To Tempt a Rake

by Cara Elliott

  “Let’s get out and walk,” said Marco. “I’d like to make a last survey of the side streets.” The vast gardens of Prince Metternich’s villa were screened from the street by high walls and hedges, but he made careful mental note of the various gates, just in case the primary plan went awry.

  “Where will you have a vehicle waiting to transport Grunwald to a safe house?” asked Kate softly.

  “Actually, I’ve arranged for two—one at each end of the grounds. We can’t be too careful, Kate. He must not be allowed to assassinate the king.”

  He quickened his step, feeling restless and on edge. To his relief, Kate seemed to sense his need to stay focused on the mission and didn’t try to distract him with conversation.

  The line of guests waiting to enter the villa snaked down the Rennweg, the white and blue ballgowns punctuated by the martial splendor of the various uniforms. Even the men in plain evening dress sparkled with medals and silver-threaded sashes. Precious jewels glittered all around—it looked as if the stars from the heavens had fallen to earth for one magical night.

  He caught Kate’s expression as she surveyed the crowd. “Behold the crème de la crème of the Continent,” he murmured. “How does it feel to be part of the elite, Lady Ghiradelli?”

  She muttered a rude word under her breath. “I’m not, and never shall be. If you wanted a wife to display in a gilded cage, you made the wrong choice.”

  Choices, choices. His heart began to pound against his ribs. Was he wrong to let her dance into danger with him? He had been part of enough missions to know that Fate could take an ugly turn at any moment.

  The thought of losing his bold, free-spirited bride sent a blade of fear knifing through his gut.

  Shading his eyes to hide his doubts, Marco surveyed the festive lawns. Colored lanterns burned brightly along the graveled paths, and the strains of lilting music wafted through the evening breeze. The lush plantings were echoed in the look of the ladies, many of whom had a profusion of olive and laurel leaves—the symbols of peace—woven into their hair.

  “It’s like a fairy tale come to life,” breathed Kate, watching the elegant guests stroll among the strutting peacocks.

  “This way,” said Marco gruffly, turning down the central walkway. “Let us see if we can spot Grunwald.”

  The constant blare of trumpets from the main gate announced the steady arrival of sovereigns—emperors and kings rubbing shoulders with princes and archdukes. Never before had there been such an impressive gathering of titled aristocrats in one place. And yet, from what he could see, security was lax.

  Which suited his purposes, thought Marco grimly.

  Twilight colored the sky with streaks of orange and pinks that darkened to purple as it dipped into the shadows of the trees. Refreshment tents dotted the manicured grounds, the white damask walls billowing in the breeze. Champagne flowed, along with Mosel and Tokay wines. Toasts to peace rang out, punctuating the general mood of merriment and good cheer.

  Tightening his hold on Kate’s hand, Marco abruptly veered off the path and cut across the grass.

  “Trouble?” she asked in a taut whisper.

  In answer, he drew her into his arms. “Waltz with me, Kate.” His fingers entwined hers as he spun into the first figures of the dance. “Before it grows too late.”

  He looped his other arm around her waist, reveling in the warmth of her body beneath the azure silk. Their feet skimmed silently over the freshly mown grass, twirling in harmony with each other. The music floated through the leaves, soft and lilting as the first pale dapplings of moonlight.

  Her skirts flared as they whirled through a turn, and to his eyes she looked like an ethereal ocean wave washing over the soft earth.

  Ti amo, he thought, pressing his cheek to the golden strands of her hair. He knew he should say it aloud, but somehow his tongue seemed to trip over the words. For now, the unspoken understanding connecting them would have to be enough.

  Longing to hold the enchantment for more than a few magical moments, Marco closed his eyes and lost himself in her sweet scent. His palm traced the inward curve of her back, drawing her closer so that he might imprint every nuanced curve of her body to memory.

  The violins rose in crescendo, then the notes died away, leaving only the twittering of the nightingales to serenade the night.

  “Thank you.” Kate lifted her face and smiled. “That was lovely.”

  “Si, bella,” he whispered.

  Her lashes flickered in the lanternlight as she averted her gaze. “I—”

  Marco heard her breath catch in her throat.

  “I see him.”

  He went very still. “Where?”

  “There. Three paces to the left of Apollo’s Temple.”

  Turning slowly, Marco saw Grunwald standing with several other men. They were smoking cigars and watching the ballet dancers.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. “And, Kate, be patient. I can’t say how long this will take.”

  Kate watched Marco slip away into the shadows. Patience. It was not a virtue that came naturally to her, she thought wryly. Her first impulse was to follow along, but for his sake, she would try to rein in her hellion spirit. She understood that any distraction could put him in mortal danger.

  Marco was dealing with a deadly adversary. A man who would kill without compunction.

  Her hands smoothed over her skirts, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence. Il Serpenti could take care of himself, she told herself. Still, a frisson of fear snaked down her spine.

  Forcing aside her worries, Kate turned away from the blazing lights and walked along the tall boxwood hedge leading to the outer fringes of the grounds. The laughter and the music grew fainter….

  Oh, if only she could quiet her trepidation.

  At the far end of the formal garden, she spotted a strange shape looming up in the shadows. It swayed gently in the breeze and then slowly started to grow larger and larger, a blaze of blue and white stripes rising above the dark leaves.

  Recalling that a hot-air balloon was to be part of the evening’s festivities, she edged closer, curious to see the contraption close up. Peering through the hedge, she watched two men carefully adjust the brass burner inside the passenger basket, slowly inflating the colorful silk.

  Thick ropes tethered the balloon to the ground. Seemingly satisfied that all was in order, the men climbed out of the basket, which was now hovering several feet off the ground, and began draping silver bunting over the sides of dark woven wicker.

  Kate lingered for another moment, then started to retrace her steps. The evening was certainly going to end on a high note, she mused. The prince had hired the famed Herr Stuwer, Vienna’s master of pyrotechnics, to create a special show of fireworks. To highlight the awesome display, the orchestra was to play Handel’s “Music for the Royal Fireworks.”

  Sparks and fire would light up the heavens—a fitting salute to the Allied victory over Napoleon.

  Looking away from the starry sky, Kate saw the wink and flash of the honor guard as they stood at attention among the white columns of the domed pavilion. Supper for the sovereigns was ending, and the dignitaries were starting to stroll out to partake in the outdoor festivities.

  She tried to relax, but her nerves were stretched as taut as the balloon’s tethers. So much could go wrong for Marco. What if the local agents had betrayed him to the Saxon conspirators? Everything was for sale in Vienna—state secrets, fleshly pleasures, princely kingdoms…

  An involuntary shudder raced through her limbs.

  Seeing an arched opening in the hedge, Kate slipped into its shelter and pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks, hoping to keep her imagination from running wild.

  She was, after all, Belladonna of Naples, the steel-nerved cutpurse who had outwitted the authorities at every turn. She knew the importance of keeping a cool head when all hell broke loose.

  A ripple of laughter drifted out from the nearby faux temple, and then suddenly the mellow s
ound was overridden by snapping branches and skittering feet on the rough gravel. Kate instinctively flattened into the shadows as she ventured a peek at the two onrushing figures.

  The man in pursuit lunged and caught the coattails of his quarry. Both hit the ground hard, tangled in a welter of thrashing kicks and punches. As one of them rolled free and scrambled to his feet, a flicker of light fell over his features.

  Face contorted in rage, Grunwald whipped a long stiletto from his boot and slashed at Marco’s outstretched hand.

  Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out as the blade grazed his fingertips.

  Marco spun away. Dropping low, he aimed a hard kick at Grunwald’s knee, which sent the Saxon sprawling. But moving with catlike agility, Grunwald quickly recovered and shot up with the blade still in his grasp. His other fist clenched a rock, and in the same scrabbling motion, he hurled it at Marco’s head.

  The missile struck Marco flush on the temple, knocking him to the ground. Grunwald whirled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he spotted two dark shapes round the far end of the hedge and come racing toward him. Cut off from the main gardens, he charged past Kate’s hiding place and sprinted into the gloom.

  Crawling to his knees, Marco exhorted his men to give chase.

  But they were still a good distance away, noted Kate. And Marco was still groggy from the blow…

  Without hesitation, she set off in pursuit.

  Twisting, turning, through the darkness, Kate matched the Saxon’s pounding pace as he cut through the ornamental plantings. A holly bush snagged her shawl and she flung it aside, ignoring the branches tearing at her skirts. Faster, faster. The looming garden walls had the Saxon trapped in a gateless corner. There was only one way for him to elude capture.

  And just as she feared, the clever dastard was heading for the lone blaze of light.

  Hurtling the stack of supplies lining the small clearing, Grunwald waved his blade, frightening off the balloon’s tenders. With three quick slashes he cut the restraining lines, then climbed into the basket.

  The billowing silk sphere began to float upward.

  Kate scrambled over the crates, a moment too late. The wicker was way out of reach. But a gust of wind caught one of the trailing ropes, swirling it close. For an experienced sailor, it was an easy grab. Catching the end, she felt herself lifted off her feet. Hand over hand, she began climbing up its length.

  The balloon was now just above the trees.

  A last quick heave brought her over the lip of the basket. Hunched over the brass burner, Grunwald was busy adjusting the flame and the fuel to steady the flight. He didn’t realize that he had company until Kate spoke.

  “Step away from the fire, Herr Grunwald,” she ordered, drawing her knife from beneath her gown.

  “Verdammt noch mal!” Grunwald’s look of astonishment thinned to a sneer. “Meddlesome bitch,” he snarled. “Who the devil are you?”

  “An avenging angel,” she answered. “I don’t intend to let you and Tappan get away with murder.”

  “Miss Woodbridge?”

  “Yes,” she replied, balancing lightly on her toes. The rocking motion was very much like the sway of a ship, so she felt right at home.

  Grunwald did not appear quite so comfortable. He stumbled slightly as he rose and edged sideways. “Say your prayers. No female has the brains or brawn to fight me.”

  “You are not the first man to think that,” she retorted. “Give it up. The game is over.”

  “Surrender to a frau?” Grunwald gave a nasty laugh and raised his stiletto. “Not bloody likely.”

  Shifting her feet, Kate was ready when he suddenly stabbed at her heart. Steel clashed on steel as she parried his blade. He lunged again, but the rocking basket threw him off-balance and he fell back against the big brazier.

  Grunwald screamed as sparks flared and the spilled oil ignited in a whoosh of flames.

  “Kate!” Marco’s hoarse shout rose from the ground below.

  Fire crackled as the wicker and bunting came alight. A rope snapped, and the balloon gave a sickening lurch. In another few moments the flames would shoot up the cording and ignite the silk.

  “Kate!” cried Marco again.

  Before she could respond, a small explosion rocked the basket, nearly knocking her off her feet. Looking around, she saw its force had stunned Grunwald. He lay slumped over the side, soot blackening his face and sparks singeing his coat.

  Another line gave way in a shower of ashes.

  Grabbing the dangling rope, Kate quickly wrenched the unconscious Grunwald upright and lashed their bodies together with a snug bosun’s knot.

  If her luck held, the balloon would stay aloft long enough to anchor a swing to safety. It was a dangerous move—but there wasn’t much choice. With the roar of burning silk echoing in her ears, she took an instant to gauge the distance to the nearest tree and then jumped over the edge.

  Clinging tightly to her prisoner, Kate sailed through the night air. Watch the arc, watch the angle. This was no different from swinging from the mast of her father’s ship, she reminded herself. Using her feet to absorb the impact, she bounced off the tree trunk and twisted down through the branches until the tangled rope halted their fall.

  A swift tug freed the knot at her waist. Grunwald was still unresponsive, but by clutching the collar of his coat, she managed to lower him down to Marco and his men.

  “Take him,” ordered Marco. “You know where.”

  Lynsley’s agents wasted no time in hustling the Saxon away.

  “Hurry, cara!” Marco turned his attention back to her.

  Kate slid down to earth just as the balloon exploded in a fiery shower of sparks.

  At the other end of the gardens, the crowd erupted in delighted cheers, thinking the spectacle was the start of the fireworks display. As if on cue, rockets shot up, filling the sky with a brilliant burst of colors.

  Amid the flash and thunder, Marco grabbed her and ran alongside a stretch of the wall until they reached a small gate hidden in the ivy.

  Turning, he framed her smoke-streaked face between his quivering palms. Anger seemed to pulse from every pore. “Don’t ever do anything that bloody reckless again!”

  So much for a tender reunion.

  Kate drew back a touch. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him escape, could I?”

  “Dio Madre.” His lips traced over her brow. “I know you would fight Lucifer and all his legions to right a wrong, cara. Your courage puts me to blush.” The kiss was now feathered over her cheek. “But damn it, I thought my heart would shatter into a thousand shards when I saw you grab hold of that rope and rise into the darkness.”

  “I—I thought you didn’t have a heart,” she said softly.

  “Neither did I. Somehow you have brought a withered husk back to life.”

  Was it too much to hope that love might take root and blossom between them?

  A brilliant burst of blue and white sparks filled the sky. The soaring notes of Handel’s symphony trumpeted through the trees.

  “Well, you certainly know how to orchestrate a dramatic moment,” said Kate, hardly daring to think her wish might come true.

  He hugged her, a fierce, hard clench that forced the air from her lungs. “I was afraid that I had lost you. Please promise me that you will never, ever scare me like that again.”

  Kate slipped her hand beneath his shirt. Through the shredded leather of her glove, she felt the steady thud reverberating against his ribs. “I know what you are thinking, but the past is the past and you cannot live in fear of its shadow. Life is fraught with risks.”

  His hold tightened.

  “We can’t guard ourselves against pain, but we can forge our own future,” she added softly. “One full of joy if we dare to try.”

  “Ti amo,” he whispered. “I am willing to try if you are.”

  “Ti amo.” Kate smiled. “You know, I am looking forward to becoming fluent in Italian. I think it’s the most beautiful language
in the world.”

  “Bella.” There was a long interlude before he spoke again. “Be assured, we shall have a lot of time to practice on the journey home.”

  Epilogue

  Now that you have returned safely to London, a celebration is in order.” Lord Lynsley raised his wineglass and saluted the four other people seated at the Duke of Cluyne’s magnificent dining table. “Allow me to offer a belated toast to your nuptials, Lord and Lady Ghiradelli.”

  “Hear, hear,” murmured Charlotte.

  “And to a successful mission,” added the marquess dryly.

  “All thanks to Kate,” said Marco, seconding the toast. His words were soft, but his glance sent a shiver of heat through her.

  “Hmmph.” Cluyne cleared his throat. “It’s a good thing she is so deucedly clever and capable, you young rapscallion. Had you allowed any harm to come to her, I would have sliced your guts into garters.”

  Charlotte patted his arm. “Now, Cluyne, there is no cause to raise your voice. Unlike most mortals, none of us is intimidated by the ducal bellow.”

  “Hmmph.” Her grandfather tried to maintain a stern visage, but his mouth tweaked up at the corners. “Least of all you.”

  The peal of Charlotte’s laugh had Kate wondering whether yet another set of wedding bells might soon be ringing for the Circle of Sin. The bantering exchanges between her eccentric friend and her starchy grandfather were becoming increasingly intimate. For all their outward differences, they seemed to be very much at home in each other’s company.

  Home.

  Strange how the word had suddenly taken on a new resonance. For the first time in her life, Kate felt anchored in the world. Friends. Family. Love. She no longer felt like a vagabond soul, adrift on an ocean of uncertainty.

  As her grandfather and Charlotte continued their verbal sparring, she looked down the table. The reflections of the massive silver epergne, its bowl filled with hothouse flowers, cast a pattern of cheery color on the polished pearwood. Her grandfather’s London townhouse no longer seemed so forbidding. Laughter had softened the sharp edges of the carved marble and gilded wood. Happiness had infused the ornate furnishings with life.