Charmed and Dangerous

by Jane Ashford

  * * *

  “It’s odd not to be home for Christmas,” said Catherine wistfully as they huddled in their cloaks in the carriage, on their way to an evening of carol singing arranged by the congress’s Austrian hosts.

  “It’s ridiculous,” responded the general from the opposite seat. “If they don’t give up this endless wrangling, we’ll be here till summer.”

  “At least then it would be warm,” said his wife as a blast of wind struck the vehicle, making it sway slightly on its springs. “I didn’t bring enough winter clothes.”

  “Send for them,” was the unencouraging reply.

  Laura gazed out the window at the icy streets. Christmas hadn’t been much of a holiday for her in years. When the family gathered at Leith House, the governess wasn’t much in demand—except to take the children away when they were overtired or overexcited. Her own family was too far away to visit, so she had spent most Christmases reading in her room and dining alone on the festive dishes sent up to her from the servants’ celebration. It hadn’t been tragic; often she had enjoyed the respite. But she had lost some of that special attachment to the holidays that Catherine clearly had.

  “I’ve ordered a goose,” said Catherine. “We’ll have a proper Christmas dinner, at least. And I’ve asked the Phillipses and the Merritts.”

  She would be the only person under fifty at the dinner, Laura thought with a tinge of amusement.

  “I invited Graham,” added the general. After a moment, he became aware that both women were looking at him. “He’s here on his own. Besides, gives me a chance to keep tabs on him.”

  “He has accepted?” replied Catherine.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “He just doesn’t seem…suited for a quiet Christmas dinner.”

  The general frowned at her.

  “I can’t picture Mr. Graham being…cozy,” explained his wife.

  Her husband snorted, whether in derision or agreement Laura couldn’t tell.

  * * *

  The palace had been decorated with boughs of evergreen and sprigs of holly. Knots of red ribbon punctuated the green, and there was hot rum punch and a bewildering variety of sweets. Roaring fires lit every hearth, and in a huge reception room a group of singers sang traditional carols in several languages. The warmth and the buzz of conversation were festive. Laura found her spirits rising as she walked through the rooms and greeted some of the people she had met since arriving in Vienna. She accepted a cup of the punch, though it was stronger than anything she usually drank, and sipped it as she enjoyed the ruddy faces and lively laughter of the other guests.

  A group of them moved off together, and Laura saw Gavin standing on the other side of the room. His head was bent over a cascade of red-gold curls, and a delicate white hand rested on his sleeve. Sophie Krelov seemed to be telling him something very engrossing, and judging from his smile, very pleasant as well. Laura turned her head, not wanting to be seen staring. But she couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting back. They made a lovely pair, she thought; they had a similar elegance. No wonder people looked at them admiringly as they passed.

  It bothered Laura that she hadn’t been able to discover how Gavin really felt about the glamorous countess. She had been told, of course, that he was infatuated with her. And he did pay her marked attention despite the general’s disapproval. But was that because she was part of some intrigue that he was trying to fathom or because he genuinely admired her? Laura had given him a number of opportunities to clarify this question. All he had said was that Sophie was dangerous. Was this a criticism, or a compliment?

  Sophie cocked her head and said something. Gavin threw his head back in laughter. Laura experienced a curious pang. Of course he admired her, she thought. What man would not? Sophie was gorgeous and mysterious and sophisticated. And Gavin was notoriously susceptible to exotic females. Laura remembered the phrase that the unknown Frenchwoman had used at her first ball in Vienna—a “poet of the bedchamber.” No doubt Sophie knew precisely what that meant, and she was probably well able to reciprocate.

  Why was she thinking about this? Laura wondered. It was none of her affair, and it didn’t matter to her at all. She turned sharply away, and bumped into Signor Oliveri, who had been coming up behind her.

  “Your pardon, signorina,” he said, bowing more extravagantly than other men, as usual.

  Laura felt her spirits rise. She had been hoping to encounter those involved in the intrigue she was supposed to be helping solve. “Good evening, signor,” she replied. “How is your painting progressing?”

  He spread his hands. “Alas. Slowly. Until I can discover—”

  “Do you know the Countess Krelov?” Laura interrupted.

  Oliveri blinked in surprise.

  “She’s over there,” Laura offered helpfully, nodding toward the spot where Gavin and Sophie lingered. The countess was standing on tiptoe now, whispering something in Gavin’s ear. Laura’s jaw clenched.

  “The countess,” her companion echoed. “Of course.” He tried to look deeply knowledgeable.

  “She is very interesting,” prompted Laura.

  “Indeed?”

  “What do you know of her?”

  “I?”

  “You know so much of what goes on in Vienna, signor.”

  Oliveri preened a bit at this flattery. “I keep my ears open.”

  Laura tried not to sound impatient. “So you are acquainted with the countess?”

  “Oh, well, as to that…” Reacting to her expression, he added, “They say she was born in Cairo, among the heathen.”

  “Really?”

  “Some say she lived in a pasha’s harem as a young girl.” He leered.

  Laura ignored it. “That seems unlikely,” she scoffed.

  “She shot two men, escaping,” Oliveri countered, his pride piqued. “She fled through the Holy Land, where she met the count.”

  “Count Krelov was in the Holy Land?”

  “Passing through,” said Oliveri, smiling. “He is hardly religious.”

  Laura didn’t believe any of this, but she made one more attempt. “What about the countess’s friend Michael?” Laura asked boldly.

  “Michael?” He raised his dark brows. “Michael what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The artist looked intrigued. “Who is this Michael?”

  “I heard someone mention him in a way that made me curious.”

  “Someone? Who?”

  “So you don’t know the name?”

  His black eyes bored into hers. “It is rather common, signorina. If I knew a little more about—”

  “You are always wanting to know more, aren’t you, signor?”

  “Information is something I trade,” he answered, emphasizing the last word. “I cannot afford to give it away.”

  Laura decided she had gone far enough. She didn’t think Oliveri knew much anyway. “What do you mean? I was just asking if you were acquainted with a man named Michael. It was mere conversation.”

  Oliveri hesitated, as if deciding whether to risk honesty. Finally he bowed a little and replied, “I would never use such a word about a conversation with you, signorina.”

  “You are too kind,” she said, turning to move away.

  “Apparently, I am not kind enough,” he muttered.

  Laura moved through the crowd. Gavin and Sophie were no longer across the room, she noticed. In fact, she didn’t see either of them anywhere. Perhaps they had gone off together to a more private place, she thought caustically. Spotting Catherine, she went to join her. Only too late did she see that the older woman was chatting with Baron von Sternhagen.

  “Laura. The baron was telling me about Christmas at his home in Prussia. It sounds quite lovely.”

  “We burn a Yule log that is six feet long,” the baron off
ered. “In the fireplace in our great hall, you can roast an ox.”

  “Really?” said Laura.

  “It was built by Rudolf von Sternhagen, who rode on the Sixth Crusade.”

  “Wasn’t that the one where the Holy Roman Emperor was excommunicated by the pope?”

  Her two companions gazed at Laura blankly.

  “The pope was angry because the emperor negotiated with the Muslims instead of fighting,” she said. When they continued to stare, she added, “I read about it.”

  “Laura is a great reader,” said Catherine, a bit faintly.

  “I have little time for such things,” responded the baron. “My time is occupied with military duties and my estates.”

  “Of course.” Catherine shot Laura an admonishing glance.

  “I am interested in real events, not stories in books,” he stated, as if there could be no other view on the subject.

  Laura started to point out that she had been describing real events, then decided it wasn’t worth it.

  “I understand you are a great breeder of hunting dogs,” Catherine said.

  “For hunting the boar, yes.” There was more enthusiasm in the baron’s tone than Laura had ever heard there before. He launched into an animated discussion of the proper characteristics of a hunting pack and the best ways of training young dogs into them. Laura felt her eyes glazing over. She pinned a set smile on her face and settled down to endure.

  Watching from the far corner of the large room, Gavin silently wagered with himself that von Sternhagen was prosing on about his dogs. He had that pontificating expression that Gavin had observed—once. He had taken care to avoid it ever since. Everyone had their passions, he thought; some of them were just more interesting than others.

  Miss Devane’s, for example. Laura was probably quite angry with him. If he approached her, she would no doubt accuse him of abandoning the partnership they had agreed upon in the Pryors’ parlor. He had been evading it. He kept his promises, but this one was ridiculous, impossible. There was no way she could be involved in the sort of work he did.

  Yet she had provided an important piece of information, he acknowledged. The name Michael had suggested a number of possibilities, and he was pursuing them. If only she would be satisfied with that.

  Laura gazed around the room, obviously desperate for rescue from the redoubtable baron. Should he go and save her? Gavin wondered. It was an attractive idea. But before he could move, she had taken matters into her own hands—typically—and excused herself with apologetic gestures. He watched her walk gracefully toward one of the archways draped with pine boughs. She had the air of a sibyl, he thought—composed, intelligent—and she was lovely as a nymph. He continued to follow her appreciatively with his gaze until he realized that she was focused on following something as well. Glancing ahead of her, he almost groaned. Sophie Krelov was making her way around the edge of the room toward the same archway, and she looked as if she was trying to avoid notice. Was Laura actually planning to intercept her? Gavin strode quickly after the two of them.

  He reached the archway too late. Sophie had gone through, and Laura had followed after a few moments hesitation. Beyond, Gavin found an empty corridor leading left. He ran along it, and nearly collided with Laura when it turned left again.

  “Shhh,” she hissed before he could speak.

  She was standing beside a curtained recess in the wall, which was a very sensible precaution, Gavin had to admit, and she was bent forward, listening.

  “The countess went in there,” she whispered softly.

  If she thought Sophie Krelov would make some slip in such a public place—he almost laughed. It only showed how little Laura knew of such matters, and how likely she was to get into serious trouble if she didn’t stop her interference at once. “I told you to stay away from…”

  “Shhh,” she said again.

  “Are you mad, coming here?” It was Sophie’s voice, emanating quite clearly from the room ahead, and speaking fluent French. “I told you I would summon you when I—”

  A man’s voice interrupted, sharp but unintelligible. Laura threw Gavin a triumphant glance. All very well, he thought sourly; but if she weren’t here, he could march right into the room and see whom Sophie was meeting. Now he couldn’t, because Laura was certain to go with him.

  “I can manage Graham,” said Sophie.

  Gavin frowned, feeling Laura’s eyes on him.

  The man made some reply that sounded like an objection. Gavin couldn’t resist. He inched forward along the wall, waving Laura back, though he had no confidence that she would obey.

  Voices came echoing down the corridor.

  “Someone is coming,” said Sophie.

  There was the sound of footsteps from the room ahead. Gavin stepped back quickly, bumping into Laura, who was, predictably, right behind him. Fortunately, she didn’t cry out. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the curtained niche in the wall.

  “Come along this way,” urged a voice in French from farther down the hall. “We can be private down here.”

  The niche was shallow and narrow with a door at the back. This was probably an entrance the servants used, Gavin thought, far too conscious of the fact that Laura was pressed tight against him in the small space. She said nothing, but he could feel the beat of her heart against his own chest. He tried the knob and found it locked.

  “This is not a good time,” complained another voice.

  There were two or three men approaching, Gavin concluded. Applying his eye to the tiny gap in the curtains, he recognized one of them as an Austrian diplomat. He thought one of the others was from Saxony. The third, he did not know.

  “The king will never agree,” said the Saxon.

  “He should have thought of the future before he became one of the little Corsican’s allies,” replied the Austrian. “He is not in such a good position now.”

  “Gentlemen,” said the third man, whose French was clearly native, “we are trying to come to terms here. Let us not fall into old arguments.”

  There was no sound from the room where Sophie and her mysterious companion had been talking, Gavin thought. Had they slipped out some other way? Laura moved slightly, and heat flashed along his skin.

  “What’s the matter with that curtain?” said one of the men.

  “What curtain?”

  “There, it’s got an odd bulge in it.”

  His shoulders didn’t fit into the niche, Gavin realized. They were pushing the cloth outward. If he had been alone, as he always was in his work, none of this would have happened, he thought savagely.

  “Is someone there?” Footsteps approached.

  Gavin drew Laura into his arms and captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

  “I said…” One of the newcomers threw the curtains back.

  Gavin pretended to be startled. “What the devil?”

  “Ho-ho—a tryst.” The Austrian laughed.

  Gavin only hoped he wouldn’t be recognized. He hid Laura’s face from them with his shoulder.

  “Can’t you find a better place for it than this?” asked one of the others. They were all laughing now.

  Gavin yanked the curtain from the man’s hand and pulled it closed again. The laughter grew louder.

  “Here now, what’s this?” one of them said. “Another?”

  “I believe I have lost my way, gentlemen,” said Sophie’s musical voice. “Is the reception down here?”

  Gavin held the curtains shut with one hand, his other arm still encircling Laura. If Sophie found them here, the game was up.

  But her beauty and manner had diverted the gentlemen. They vied to escort her back to the gathering, and in another moment, their voices were receding down the corridor once more.

  “You can let me go now,” said Laura quietly.

  “Shh,” he whispe
red. “I’m waiting for the man Sophie was talking to.”

  This silenced her. Gavin waited. But he found he couldn’t keep his mind on Sophie’s former companion. It kept being distracted by the feel of Laura’s lithe body, the intimacy of her breath on his cheek. The sensations gradually took over his faculties until he could think of nothing else. What did she do to him? he wondered. Why did she make him feel as if he hadn’t understood passion until now. Unable to resist, he bent to kiss her again.

  She was silk and steel, ambrosia, and an attraction more arousing than anything he’d known. He pressed her back against the side of the niche, intoxicated and a little mad. He knew how to draw an equal response from her. The knowledge was innate, unassailable. Coaxing with his lips, he felt her astonishment, her answering desire, as if they were his own.

  Her body softened against him. Her hands slipped from his shoulders and up around his neck. Her lips yielded up everything. Exultantly, Gavin pulled her closer still and deepened the kiss. His hands moved on her back and then up along the subtle curve of her waist to cup her breast. Laura’s breath caught, sending a surge of triumph through him. She wanted him; he had made her want him.

  He let his lips drift down her neck and left soft kisses above the bodice of her gown, where the skin was even more silken. Then he took her lips again, letting his hands rove, showing her what pleasures they could rouse.

  His mind was filled with images of tumbled bedclothes and flashes of naked skin when a jolt of reality intruded. He had to stop this. How had he let it go so far? With a heroic act of will, he pulled away, jerking the curtains aside and stepping back into the now empty corridor.

  Laura remained leaning against the wall as if she needed its support. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her eyes were large and dark with emotion.

  What the hell had he been thinking of? Gavin wondered. Or, more accurately, why hadn’t he been thinking, instead of—whatever he had been doing? What sort of madness had overtaken him? His liaisons with the other sex—pleasurable as they had undoubtedly been—had always aided, not impeded, his work.

  Laura was staring at him. He couldn’t interpret the look in her eyes. What sorts of damnable complications were in store now?