It had felt so good, so satisfying to be able to do something, to contribute to their party’s relief in however small a way.
To save Rafe from sustaining any unnecessary injuries.
She was fairly sure that a prim and proper young lady was supposed to swoon on witnessing physical violence of that nature. Yet no matter how hard she searched within, she simply didn’t have a swoon in her. Not with excitement still bubbling through her veins.
No. If anything she felt proud—proud to have done her bit and assisted Rafe and Hassan in defending their party.
They reached the wharf without further incident, and, under Rafe’s and Hassan’s watchful eyes, trooped back on board for what she considered a well-deserved afternoon tea.
Rafe didn’t breathe easily until he had the women back on board the Uray Princep. His first thought had been that the men had been cult hirelings sent to seize the scroll-holder. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Joining Hassan on the observation deck, he scanned the wharf. “Other than those men, I’ve seen nothing that even hints of the cult here.”
“Nor I.” Hassan stared at the town. “Could they have been local thieves looking to steal from travelers?”
“Possible, I suppose. In the aftermath of war, there’s often trouble with disbanded soldiers who no longer have homes or jobs … but I would have thought the wars too long over for that to still be a problem.” Rafe grimaced. “I wish now that I’d stopped to inquire whether they’d been hired, or if they’d acted on their own.”
“It matters not now.” Hassan straightened from the rail. “We are safe and we’ll keep watch, and the crew will help if we need them.”
“True.” Rafe looked at the bridge. “I’ll have a word to the captain, mention that we were accosted in the town and suggest he pulls out onto the river as soon as possible. It looks like they’ve finished loading.”
Pushing away from the rail, Rafe headed for the bridge.
Once apprised of the situation, the captain expressed his outrage at the attack, and with his cargo fully loaded and allpassengers back on board, readily gave orders for the boat to quit the wharf.
Half an hour later, they were sailing slowly upriver once more.
Late that night, Loretta lay in her bed, and tried logically to examine the changes within herself.
She’d understood from the first that Esme had intended to, indeed had designed their trip to, shake her, Loretta, from her habitual and determined adherence to Robert and Catherine’s straitlaced ideals.
With the exception of Robert, Michelmarshes were not straitlaced. She knew she was not, but had long ago discovered that life was much easier to live, to maintain complete control of, when people believed she was demure, decorous, timid, and quiet.
At least life had been easier to control until one too many suitors had begged for her hand.
She had—somewhere about Madrid—accepted that she couldn’t return to London and continue to live as she had been, continue to live a convenient lie. What she hadn’t had any real sense of, and still didn’t, was what sort of life she wanted, what sort of person she wanted to be instead.
Her own person, of course. In dispensing with her prim and proper façade, she wasn’t proposing to replace it with some other misleading persona. No. What she now needed to define was who Loretta Michelmarsh truly was.
Not until she knew that would she be sure how to behave from now on.
Throughout the trip, Esme had been assiduous in challenging her, in this manner or that, to question who she was so she would discover the necessary answer. The greatest challenge Esme had thus far flung in her path was Rafe Carstairs.
He’d already challenged her—pulled her out of her usual patterns of behavior—enough to make her kiss him.
And he’d kissed her back, which had raised her curiosity to a level where the impulse to badger him for more kisses bedeviled her every time she set eyes on him.
But more than anything else, he made her feel.
In the short time she’d known him, she’d felt more emotions—excitement, exhilaration, anticipation, a lick or two of fear, irritation and anger, as well as something she suspected was desire—and she’d felt those emotions more intensely than she’d ever imagined she could.
Just being in his company left her alive and enthused to live in a dangerous, reckless, throw-her-heart-over-every-hurdle way. He was a potent temptation to live as a Michelmarsh—with giddy abandon.
She didn’t need to look to know Esme was preening.
Yet for herself, she wasn’t so sure. She could have understood her reactions, the changes within, if Rafe had been the man of her dreams. Yet she couldn’t see how he could be.
Heaven knew he was handsome enough, yet he was also high-handedly arrogant, superior and dictatorial when it suited him, charming when that seemed the better course to getting whatever he wanted. He was autocratic, brusque when crossed, and growled like a bear when he didn’t get his way.
Most telling of all, she was fairly certain that she’d never be able to control him—he was simply too strong a character. Like recognized like in that regard, and as he would never be able to control her, that didn’t auger well for a peaceful married life.
An interesting married life, perhaps.
But she wasn’t some witless ninny to plunge into anything without due consideration. Until she’d determined what sort of lady she truly was, she should follow the course of wisdom and keep him at arm’s length.
Meanwhile … sleep drew her lids down. She sighed and relaxed.
On the border of sleep she relived again those thrilling moments in the cathedral.
She had to admit she liked feeling alive. Feeling fiercely engaged with life.
Esme would be happy; her sisters would be, too.
Whatever her path forward proved to be, prim and proper Loretta Michelmarsh had died.
Five
December 1, 1822
The Uray Princep anchored off Vienna
I cannot wait to see the shops!” Frau Hemleich beamed. “Spending Christmas here is going to be wonderful!”
Frau Gruber agreed. “I’m so glad Wilhelm suggested we break our journey here.”
Loretta smiled and strolled on, moving through the salon, stopping to chat here and there. All the other passengers were leaving the boat in Vienna, either to spend time there or travel on by land. The boat was currently anchored off the city’s wharves, but would tie up the following morning and remain at dock until the next day.
She wondered if Rafe was behind the captain’s decision to remain in the river, and to tie up for, as she understood it, only the minimum time.
Through the crowd she glimpsed their courier-guide speaking with Herr Gruber. It had been that way all day; aside from meals, taken in the dining room with everyone else about, she’d only seen Rafe from a distance. Even when they’d shared a table, he’d appeared focused on other things, contributing little to the conversation.
That was, she’d reminded herself, a good thing, given she’d determined to keep him at arm’s length, at least for the moment.
Pausing beside Esme’s chair, she wasn’t surprised to hear her great-aunt discussing her sightseeing plans for the following day with the captain. What did surprise her was the restricted nature of those plans.
Even the captain remarked on it, to which Esme replied, “Oh, I’ve been to Vienna many times. There’s really not that much here I need to see again.”
Somewhat puzzled, Loretta smiled at the captain and moved on. Halting in the narrow forward end of the salon, she glanced at the scene outside, the black silk of the river sliding past with the brilliant lights of the city beyond.
A sudden ripple of awareness had her turning. Had her senses leaping, her heart thudding, then settling to a steady, but faster, beat.
Rafe halted beside her, also looking out. With his head he indicated the buildings of Vienna. “Has Esme decided what she wants to see tomorrow?”
; He sounded grim, as if anticipating a battle over a busy, varied, and potentially dangerous schedule.
“I just heard her telling the captain. Apparently she wishes to walk the city walls to see if the views are as she remembers them, and to visit St. Stephen’s Cathedral.”
He frowned, met her eyes. “That’s all?”
“All she admits to wishing to see.”
“It sounds, for her, remarkably restrained.”
She shrugged lightly. “Perhaps the incident in Pressburg unsettled her.”
He humphed. “I could hope.”
There wasn’t anything she could say to that, yet … even though he stood perfectly still, she sensed he was restless.
He shifted. “No doubt we’ll learn the truth of it tomorrow.” With a nod, he moved away.
Loretta stayed where she was, looking out at the night,and wondered at the feeling sliding insidiously through her. Disappointment?
She didn’t like it—didn’t approve of feeling it. Briskly turning, she strolled on, fetching up at Frau Gruber’s side. “Where do you plan to go after Vienna?”
The next morning, Rafe left the boat immediately it docked. He returned at ten o’clock with the tickets to all the recently vacated passenger berths in his pocket.
He found Esme and Loretta in the salon, seated in the wide window bays. They’d been looking out at the city and plainly waiting on him; both had their hats and pelisses on. They turned to face him as he entered.
“I’ve just come from the Excelsior Shipping Company office here. We’ll be the only passengers until Ulm.”
“Ulm?” Esme frowned, then her face cleared. “Ah, I see. That’s where we’ll leave the Danube and go overland to Strasbourg to join the Rhine.”
He nodded. “In the circumstances, I thought it wise to eliminate the distraction of other passengers—in the event of any attack, neither Hassan and I nor the captain and crew will have to concern ourselves with protecting others.”
In eliminating that distraction, he’d simultaneously removed all social diversion for Esme and Loretta, but he hoped they wouldn’t argue. The chance to improve their defensive position had been there, and he’d seized it.
To his relief, after a moment of consideration, Esme smiled. “It’ll make things much quieter, but also more private.” She glanced at Loretta. “We’ll have the entire passenger half of the boat to ourselves.”
He hadn’t thought of that; he glanced at Loretta, then quickly refocused on Esme. “Are you ready to venture forth?”
At least during their excursion he wouldn’t be tormented by being private with Loretta Michelmarsh.
While they waited by the gangplank for Rose and Gibsonto join them, Hassan ambled up, ready to assist in guarding the women. He’d been keeping watch on the observation deck while Rafe was in the town.
When Hassan halted beside him, Rafe tapped his pocket. “I bought all the free berths. It’ll be just us from here to Ulm.”
Hassan nodded. “That will make life easier.”
So Rafe hoped. He glanced at Esme and Loretta, chatting a few feet away, and lowered his voice. “I saw cultists in town—not on the embankment, but further in. They seemed to be patrolling the major squares. They didn’t see me, and they weren’t actively searching.”
“That suggests they do not yet know we are heading this way, nor that we are using the river.” Hassan glanced at the women as Rose and Gibson joined them, then met Rafe’s eyes. “Do you think the cult members will recognize us?”
“If we’re with four women?” Rafe pulled a face. “I can’t say.”
He went forward to help Esme down the gangplank, then returned to give Loretta his hand. As usual, when he grasped her hand he sensed that indefinable spark, sensed her reaction, but steadfastly ignored it.
When he released her, she glanced sharply at him.
“I don’t do it on purpose, you know.” Frustration edged his mumble.
She frowned, but then turned away as Esme gestured with her cane and they started into the town.
They went first to the cathedral as at that hour it was between services. Loretta ambled in Esme’s wake, examining the richly decorated finishes, drinking in the ornate, somewhat overwrought ambience, and wondering if there was anything she might make of it. She’d completed an excellent vignette based on her experiences at Pressburg, but then her mind had stalled. She needed some subject to inspire her.
Sadly, the cathedral, while undoubtedly noteworthy, didn’t light any spark.
Not like Rafe Carstairs, but she wasn’t going to think of him.
Then again … was there any way she could use his mission, or even him, his attributes, as the cornerstone of a commentary? The more she thought of it, the more inspired she felt, but such a piece would have to wait until she was back in England and resumed her usual column. For now … she was stumped.
After half an hour of wide-eyed wandering under Rafe’s and Hassan’s watchful eyes, Esme declared she was ready to quit the cathedral. They proceeded in good order to the city walls. The wide bulwarks had become fashionable promenades along which visitors and locals both strolled, the former taking in the views from the elevated battlements, while the latter used the wide walks as an impromptu meeting place.
Although the wind was chilly, the sun had won a battle with the clouds and in triumph cast a weak glow upon the stone walks. As they were all well rugged up against the wind, it was pleasant to stroll and observe, both the views and the others ambling past.
When Rafe ranged alongside her, Loretta commented, “Vienna must be one of those cities on everyone’s itinerary. I’ve seen foreigners from a larger variety of countries here than anywhere else on our travels—even in Paris.”
Eyes scanning the crowds, he nodded. “Useful for us—we’re indistinguishable from any number of visiting parties out to see the sights.”
So he can relax his vigilance a trifle, and perhaps look at me when he speaks to me. Loretta bit the words back, not entirely sure where they sprang from.
Just ahead, Esme had halted by a section of the battlements. They joined her and she pointed. “When Richard and I were last here, we stayed in a lovely little auberge off that square.”
The square she’d indicated was in the center of what, fromthe roofs and what they could see of the houses, was one of the wealthier districts.
“Many from the embassies stay in that area.” Esme smiled. “It was a whirl of social activity from morn ‘til night.”
From their vantage point, they could see into the square, about half of it visible from that angle. Loretta caught sight of two men in long plain coats walking steadily down one side of the square. They were wearing turbans of a sort with what looked to be thin black scarves wound about, the ends left to flap in the breeze.
Eyes locked on the figures, she reached out and grasped Rafe’s arm. Tightened her grip. “Are those cultists down there?”
She knew the answer—felt steel infuse the muscles beneath his sleeve—before he murmured, “Yes.” After a moment, he went on, “I saw them this morning, but then, as now, they seem to be patrolling.”
“There are more over there,” Rose whispered.
They looked where she pointed, and saw another pair, similarly garbed, walking along one of the fashionable avenues.
“There’s another spot a little way along that gives a good view into the fashionable streets,” Esme said. “Shall we head on?”
They did, and from that other position sighted four more cultists; like those before, they were simply walking along.
“They seem to be only in the better areas,” Loretta said.
“Actually,” Esme said, “if memory serves, those are the streets and squares where there are major hotels catering to the carriage trade.”
Rafe nodded. “They’re watching and waiting for us to arrive.”
“Which means they don’t know we’re already here.” Loretta glanced at his face.
It was unreservedly grim as he
replied, “Yet.” He looked at Esme. “Is there anywhere else you wish to go?”
Her gaze on the cultists, Esme shook her head. “I believe I’ve seen all I need to.”
It took some time to retrace their steps.
Once they were back in the streets not far from the embankment, Rafe felt forced to ask if Esme wished to stop at one of the comfortable inns they were passing for lunch.
To his relief, she shook her head. “No, no. We can have a late luncheon when we get back on board. I rather think I’ll rest this afternoon.”
It was the first he’d heard of Esme resting during the day, but although sprightly, she was definitely not young. Yet he noted the surprised look Loretta directed at her relative, as if the concept of Esme resting was novel to her, too.
But he wasn’t about to argue.
He’d been torn over whether to hope they passed some cultists; he wanted to know if their disguises would hold. But having sighted eight, with Loretta, Esme, Rose, and Gibson with them, the principal imperative dominating his mind was to get the women safely on the boat.
He wasn’t about to argue with his instincts.
They’d entered the narrower streets leading to the wharves, and were two blocks from the embankment when six men walking up the street in the opposite direction suddenly fanned out, blocking their way.
Rafe grabbed the women and thrust them into a recessed doorway. With the lunch hour upon them, the street was temporarily deserted.
Eyes on the six men, locals by the look of them—bruisers from dockside taverns was his guess—he caught the glint of a knife in one meaty fist. The next instant his saber was in his hand.
Beside him, Hassan already had his sword unsheathed.
“I’d prefer not to kill any,” Rafe murmured.
Eyes on their opponents, Hassan merely said, “We’ll see.”
The men rushed them.
The clash was swift and brutal. Their attackers had thought to overwhelm them by sheer weight, but both Rafe and Hassan stepped aside at the last moment and two of the locals were immediately on the cobbles—deftly knocked unconscious with their sword hilts as they’d passed.
The Reckless Bride Page 10
