He didn’t choose, not for what seemed like ages. Boris brought lemonade for both Anastasia and herself before Etienne became aware of her, and smiled faintly in her direction. For several anxious, outraged minutes, she thought that was all he would do. But then he strolled across the space between them and bowed to her.
She broke off her chatter with Trelawny to give Etienne her hand in a careless manner.
“How enchanting you look, Countess,” he said, raising her fingers to his lips before turning to her sister. “As do you, Asya Petrovna! I hope we may speak later on…” And, smiling, he moved away again.
Stricken, Dunya stared at Captain Trelawny. “It’s over,” she whispered. “He doesn’t love me anymore!”
“You can’t judge from that,” Trelawny said wryly. “He’s clearly playing the same game you are! You barely noticed him. Now he barely notices you. But you have his attention, believe me.”
Although Trelawny’s voice was just a little grim as he spoke the last sentence, Dunya had no time to dwell on that. “Oh, do you think so?” she said eagerly.
“Yes, I do. Now, I believe this is Count Boris’s dance, and you must enjoy it.”
“Of course,” Dunya said, pulling herself together.
Whether or not the captain was right, Etienne didn’t approach her again, either to talk or to ask her to dance, even though she’d saved the final waltz especially. In fact, he didn’t seem to dance much. He spent some time in the card room, and when he emerged, he talked with Major von Wahrschein, who seemed to spend much of his time around Anastasia. It would be good for Anastasia—and for Nikolai!—if she acquired a court of admirers.
Dunya herself did not appear to be short of admirers. She danced and laughed and teased her way through the evening, until the supper dance, another waltz, for which her partner was again Captain Trelawny.
“It isn’t working,” she said flatly.
“Well, you said you ignored him all the way through Mrs. Fawcett’s masquerade.”
“But he can see perfectly who I am! I hate this wasting time. Captain, we must give him something more concrete to be jealous of. Perhaps we should elope.”
A breath of laughter escaped the captain’s lips, stirring the hair on her forehead. “Perhaps we should.”
She smiled reluctantly, remembering that travel wasn’t good for him. “Except then you’d feel obliged to actually marry me,” she said lightly. “Which would defeat the object for both of us!”
“Plus, there are less drastic ways to attract his attention.”
“Like what?” she asked eagerly.
He considered. “We could slip out into the garden together. If you don’t mind braving the cold.”
“Excellent,” she approved. “And then, perhaps even… Captain, would you mind kissing me?”
Trelawny blinked. When his lashes lifted, his eyes seemed to have darkened. “Not in the least.”
“That should make him jealous,” she said with satisfaction.
“I should think so,” Trelawny agreed.
“Perhaps now would be a good time to slip away. Can you see him?”
“Yes. He’s looking toward the door. But if we take a bit of time fumbling with the latch, he’s bound to see or hear. The only trouble is, so is everyone else. Do you really want such a scandal?”
“It’s hardly a huge scandal if we’re betrothed,” she pointed out.
“True. Then let us go and discuss the wedding in private.”
Dunya giggled and led the way to the glass door that opened into the garden. At the door she paused, slowly unlocking it, and lifting the latch.
“He’s coming this way,” Trelawny breathed.
Her heart thundering, Dunya stepped outside. The captain followed and closed the door behind him.
“How long should we give him?” Dunya asked nervously. “Perhaps you should kiss me now, just so I’m not taken by surprise at the wrong moment.”
She lifted her face, but for a moment, he gazed down at her unmoving. She hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts. Then he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. He stepped forward, pushing her back into the shadows, and then his face blocked out her view of the sky as he bent and softly kissed her mouth.
His lips were cool and firm. When they moved on hers, parting them, butterflies rose tingling in her stomach. Shyly, she kissed him back.
He released her mouth, lifting his head.
“That was…pleasant,” she said curiously, reaching up to touch his cheek, warm and rough under her finger tips.
His breath caught. Slowly, he bent his head again and took back her lips. His were no longer cool, but fiery warm. His hand slid around to her nape, holding her head steady for the delicious kiss, that went on and on, or blended, perhaps, into others. She didn’t care. When the sounds of the opening door filtered through her haze, she only knew that she didn’t want the kiss to end. And it didn’t. The captain kept on kissing her, as though he hadn’t noticed the movement behind him.
A woman’s voice said, “Only for one moment, sir. I have to go into supper with—someone is out here!”
Trelawny’s lips stilled on Dunya’s. For a moment, she stared into his excitingly hot, clouded eyes, and watched them slowly cool. His mouth left hers. He straightened, letting the light fall upon them, allowing her to see Etienne and a young woman staring at them. Etienne’s burning shock was all she could have hoped for.
The woman…Dunya was sure the woman was the same she’d spoken to during supper at Mrs. Fawcett’s. And she was staring fixedly at Captain Trelawny. “Richard,” she whispered.
“Jane,” he said blankly.
Chapter Nine
Trelawny was thrown, three times over—first by kissing Dunya. While fully expecting to enjoy the experience, he was quite unprepared for the strength of desire that swept through him at the first touch of her lips. The natural, instinctive passion of her response overwhelmed him, and he became suddenly aware that he was no longer in control of either himself or Dunya’s safety. Which carried its own excitement.
He could cheerfully have punched whoever opened the garden door to interrupt them, though some unamiable part of him was still glad that Etienne would see Dunya locked in his embrace… And then the female voice threw him for the second time as he realized how hurt Dunya would be that Etienne, too, had an assignation.
Recognition of the lady’s voice came more slowly, completing the idiocy, the sheer ridiculousness of the moment. He wanted to sweep Dunya away from it. He wanted to gaze long and hard at Jane to see what she’d become. Yet more than anything, he wanted to laugh.
Dunya, her fingers tight on Trelawny’s arm, was staring from Etienne to Jane who, open-mouthed, couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from Trelawny. Etienne, however, revealed a moment of pure fury, which perhaps spoke in his favor for Dunya, although what the devil he was doing making assignations with another woman, another engaged woman, eluded him.
Engaged. Oh, dear God, surely not to Etienne!
“This is your new betrothed?” he said aloud in disbelief.
Jane’s eyes widened, betraying a faintly haunted expression, before the ice closed down once more. It had intrigued him once, that ice. He’d liked to see it soften when she looked at him.
“Of course not,” she said coldly. “The comte was merely escorting me for a breath of fresh air before supper. The exertion of dancing…”
“Indeed,” Trelawny agreed, taking pity on her. “Well, it is fortunate we all met, for now we may chaperone each other back inside.”
Etienne bowed to Dunya. “But this, we all understand, is your betrothed, Captain,” he said, making it plain that whatever past he sensed between Trelawny and Jane was now well and truly over—whatever designs Etienne himself had on Dunya. “Miss Reid, let me introduce you to Countess Dunya Savarina.”
“Oh, we’ve met already,” Dunya said brightly. “At Mrs. Fawcett’s masquerade, though of course I didn’t know your name, then.”
T
relawny reached over her head to open the door and held it for the ladies. The music had stopped, presumably for supper.
“You may rely on my discretion, of course,” Etienne murmured as he passed Trelawny.
“As Miss Reid may rely on mine,” Trelawny replied, stepping inside and closing the door.
Jane was already on the arm of a stocky young man, making her way toward the supper room without a backward glance, leaving Etienne and Dunya together. Which was, of course, the end Trelawny had been working toward.
Or pretended to work toward, he acknowledged ruefully. In reality, he’d just wanted to be around the incredible warmth and vitality and sheer fun that emanated from Dunya. He hadn’t given much thought to the elusive Etienne and now that he did, he was conscious of an upsurge of an emotion very like jealousy.
With a huge effort of will, he let her choose. Although by custom and etiquette, her supper partner should have been Trelawny, with whom she’d just danced, he wouldn’t prevent her following her heart.
“I find myself without a supper companion,” Etienne mourned. “Perhaps—”
“I’m sure you aren’t, Etienne,” she said brightly. “You never were before.” She glanced around. “Richard?”
Trelawny stepped forward, offering his arm, as he casually inclined his head to Etienne. The sound of his first name on her lips—she’d never used it before—did things to his blood. Perhaps it was her charming Russian accent. Or perhaps it was just all confusion because he’d seen Jane again. She was still an interesting woman…
And yet he knew that if it were possible at this moment to replace Dunya with Jane at his side, he wouldn’t do it. The touch of Dunya’s gloved hand on his arm, her every movement so close to him, spread some elusive emotion he’d been aware of ever since the carriage ride into Vienna, when he’d watched the sun rise with her.
The supper room was a little cramped, but as seemed to be the way of things in Vienna, the great aristocrats and statesmen made the best of it, squashing together at tables, a few spilling back into the drawing room to eat informally. The spread of food itself was excellent, and Dunya kept urging Trelawny to pile his plate higher like hers.
“Will you really eat all that?” he asked in disbelief.
“Oh yes, and I’ll still have room for pastry. I have a healthy appetite.”
She made a sudden lunge as two people rose from the nearest table and sat down next to Jane. Distaste fought with inevitable curiosity in Trelawny, but since he could hardly walk away, he merely sat down opposite her, next to the stocky young man. Jane shot him a quick, half-frightened glance. What the devil was there to be afraid of? That he’d pick a fight with her companion?
“Miss Reid!” Dunya said pleasantly. “It seems we sup together every night!”
Jane inclined her head with a faint smile, and Dunya shifted the sunshine of her attention to the unknown companion. “Good evening. I’m Dunya Petrovna Savarina, the countess’s daughter. I think I must have given up my welcoming duties before you arrived, so I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
The young man, at first clearly astonished to be addressed by an unknown young lady, allowed his hint of haughtiness to fall away. Presumably her name and position made up for her breach of etiquette.
Hastily, Jane said, “Forgive my ill-manners. Countess, allow me to present Mr. Thomas Fawcett.” She took a deep breath, a flush beginning to rise to her cheeks as she stole another glance at Trelawny. “My betrothed. Mr. Fawcett, Captain Trelawny, who is an old friend of my family.”
So this was him, Trelawny mused. Mr. Safe and Secure. His appearance was well enough. His impeccable black evening clothes fitted excellently and his pristine white cravat was tied exquisitely. A wealthy man with pretensions to fashion. Had this always been what Jane had wanted? Trelawny, the younger son of a vicar, had never had more prospects than prize money and promotion through merit. They were all he’d wanted. Adventure, glory, and Jane…
“How do you do, Countess, Captain,” Mr. Fawcett said politely. “It seems the whole world has come to Vienna. Are you on duty in the city, Captain, or is your visit, like my own, for pleasure?”
“Mere pleasure,” Trelawny assured him.
Dunya beamed at him. “There, I told you it would be fun.”
“You came at Countess Dunya’s request?” Jane asked quickly, then bit her lip as if she wished the question unasked.
“Yes, I did,” Trelawny admitted. Picking up his fork, he used it to fold up a slice of beef.
Jane laid down her own fork as though no longer hungry. Her gaze lingered on Trelawny’s plate. Or perhaps on his one hand. “Mrs. Fawcett—that is, Mr. Fawcett’s mother, not the Mrs. Fawcett we’re staying with—was kind enough to invite me to travel with them.”
“Such a delight to be able to travel in Europe again now that the war is finally over,” Fawcett said. “Don’t you find, Captain?”
“Well, it’s certainly more peaceful without the guns,” Trelawny allowed. Spearing the folded meat, he transferred it to his mouth.
“Captain Trelawny fought in the Peninsular Campaign,” Jane explained.
Trelawny lifted his gaze to her face. Clearly, she’d never told her betrothed anything about him and there was surely a plea in her cool blue eyes for him to keep it that way. He’d probably have been hurt if it hadn’t entered his head that she was playing some deep game.
“So, will you marry in Vienna?” Dunya asked brightly.
Fawcett swallowed his food and reached for his wine glass. “No, at my family estate in Hertfordshire, once we return to England.”
“And you?” Jane asked Dunya.
“We haven’t decided yet.” Dunya cast a brilliant smile upon Trelawny which made even Fawcett blink.
“I suppose you will live in Russia,” Jane said, in the tones of one just beginning to understand a conundrum.
“Why would you think that?” Dunya asked, surprised.
Jane cast another quick, uncomfortable glance at Trelawny. “No reason,” she murmured.
But Trelawny understood. She thought he would choose to adjust to his disability away from family and friends. She thought he would be ashamed.
Was he? Was that the reason for his lowness over the last few months?
“I imagine you have estates in Russia,” Jane said, recovering.
“Yes,” Dunya admitted. “Well, that is, my brother does.”
“We shall live on our wits,” Trelawny said, raising his glass to her.
Dunya laughed, as he’d meant her to, but Jane seemed baffled. So did Fawcett, though he managed a rather heavy smile.
“Not sure those will keep the little lady in fripperies,” he confided to Trelawny, presumably by way of a joke, although Dunya seemed inclined to take it seriously.
“Well that doesn’t matter” she said dismissively. “I have no need of fripperies.”
Which, despite the fortune in pearls that hung around her neck and glinted in her hair, was probably true. Remembering her acceptance of the Emperor Inn’s meager accommodation, and the happy way she’d dug into Jenkins’s thrown together breakfast in the coach, he suspected Dunya was one of the most adaptable people he’d ever encountered.
But then Jane had adapted, too. Now that he had leisure to look at her, diamonds winked on her finger and dangled from her ears. Her ball gown was finer than any her family had used to be able to afford. Something had changed for her. Something that had swung her into the rarified world of wealth and fashion and the Fawcetts.
“How are your parents?” he inquired.
“Well, I thank you. My uncle is looking after them.”
Trelawny had never heard of an uncle. Nor did he quite understand why her parents, being well, would need looking after. He even opened his mouth to ask before he realized the plea was back in her eyes. Yes, she was definitely up to something.
*
Dunya didn’t quite care for the flash of understanding she glimpsed between Trelawny and Jane Reid.
Which was silly when she’d sat here deliberately so that they could achieve just such an understanding before Jane made the mistake of marrying the dull stick opposite her, who imagined women’s only desire in the world was for fripperies.
Tonight, she told herself, was a success. Trelawny had taught her how to kiss properly—her stomach turned over somewhat dizzyingly at the memory—and together they’d made Jane and Etienne both jealous. Understandings were being reached. Truly they were, she thought as her eyes strayed across the room to where Etienne sat with the French ambassador and his beautiful niece. He didn’t even glance up, let alone look in her direction.
For the first time, she began to wonder if her plan was childish and silly. For truly, she’d hoped to get more than a passing flash of anger or jealousy by this stage. She was engaged to another man—a handsome, wounded hero of a man—and had been discovered kissing him. What was the matter with Etienne?
Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. Had he truly fallen out of love with her? Or—and somehow this seemed even worse—had he grown dull?
What if I do, too? What if I become like Anastasia and only do as my husband tells me and scold people all the time? What if I end up on the shelf, running errands for her children, or Vanya’s? Or married to a stranger who just buys me fripperies and won’t talk to me?
She’d never truly considered a life without Etienne before, and now that it entered her head, it made her dizzy and disoriented. Desperately, she searched the room for distraction and caught sight of her sister laughing up into the face of her dining companion, the elegant Prussian major. And for some reason, a touch of fear shivered down her spine.
She stood abruptly. “Shall we return to the ballroom?” she said brightly.
The gentlemen both stood, contentedly enough. Dunya found she wanted to grasp Trelawny’s arm, to make the strange feeling go away. But instead, she found Jane Reid by her side.
“How did you meet Richard?” the English girl asked curiously as they walked back into the ballroom, which was already quite full.
The musicians were taking up position once more, tuning their instruments. Servants were removing unwanted plates and pouring wine.
Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Page 10
