The Reckless Bride

by Stephanie Laurens

“All right.” He glanced at Hassan, then at Esme. “Just the Primate’s Palace, then back.”

  “Of course, dear boy.” Esme beamed. “Whatever you decree.”

  A strong commander would not have been swayed by such frivolous arguments. On the other hand, the wisest commandersrescripted their plans to gain the most out of every situation.

  Rafe told himself he’d been wise. He fully intended to put his foot down and ensure Esme, Loretta, and the two maids remained safely aboard whenever danger threatened. As it happened, there didn’t appear to be any overt danger in Pressburg.

  Strolling behind Esme and Loretta as their party was conducted through the Primate’s Palace by a helpful custodian, Rafe was glad he’d chosen the course of wisdom. Not only was Loretta fully reengaged, energized and eagerly putting shrewd and insightful questions to the custodian, but contrary to every expectation he’d had, he, too, found the palace’s history of interest.

  “And this,” the custodian pushed open a pair of doors, their intricate carving heavily gilded, “is the room where Napoleon and King Francis the Second met. It was after Napoleon’s victory at Austerlitz. King Francis had little choice.” Preceding them into the chamber, the custodian waved at an ornate table and two chairs. “They sat there, Napoleon on one side with his generals arrayed behind him, and behind them the standard-bearers with many of their legions’ eagles, and on this side, King Francis with his three advisors.”

  The custodian knew his history. Either that, or he had an excellent imagination. His descriptions of the signing, in vivid and exact detail, brought the moment to life.

  When the custodian came to the end of his recitation, Rafe blinked back to the present, then glanced at Esme. She seemed interested, but unmoved. Beyond Esme, however, Loretta looked as enthralled as he’d felt.

  With the high point of the tour behind them, they walked back through the long corridors to the door through which they’d entered.

  Loretta chatted and exclaimed, her imagination fired by all she’d seen and felt. Esme, however, was clearly thinking of other things, and appeared to respond to her comments at random.

  Exasperated, Loretta finally turned to their courier-guide. “You fought against Napoleon. Did you not feel a lingering sense that matters of great import had occurred in that room?”

  For a moment, she thought he would scoff and dismiss the idea as a fanciful feminine notion, but after studying her face, he said, “Not ghosts of the people involved but a shade, a lingering shadow of destiny?”

  “Yes! That’s it.” A lingering shadow of destiny. She could use those words. They perfectly encapsulated what she’d sensed.

  Feeling thoroughly vindicated, she walked on. If a male like Rafe Carstairs could sense the echoes in that room, then she was hardly imagining things. She was sure she could fashion a truly engaging vignette on the importance to history of maintaining places that had hosted great change—like the Primate’s Palace—and not letting them decay or fall victim to lack of care, like the castle.

  “Did you ever see Napoleon?” She glanced at Rafe.

  “Not close—only in the distance in the wake of Waterloo.”

  “How did he appear—like an all-powerful emperor or a petty tyrant?”

  “I only saw him that once, after the battle. He looked … lost.” After a moment he went on, “The edifice he’d fought all his life to build had come tumbling down about his ears—for good and all, that time. He was a smallish man, and when I saw him he was on foot, with Wellington, Blücher, and the other generals around him. Napoleon looked like a tradesman who found himself in the company of kings.”

  They reached the door and took leave of the custodian. Loretta was especially effusive. Rafe smiled and gave the man a respectable donation toward the palace’s upkeep. Giving Esme his arm, he assisted her down the steps to where the carriage they’d hired waited to return them to the wharves. Hassan materialized and opened the door.

  Rafe helped Esme in, then turned and offered Loretta his hand.

  She looked at it, hesitated, then set her fingers in his.

  They both felt the connection—the sensual spark—when he closed his fingers about hers.

  She raised her eyes to his; her chin firmed, but then she inclined her head and allowed him to help her up the carriage steps.

  The two maids were already inside. Rafe turned to Hassan.

  “I’ll travel with the driver and keep watch,” Hassan said.

  Rafe nodded and followed Loretta into the carriage.

  They spotted no cultists on the way back to the boat. However, because they were so alert, Rafe and Hassan noticed two men, locals by their dress, loitering in the shadow of one of the warehouses lining the wharf.

  Their party had descended from the hired carriage at the top of the wharf, and walked the fifty yards to where the Uray Princep bobbed on the gentle river swell. The men’s attention had fixed on their group the instant they’d set foot on the wharf. While there were many men of all types going in and out of the nearby warehouses and back and forth along the wooden wharf, all except the two loiterers had a clear purpose.

  Hassan remained on guard at the bottom of the gangplank while Rafe helped Esme, then Loretta, aboard, then Hassan watched over the two maids as they followed their mistresses onto the boat.

  Neither Rafe nor Hassan had given any sign that they had seen the two men hovering in the shadows. With a tip of his head, Rafe summoned Hassan on board. As the big Pathan joined him, he murmured, “The observation deck.”

  They went up. Hunkering down by the boat’s side, they watched the men through the rails; the pair gave no sign of noticing them. While the ladies took tea in the salon below, they watched the two men talk and grin—waited to see ifthe pair paid as much attention to the other passengers returning to the Uray Princep as they had to their party.

  But the men appeared disinterested in anyone else.

  “Not good,” Rafe said as, with the light fading to an early winter’s dusk, the two watchers stood, stretched, and with one last look at the Uray Princep, disappeared down an alley between two warehouses.

  “Could the cult have hired locals to act for them?” Hassan asked.

  Rafe grimaced. “It’s possible. We’ll have to remain on guard.”

  They divided the remaining hours of the day as well as the night; one of them would always be on watch, armed and alert. While Hassan went downstairs to nap, Rafe walked to the other side of the deck and looked out at the river, at the forests stretching away as far as he could see.

  He looked east, toward England.

  He had a mission to complete. That was his priority. Pursuing Loretta Michelmarsh was less urgent.

  Seeing the men sent to watch their party had reinforced that fact, had readjusted his focus.

  Had reminded him of his goal.

  Despite the slowness of his journey, he didn’t have time to indulge his fascination with a young lady who, it seemed, didn’t actually want him to be interested in her.

  Loretta noticed the change. Finally alone in her cabin with the boat silent around her, she paced, and wondered.

  During dinner and the gathering in the salon afterward, Rafe’s attention had appeared tightly focused elsewhere.

  Outward. Outside the boat.

  The deflection of his attention was similar to when he and Hassan had been expecting attack from cultists in Buda, but the intensity was heightened, honed, more controlled and absolute.

  Added to that, Hassan had not been present at dinner. When she’d remarked on his absence, Rafe had merely said that Hassan had eaten earlier.

  Esme had noticed the shifting currents, too. When she’d asked if anything were amiss, Rafe had denied it, passing off his increased watchfulness as merely being on guard.

  “Huh!” Loretta swung around. “Something must have happened, but what?”

  She hadn’t seen anything; neither had Rose or Gibson. She was sure Esme hadn’t either. So what had caused the change?
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  “I should be glad of it. At least he’s no longer watching me.” She kicked her skirts out of her way. “And it’s reassuring to know he’s paying attention to his mission and its attendant dangers—as he should.”

  She knew she should mean that, yet…. “Damn it! What a time to revert to being just a guard.”

  After their afternoon’s excursion, she’d wanted to reengage. To learn more. Not just about that astonishing kiss and what it might mean, but more about him—the man who’d understood what she’d meant enough to label it the shadow of destiny.

  Instead, he’d drawn back, shifted focus, and if she were honest, she missed his attention. Missed the warmth of his gaze resting on her, missed looking up and finding him watching her as if he wanted to know all her secrets.

  She missed the teasing exchanges. Even though she hadn’t appreciated them at the time, she’d found them stimulating in an intellectual way.

  She missed looking up and meeting his gaze, seeing warmth and laughter in the soft blue.

  Halting, she frowned at the wall. Yes, she’d been less than encouraging—positively discouraging—that morning. He was entirely justified in drawing back from her.

  She’d never engaged in any such interactions before, but she suspected that if she wanted his attention back, enough at least so she could learn what the unexpected connection between them—a connection she could hardly deny after that scorching, mind-scrambling kiss—portended, it might be up to her to make the next move.

  Whatever that might be.

  She felt a tad ridiculous—twenty-four years old and with less experience than a giddy girl of seventeen—but if she wanted to learn more, then it behooved her to make some attempt to reinstigate their … connection.

  It was full dark; by now the rest of the ship’s company would have retired to their berths. Pulling on her pelisse, she opened her door, then slipped through and out of the stateroom and headed for the observation deck.

  She needed her customary stroll, and she felt certain Rafe would be up on the deck.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, she emerged into the darkness, turned, and saw him by the rail. The moon was hidden by heavy clouds; he was no more than a denser shadow against the fluid ink of the river beyond, yet she knew it was him.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  From the other shadow’s height, she guessed it was Hassan standing alongside him.

  They’d heard her and turned.

  She hesitated.

  Rafe left the rail and silently crossed to her.

  In the dim light, she could barely make out his features.

  “In the circumstances, while we’re tied up in a town, you shouldn’t come up on deck at night. I suggest you return below.”

  She wanted to ask what circumstances, but his tone was that of an officer used to command; he might have couched it as a request but it was indeed an order. “I just wanted to take my usual constitutional,” she replied.

  “You’ll have to pace below.”

  Her eyes had adjusted; just as there was no give in his voice, there was none in his features. She felt rebellious, considered refusing.

  “Neither Hassan nor I need the distraction of you strolling the deck while we’re on guard and there’s a possibility of attack. Please—go below.”

  The “please” worked. She swallowed a sigh, inclined her head, then turned and went back down the stairs.

  It wasn’t fair to make guarding them more difficult. He and Hassan weren’t out there because they wanted to be up all night.

  She was slipping back into her room when she registered what he’d said.

  The more she considered it, she was perfectly certain her strolling the deck wouldn’t distract Hassan.

  The following morning, somewhat to Loretta’s surprise Rafe made no attempt to dissuade her and Esme from their proposed excursion to take in more of the town’s sights.

  A number of riverboats had tied up at the main wharf. Their party passed numerous other visitors as they strolled the town’s streets. Despite Rafe’s and Hassan’s increased tension, no threat seemed likely with so many others around.

  They ambled through the Grassalkovich Palace and the Archiepiscopal Palace, admiring the architecture and ornate furnishings, then stopped at a picturesque inn for lunch.

  While Loretta, Esme, Rose, and Gibson chatted about what they’d seen, Rafe and Hassan continued grimly silent, constantly surveying their surroundings. But all remained calm and serene.

  When they emerged into the pale light of the winter’s afternoon, Esme halted and glanced around. “Just the cathedral, I think, then we can return to the boat for afternoon tea.” With her cane, she waved at the tall spire of St. Martin’s Cathedral.

  The cathedral was only five minutes’ gentle stroll away. One half of the cathedral’s double doors stood open; they passed into the quiet, reverential gloom of a wood-paneled foyer, then walked along beside a heavily carved screen to the entrance to the nave.

  Soaring arches and massive beams framed the cathedral’s roof and led the eye to the stained-glass window behind the altar. With Esme beside her, Loretta slowly walked downthe nave, taking note of the richly appointed pews, the jewel-toned runners and crimson prayer cushions. The altar was draped with a fabulous altarpiece of fine linen embroidered with gold thread. Atop it sat two massive candlesticks flanked by two chalices.

  She and Esme went straight to the altar to examine the gold-thread embroidery more closely. Rose and Gibson followed at their heels.

  Rafe hung back in the foyer, but after one last glance at the open door, he motioned Hassan on, and reluctantly started down the aisle. The church was solid stone; while footsteps were easy to hear inside, it was well nigh impossible to hear anyone approaching the church door, and that door appeared to be their only exit to the street. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation, but was even less comfortable allowing too much distance between him and Hassan and their charges. Inwardly grimacing, he walked slowly down the aisle.

  He and Hassan were scanning the choir stalls behind the altar when a sound drew their attention to a chapel to the right of the nave.

  Four men emerged from the shadows.

  Two were the loiterers from the wharf the day before.

  Rafe swore and started down the nave at a run.

  None of the four men brandished weapons, yet their threat was clear as they rushed toward the women, presumably to seize them as hostages.

  Even as the thought formed, Rafe saw Loretta and Esme whisk themselves around the altar, pulling Rose and Gibson with them.

  He had time to offer one word of thanks for quick-thinking women before the four men, now in a loose line in front of the altar, swung to face him and Hassan.

  Neither he nor Hassan slowed. Leading with one shoulder, elbow braced, they allowed their momentum to carry them into the men.

  The man Rafe collided with slammed back against thealtar. His head snapped back, hitting solid marble, then his legs buckled and he slid down to the floor. The man Hassan collided with fared similarly.

  One of the two attackers left standing snarled, and swung a hamlike fist at Rafe’s head. Rafe blocked the blow, and struck hard at the man’s stomach.

  They traded blow for blow. Rafe managed to avoid the worst of the wild punches. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the man he’d knocked into the altar struggling to his feet, presumably to join the fray. Rafe spotted an opening in his opponent’s defense, stepped in, and landed a solid blow to the man’s jaw. The man went down like a felled fir.

  Rafe swung to face the man’s revived friend just as Loretta, leaning across the altar, brought a chalice down on the man’s head.

  The man’s eyes rolled up and he slid down to the floor again.

  Rafe turned to help Hassan, who was battling one groggy opponent and one very intent one. Rafe made short work of the groggy man, and by then Hassan had knocked the other unconscious.

  The chalice Esme had thrust at h
er still in her hand, Loretta went around the altar to stare at the man she’d downed. She couldn’t quite believe she’d struck a man and rendered him unconscious, yet there he lay, slumped as if drunkenly asleep.

  She expected to feel shocked, or at least overcome with some form of sensibility, yet all she felt coursing her veins was excitement and an exhilaration akin to triumph.

  Before she could dwell further on the unexpected feeling, Rafe grabbed her hand, tugged the chalice from her fingers, and set it back on the altar. He waved Esme and the maids forward. “Quickly—out!”

  Esme, Gibson, and Rose hurried out from behind the altar, past Loretta and Rafe to where Hassan was waiting to usher them quickly up the nave.

  Rafe thrust Loretta before him. “Into the foyer.”

  She hurried after the others, Rafe on her heels. He glanced back as they went. She glanced back, too, felt his hand graze her back as if he needed to be sure she was there, close, even when he was looking the other way.

  The others were waiting in the foyer.

  “Shouldn’t we report this to someone?” Esme asked.

  Rafe met her eye. “Do you want to leave the Uray Princep and spend the next weeks explaining things to the authorities here?”

  Esme blinked. “No.”

  “Nor do I.” Rafe looked at the others, then at Loretta. “Luckily, no one got hurt bar a few bruises, and we were the only ones in the cathedral. I suggest we leave those four where they are, and walk calmly and sedately back to the wharf.”

  “As if nothing happened?” Loretta asked, and received a grim nod in reply.

  By general consensus that was what they did, which gave her time to relive the experience and examine her feelings.

  Her surprise at the attack. Her surprise of a different sort as she’d watched Rafe come racing to their rescue, then trade violent blows with one of their attackers.

  Her shock as she’d realized the first man he’d hit had recovered and intended to join his fellow-thug in attacking Rafe, two on one. She’d frantically looked around for something with which to hit the man; as usual all the men had dismissed the women and weren’t even looking their way. Esme had grabbed the chalice and handed it to her. Hefting it, she hadn’t even hesitated, but had grimly raised it and determinedly brought it down on the cowardly thug’s head.