Читать книгу His Reluctant Mistress - Joanna Maitland - Страница 6

Chapter Two

Leo rose in his saddle and looked around him, savouring the warm late October sunshine and the glorious countryside around Vienna. It was very satisfying to have some solitude at last. The city was full to overflowing with incomers, many of whom were spending fortunes to impress the local populace and the visiting monarchs. Leo and Jack did not. They could not afford to live in anything like the style appropriate to their rank, for paying off Jack’s gambling debt had made money very tight. They had been forced to take cramped rooms above an inn, the Gasthof Brunner, a long way from the centre of the city.

There were picnics and dinners and balls and all sorts of extravagant entertainments every day, even on Sundays. Leo and Jack had had to divide their forces in order to attend as many as they possibly could, in hopes of picking up useful intelligence. In fairness, they had had some minor successes, and their contacts in the British delegation were pleased with the results so far. But Vienna society was a sore trial. So many petty aristocrats, some of them with their pockets even more to let than Leo’s, yet very quick to sneer at any man without a title.

As it happened, he and Jack did have titles. But they were also spies. So they had to be extremely careful not to be caught and expelled from the city. It had happened already to others. A suspected spy was simply summoned to the office of Baron Hager, the chief of police, to be informed that his passport was not quite in order. He was then invited to leave Vienna. Forthwith.

Very neat indeed. The Austrians were doing their very best to ensure that the Congress proceeded without embarrassment. Not that the Austrian Emperor Francis, or the other monarchs, were taking any obvious part in it. While their chief ministers met and plotted in deepest secrecy, the monarchs and their courtiers danced. Alexander, Tsar of all the Russias, was the most prominent of them all. The man seemed to need no sleep and to be able to dance all night, provided only that there were enough beautiful ladies to partner him. The Tsar was never seen to dance with an ugly woman, no matter how elevated her station.

Leo shifted in his saddle and stroked his gloved hand down his mount’s glossy neck. At least Jack had managed to locate a livery stable with excellent horses for hire. Leo’s bay gelding, Hector, was a very fine animal indeed, and Leo had soon established a rapport with him, using his few words of basic German.

‘I fancy I see an inn yonder, old fellow,’ Leo said thoughtfully. ‘A good gallop across this turf and we will both be able to rest and refresh ourselves.’ Hector’s ears twitched. He understood the tone of voice, if not the words. Leo stroked him again. ‘Good fellow. Nun,’ he said, touching his heel to the horse’s flank, ‘los!’

Hector responded by lengthening his stride into an effortless canter and then a gallop. Leo bent low over his neck, relishing the breath of the warm wind on his face and the power of the fine beast under him. ‘Sehr gut, Hector. Sehr gut.’ Responding, the horse laid his ears back and flew faster.

Hector was blowing hard by the time they reached the inn. It was a typical country Gasthof, with a steeply pitched roof against the winter snows, and flower-hung wooden balconies on the upper floors. The heavy door stood open into the yard where stable lads were bustling about, unhitching the horses from a fine carriage. It bore no crest, but its gleaming burgundy-purple paint-work, elegantly picked out with gold, suggested that its owner was a man of means.

Leo dismounted and passed Hector’s reins to the ostler. ‘Walk him until he cools and then see he has a good rub down. I shall be returning to the city in an hour or so.’ The ostler frowned in response. He did not move.

Leo swore inwardly. His German was not yet up to this. He explained again, in French. The ostler still looked bewildered.

‘Darf ich Ihnen behilflich sein?’ said a man’s voice from behind him. Then, switching to slightly accented French, ‘May I be of service to you, sir?’

Leo turned to find himself looking down at a much older man dressed in a coat of purple cloth over a purple velvet waistcoat embroidered with gold. Was this the owner of the carriage? Did he match his dress to the colours of his conveyance? He certainly looked extraordinary for, in addition to his splendid clothes, he had eyebrows as extravagant as a Prussian officer’s mustachios.

Leo hoped his smile did not betray his amusement at the thought. ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ he replied. ‘Most kind. I need to ensure the care of my horse.’

‘Pray allow me.’ The purple-clad gentleman translated Leo’s instructions to the nodding ostler. Hector was led away.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Leo bowed. ‘May I have the honour of knowing the name of my interpreter?’

The older man smiled up at Leo. ‘The Baron Ludwig von Beck,’ he said proudly, clicking his heels and bowing from the neck.

Leo returned the bow, in a rather more nonchalant, English fashion. ‘Lord Leo Aikenhead. Most grateful to you, Baron. My German is, sadly, not good. And I doubt that the man speaks English any more than French.’

‘Alas, no. He does not even speak German. Or not German that anyone from my country would recognise.’ He chuckled at his own wit.

‘You are not an Austrian then, Baron von Beck?’

‘No, indeed.’ There was more than a touch of hauteur in his voice. ‘I am a Prussian.’

‘I see. You are attending his Prussian Majesty at the Congress?’

‘No. I am simply returning from Italy. I have been there for some months, seeing the antiquities and buying art for my collection. And you, Lord Leo?’

Leo’s story had been very well rehearsed since his arrival in Vienna. ‘My brother and I have taken the opportunity of Bonaparte’s defeat to travel in Europe,’ he said smoothly. ‘We were planning to go to Italy, but all the world is in Vienna for the moment. Decided to indulge our curiosity and join them. For a few weeks, at least. Promises to be quite amusing, do you not think?’ Leo’s lazy drawl made it sound as if the brothers were a pair of rich wastrels with nothing to do but follow their latest whim. Unflattering, but necessary. While Vienna society believed them to be harmless gawpers, there was a good chance that people would forget to guard their tongues in their company.

‘No doubt. But you must not miss the sights of Italy, sir. You will find it most rewarding. For example, I have spent the last few months in Venice. A beautiful city, sir, beautiful. Have you visited it?’

‘Alas, no. Due to the recent…er…difficulties, it has not been possible. But we do hope to journey there. In a few months. Perhaps, Baron, you would do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me?’ Leo gestured towards the inn behind them.

Baron von Beck shook his head. ‘Thank you, Lord Leo, but I am afraid I must decline. I am expected shortly in Vienna.’

Leo did not press the invitation. The Baron was scrupulously polite, but there was something about his manner that jarred. Perhaps that stiff-necked pride? Whatever the cause, Leo had no desire to know him better.

The two men took their leave of each other and Leo entered the inn. There, to his relief, he discovered that the innkeeper had more than a smattering of English, plus adequate French, so it was easy for Leo to order a light meal and a bottle of wine. His host showed him into a private parlour where a bright fire was burning in the grate, in spite of the warm weather outside.

Throwing his hat on the settle, Leo sank gratefully into a cushioned chair by the fire and stretched out his legs towards the flames with a sigh of pleasure. A moment later, a pretty blonde servant appeared with his wine. She was wearing a plain gown with a very low-cut neckline that displayed her ample charms.

Leo mumbled his thanks in his best German. She was attractive enough, and he had enjoyed the view, but he had never yet had to resort to the servant classes to find his mistresses. He did not mean to start here in Austria, even though he was beginning to feel the lack of a woman in his bed. Still, there was yet time. Once he was more familiar with the ways of society here, he would be able to choose safely. He was not so desperate that he would put his mission at risk for a quick fumble in a dark corner.

The girl straightened and curtsied, saying something in a broad accent that Leo found totally unintelligible. It seemed that no response was expected, he was glad to note, for she turned and left the room.

Leo felt a sudden draught hitting the back of his neck. She must have failed to close the door properly. No point in calling her back. He rose to shut it himself.

Over the general hubbub of a busy posting inn, he heard raised, angry voices. A man’s and a woman’s. And the woman’s voice, though speaking in what might be German, contained an unmistakable thread of fear.

Leo flung the door wide and strode out into the corridor. Baron von Beck was gripping the arm of a beautiful young lady shrouded in a long, dark cloak, and trying to drag her towards the inn yard. Her hood had fallen back, exposing lustrous black hair, coiled at the back of her head. She was trying, vainly, to push him off with small, gloved hands. Her frightened protests were being drowned by the Baron’s angry words. And all the inn servants seemed to have mysteriously melted away.

Leo did not stop to wonder what might be going on. He simply seized Beck roughly by the shoulder. ‘You go too far, Baron,’ he snarled in French. ‘I suggest you let the lady go.’ When Beck made no move to obey, Leo tightened his grip and forced the man back against the opposite wall, holding him there with his superior strength. He would not free Beck until he was sure that the man’s cowardly attack would not be repeated. Behind them, the lady pulled her cloak more closely around her body, automatically putting up a hand to rub her injured arm.

The two men stared at each other in open hostility for what seemed a long time. For a moment, Leo fancied they were about to come to blows. He stiffened in readiness, but the martial glint soon faded from the Baron’s eyes, to be replaced by injured pride as he recognised that he was outclassed. Leo was relieved. The last thing he wanted was an unseemly brawl at a public inn, especially with a gentle lady as audience. He allowed the Baron to shake himself free.

‘You are very quick to judge, sir,’ Beck said haughtily, pulling himself up to his full height. ‘And on this occasion, your judgement is wrong. Quite wrong.’

‘Nothing justifies such brutal treatment of a lady,’ Leo growled, dismissing the man. He was no longer a threat. Leo turned back to give his full attention to the lady. ‘Perhaps you would like to sit by the fire to recover your composure, madame?’ he said, still in French. The lady looked darkly exotic. He imagined she was more likely to speak French than English.

She swallowed hard and put a gloved hand to her lips. Then she looked up at Leo with glowing dark eyes and nodded slightly.

Ignoring the Baron’s spluttering outrage, Leo ushered the lady into his private parlour and closed the door firmly. She stood for a moment, gazing round the empty room as if she did not know quite where she was. She looked ruffled, Leo decided, like a bird caught by the wind from an unexpected quarter. ‘Will you not be seated, madame?’ Leo pulled forward his own chair and was glad to see the lady smile at last. She was recovering some of her composure. Good.

With exquisite grace, the lady took Leo’s seat by the fire and accepted the glass of wine he offered her. ‘Thank you, sir. You have been most kind. Believe me, I am truly grateful to you for rescuing me.’ Her French was almost perfect, Leo decided. Almost good enough to pass for a native. Almost, but not quite.

She was looking around the room again, and this time there was the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She was becoming concerned to find herself alone, closeted with a man she did not know. Any virtuous lady would feel so.

Leo hastened to reassure her. ‘May I fetch your maid to you, madame?’

Her blush was subsiding, Leo was pleased to see. None the less, he kept his distance. She had been assaulted once already, and by a nobleman, too. He would not put her in fear of another such attack.

‘I…I am travelling with my uncle, sir. He is above stairs, at present. As is my maid.’

‘If you will give me your uncle’s name, madame, I will instruct the landlord to fetch him at once.’ Leo smiled across at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She reminded him of a frightened doe, backed into a trap, her huge brown eyes wondering what dangers she must face next. Leo was a hunter, to be sure, and a connoisseur of beautiful women, but he liked them to come to him willingly, and without fear. He knew, instinctively, that this lady needed to be gentled. It would be a fortunate man who earned the right to unpin those tresses and spread them across his pillow.

Leo felt his pulse start to quicken at the thought of this lovely lady in his arms, in his bed. Definitely too long since he had paid off his last mistress. His body was starting to become as demanding as the Baron von Beck.

‘I would not have you disturb my uncle, sir. Indeed, if that gentleman has gone, I should prefer to return to my own chamber.’

Leo shook his head as she made to rise. The poor lady had escaped from the clutches of one man. Now she was doing her best to escape from the second, even though his intentions were purely honourable. Leo bit down on a smile at that. His body’s intentions were anything but honourable. Given the slightest encouragement, he would rip off her dark cloak in order to feast his eyes on the lush beauty that he sensed lay hidden beneath. But that would be a wicked way to respond to a virtuous lady. Especially this lady.

He needed to put even more space between them. He took a couple of steps towards the door and was pleased to see that she began to settle back into her chair. ‘Better that you remain here, madame, and compose yourself,’ he said gently. ‘You will allow me to summon your maid?’

This time, she nodded.

He put a hand to the door latch, waiting. His eyes remained fixed on her perfect oval face. He would not soon forget the image she made. There was a quality of serenity about her which touched him deeply.

‘Thank you, sir. Pray ask for Teresa, the maid of Madame Pietre.’

Ah! So she was Italian. Somehow, that pleased him. ‘At once, madame. I shall bid you farewell now, if you permit.’ He bowed and made to leave the room.

‘A moment, sir.’

Leo turned back. A tiny frown marred her white brow.

‘Will you not tell me your name? I would know to whom I am indebted.’

Leo smiled across at her. She was demonstrating a fine lady’s impeccable manners, now that the door was partly open. ‘Lord Leo Aikenhead, at your service, madame,’ he said, bowing as he would to a duchess. It seemed fitting.

‘You are an Englishman?’ She sounded more than a little surprised.

‘Yes, madame.’

‘An Englishman who speaks perfect French,’ she said, changing in an instant to near flawless English. ‘You will forgive me, Lord Leo, if I say that I am surprised to encounter such a man.’

‘And you will forgive me, I hope, Madame Pietre, if I express surprise that an Italian lady should speak my native language so well. After all, we have been at war with most of Europe for decades.’

‘That has not prevented some of your compatriots from making their way to Venice, sir. One learns to speak many languages there.’

Madame Pietre, from Venice. A pearl of a woman from the pearl of the Adriatic. The words came into his mind unbidden, but he knew instantly that he would always remember her in that way. She should wear a collar of priceless pearls around that swanlike throat, glowing against her skin.

Leo’s hand gripped the latch fiercely. His body was urging him to go to her, to lift her gloved hands to his lips, to discover, from the distance of a breath, whether her complexion was as delicate as it appeared, and her lips as luscious. His body was tempting him to treat this gentle lady as if she were a mere strumpet. He forced himself, instead, to bow in farewell. He was not a blackguard like Beck. He would not allow her extraordinary beauty to undermine his sense of honour.

‘If you will permit me, madame, I shall take my leave of you now. Your maid will attend on you in a moment.’ He forced himself to step out into the corridor and fasten the door behind him, leaving the lovely Italian alone with his wine and his fire. For a second, he leant back against the door and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Was that her subtle scent in his nostrils? It was so faint that he could not be sure if his senses were playing tricks on him. Yet he could almost have sworn that, for a fraction of a second, he had smelled the scent of a wildflower meadow in spring.

He berated himself for a numbskull. Even if his senses were right, it was of no import. She was Madame Pietre. Probably a married lady. And a lady Leo was unlikely ever to encounter again. No doubt she was bound for her home in Italy, while he was fixed in Vienna, probably for months. Just as well, in the circumstances, he decided. He could not afford to be diverted into wooing a virtuous lady from her husband’s bed. He had done it often enough, of course, when the lady was ready to be wooed, but it took both time and money, neither of which he had at present. He must take a mistress here in Vienna—his overeager reaction to the beautiful Venetian had amply demonstrated his needs in that direction—but he would content himself with one of the many courtesans in the city. In that regard, Madame Pietre was far above his touch.

Sophie held her breath until the door had closed firmly behind him. Then she raised her glass of wine with a slightly shaky hand and took a long swallow to ease her parched throat and racing pulse.

What on earth was the matter with her? Why was she reacting so to a man who was simply offering help to a lady in distress? Beck she could easily deal with. She had been a little frightened, to be sure, but only because she imagined she was going to have to cry out for assistance. That would have created a distasteful scene in a public inn and sullied her reputation even further. Her life was already difficult enough, for her would-be lovers assumed, as did all the polite world, that to be a professional singer was to be a whore. High class, perhaps, but still a whore.

Sophie had accepted jewels from the Baron von Beck, at Verdicchio’s insistence. As a result, the Baron believed he had rights over her person, even though she had twice rejected his advances. She had thought to be rid of him by leaving Italy. Was he following her to Vienna? She did not know, but their meeting had proved what she already suspected: the Baron was both dangerous and vindictive. He was now prepared to take her by force if he could. And if he could not, he was like to seek other ways of having revenge upon her.

Sophie shuddered and pulled her chair a little closer to the comforting warmth of the fire. If Beck were to be in Vienna while Sophie was performing there, it would be dangerous to go out alone or to have private meetings with gentlemen, even gentlemen like Lord Leo Aikenhead, whose motives had been of the very highest. His kindness had warmed her more than the fire.

The contrast between the two men was stark. Beck, as ever, had been immaculately and expensively dressed, but nothing he wore could give him the effortless presence of Lord Leo Aikenhead. It was not merely that Lord Leo was taller and of a more athletic build. Beck’s meanness of spirit was written in his features. Lord Leo, by contrast, had the open, easy air of a man who was respected by everyone. He would not need to assert his rank in order to be obeyed.

What was his rank? Sophie was not absolutely sure, but she fancied he was possibly a younger son. She had encountered quite a few such men over the years, all of them eager to know her better, and none of them plump in the pocket. There was no reason to suppose that Lord Leo was any different. Still, she could always make discreet enquiries of the embassy staff, and if—

Good grief! She was losing her wits!

She shook her head in an attempt to clear her unruly thoughts. Truly, she could not afford to allow Lord Leo’s attractive person to cloud her judgement. He was only a man. And she had long ago learned to be wary of all men, even men who rescued ladies in distress. Besides, she might never lay eyes on him again. He might not be going to Vienna. Even if he were, why should he attend performances by the Venetian Nightingale? He had the air of a man who took his pleasures outdoors, with horse and dog and gun, not a man who frequented salons and musical soirées.

She would do well to forget him. It was much more important to concentrate on saving enough to pay for her escape from Verdicchio. A little siren voice whispered that, if she had accepted the suit of one of her many admirers, she would have had money aplenty, and a protector against Verdicchio, besides, but she knew she could not do such a thing. Just the thought of being touched by them made her feel soiled. She had refused, thus far, to sell her body. She would not sell it now, when her freedom was almost within her grasp.

One day, perhaps, she would bestow it. But as a gift, a gift of love. And thus far, she had met no man worthy of that gift.

No, not even Lord Leo Aikenhead.