A Sister's Quest (4 page)

“Yes, it shall be no difficulty.” Curiosity urged her to ask, “But why did you come to Zurich to hire me?”

“You don't think you have a reputation for competence?”

“Mere competence does not explain why you came to Zurich when you could have found someone in Paris.”

He chuckled. “Do you wish me to shower you with compliments, Michelle?”

“Only the truth.”

“Which I shall endeavor always to give to you.” His eyes dared her to contradict him. “A few queries gained me your name. I decided to see if you were interested in the post. As you are, the situation is perfect.”

She intended to ask another question, but a yawn interrupted. “I was up late last night preparing for the trip,” she hurried to explain when he laughed.

Swallowing the last of his beer, he stood. As she rose, he drew her hand within his arm. “Then let us get you to bed posthaste. I want you fresh when we reach Vienna, for the pace will be one I am sure you shall find hectic after a girls' school.”

“Thank you for a pleasant evening, my lord.”

“Pleasant?” He laughed. “My dear Fraulein D'Orage, I would hate to know what you considered an
uncomfortable
evening. You spit like a furious cat each time I have tried to engage you in conversation.”

“I do not! I—” She flushed as he chuckled. Mayhap he was correct; yet, if he would answer a question directly, she might have been more at ease with him.

When she yawned again, he asked, “Do you think you can stay awake until we get upstairs?”

“I am not used to inactivity. It is more tiring than teaching.”

He motioned to the staircase beyond the hearth. “Then I think you shall find Vienna invigorating.”

“Are you attending the Congress?”

“That is undecided at this point. I shall be given my orders when I arrive.” A grim smile drew his lips taut. “This Congress is very nebulous. No one has selected a location for meetings, despite the fact that work should have started more than a month ago.”

She lifted her skirts to climb the stairs. The other women in the inn wore their skirts much shorter than hers. Some gowns revealed the tops of their shoes. Although she had paid little attention to fashion while at St. Bernard's School for Girls, she could not ignore the amused smiles aimed at her.

With a start, she realized she might be attending meetings of the Congress. In that case, Count Vatutin must advance her a part of her salary, for she had no money to spend on such frivolities as clothes.
Maman
's coins must not be used for anything but an emergency.

A hand at the center of her back startled her. She turned to discover Count Vatutin's eyes level with hers, for he stood on a riser below her. Refusing to be daunted by their jade sparkle, she said coolly, “I can climb without assistance, my lord.”

“I realize that.”

“Then—” She bit back her words. He was her employer and, as such, due her respect. “I would appreciate if you remember that our situation does not require such intimacy.”

His laugh rolled along the narrow stairwell. “You are perfect, Michelle.”

“I assure you that I am far from perfect.”

“But you are. Such refinement was exactly what I had hoped for.” He withdrew his hand from her waist and moved to stand next to her, although there was barely enough room for her on the step.

She did not dare to take a breath, for her breasts would brush his coat. It seemed odd to look up at someone, for she was accustomed to being the tallest. Now her eyes were even with the line of his lips. “Count Vatutin—”

Offering his arm, he said, “Allow me to treat you in a refined manner as well.”

She thought of protesting, but Count Vatutin's mind was as honed as the faceted sparkle in his eyes. Whatever she said, he countered with ease. Yet … She sensed he enjoyed her retorts.

She gathered up her gown and continued up the stairs. His leg brushed her skirt with every step. Glancing at him, she saw a wisp of a smile beneath his mustache. He was enjoying every moment of this, but was it because he liked jesting with her or because he shared the startling sensations that were roiling within her? She did not dare to ask.

Something about Count Vatutin convinced her that everything he did was for a reason. If he wanted to overmaster her, she could foil him by pretending to be oblivious, something that was growing more difficult each time he touched her.

The upper hallway was poorly lit, but wider than the staircase. He kept her hand on his arm as they walked along the carpet, which had been worn to a dull gray. The doors were closed, and she saw no sign to tell her which one was to be her room.

“One other thing,” he murmured.

“Yes?”

“I failed to mention that your position requires one very specific task.”

“If you will explain it, I shall endeavor to do my best.”

He pulled a key from beneath his coat and inserted it in a door. Pushing it open, he put his hand on her arm as she was about to enter. He turned her to face him, and a slow smile lit his eyes. “Actually, 'tis easy to explain. I want you to be my mistress.”

“Excuse me?” She gasped, sure she had misunderstood him.

His arm swept around her waist and tugged her against him. When his fingers tilted her chin, she stared up at his hooded eyes. His lips were moist against her cheek as he whispered, “You heard me,
Liebchen
. I want you to be my mistress.”

Chapter Three

Alexei Vatutin cursed in every language in which he was fluent and several in which he was not as he caught Michelle before her senseless body could hit the floor.
Verflucht!
He had not thought she would faint. She came from sterner stock, but, he reminded himself, he must not forget she had been raised in the cocoon of that girls' school.

Lifting her into his arms, he walked into the simple bedchamber. He shoved the door closed with his foot and looked about. Their bags were stacked in front of the wide bed. A chair was set next to a window beneath the sloped ceiling. More light came from the fire on the hearth than from the single candle on a low table by the bed.

Perfect. It was just perfect.

Just like … He smiled as he examined Michelle's face, which was softened in her faint. The finely drawn curves of her cheek and the gentle line of her nose were so familiar, so sadly familiar. From the moment she had walked into that stuffy room with that even stuffier headmistress, he had realized one search was at an end. He would have recognized Michelle D'Orage anywhere, even in the quiet girls' school that seemed the least likely place to find her.

No, he argued with himself, as he carefully carried her to the bed and placed her on the pillows that smelled of the fresh pine needles beyond the window. St. Bernard's School for Girls had been the exact place he should have been searching. It was his good fortune—and Michelle's—that he had been the first to realize that.

A soft moan bubbled from her lips, and she shifted on the pillow. He drew the pins out of her bun, smiling as her thick, silky hair washed over his hands. He guessed it would fall to her waist, but now it billowed like an ebony cloud around her. She was lovely, just as he had expected she would be. Tall and willowy, she possessed a grace that drew the eye. As she breathed shallowly, the shapeless form of her dress hinted at the feminine curves that had been pressed to his chest when he drew her into his arms.

He raised her hem only enough to undo her shoes and pull them off. Smoothing her skirt over her ankles, he let his gaze slip along each curve to her lips, which were parted gently. He needed only to bend to put his over them. As sweet as her skin had tasted, he guessed her lips would be luscious.

No one had to tell him he was a fool. He knew that, but some debts had to be paid, no matter what the cost. This was one. Rusak did not understand. His friend had been furious when he discovered what Alexei planned. So furious, Alexei suspected that if Rusak could have spoken, he would have refused to do so.

Alexei had not bothered to try to explain. Rusak knew old debts did not die, not even when death took everything and everyone who mattered. Today had only begun to even the obligation Alexei owed, and he suspected the rest of it would not be settled soon. Too many people would like to see him fail, for as many reasons as his enemies could devise. Even his superiors would be outraged to know of this little errand to collect Fraulein D'Orage. He did not care. This one thing he had to do.

Taking a cloth from a shelf over the table holding the candle, he went to where a bucket of fresh water waited by the door. He pulled off his coat and draped it on the footboard. Quickly he rolled up his shirtsleeves. Dipping the cloth in the water, he wrung it out. He heard another low groan.

Michelle opened her eyes and stared at a strange pattern of water stains on the ceiling. Candlelight fluttered fitfully. They were not the familiar stains of her room at school. After so many years of looking at that ceiling, she would have recognized the brown stains left by a long-ago rainstorm.

If she was not in her room, where was she? Memory refused to stir.

“Awake? I didn't think you were the type to swoon, Michelle.”

She flinched at the male voice. She turned her head on a starched pillowcase that rustled beneath her hair. “Count Vatutin!” The sound of her own voice ached through her skull. Vowing never to drink unwatered wine again, she tried to piece together what had happened. Nothing formed in her mind.

“Hush,” he murmured.

A cool cloth was placed on her forehead, and she closed her eyes to savor the comfort. She had not thought Count Vatutin would tend to her so gently, but she was grateful. Not wanting to do anything that might upset her precarious hold on her senses, she waited as the world steadied. She forced her eyes open.

Count Vatutin sat by the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I shall be fine.” She hoped it was not a lie.

“Undoubtedly.” He relaxed back on the chair and regarded her with disdain. “I trust you do not make a habit of such feminine faints.”

“Faints? I don't faint!”

“You just did.”

She was ready to retort, but swallowed her harsh words. She could not recall how she had gotten to this lumpy bed where every spring cut into her back.
Bed!
She was talking to Count Vatutin while lying in
bed
? She struggled to sit.

Gently he put his hand on her shoulder. “Rest a moment longer.” The twinkle in his jade eyes warned that her face had betrayed her thoughts.

“I don't make a habit of fainting,” she said tightly. She sat and sagged against the headboard as the world whirled. Clutching her head, she waited for the room to halt its mad dance. Hands on her shoulders moved her forward slightly, and she feared her stomach would embarrass her. The hands leaned her back again. She closed her eyes as she sagged into the plump pillows behind her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“As I caused this rare swoon, I should be sure you recover from it.”

Michelle was not surprised to see a smile tipping one corner of his mustache. She sat straighter with a gasp as she looked around the sparsely furnished room.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“I thought … I did not want … I …”

He smiled. “Rusak is no good in the sickroom. Even if he had been here when you dropped so enticingly into my arms, he would have found something else to do with all speed. You don't like Rusak, do you?”

“I don't know him well, Count Vatutin.”

“Under the circumstances, you need to learn to be comfortable calling me Alexei.”

“Under …?” As she stared at him, she remembered what had prompted her faint. Shaking her head, she slid to the far side of the bed. She stood and stared at her stockinged feet. He must have removed her shoes. Just the thought of him touching her was disturbing. Not only was Alexei Vatutin a stranger, but he had tricked her into coming with him by weaving his lies so smoothly. No matter what he wanted, she would not include in her duties sleeping with him.

When she saw her shoes at the foot of the bed, she slipped her feet in them. She bent to button them, but a hand on her arm halted her. Brought upright, she was whirled toward Alexei.

“What is wrong now?” he demanded.

“Take your hands off me, or I will scream.”

He laughed. She stared at him in disbelief as he said, “Scream if you think it will do you any good. You are not leaving until you listen to what I have to say.”

“I have heard what you have to say. If a harlot is what you want, you should not have looked at St. Bernard's.”

“I'm not interested in a whore.” When she winced at his crude language, he laughed again. “My dear Fraulein D'Orage, you misunderstand me. I do not intend to ask you actually to be my mistress. I want you to play the role of my mistress in Vienna. I need an intelligent woman who can play the part at the same time she listens to the conversations around her. A man might let slip to a lovely woman what he would not say otherwise.”

“Listen?” she asked icily. “This is all I must do?”

“You must convince anyone we meet you are my beloved mistress.”

“I shall not fawn over you and let you touch me like a lover.”

“Fawn over me? You?” The edge returned to his laugh. “No, I would not ask such a horrible thing of you. The duties we discussed earlier have not changed. You need to be by my side during meetings and translate for me. To keep from being too conspicuous, I thought I would lament about a war injury that left me hard of hearing. Then you can whisper the translation into my ear.”

Michelle was not sure if he was being honest or jesting. “If you wish to be inconspicuous, I don't think that is a very good plan.”

“Do you have another?”

“Have you considered the truth? That you do not speak French well and that I am traveling with you to assist you. Very simple and the truth.”