Charmed and Dangerous (9 page)

She was a very odd combination, Gavin thought, feeling inexplicably lighter. She would speak of things that other women would blush to mention. Yet she seemed to be unaware of the reality of the idea. “It is an obvious conclusion,” said Gavin. “He is that sort of man.”

“Is he? I suppose that would explain… But then why…?”

He bent his head to catch the murmur, but she said nothing further. “You should be more careful in your associations.”

“Indeed?”

She turned her eyes full on him. Gavin experienced a strange shock of recognition.

“I imagine I should avoid men who haul me into dark gardens and assault me, then?”

“I did not assault—”

“You know, Signor Oliveri did not attempt to pull me into the trees and…just what did you have in mind?”

“I was going to kiss you,” he said harshly.

“And you dare to warn me about other men?”

“If you would rather kiss Oliveri, be my guest!”

Spotting the Pryors, he pulled her several steps in their direction and then left her to join them on her own. He was furious, he realized, as he strode away. He was as angry as he'd been in ten years of suppressing his hot temper. Laura Devane was impossible, he thought. She was going to get herself into serious trouble, and no doubt General Pryor would blame him for it. Why couldn't she be like other females? he wondered fiercely. Any normal woman would have fled weeping back to England by this time. Instead, she flung his insults back in his face. She pushed him away, and then sat chattering to that popinjay Oliveri for twenty minutes, looking as if she was enjoying herself thoroughly.

He had wanted her to let him be, a small, sane inner voice pointed out. He had wanted her gone. He had set out to frighten her off, not to have her hanging about, flirting with any man who presented himself. She was supposed to be on a boat for Dover by this time. He was supposed to be free, as he was thoroughly used to being.

Gavin pushed aside a hanging branch with unnecessary force. He didn't have time for this. He had far more important things to consider. He had had plans for this gathering, which so far had been thwarted. He slashed at a tendril of grapevine that was curling quite innocently at the edge of the path. He would find Sophie, he determined, and continue to explore her motives in detail. And he would do so in full view of Laura Devane, he concluded with savage satisfaction.

“Are you sure this is where you meant to go, miss?” asked the young maid Laura had brought with her on her errand.

It was a larger question than she realized, Laura thought. What did she mean to accomplish by visiting Oliveri? “The map says this is the street,” she replied, looking from the city map she had procured to the seedy buildings on either side. A number of them were warehouses, and the pedestrians around them looked as if they spent their days hauling crates and boxes. She was very glad she had brought the maid, Laura thought. She rather wished she had added a couple of footmen. “Here is the number,” she added, matching the address on the card Oliveri had given her with that painted on one of the doorways.

The young maid didn't comment, but her expression was eloquent. Laura regretted her fears, but she had required a companion. She wasn't so foolish as to visit Oliveri alone.

But how foolish was she? she wondered as she pushed open the door and stepped into a small entryway. She wasn't very experienced in this sort of game. Yet. But now that she had been pulled into it, she couldn't resist playing a part. She had spent too many years making safe choices, hiding her abilities behind convention. More than likely she would do so again. But not today. She wanted to know how Oliveri had discovered her visit to George Tompkins.

There was no sign of the building's inhabitants, merely a twisting stairway that might once have been grand. Laura consulted the card again. “Third floor,” she said and started to climb, the maid trailing reluctantly after her.

The stairway would have benefited from a coat of paint, but it wasn't dirty. Their footsteps echoed. No sounds suggested the presence of tenants behind the closed doors they passed.

“Here,” said Laura finally. She noticed with some relief that another copy of the card she held had been tacked to a door on the third-floor landing. She knocked on it.

There was no response.

“Maybe no one's home,” said the maid hopefully.

Laura knocked again.

“A moment,” called a voice from within.

Footsteps approached the other side of the door. It was flung open. Oliveri looked inquiring, then astonished. “Signorina Devane!”

“Hello,” said Laura.

“But…this is wonderful. Come in.”

“You invited me to see your work.”

“Of course. I am honored.”

He ushered them in, and Laura looked around with a good deal of curiosity. His quarters appeared to be one huge room with lines of windows on two sides. Screens partly hid a bed and washstand in the far corner. To the right was a table and chairs and a small coal stove. But most of the space was taken up by painting equipment and a massive canvas that rested against the left-hand wall. It had to be ten feet long, Laura thought, and half as high. The partially finished painting showed a vaguely classical background, with a great deal of blue sky and some picturesque pillars. In the foreground, human figures were sketched in, but they showed no detail. Signor Oliveri was of the historical school of painting, Laura concluded. She also noticed that the canvas was rather dusty, as if it hadn't been touched in some time.

“You see there is one central figure here,” Oliveri pointed out in Italian, bustling to stand in front of the unfinished painting. “He will hold a scroll, representing the treaty.” He gave her a brilliant smile. “I am still assuming the congress will produce a treaty, you see. These others will be pointing to it, showing that all are in accord.” His smile broadened. “This is the artistic imagination, to bring harmony to chaos.”

Laura had to smile. The delegates were certainly exhibiting very little harmony in reality.

“But who is it to be?” Oliveri gestured toward the central figure. “You have a guess, perhaps?”

His gaze was very sharp. Laura shook her head.

“Come, come. You must have some opinion.”

“I am simply an interested observer.”

“But you have extremely…reliable sources of information.”

Laura gazed back at him blandly, as if she didn't know what he meant.

“You hear things, perhaps? You are a sympathetic listener.”

“General Pryor never speaks about his work,” she replied. “Have you been painting long?” There were no other canvases in the room, she noticed as she looked around. And the tubes of paint scattered over a battered table looked dusty as well.

“Since I was a boy,” Oliveri claimed. “But I am rude. You must sit down. A glass of wine?”

“No, thank you. I don't want to keep you from your work.”

If he heard the irony in her tone, Oliveri ignored it. “No, no. You must stay a little. You haven't told me how you are enjoying Vienna. You have met many interesting people?” His dark eyes sharpened. “George Tompkins, for example?”

He must be terribly eager to know, Laura thought, to ask so baldly and directly. It must be even more unusual than she'd realized for Mr. Tompkins to receive someone like her. “I don't believe I know that name,” she lied.

Oliveri looked frustrated. He frowned in the ensuing silence. “You…you live in London? You have traveled a great deal, perhaps?”

Laura shook her head, rather enjoying this game. “This is my first trip outside England.” Let him make what he could of that, she thought.

“Ah. You have family there, I suppose. Perhaps your father, or your brother, is in the government.”

“Oh, no. My father cares for nothing but horses.”

“Horses.”

“And what about you, signor? Your family is in Italy?”

Oliveri spread his hands. “Alas, I have none. I am alone in the world.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It doesn't matter. Art is my family, and my country. I care for nothing else.”

“Naturally. But it is a hard life, is it not? The efforts of an artist are so seldom rewarded as they deserve.”

Oliveri's eyes blazed. “Imbeciles! Do they think we can live on air? But a great artist can rot in the gutter for all the world cares.”

Here was the crux of the matter, Laura thought. Oliveri was after money. Probably he sold whatever information he could glean to anyone who would buy. He was no more complex than that. “I must go,” she said, moving toward the door. The maid, who had understood none of their conversation, followed gratefully.

“But no. You must take a glass of wine, at least. I have not explained to you the allegorical elements of my painting.”

“I'm sorry, signor. I have an appointment.”

For a moment, it seemed that he would try to make her stay. Then his hands dropped to his sides, and he bowed. “A very great pleasure to see you, signorina. Please come back at any time.”

Laura nodded in acknowledgment and slipped through the door. It was rather a relief to descend the stairs and return to the street. Intrigue was quite fatiguing, she thought.

“Do we go home now, miss?” asked the maid.

She was about to say yes when a throaty voice declared, “I don't believe it!” Laura turned and found herself facing Sophie Krelov.

“Michael said you were here, but I did not believe him,” Sophie added. She looked splendid, and angry, Laura thought. “Surely you are not one of Oliveri's little tattlers? I thought he could afford only street children.”

The maid was gaping at the countess and her magnificent fur-trimmed pelisse. Laura wondered if the guinea she had given her would be enough to quell the temptation to tell such a good story. “Shall we walk?” Laura suggested, hoping to move out of earshot.

“In this part of the city? Don't be ridiculous.” With an imperious gesture, Sophie summoned her carriage. When it drew up beside them and a footman hopped down to open the door, she added, “Yuri, go with this young lady and find a hack. You will pay for her to be driven home.”

She gave the Pryors' address and sent the maid off with Yuri before Laura could decide whether to protest. She didn't want the maid to hear any more, but neither was she particularly happy about being left alone with Sophie.

The latter practically pushed her into the carriage and then joined her. The vehicle started off as she said, “You deceived me. I don't like being deceived.”

“I didn't,” objected Laura.

“You told me you were some sort of governess.”

“I was…am.”

The countess made a derisive sound. “You do not act like a governess. For that matter, you don't look like one. I was very foolish to believe you.”

“I assure you—”

“I don't want assurances. I want the truth. Who do you work for?”

“No one.”

“What are your instructions regarding Gavin Graham?”

“I don't—”

“What were you telling that little worm Oliveri?”

“Nothing,” said Laura firmly.

“I suppose you will say you went there to look at his painting,” Sophie jeered.

“No, I—”

“Indeed, no. No one looks at his painting. It is a transparent sham. What are you doing in Vienna? What is your game?”

Laura didn't know what to say.

“If you think you can beat me, you are an idiot. I will grind you to dust.”

“General Pryor invited me here to keep Mr. Graham away from you,” Laura blurted out. She didn't know whether this admission was wise, but she was certain that Sophie was a very dangerous enemy.

Sophie stared at her from narrow blue eyes. “Do you think me a fool? No one would do anything so ridiculous. Tell me the truth!”

Wonderful, Laura thought. She had taken the risk for nothing.

“Perhaps you don't realize who you're dealing with,” Sophie said softly. “I have friends who can make you speak—make you beg to speak.”

She was just trying to frighten her, Laura told herself.

Sophie reached into her reticule and pulled out a tiny pistol. “You doubt me?”

The carriage lurched, even as Laura's heart seemed to lurch into her throat. The vehicle jerked to a halt accompanied by a chorus of shouts outside. Without pausing to think, Laura threw herself against the door and staggered out of the carriage onto the street. She barely noticed a heavy cart blocking the way before turning and running in the opposite direction. People stared at her, but she didn't care. She turned a corner, and then another, and found herself on a busy commercial street. Spotting a drapers shop, she ducked inside and behind bolts of cloth stacked high on a counter. There were several customers, she saw, as well as the shop assistants.

Breathing hard, she pretended interest in a length of worsted and watched the street outside. Barely a minute passed before one of Sophie's burly bodyguards appeared. Sophie herself was right behind him, fiercely scanning the pavement.

Laura stepped farther back. No one could drag her from here without causing a riot, she thought. But it was still a vast relief when Sophie moved out of sight. And it was many more minutes before Laura summoned the courage to leave her impromptu refuge.

* * *

Gavin examined the note he had received with a good deal of curiosity. Laura wished to discuss a “matter of some importance,” and she asked him to call at the Pryors' residence at two.

What could this be about? he wondered as he read the words again. She had never done such a thing before. Had the general put her up to something?

Somehow, he doubted it. Pryor didn't seem to have any more control over her than…anyone else. He smiled a little at the thought of how that must gall him.

No, Gavin decided, turning the sheet of paper over in his hands, if she said it was important, then it was. Or Laura genuinely thought it was, anyway. Whether he would agree or not would be interesting to find out.

* * *

Waiting for Gavin's arrival, Laura couldn't sit still. She was agitated by the experiences of the morning, and even more by what she had decided to do about them. She knew someone had to be told. She couldn't deal with the suspicions she'd inadvertently roused. And she couldn't tell the Pryors. They would be horrified and almost certainly send her straight home.

She had considered calling on George Tompkins and laying her dilemma at his feet. But it didn't seem significant enough somehow. She was rather in awe of him, anyway, and not eager to take advantage of the acquaintance.

No, it had to be Gavin. He was the cause of it, after all. She would never have visited Sophie if it weren't for him. She wouldn't have become involved in the undercurrents of the congress if she hadn't witnessed the attack in the garden. It was practically his fault. And from everything she had heard, it seemed likely that he would know what to do.

She couldn't call on him, of course, after the way he had behaved since her arrival. She would summon him to the Pryors', and she would keep her distance. If he came.

She checked the mantel clock again, then walked over to see if it was ticking. She couldn't believe it was still only five to two.

* * *

Gavin rang the bell and was admitted by a footman. Divested of his hat and coat, he convinced the fellow not to announce him and strolled up the stairs to the drawing room alone. He found Laura pacing back and forth before the fire, looking very impatient.

She also looked quite lovely, he thought, hesitating in the doorway. Emotion tinged her cheeks deep rose and brought a flash to her green eyes. The fire drew reddish highlights from her black hair, and the sleek lines of her gown showed off her slender frame. She fairly crackled with energy, and she moved with a lithe grace that roused an undeniable response in him. Suddenly he cared less about whatever she might have to say and far more about the fact that they were alone together. He shut the door behind him, saying, “Good afternoon.”

Laura whirled, her skirts belling out around her. “You're late!”

He raised an eyebrow. It was ten minutes after two, not what any hostess would call late.

“Oh, never mind.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Sit down.”