lustrous dark hair and periwinkle eyes.

  This morning he’d assured himself, dreams notwithstanding, that he was strong enough to deal with Miss Michelmarsh in the flesh; she was just another young lady after all. The strength of his attraction to her was merely a reflection of how long it had been since he’d seen any young lady worth lusting after; it would fade with time.

  It hadn’t faded yet.

  If anything, it had grown. And not because of anything physical—like glimpsing her bare ankle or more of her breasts. No. It was a combination of her reaction to him—that subtle leap of her senses, of her pulse and her awareness, that occurred every time he, however innocently, touched her.

  He knew it, felt it, every time, and the knowledge pricked his awareness of her—the intensity of his senses’ focus on her—to new heights.

  And as if that weren’t enough, she was proving something of a puzzle. A mystery. There was something behind herchoice of sights, something that drove her strangely intent interests.

  Some mystery cause that lit a fire of enthusiasm inside her.

  That fire drew him.

  It transformed her from a merely interesting young woman to a vibrant young woman of mysterious allure.

  Back in the antechamber, they collected Rose and Hassan, and strolled back to the castle gates. Rafe paid off the guide, tipping him generously. Falling in behind Loretta as they walked to their carriage, he heard her tell Rose of the labyrinth. Even though he’d seen it himself, Loretta’s words brought it alive, casting it in a gothicly fanciful light that wasn’t entirely fictitious.

  Once back in the carriage, they rolled on up Castle Hill to Loretta’s next halt—the fisherman’s town. Or, more precisely, the spot that gave an extraordinary view of Buda, Pest, and the Danube between. Descending from the carriage, they strolled the path that curved along the ridge high on the hill, watching various folk from the fishing community pointing to this boat or that, bandying views on the likely catch.

  The views both up and down the river were spectacular. Although chilly, the day was clear, with only a few slate gray clouds hovering on the horizon. River breezes kept the air fresh, sweeping away the sulfurous taint of coal smoke from the town below. Rafe noticed the latter only because he saw Loretta, strolling beside him, lift her head and sniff. She seemed to be concentrating on every little thing, as if taking an inventory so she could describe the scene accurately.

  Perhaps she kept a travel journal.

  Regardless, it was time to return to the hotel for luncheon. He gathered Hassan with a look, and Hassan brought Rose. Rafe reached for Loretta’s elbow—felt her start when his fingers closed about her arm. When she shot him a narrow-eyed look, he merely said, “We should get back to the hotel.”

  He steered her to their carriage, released her, but offered his hand as he opened the door with the other.

  She considered his hand for an instant before steeling herself and placing her fingers in his.

  Pretending he didn’t notice the leap of her pulse, the hitch in her breathing, he helped her into the carriage. Moments later, they were all inside and the carriage started its lumbering journey down the hill.

  Head back against the squabs, eyes apparently closed, through the fringe of his lashes he watched Loretta, this time sitting opposite him. For half the journey back, she peered out at the steetscapes, concentrating as if fixing the various styles of architecture in her mind.

  Her observational intensity impressed him, and tickled his curiosity. It was too acute to be innate, yet looked to be something of a habit.

  When the carriage reached the Castle quarter, an area with which she was already familiar, she turned to him. He opened his eyes, met hers.

  “You mentioned before, when speaking of the villages in India, that they often had no council to run them. How do they manage community decisions, then?”

  It wasn’t the sort of question he would expect a young lady to ask, yet it fitted with the thrust of her earlier interest in his observations of India. So he answered, and let her interest lead her to ask further questions.

  When the carriage drew up outside the hotel, he stepped down. After a survey of the street revealed no cultists lurking, he handed her down and escorted her inside. Climbing the stairs in her wake, he debated asking why she was so interested in social customs, but decided the time was not yet.

  She wouldn’t tell him yet.

  Lengthening his stride, he closed the distance between them. As she neared the door to the suite, he reached around her and opened it.

  She gave the smallest of jumps. From close quarters she met his eyes, her own a touch wide, then she raised her chin, haughtily inclined her head, and swanned in.

  Lips curving fractionally, he followed.

  He bided his time through luncheon, then, leaving Hassan with Rose at the hotel, he and Loretta set off once more in the carriage. This time, she asked to be driven into Pest. As they rolled off the bridge over the Danube, he glimpsed two cultists idly watching the carriages rumbling onto the bridge, heading toward Buda. Neither cultist saw him.

  He looked at Loretta. “What are you planning on seeing this afternoon?”

  She glanced at the notes in her lap. “According to the guidebook, if we stay on this road, we’ll see many of the mansions of the local aristocracy.”

  “Do you intend making calls, or just looking?”

  “Just looking.” She glanced out of the window, but at the moment the street was lined with shops. “Ah—there’s the museum.”

  She peered at the structure as the carriage slowly rolled past.

  “Are you a student of architecture, then?”

  She blinked at him, then sat back. “No, I’m"—she waved a vague hand—"merely interested in such things.”

  “Museums or buildings?”

  “Both.” After a moment, she amended, “I’m interested in buildings that are museums, churches, castles, and the like.”

  “And the houses of aristocrats?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  She glanced at him, then looked out of the window again. “I just am.”

  And he would eat his busby, fur and all, if that were the truth.

  She sat forward when the carriage obligingly slowed as a succession of large mansions came into view. Set well back from the road behind iron fences, the houses were of much the same ilk as those lining Park Lane.

  When he said so, she nodded. “Very true.” But she was absorbed again, distracted again.

  He seized the moment to study her face, drank in the finefeatures, the delicacy of her brows, the luscious curve of her lips. Looking wasn’t dangerous; it might even dull the growing compulsion to taste those lips….

  The carriage rumbled on, turned, then rumbled back. As they neared the bridge and the spot where he’d seen the cultists, he shifted deeper into the shadows. Tensed as the paving leading to the bridge rang beneath the horses’ hooves. The end of the bridge came into view, then receded as the horses trotted on.

  The cultists had gone, leaving the question of whether they would recognize him or not untested.

  Once back in Buda, the carriage turned away from Castle Hill and the embankment below it onto a road that followed the river.

  The Rudas Baths sat in a strip of land between the next hill along and the Danube. Esme and Gibson were waiting in the foyer; they came out when Rafe descended from the carriage in the portico. He helped both in, then followed, sitting beside Gibson, facing Esme.
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  As the carriage headed back toward the hotel, Esme heaved a richly satisfied sigh. “I had a lovely day, my dears—how was yours?”

  After a moment, Loretta said, “We covered all the sights I wished to see. An uneventful, but successful day.”

  She glanced at Rafe, as did Esme.

  He briefly met Loretta’s eyes, then transferred his gaze to Esme. “My day was … surprisingly entertaining.”

  Surprisingly intriguing. He now had more questions than he’d had that morning, and an even greater desire to learn the answers.

  The next morning their party boarded the Uray Princep.

  With the big riverboat tied up at the wharf directly down the hill from the hotel, transferring Esme, Loretta, the two maids, and their collective baggage to the docks in safety wasn’t all that difficult; getting them on board was another matter.

  At that hour the docks were a hive of activity; with crowds of thronging passengers, and sailors and porters swarming everywhere, onto boats and off, with this trunk, then that, ferried on or ferried off, the confusion was close to absolute. Rafe felt as if he were trying to look everywhere at once.

  “I haven’t seen any cultists.” Hassan paused by Rafe’s side.

  Loretta, standing before him, her way blocked by passengers milling before the gangplank, glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen any either.”

  Rafe looked down, met her eyes. “If you do, tell one of us. Immediately.”

  She merely arched her brows and faced forward again.

  He grimly shifted his weight. Far from easing his obsession, dwelling on her lips the previous afternoon had only resulted in even more salacious dreams. And even greater resulting tension.

  Especially given she was making it plain that although she was as attracted to him as he was to her, she had no interest in encouraging him.

  He wasn’t conceited, yet he wondered why.

  Yet another question he had no chance of answering. At least, not yet.

  Finally losing patience—they were at a dead halt—with no imminent danger looming he deserted his post guarding the ladies’ rear, and leaving Hassan to hold that position, shouldered his way past the gaggle of porters bearing their luggage, then, exploiting his height and the width of his shoulders, cleaved a path through the melee to the gangplank. Once there, he stood like a bulwark and waved their porters past him, then followed the last up onto the boat.

  Crewmen materialized to relieve the porters of their loads. As Rafe stepped on board, the purser came hurrying up, a board with various lists attached in his hands.

  “Lady Congreve’s party,” Rafe announced. He glanced at the first list as the man scanned it. “And Jordan and Rivers—the last two names. We’re her ladyship’s guide and guard.”

  “Ah—yes, sir.” The purser lifted the top sheet and looked at the one beneath—a plan of the cabins.

  “In the circumstances, we’ll need to be as close to her ladyship’s rooms as possible.” Rafe’s tone brooked no argument. His hand passed over the purser’s board; a large-denomination gold coin fell onto the top list.

  After a second’s hesitation, the board tipped. The coin slid off and disappeared; the purser glanced up, met Rafe’s gaze, then studied the cabin plan again. “Lady Congreve has booked the main stateroom. We can place you in the next cabin along on one side, and her guard in the cabin opposite. Getting to her ladyship’s cabin will mean passing both your doors. Will that suit?”

  Rafe smiled charmingly. “Admirably.” He flicked the man another coin, which he deftly caught. Turning to the gangplank, Rafe saw Esme being assisted up it. “That’s her ladyship now.”

  The instant Esme set foot on deck, cabin boys appeared and she, Loretta, and their maids were escorted below with all due ceremony. Leaving Hassan on watch, Rafe followed, but as soon as he’d confirmed the women were safely ensconced in their stateroom, he climbed up, not to the main deck where they’d boarded and Hassan stood on guard, but further up to the observation deck at the prow of the ship.

  All the other passengers were still below, settling into their cabins. Rafe found a wooden chair, pulled it to the rail, and sat. He could see out between the wooden rails, but the high side of the boat largely hid him from view, and while he was seated it was difficult to tell that he was tall.

  The sights and sounds of the river embraced him. He watched, but saw no sign of cultists near the ship, or anywhere on the docks, not even keeping watch over the docks and the boats putting in and out. Sloppy picket work on the cultists’ part; the Black Cobra wouldn’t be pleased.

  He, on the other hand, was quietly delighted.

  A heavy bell clanged, and with a flurry of activity from the crew, the Uray Princep‘s gangplank rattled aboard, theanchor chain clanked and groaned, then a rear sail was hoisted, and oars extended from the embankment side and pushed the heavy boat out into the current.

  Rafe felt the river take hold. He scanned the shores as under the steady thrust of oars, the Uray Princep pushed steadily on, and the roofs of Buda slowly fell behind.

  When the river mist obscured the town, he stood, stretched, then ambled around the upper deck, taking note of the various ladders and doors, then headed down the wooden stairs he’d come up.

  The Uray Princep carried both passengers and goods. The boat had three decks above the waterline. The upper deck contained the passengers’ observation deck, which extended from the prow to the front of the centrally located raised bridge; other than the bridge which overlooked it, the observation deck was the highest part of the boat.

  The next deck down was the main deck, half of which was given over to the passengers; Rafe found an elegantly appointed salon in the prow, with a narrow bar between it and the dining salon beyond, where cabin boys were setting tables with white cloths and cutlery.

  From the clatter of pans and the smells issuing forth, the galley lay beyond the dining salon. Opposite the bar, the staircase, a solid, well-polished wooden stair, not a narrow ladder, led up to the observation deck and down to the passengers’ cabins.

  Only the main deck had an outer walkway on which one could circle the ship. After chatting to the purser and confirming that the rear half of the main deck was the domain of the crew and out of bounds to passengers, Rafe returned to the stairs and went down to the cabin deck.

  There, a single corridor ran down the boat’s center, from the main stateroom in the prow, the one Esme’s party now inhabited, to a door toward the rear of the vessel. Rafe strode down the dim corridor, hearing voices behind most doors he passed. Reaching the end door, he tried it, and found it locked and bolted. Most likely the captain’s cabin and crew’squarters lay beyond, reached from a stern companionway.

  Satisfied he’d established the general layout of the vessel, Rafe strolled back up the corridor to the first single cabin on the starboard side, immediately alongside the stateroom door. His bags sat on the narrow berth inside.

  According to the purser, the passengers’ first event was a gathering in the salon in half an hour to meet with the captain and their fellow travelers.

  The captain, a jovial man, welcomed them with a toast to a pleasant voyage, then remained to chat as in a soireelike atmosphere, the passengers exchanged names, home cities, and destinations. All the other passengers, four couples, were German or Austrian, and all were making for Vienna to enjoy the festive season there.

  Their various attendants hung back, chatting among themselves near the stairs. Rafe exchanged a glance with Hassan, but doubted there was any danger lurking among either the passengers or their staffs. Leaving Esme chatting avidly to a German couple from Frankfurt, with Loretta supporting her, he made his way to the captain’s side.

  After introducing himself as Esme’s courier-guide and exchanging various innocuous comments, he asked, “Your crew—have they been with you long? Or do they change frequently, take work on different boats to see different countries?”

  The captain laughed. “Not my crew. We’ve been
together for years.”

  “No newcomers?”

  “I haven’t had to find a new hand in years, for which I thank the gods. It can be difficult when one has a solid team used to each other’s ways.”

  The captain turned as another passenger approached. After shaking hands and exchanging names, Rafe excused himself and moved on.

  From the corner of her eye, Loretta watched him. Realizing the captain had been his goal, she’d followed him acrossthe room and stopped to chat to another group of passengers nearby—near enough to overhear his conversation with the captain.

  On the one hand she was relieved to know he was taking guarding against the cult so seriously, while on the other she was insatiably curious over what he did and why. Curious about his mission, its mechanics and logistics.

  She told herself it was her investigative streak—that she was gathering information that might, at some later date, prove useful for her writings. An excuse she refused to examine too closely.

  Biding her time, she eventually spoke with the captain, finding him a sane and sensible man, then continued her examination of the other passengers.

  It was nearing time for luncheon when she paused in the prow, where the salon narrowed to a point. To her surprise, Rafe joined her. She had until then kept a sensible distance, continuing to tell herself that her reaction to him would eventually fade and die.

  Clearly that eventuality had yet to occur; as the space between them shrank, her lungs seized and her nerves flickered, then sparked.

  Thankfully oblivious, he halted beside her, glanced over the other guests, then turned to her. “Do you sense any threat from any of the other passengers or their staffs?”

  She blinked. “No.” She frowned. “Why do you think I would?”

  “Because you observe everyone and everything so closely. If there were anything amiss, you’d sense it.”

  An unaccustomed feeling blossomed inside her; she felt chuffed that he’d noticed and considered her observations useful. She glanced at the other passengers. “They are what they purport to be—just travelers looking forward to enjoying a short cruise.” Then she frowned. “Do you think it possible—”