by Jane Ashford
Laura moved away, putting an armchair between them.
She would rather have nothing, he thought. Let her, then. Without another word, he turned and went out, resisting the impulse to slam the door.
The click of his boots on the parquet floor receded. Laura burst into tears.
Fourteen
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” said George Tompkins from behind his wide desk. Laura and Gavin faced him in straight chairs placed several feet apart. “Events are moving rather swiftly, as you know. Bonaparte is gathering an army as he travels north.”
“I should be…” began Gavin.
The old man held up a hand for silence. “His return has had one good effect. It appears to have sharpened the minds of the allied leaders marvelously. The Congress of Vienna is going through the items on its agenda with commendable speed and amity.”
Laura wondered why he had summoned them, and together. She had not seen Gavin since the previous evening when he had come to her room, and sitting near him now, she felt an uncomfortable mixture of uneasiness and longing.
“And of course the plots and counterplots are multiplying like rabbits,” Tompkins continued.
She had had to refuse him, Laura thought, wondering if she was trying to convince herself.
“Indeed, it is hard to judge loyalties from moment to moment.”
But if she hadn’t, she would at least have seen him for some few months a year, a part of her argued. She would have been acknowledged as his wife.
“What is decided in Vienna may determine the course of the war,” Tompkins went on.
But she didn’t want to spend her life waiting, Laura concluded. She didn’t want to be always hoping things would change. She was sick to death of the sidelines.
“There are a number of matters we need to explore,” said Tompkins.
“We?” replied Gavin.
It took Laura a moment to absorb the implications of the word.
“I don’t belong in Vienna,” declared Gavin. “I must go into France, seek out people I know there, discover Bonaparte’s plans.”
“His plans appear straightforward. He is raising an army to fight for his throne.”
“But when and where he will—”
“These things will be easily discoverable. It won’t require a man of your…talents.”
Laura stole a glance at Gavin. He looked thunderous.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “I shall protest.”
“If you like.” Tompkins didn’t seem at all concerned at the idea. He put the tips of his fingers together and gazed at them from under lowered lids. “Now, the question of Sophie Krelov.”
He had gained Laura’s full attention. Noticing, he smiled at her benignly. “She is still very active, you know. She has been talking to an interesting collection of men…”
“Sophie is always talking to men,” growled Gavin. Laura threw him a look, but could see nothing but anger and frustration in his face.
“Indeed. And about what, I wonder? I believe there is something more to her plotting, something we have not yet uncovered. And you have the advantage of having observed her closely for some time.”
He had observed her all right, Laura thought.
Gavin started to speak, then clenched his jaw.
Tompkins smiled almost imperceptibly, like someone used to winning and too generous to gloat about it. “Our work will also give me an opportunity to test Miss Devane’s abilities.”
“What?” said Gavin and Laura simultaneously.
“Perhaps we will even find her a new post. Vienna is still full of people with valuable information.” His smile broadened slightly.
“You can’t be serious,” said Gavin.
Laura wasn’t able to speak. She had gotten her wish. She was to be given a chance.
Gavin stood. He looked furious. “And if I refuse?” he demanded. “I can ride north without anyone’s damned permission!”
The old man acknowledged it with a calm gesture, as if it were a matter of indifference to him. “Do you think you could learn Russian in a few weeks, my dear?” he said to Laura.
“Russian?” Gavin looked as if he were about to explode.
“I have a talent for languages,” she replied a little unevenly.
“I’m sure a tutor could be arranged.”
“This is insanity,” muttered Gavin.
They turned to look at him.
“Has the whole world lost its mind?”
Tompkins raised one elegant white brow. Laura clasped her hands together.
“Isn’t Boney enough to deal with?” Gavin accused.
They gazed at him.
“Well, isn’t he?”
He was shouting. Laura noticed that Mr. Tompkins seemed to almost approve of this vehemence.
“Deuce take it!” With a scorching glare, Gavin stamped out of the room. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him.
“An amusing young man,” commented Tompkins.
“Would you call him that?” Her voice was distinctly unsteady now, Laura realized. Gavin affected her whether she willed it or not.
The look Mr. Tompkins gave her carried an obvious twinkle. “Ah, well, as one gets older, things look a bit different.”
“Do they?” she said, rising unsteadily. “That is comforting.”
Tompkins remained at the desk when she had gone, his smile now broad and satisfied. From a very young age, he had been addicted to intrigue, but up to now he had confined his interests to politics. Was this new effort a sign of senility? he wondered. They were so amusing, though—both of them.
People seemed to grow more and more transparent with each year that was added to his age. He had gained a reputation for omniscience simply by observing their antics and applying lessons from many others he had known. These two were rather special, however. They reminded him of himself long ago. Both of them did. That was something he had never seen before, and the implications were positively fascinating.
It had been a long time since he was last fascinated, the old man thought, rising and making his way to his chamber. It was a sign he had learned to heed. It meant that something important was in the making. Was this, at last, the legacy that he had hoped to leave?
He walked along the corridor ruminating on the possibility. After a while, he began to chuckle. He was still chuckling when he entered his room, but his valet paid no attention. He was used to it.
* * *
Gavin held out his hand to help Laura down from the carriage in front of the headquarters of the Austrian delegation. Gathering her skirts, Laura took it and stepped lightly to the pavement. She took his arm, and they started together up the steps. Something about the gesture—the whole evening ahead—felt very right, Laura thought. They were moving together, in matched rhythms, against an adversary. They had made a plan, and now they would execute it.
But that was not how Gavin felt, she reminded herself. He had not wanted her to come at all. He had wanted to confront Sophie Krelov alone. Was that because he actually yearned to see her again? Laura wondered as they made their way up the main stair to the noisy reception rooms ahead. Or was he really so fearful for her safety?
They neared the archway, and Laura’s muscles tightened. Mr. Tompkins was certain that he had kept their return to Vienna secret. And what the old man stated, Laura believed. They would surprise Sophie by their sudden reappearance and, it was hoped, shake loose some information.
Laura had her doubts about this, but she kept them to herself. She wasn’t going to do anything that threatened her chance to prove herself to Mr. Tompkins. And to Gavin? inquired an insinuating inner voice. She gave it a defiant yes. What if she could prove her worth to him? Might that not change things between them?
She stole a glance at his handsome profile. He was totally focused
on the crowded room they faced. As she should be, Laura thought. But for just one more wistful moment she contemplated the change in their situation. The closeness of the island seemed gone forever, dissipated like the smoke they had used to call for rescue. It was as if it couldn’t survive in the actual world, as if it were a dream she had once had and now could only remember.
Standing straighter, she turned to the mass of people in front of them, pushing aside regrets. She would show them. She had already contacted Annalise and set her on the trail of Sophie’s supposed maid once again. Something important would come of that, she told herself. But now, there was Sophie herself to be faced.
“I don’t suppose you would leave this to me?” said Gavin.
“What would you like me to do? Go and sit in a corner with my hands folded?”
“If you had done as I liked…” he muttered but didn’t bother to finish the sentence.
“There is Sophie,” replied Laura calmly. “We should go and speak to her before she sees us.” She glanced at him. His expression was focused, impassive. She could find no emotion there.
They moved forward together, maneuvering around other guests, and approached the other woman from the back. She was talking to a young man Laura didn’t recognize. Gavin caught his gaze over Sophie’s shoulder and gave him a look that made him step back a pace, then excuse himself and move away.
Sophie turned. When she saw them, she went completely still.
“Countess,” said Gavin.
Laura merely nodded a greeting.
“You cannot be here!” she hissed.
“Do you think us phantoms?” asked Gavin. He reached out and grasped her wrist. The skin whitened under the pressure of his fingers. Had he wanted to touch her? Laura wondered.
Sophie jerked her arm free. “What have you done to Michael?”
“Your plans are spoiled,” he responded, not answering her question. “You will never succeed.”
She started to reply, then caught herself. In silence, she looked them over, seeming to see a great deal, Laura thought uncomfortably. After a while, she began to smile. “I?” she said. “What sort of plans could I have? I am just a woman, nothing more than a…messenger.”
“Bonaparte will be defeated,” Gavin told her. “The cause is hopeless.”
Her smile widened. “Hopeless causes. Unattainable dreams.” She fixed her gaze on Laura, taunting.
Her stare was unsettling, Laura acknowledged. She looked as if she knew all one’s inmost secrets and was mocking them. It was a pose, Laura told herself. Their task was to shake her out of it, out of all her many poses, and find the truth that lay beneath. From some unknown part of herself came a question. “Where was it that your father taught you to shoot?” she asked.
Gavin looked startled, but Sophie’s reaction was much more marked. She stepped back. Her eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. Her lips thinned. “You have never been what you seemed, have you?” she said to Laura. “You deceived me once. Believe that you will not do so again.”
With a rustle of silk, she turned and left them.
“What the deuce was that about her father?” said Gavin.
“Something she told me once. Something real, I think.”
“Real?”
“No one seems to know where Sophie comes from. She tells everyone a different story. If we knew her origins…”
Gavin waited.
“We might know her loyalties better.”
“If she has any,” he murmured, but his expression was interested.
“I think she does,” Laura responded, though she knew he hadn’t meant it as a question.
“Why?” His gaze on her remained keen.
She shook her head, having no good reasons for this intuition.
“Instincts are all very well,” said Gavin after a moment. “But they are no substitute for information. We should speak to some of my acquaintances. Form a picture of what has been going on in Vienna while we were…away.”
“I can talk to people I have met.”
“You are to stay with me!”
For an instant, Laura couldn’t speak. She wanted nothing more than to stay with him, she thought. But he hadn’t meant it that way. “We can reach more people if we separate. And some might talk more readily if—”
“You are not to go off on your own.”
She would never prove her abilities unless she did, Laura thought. “Nonsense. I will be in plain sight.” And she walked away before he could object again.
* * *
Gavin watched her move away from him, her head high, her slender figure rigid. She was angry again. She was always angry lately. She didn’t wish to marry him; she didn’t wish to hear his advice, or even to admit that ten years of practice in these delicate matters might make his opinion valuable. She only wished to drive him mad worrying over her safety and wanting a woman who had definitively rejected him.
She was going to talk to von Sternhagen, he saw. At least that was relatively safe. The worst the estimable baron would do was bore her to death. And he would take a very long time to do it.
Watching Laura march up to the man and engage him in conversation, Gavin felt once more that odd sense of recognition that she occasionally elicited. She reminded him of something—someone. She stirred memories of the past in a way that unsettled him even more than thwarted desire. What was it? But the more he groped for an answer, the further it receded. At last, he had to shrug off the feeling and dismiss it. It was so very difficult to get anything done with Laura nearby, he thought.
With a sigh, Gavin went in search of his own sources of information. He spoke to Austrians and Frenchmen and Poles; a Russian attaché and a Saxon nobleman. He talked with the wife of an Italian delegate who had an obvious tendre for him. He chatted with a Dutchman who had vast shipping interests. But all he could discover was that Sophie had continued to enjoy the society of Vienna while they were imprisoned, attending nearly every event with apparent enjoyment.
Through it all, he remained constantly conscious of Laura, moving about the huge reception room on her own rounds. He found he could sense her location without looking, feel her presence, like a light that catches in the corner of the eye or a sound that rings at the edge of hearing. When she was nearby, he relaxed; when she strayed to the far end of the chamber, he was uneasy. Finally, on one of the latter occasions, he abandoned his questioning and turned to find her among the press of guests.
Once he did, he couldn’t turn his gaze away from the grace of her form, the vivacity of her expression. Some primal part of him insisted that she was his, that she should be at his side, smiling up at him. Yet there she was, as far out of reach as the moon. She seemed to be enjoying herself too. With a spurt of rage, he realized that she was talking with that idiot Oliveri. Unconscious of the stares he provoked, Gavin strode through the crowd to her side.
“What do you think Bonaparte will do?” the Italian was saying.
“He’ll raise the largest army he can and try for one of his great victories,” interrupted Gavin curtly. “He’ll hope for one decisive battle. The French are as tired of war as the allies.”
Oliveri nodded in agreement. “And the other side will hope for the same.”
He didn’t say “our side,” Gavin noticed.
“I can’t believe the French countrymen are joining him,” said an Englishwoman Gavin hadn’t even noticed, who was standing next to Laura. “How can they?”
“Bonaparte made them great,” responded Laura. “The old aristocracy had nothing but contempt for the people. But Bonaparte is like them, and yet he was emperor as well.”
Gavin felt a flash of pride. She really understood the intricacies of the situation, he thought. She took the time to learn, and she had the intelligence to interpret the things she read.
“Very true,” said Oliveri unct
uously. Seeing the look he gave Laura, Gavin had to suppress a strong desire to throttle him.
“He’s nothing but a jumped-up commoner,” said the woman. “His mother wanted to keep pigs at Versailles, and he has the manners of a costermonger.”
“Have you met him?” asked Laura.
“What? Er, no, I… It’s well known.”
Laura had deflated the woman’s pretensions rather neatly, Gavin thought. And though her expression had been innocent, he could have sworn that she’d done it deliberately.
“From what I have heard, Bonaparte’s manners are liable to vary with the situation,” said Oliveri.
“Will he summon his wife to Paris, do you think?” said the woman.
“I have no doubt he will.”
“Will she go?” asked Laura.
Gavin nodded in approval. That was the crux of the matter.
Oliveri gave an eloquent shrug. “Like many others, she will wait to see what happens, I suppose.”
“So that is the danger?” Laura’s inquiring glance brushed his, and Gavin couldn’t suppress a smile. “That his old allies will rejoin him?”
“Precisely,” Gavin said. She went right to the heart of things. “We have some unpredictable period of time to defeat him. Weeks or months. After that, he can only gain power.”
Laura looked thoughtful.
“We will finally see some action from the congress,” jibed Oliveri.
Gavin’s lip curled. The fellow wouldn’t have recognized real action if it marched up and planted him a facer. Shaking his head, he caught Laura’s eye. She was obviously thinking the same thing. Their gaze held for a long moment. When she looked away, Gavin felt somehow abandoned.
“Wellington will defeat him,” said the woman, sounding as if she wanted to convince herself.
“Wellington has never faced Bonaparte in battle,” commented Oliveri.
