Читать книгу His Reluctant Mistress - Joanna Maitland - Страница 8

Chapter Four

Leo marched straight out into the garden. The moment he was alone, he let fly with a volley of oaths that would not have disgraced the meanest soldier in the British army. He desperately wanted to hit something, or someone. Preferably Jack. If he had not had to mortgage The Larches and most of his annual income to pay off Jack’s debts, Leo would have been able to offer the Venetian Nightingale whatever she desired. As it was, he had insulted her by offering her a pittance. And, in revenge, she had made him feel like a worm, to be trodden into the mud under the heel of her shoe.

That did not lessen his unquenchable passion for her, though. If anything, it made his desire even stronger. He could not understand it. He had had many mistresses over the years, all of them quick-witted and a delight to the eye, but he had always remained in control of the relationship. Never before had his body reacted as if he were a green boy, lusting after his first woman.

What was it about Madame Pietre? He closed his eyes and pictured her. She had a dark, luscious beauty that made him want to put his lips to her skin as he would to a ripe, sun-warmed peach before biting into its sweet flesh. She was only an opera singer, yet there was a kind of nobility in the way she carried her head and in the way she spoke. She was intriguing, exotic, mysterious. And under that polite exterior, a passionate Latin woman lay concealed. He was sure that, as a lover, she would surpass any woman he had ever known. He had to have her!

He began to pace the rose-covered walk where his wandering steps had led him. There must be a way to reach her. Perhaps he could borrow money from—

‘Leo! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

Jack! It would be Jack. Just when Leo was ready to plant him a facer!

‘I can’t imagine what you’re doing out here on your own,’ Jack continued equably, apparently oblivious to Leo’s black frown. ‘I thought you’d be in the salon, toadeating the Emperor’s retainers.’

Leo did not dare to speak, lest he ring a peal over Jack’s head. The boy had apologised, more than once, for the straits they were in. It would be dishonourable to blame Jack for Leo’s unaccountable passion for the Venetian singer.

‘Ben has arrived at last. I thought you’d want to know at once.’

Leo took a long breath and sighed it out, forcing his mind back to their mission. Action would drive out his demons. ‘Where is he?’

‘At the embassy. They told him where to find us. His messenger arrived here not five minutes ago.’

‘Excellent. We can certainly use his help, though we shall be even more cramped with three of us, plus the servants, in those poor rooms.’

‘He can share mine. And he has brought two servants, so he must be more flush in the pocket than we are.’ Jack grinned sheepishly. ‘His grandfather must have franked him for the trip. Otherwise he’d have been walking all the way.’

Leo smiled back. Poor Ben was kept on a very tight leash, even though he was heir to his grandfather’s title. Perhaps he had dropped a hint or two about the importance of his journey to Vienna? Old Viscount Hoarwithy might have been willing to fund a discreet mission on behalf of the British government. Leo sincerely hoped that was the case. If Ben had arrived in Vienna without any blunt, the Aikenhead Honours really would be in the suds.

‘I suggest you go back to the embassy and look after Ben. Buy him a decent supper. I’ll join you both later. There is one more person I need to see.’

Jack grinned, delighted to be let off the leash. He wasn’t yet very practised at extracting information in social gatherings, so he should really stay to learn, but that was the last thing Leo wanted. He was desperate for one more sight of his lovely Nightingale. And, if he was going to be following her like a stallion after a mare in heat, he certainly didn’t want his sharp-tongued younger brother to know of it.

Verdicchio smiled smugly. ‘Major Zass, the Russian Emperor’s aide-de-camp, has asked that I arrange a private recital for his Imperial Majesty. I have accepted, of course. The fee is very generous.’

Sophie said nothing. The generosity of the fee depended on which services it was intended to cover.

‘What is the matter with you, girl? This is the Emperor of All the Russias! After this, you will be the toast of Vienna.’

Sophie nodded obediently. Verdicchio was right, in some ways. She probably would become the toast of the city. Unfortunately, the toast might have nothing to do with her talent as a singer.

‘Then you do accept? Sophie?’

‘Of course. I will perform at a private recital for his Russian Majesty. That is to say, I will sing for him. I take it you will be accompanying me?’

‘Er…the final arrangements are yet to be made. I imagine that I will be invited to act as your accompanist.’

Without an accompanist, she would refuse to perform at all. She had absolutely no desire to find herself alone with the Emperor.

‘Come, let me introduce you to Major Zass.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘There is no need. I know I can trust you to agree all the details on my behalf, Maestro.’ She touched his arm lightly.

He smiled again, his momentary flash of temper transformed by her flattering words.

‘If you will excuse me now, Maestro,’ she said, returning his smile, ‘I shall be in the retiring room. One of those clumsy young bucks stood on the hem of my gown, and I need to have it pinned up.’ She did not wait for his reply. She simply walked quickly out into the anteroom and towards the stairs.

There were knots of men talking quietly in corners and in groups around the centre of the room. They might have been plotting—many certainly looked like conspirators—but they were probably only gossiping. Vienna was alive with gossip, especially now that it was so full of foreign royalty. She determined to ignore them all and lifted her skirts to make her way through them.

A single name, spoken almost in a whisper, rang in her ears like a death-knell.

She caught her breath. She could not have heard aright. Surely, it was impossible? But she had to be sure. She continued serenely across the room to the foot of the staircase, then turned suddenly, as if she had forgotten something, and made her way back to stand behind a pillar, a yard or so away from the two men in Prussian uniform whose voices had caught her attention.

‘Yes. Killed in a duel. Must have been at least six months ago.’

‘Von Carstein? You are sure?’

‘Absolutely. Heard it myself from one of the seconds.’

‘And so who inherits the title?’

The first man laughed. ‘Why, no one. Nothing to inherit but a pile of debts. If the old man hadn’t been killed in that duel, he’d probably have blown his brains out. He had too much pride to face the world as a penniless wreck.’

The second man grunted. ‘I agree. We are well rid of him. He was a disgrace to our class.’

‘Aye. I heard it said that he sold his daughter to pay his gambling debts.’

‘Truly? He was a blackguard, but surely even he had too much sense of his own rank to do such a heinous thing?’

‘It was only a rumour, my friend. Nearly fifteen years ago. Didn’t believe it myself. He had no son, of course. Only the one daughter. She probably died. No doubt some malcontent concocted the rumour to blacken the Baron’s name.’ He chuckled. ‘Not that it needed much blackening. He managed that very well for himself.’

‘Mmm. Perhaps it would have been different if he had sired a son.’

‘Aye, a man needs a son. A nobleman, especially. Daughters are useless. And a burden besides.’

Sophie could not bear it. Her legs had turned to water beneath her, and she had to lean against the pillar for support. She must get away from these men, from their hateful words. She staggered a few steps towards the shadows.

‘Madame Pietre? You are unwell. Allow me to help you to a chair.’

Lord Leo! Dear God, why did it have to be Lord Leo, the man she had insulted? Sophie nodded dumbly, wishing him away. She did not dare to raise her eyes to his face. Let him continue to think she was merely a weak woman, fainting from the heat. If he looked into her eyes, he would read how her soul had been seared by that casual dissection of the truth about her family.

Lord Leo took her weight on his arm and gently led her across the floor to the relative seclusion under the staircase, where a number of chairs had been placed. He guided her into one of them and stood alongside, waiting for some kind of response from her.

Sophie’s whole body tensed. What could she say? She knew she must still look quite horror-struck. Desperate, she clasped her hands in her lap, focused her gaze upon them, and began to practise the breathing exercises she always used to calm her nerves before walking out on stage.

The familiar routine was balm to her shattered senses. In moments, she was almost back in control.

‘I am afraid we are all suffering from the heat here, madame. It is no surprise that you were overcome.’

Sophie nodded slightly, still not looking up. She would not tell a direct lie. Not to this man. She had already done quite enough to humiliate him. So why was it that he, of all people, was now prepared to treat her with kindness? In rejecting him, her pride had spoken, and loudly. Her purpose, to make him suffer as she had been made to suffer, had been achieved. Why then did she not feel triumphant? Was it because her conscience was troubling her? After all, he had only assumed, as all society did, that Sophia Pietre was for sale.

Her actions had been vindictive and dishonourable. However low Lord Leo’s opinion of her, it was deserved. And it was nowhere near as bad as Sophie’s opinion of herself.

Guilt-ridden and now thoroughly embarrassed, she could not think of a single thing to say to him. She berated herself for a coward. Either she must speak to him, or she must leave.

He should not have followed her. Considering how she had delighted in mortifying him, he certainly should not be looking to her comfort. But that stricken look on her face had hit him like a blow. She was suffering, and not from the heat. Why? What had been done to her? He was sure that she would never say, particularly not to him.

She was refusing to look at him. If she did not speak to him soon, he must leave. Just as he straightened to walk away from her, he noticed that her hand was shaking. She truly was suffering!

‘Madame Pietre, you need more than rest here to restore you. Will you allow me to summon your uncle? He should escort you home.’

She shook her head vehemently and murmured something incoherent.

Whatever the trouble that beset her, she would not share it with Verdicchio. Leo found he was glad. Verdicchio was a sly weasel, a manipulator of souls. If he was the Venetian Nightingale’s lover, it was probably because he had some hold over her. Gazing down at the lustrous ebony hair coiled against her delicate neck, Leo failed, yet again, to bring himself to think ill of her.

He felt an overpowering urge to protect her, in spite of what she was.

‘If you will not ask your uncle to escort you home, madame, perhaps you will allow me to do so?’ The words were out before the thought was fully formed.

Her head jerked up. She stared at him wide-eyed. Her lips opened a fraction, as if in astonishment.

Committed by his own words, and feeling suddenly glad of it, Leo gazed steadily into her face. He was determined to help her and, for some reason, it was vital that she should understand that.

‘Lord Leo,’ she said very softly, ‘you—’ She shook her head a little. ‘I do not know what to say.’

He took that as agreement. Giving her no time to say another word, he swiftly arranged for her carriage to be brought round. Unlike the Aikenhead brothers, the Venetian Nightingale could afford to keep her own carriage in Vienna, he discovered.

Seeing that her colour was beginning to return, he offered her his arm. ‘Perhaps you would like to walk a little until your carriage arrives, madame? Some cooler air will make you feel stronger, I am sure.’

He had made it impossible for her to decline, but she was clearly reluctant to take his arm, perhaps even to touch him. He cursed inwardly. Was it any wonder that he disgusted her? He was, after all, the man who had offered a pittance for the favours of the most glorious woman in Vienna. And offered it, besides, as if he were bestowing an enormous honour upon her. He had insulted her, and, in return, she had humiliated him. Which of them was the worse?

They walked, in silence, through apparently endless corridors hung with paintings. Leo tried to converse with her about them, but she simply shook her head, or closed her eyes or gazed at her feet. After only a few minutes, she withdrew her hand from his arm so that they were walking side by side, but separated by a small, daunting distance. Her meaning was very plain. She wanted none of him. His insult had been too great.

‘I expect that your carriage will be waiting by now, madame.’ He was trying to sound as normal as he could, but she was still refusing to look at him. She gave a tiny nod and allowed him to escort her to the entrance, where a footman waited with her wrap and Leo’s hat and cane.

Leo took the wrap himself and placed it carefully round her shoulders. He could not prevent his fingers from touching her bare skin. To be honest, he did not want to try. It might be the last time he was given the chance to do so. But the response horrified him. Her whole body shuddered as if she found him repellent.

He closed his eyes on that clear rejection. She wanted him to leave her. Now. But his body would not comply. He had never before known desire to possess him like this, but here, now, he had no time to worry at the cause. Leaving her was something that he could not do.

She was betraying far too much of what she felt. He would be able to read her, which would make her vulnerable to him, but her responses were beyond her conscious control. It had never happened before. Never. But with Lord Leo Aikenhead she was unable to maintain the icy-calm demeanour she usually adopted with so-called gentlemen. Perhaps it was because Lord Leo was a true gentleman? He had certainly been more generous than Sophie deserved.

At the door to her carriage, she turned and offered him her hand. ‘Lord Leo, you have been more than kind to a poor drooping female. I shall take your advice and return to my lodgings to rest. Pray believe that I am in your debt.’

‘Madame Pietre, forgive my presumption, but you cannot drive home alone. What if you were to be subject to another swoon? Since neither your uncle nor your maid is here to escort you, I hope you will allow me to perform that humble duty.’ He was smiling down into her eyes as he spoke. And his gaze was full of concern, and kindness.

It would be the height of ill manners to refuse his offer. Manners were part of a lady, as much as breathing. And in her heart, Sophie remained a noble lady. In such circumstances, she found it impossible to be rude to the one man who had come to her aid. ‘You are too good, Lord Leo. Thank you.’

He handed her up, ensuring she was comfortably settled on the seat with a rug across her knees. Then he sprang up himself, gallantly taking the forward seat so that he did not crowd her. Many another man would have insisted on sitting beside her, so that their bodies touched whenever the carriage swayed.

He gave the coachman the office. The carriage started forward, very slowly.

Sophie looked across at him in surprise.

‘I took the liberty, madame, of instructing your coachman to drive slowly. I imagined that a faster pace would be uncomfortable for you. Do you object?’

Sophie responded with a tiny shake of her head. His concern was all for her comfort. And if it meant that she would remain in Lord Leo’s company for rather longer than otherwise, was that such a hardship? He was a most personable gentleman—even if he did want to make Sophie his mistress—and now that their respective positions were clear, he would probably be good company. Provided he did not touch her again.

She wriggled back into her seat and fussed with the rug, trying to think of some innocuous topic of conversation. But her mind kept repeating ‘Touch me, Leo. Touch me, again.’ Her body had turned traitor.

‘This is a splendid carriage, madame. The purple and gold are most elegant. I admit that, the first time I saw it, I rather assumed that it belonged to—’ He stopped suddenly. ‘That is to say,’ he continued, in almost the same nonchalant tone as before, ‘that I thought it belonged to a gentleman. I must say that it is much more suited to a lady.’

Ah, yes. Lord Leo had clearly assumed it belonged to the Baron von Beck, probably because their colours matched. The very idea made Sophie want to laugh. Laughing at the Baron would be one of the best ways of mastering her fear.

She looked across at Lord Leo. She could say nothing, for he had been careful not to name the Baron, lest the memory embarrass her. But perhaps Sophie’s ardent look could show him how much she appreciated his tact and discretion?

He must have seen something in her face, for he smiled, though a little tentatively. Then, with another demonstration of his impeccable manners, he began to talk about the sights of Vienna and the various entertainments he had attended.

Sophie responded as best she could. Unlike Lord Leo, she and Verdicchio had been in the city for little more than a week. As a mere singer, she was not normally invited to the grandest events, which were reserved for the visiting monarchs, their retainers, and the exalted foreigners who filled the city. Sophie and Verdicchio could go only to the larger events that the common people might attend, on purchase of tickets. The message was clear. Sophia Pietre was not to be counted amongst the notables of society.

It had been so for many years, but it still hurt.

They arrived at the door to her apartment long before she expected it. His conversation had been so soothing that she had lost track of time. The truth was that she had enjoyed it, once she had overcome her initial embarrassment at the violence of her physical reactions to him.

If only he had not made that horrid proposal. If only she had not rebuffed him so rudely!

‘Lord Leo, I must thank you again for your kindness. My coachman will take you back to the reception, of course. Or anywhere else you wish to go.’

‘Madame Pietre, it was recompense enough to have been able to enjoy your company for these few minutes. It has shown me what I have lost, as a result of my boorish approach to you earlier. I hope I may ask you to forget it.’

She knew she was blushing now. ‘If that is your wish, sir, I shall certainly do so. As I hope you will forget the terms of my reply.’

He said nothing, but the glow in his face suggested that he was more than ready to do so, and that some kind of peace had been restored between them.

Sophie waited. She assumed he would alight from the carriage and help her down.

He did not. He reached for her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. And he never took his eyes from hers all the while. The glow was even more intense. Burning.

Sophie knew she should snatch her hand away, but her body seemed to be frozen. She could not move a muscle. Their joining, even in such a very proper way, seemed special. And meant.

At length, Lord Leo gently returned her hand to her lap. Without a word, he sprang from the carriage and turned to help her down. He was attentive, but now no more than properly polite. The moment, the connection between them, had been that kiss through her glove, and the message exchanged when they looked at each other. That message was unmistakable.

He wanted her. And—heaven help her—she wanted him too.