Amara (Carlton House Cartel Book 2)

by Wendy Soliman

  He shouldn’t risk going, but he knew curiosity and desperation would ensure that he kept the appointment.

  He had no pocket watch, so he opened the small window in his sorry excuse for a room, leaned precariously out of it and was just able to see the clock on the nearest church steeple. Five in the afternoon. He must have slept longer than he realised, helped by the significant amount of brandy he had consumed in a vain attempt to salve his wounded dignity following his fruitless attempt to run Amara to ground.

  Claus flopped back onto his bed for a moment or two. Unsure whom he was about to confront, it seemed prudent to paint as prosperous a picture as possible. Always negotiate from a position of strength, he reminded himself.

  Railing once more against the damage to his best coat, he pulled out his second-best—his only other. It would have to do. He called the boot boy back, gave him another penny and ordered his boots shined immediately. Claus had shaving water sent up, made the best of his appearance, and decided that he cut a respectable enough figure to still turn female heads.

  Feeling a little better about himself, he was at the tavern specified well before the appointed time. The person who had sent for him would be waiting in an upstairs room and Claus planned to get a view of him before walking into a potential trap. He ordered a tankard of ale in the taproom, felt the hilt of the dagger he had concealed in his pocket to give himself courage and watched the door. He brushed off an invitation from a pretty doxy who nonetheless made him feel better about himself when she described him as being too handsome for his own good.

  At ten minutes before seven he saw a man arrive, take a cautious look around and then usher a woman up the stairs.

  Had a woman sent that note? Claus was now more curious than afraid. He finished his ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and made his way up the stairs as competing clocks struck seven. He tapped at the largest door, assuming it to be the correct one, and the man he had seen escorting the woman upstairs answered it.

  ‘You are Lykaios?’

  Claus nodded, wondering who else he had been expecting. He held back a protest when the man patted his pockets and took the dagger from him. The man looked tough and Claus wasn’t in the mood for a physical fight.

  ‘Come in.’

  The man stood back and allowed Claus access. The woman, dressed in grey and wearing a hat with a half veil that obscured her features, turned to assess him.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said in a well-modulated voice. ‘Be seated.’

  Claus flipped the tails of his coat aside and complied. ‘You sent for me, madam? May I know your name and your interest in my affairs?’

  ‘Names are unimportant. I know who you are and where your interests lie, so let us not waste time. I cannot remain here for long or I will be missed.’ The lady paused. ‘You require access to Miss Kazan?’

  Claus’s pride kicked in and he was about to say that he knew exactly where she was; then thought better of it. ‘She has made her choice.’

  ‘And ruined you in the process. I cannot believe you wouldn’t welcome the opportunity to recover your position, to say nothing of re-capturing your star asset. I gather Kazan’s reach is long, and that you will be forever looking over your shoulder should you fail to return Miss Kazan to her father’s care.’

  Claus conceded the point with an abrupt nod. ‘True enough, but I cannot get to her. We had a difference of opinion.’

  ‘You didn’t want her to perform for the prince?’ The woman nodded, as though answering her own question. ‘Very wise of you.’

  ‘She has left her lodgings—and since you appear to know that, I don’t mind confessing that I am unsure of her current whereabouts.’

  ‘She is residing on an isolated estate owned by Mrs Sabine Kendal and her paramour, Lord Jonas Dayton, who is one of the prince’s inner circle.’ The woman pronounced Lord Jonas’s name as though it hurt her vocal cords, causing Claus to wonder if she was offering to help him in order to exact revenge of her own. Not that she had yet suggested any means of assistance, but presumably that was why she was here. ‘You stand no chance of getting anywhere near her. She is too well protected.’

  Claus’s heart sank. ‘Well then, madam, I fail to understand why you have gone to the trouble of orchestrating this meeting. Not that I am ungrateful, but still…’ He allowed a momentary pause, determined not to come across as desperate. ‘As far as I am aware, we are not acquainted and I don’t suppose you simply called me here to underline my failures.’

  ‘On the contrary, I feel some sympathy for your situation. I know how it feels to be betrayed by a person you have helped and placed your trust in, at no inconsiderable personal sacrifice.’

  ‘I see.’ But Claus didn’t; not really.

  ‘Miss Kazan will be at the prince’s pavilion on the night the Greek deposition attends his banquet in their honour.’

  Claus spread his hands. ‘And it will be even harder for me to get to her there since I will not be permitted past the gates.’

  The woman’s lips tilted into a calculating smile. ‘I can get you into the pavilion unobserved. There are tunnels. My man here will help you. Miss Kazan will arrive early in the afternoon with her aunt to practise in the music room. There you will have the opportunity to capture her and get her away through the tunnels.’

  Claus shook his head, thinking the plan desperately risky—and he would be the one taking all the risks. ‘The deputation will be up in arms if Miss Kazan goes missing, and the prince will be held responsible for losing her.’

  He sensed from a tilting of the woman’s head that she had flexed a brow in a calculating manner, but he couldn’t see her features clearly enough through the thick veil to be sure that he understood her purpose. There was only one dim candle illuminating the room, and the woman herself remained in the shadows. Clearly she had no desire to be recognised, but Claus knew he had hit upon the reason for her demeaning herself by coming to this shabby tavern—an establishment that she doubtless wouldn’t normally be seen dead in.

  ‘You care about their reaction?’ she asked in a challenging manner. ‘I should have thought your only concern would be to return Miss Kazan to her father.’

  Claus inclined his head, still highly suspicious, a whole raft of conflicting possibilities filtering through his brain. But really, he had no choice but to risk his own neck in order to gratify this woman’s wounded pride and to achieve his own aims. ‘Very well, madam, I have no idea why you want to help me, or how you even know about the problems that the rebellious Miss Kazan has created through her selfish determination to have her own way, but I will accept your assistance with grateful thanks. What would you have me do?’

  ‘Be at this address on Tuesday at midday. Come alone. My man will meet you here with further instructions. If you are late he will not wait and someone will likely inform the Greek delegation of your whereabouts.’

  ‘Threats are unnecessary, madam,’ Claus replied, grinding his teeth. ‘I am to do you a service of some sort, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Do me the courtesy of showing me some respect.’

  She inclined her head and Claus knew that they understood one another.

  ‘Good evening to you.’ The lady stood up and without a backward glance walked through the door that her man opened for her. He turned back at the last moment and returned Claus’s dagger to him.

  Claus was left alone to ponder this unexpected development, thinking of all the things that could go spectacularly wrong. Eva Costas would be with Amara. He couldn’t abduct them both and she would raise merry hell if he tried to grab Amara alone. Perhaps the unnamed lady’s man would help subdue her. Claus bore Eva a massive grudge and blamed her for encouraging Amara to rebel. He touched the spot on the back of his head, still tender from the whack it had received from that vase. Oh yes, retribution was long overdue, and he would take pleasure from knowing that both ladies would be brutally punished by Kazan for their disobedience.

  Claus adjured himself to rei
n in his wild speculations. Satisfaction could be enjoyed after the event, but he was a long way from reaching that point. Eva Costas was still very much the sticking point. It would create the most dreadful scandal if a foreign dignitary was injured or accidentally killed in the prince’s own pavilion.

  But still, Claus decided, standing to make his way back out into the street, he had been offered a solution to his problem and wasn’t about to turn his back on it, no matter how fraught with risk that solution might be. With great good fortune he could still turn things to his advantage and earn Kazan’s gratitude for the return of his wayward daughter.

  Feeling much better about life in general, Claus sauntered into the taproom and decided he had earned another tankard of ale. When the doxy who had flattered him earlier attached herself to him once more, he decided that he’d earned more than just ale.

  Amara tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep or think of a solution to this latest in the long stream of dilemmas that had dogged her. She felt a little disloyal for telling her new friends that she wouldn’t stand in their way if they attempted to curtail her father’s illegal activities. Not that they were likely to succeed. Papa was powerful and well-connected, a law unto himself in Greece, and since many of his Greek adversaries had failed to topple him, she doubted whether the prince’s cartel would manage to do so, despite their elevated status in this country.

  Things were done very differently in Greece—bribery and corruption were commonplace and it was hard to know whom to trust. Amara reasoned that if those who understood the rules couldn’t undermine Papa’s position then her well-meaning friends would never manage it.

  Even so, the fact that they were willing to attempt it, to put her interests ahead of the commercial gain that was her father’s only raison d'être, made Amara feel truly cherished for herself rather than for her value as a commodity to enhance her father’s standing. She hugged her knees to her chest and felt a modicum of optimism filter through her despair. With the exception of Eva, no one had ever cared much about her wellbeing.

  Her education and supervision had been left to a series of elderly female relatives of Cora’s ilk. Papa had taken little interest in her until she turned sixteen. He listened to her sing properly at that point, belatedly recognised her talent and lost no time in exploiting it for his own purposes. Apart from being typically over-protective, her brothers showed her no affection whatsoever, and were mostly wrapped up in their own concerns.

  The thought of seeing Demetrius Estevan made her shudder, as did images of her father’s man, Faustus Drakos. His cold, predatory stares made her feel as though he was stripping her bare. There was something about that man that she found particularly repugnant. He was dangerous, she knew that much. She was absolutely sure that the abrupt disappearance of some of Papa’s rivals could be attributed to his brutal and ruthless methods. And yet he was here in England, posing as a distinguished statesman. The hypocrisy curdled Amara’s blood.

  Abandoning all hope of sleep, she pushed the covers aside and pulled the curtains back so that she could watch the dawn break over the sea. She sat there for a long time with a shawl thrown across her shoulders, wondering what the next few days would bring, sensing they would define her entire future.

  Cora came in at her customary time and blinked to find Amara sitting up in her night attire.

  ‘You’ll catch a chill in this godforsaken country, child,’ she scolded. ‘Why didn’t you ring for me if you couldn’t sleep? I’ll make the fire up and fetch you some hot water and breakfast.’

  Amara didn’t say a word, or show any signs of having heard her. She couldn’t even abide to look at her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cora raised a suspicious brow, her expression thunderous. ‘Has someone tried to—’

  ‘Just go and do whatever it is you have to do and stop fussing,’ Amara said impatiently, flapping a hand in dismissal.

  Cora fixed Amara with a perplexed look and took herself off.

  Amara picked at her breakfast when it arrived, her mind too full of worry to leave her with much of an appetite. Cora tutted at her barely touched tray but refrained from making any comment. Amara allowed the woman to help her into a practical day gown, tolerated her fussing with her hair, which she viciously tugged into an unbecoming style. Amara was too weary to protest or to care.

  She dismissed Cora and then made her way downstairs, where she found Eva and Sabine in close conversation.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Sabine said, looking up and smiling.

  ‘Good heavens,’ Eva added. ‘What on earth have you done to your hair?’

  ‘It’s Cora’s petty act of spite because I am still not talking to her, or taking her advice about the iniquitous intentions of all Englishmen. They are not to be trusted, in case you were not aware.’

  ‘You should have put your foot down.’

  Amara exhaled wearily. ‘It’s just hair. It’s not important enough to indulge in another battle of wills. Let her have her little victories. One way or another, I shall soon be shot of her.’

  ‘Come and sit down, Amara.’ Sabine patted the chair beside hers. ‘We were just talking about you, and there is something we need to discuss. A suggestion we came up with after you retired last night. Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘Thank you yes, but coffee would be welcome if it isn’t too much trouble.’

  ‘That is easily arranged.’

  Sabine stood and rang the bell. She asked the footman who answered it to supply them all with coffee and Amara slowly relaxed as she waited for it to arrive, feeling that she could breathe once more. In the undemanding company of her beloved aunt and her new friend, she felt less daunted by her problems and overwhelmed with gratitude because Sabine, a relative stranger, seemed so eager to help her. She gave the impression of being strong, resolute and capable, and Amara wished she could be more like her. She didn’t imagine Sabine harbouring doubts about her own abilities, or tolerating being bullied, much as Amara had been in one way or another for her entire life.

  ‘We are fortunate that the rain is holding off again today, at least for the time being,’ Sabine said. ‘At this time of year, Nancy and I would normally sit out on the lawns beneath the shade of an oak tree and enjoy a picnic. But alas, I fear we shall not be able to do so this year.’

  ‘Nancy?’ Eva and Amara asked together.

  ‘My sister.’ Sabine’s smile faded as she gazed out of the window without appearing to appreciate the view. ‘She is married to a man who doesn’t provide well for her, but she won’t think of leaving him and coming home. I miss her, of course, but she made her choices with her eyes open.’ She smiled, and the grip of winter left her eyes. ‘I have no idea where my sister is at the present time. Most likely she is abroad, avoiding her husband’s creditors, but she knows she is always welcome here when she finally sees sense. If indeed she ever does.’ Sabine sighed. ‘Ah, here’s our coffee.’

  Sabine poured for them all. Amara drank and nibbled on a fresh scone that was still warm from the oven. She noticed Eva and Sabine sharing a guarded look and felt her anxiety increasing.

  ‘What is it that you wanted to discuss with me?’ she asked.

  Sabine smiled at her. ‘We were speaking of your situation, the gentlemen and I, after you retired last night. It occurred to us that we were perhaps being a little ambitious, and arrogant I suppose, in assuming that we could destroy your father’s drug trade from here in England simply because we do not approve. Opium is in great demand, and is not illegal. Your father would likely argue that he is fulfilling a need. His only crime is to avoid paying import duties—and outwitting the customs men is, I am afraid, looked upon as a national pastime.’

  Amara and Eva could both think of far worse crimes—the disappearance of rivals that had occupied Amara’s mind earlier was just one example—but there seemed little point in raising the subject. Sabine was right; there was nothing that could be done to disrupt Papa’s organisation from here in England. He w
ould continue to get away with behaving exactly as he pleased, depending upon Drakos and his like to enforce his will.

  ‘I explained to Sabine that men have in the past tried to get the better of my brother and been ruthlessly crushed,’ Eva added.

  ‘The same thought occurred to me, I will admit,’ Amara replied, ‘and prevented me from sleeping properly. Papa and my brothers make formidable foes, and I wouldn’t be able to live with my conscience if anything happened to any of you because they took exception to your interest in me.’

  ‘It won’t—certainly not here in England, at least,’ Sabine said, squeezing Amara’s hand. ‘Rest easy on that score. Anyway, we thought it might be better to tackle the more immediate problem first.’

  ‘The deputation, I take it you mean.’ Amara shuddered. ‘The prospect of seeing them repels me and I would be happy if they fail and return home with their tails between their legs. I think that is the correct expression.’ Sabine smiled and nodded. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, since Drakos and Estevan are not the best of friends…’

  Amara listened, fascinated as Sabine outlined her plan.

  ‘It is a good idea,’ she said when Sabine ran out of words. ‘I wondered what could have possessed Papa and Mr Estevan to send two men who cannot stand the sight of one another to represent Greece’s interests in a foreign country. They are both volatile, but the authorities here probably know that they represent factions that need to be mollified if a diplomatic incident is to be avoided. Anyway, I had no idea about Drakos’s aspirations, although it explains a lot, and your proposal would certainly anger both of them. Drakos in particular is a loathsome creature. Just looking at him makes me shudder.’

  ‘I agree with Amara on that score,’ Eva said. ‘There is a ruthlessness about him that is chilling. I have not said as much before, Amara, but I always suspected he had designs upon you. The way he looks at you and scowls at any man who comes near you made me suspect that your father had offered him certain assurances and I found out by nefarious means not long before we left for Italy that was the case.’