The Diamond Slipper (2 page)

“Oh well, I’ll just powder it,” Cordelia declared, selecting a grape from a bunch in a crystal bowl and popping it into her mouth. A silver clock on the mantel chimed prettily.
“Goodness, is that the time?” she exclaimed. “I must fly, or I’ll be late.”

“Late for what?”

Cordelia looked for a moment unnaturally solemn. “I’ll tell you before you go to France, Toinette.” And she had whisked herself out of the room in a cloud of primrose yellow muslin.

The archduchess pouted crossly. Cordelia didn’t seem to mind that their friendship was about to come to an end. Versailles had decreed that when Maria Antonia married the dauphin and came to France, she must leave behind everything that was tied to the Austrian court. She was allowed to take none of her ladies, none of her possessions, not even her clothes.

Disconsolately, she plucked grapes from the bunch, wondering what secret Cordelia was holding these days. She was as ebullient and mischievous as ever, but she was always disappearing mysteriously for hours at a time, and sometimes she had the air of someone dealing with a weighty problem. Which was not in the least in character.

Cordelia, well aware of her friend’s disgruntled puzzlement, sped down the corridor toward the east wing of the palace. She couldn’t risk confiding in anyone: Not only was the secret too dangerous, but it was not hers to tell. Christian’s livelihood was at stake. He was dependent upon the goodwill of his master, Poligny, the empress’s court musician, and to lose it would mean losing the empress’s patronage. And he would certainly lose that goodwill once he accused Poligny publicly of stealing his pupil’s compositions. The accusation must be made from an unassailable position.

Cordelia turned down a little-used corridor and entered a long gallery through a massive wooden door. She was in the west wing of the palace. The gallery was lined with heavy tapestried screens. She ducked behind the third one.

“Where have you been? Why can you never be on time,
Cordelia?” Christian’s great brown eyes were filled with anxiety, his mouth taut with concern, his countenance pale.

“I’m sorry. I was watching the arrival of the French wedding party in the courtyard,” she said. “Don’t be cross, Christian. I’ve had a brilliant idea.”

“You don’t know how dreadful it is to hide here, trembling at every mouse,” he whispered fiercely, a tight frown wrinkling his broad brow. “What idea?”

“Supposing we produce an anonymous broadsheet, saying that Poligny’s latest opera was actually written by his star pupil, Christian Percossi?”

“But how could we prove it? Who’s going to believe an anonymous accusation?”

“You publish your original score in the broadsheet. Sign the statement ‘A friend of the truth,’ or something like that. Include a sample of Poligny’s compositions to show the difference in the two hands. It’ll be enough to start people talking.”

“But he’ll have me thrown out of the palace before anything can happen,” Christian said glumly.

“You’re such a pessimist!” Cordelia exclaimed, her voice inadvertently rising from the undertone they’d both been using. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you, Christian.”

His smile was a little sheepish. “Because we’re friends?”

Cordelia groaned in mock frustration. She and Christian Percossi had been friends for five years. It was a secret friendship, because within the rigid hierarchy of the empress Maria Theresa’s court a close friendship was unthinkable between a humble pupil of the court musician and the Lady Cordelia Brandenburg, goddaughter of the empress and bosom companion of her daughter, Maria Antonia, known to her intimates by the diminutive Marie Antoinette.

“Listen,” she said, urgently taking his long, slender, musician’s hands within her own. “The empress is known for her fairness. She may be as starched as a ruff, but she won’t permit Poligny to cast you off without a fair
hearing. We just have to ensure that she sees the broadsheet and the evidence before Poligny can move against you. And we have to make certain that Poligny is taken by surprise. He mustn’t have time to create a defense by attacking you.”

Still holding his hands tightly, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. “Don’t lose heart, Christian. We
will
prevail.”

Christian hugged her. Once, they’d thought they felt more for each other than simple friendship, but their naive experimentations had quickly convinced them both that they were not destined to be lovers. But he still enjoyed the feel of her lithe suppleness beneath her court dress, the scent of her skin and hair.

Cordelia drew her head back, smiling up into the musician’s hungry brown eyes, enjoying the angular beauty of his face. Her hands moved through his crisp fair curls. “I do love you, Christian. Even more than I love Toinette, I think.” She frowned, puzzled at this novel thought. She’d never before attempted to grade her feelings for her two best friends. Then she shook her head in characteristic dismissal of such an irrelevant issue. She wouldn’t fail either of them if they needed her. “Try to get the evidence together and we’ll talk later. But now I must go.”

Christian let his hands fall away from her and looked helplessly into her face. “I wish we didn’t have to hide in corners, snatching moments to talk. It was much easier when we were children.”

“But we aren’t now,” Cordelia stated. “And now I’m much more carefully watched. Besides, once you spring your surprise on Poligny, no one must suspect my involvement. Then I can work on the empress in your favor … or at least,” she amended, “on Toinette while she’s still here.” She gave his hands another quick squeeze, trying to infuse him with some of her own optimistic determination. Christian was so sensitive, so easily cast down. It was because of his undeniable genius, of course, but it could be somewhat irritating.

“I’m going now. Wait for five minutes before you leave.” On tiptoe she kissed him again and then was gone from behind the screen, leaving Christian with the faint fragrance of orangeflower water that she used on her hair and the lingering impression of her quicksilver personality like the diffusion of a fading rainbow.

Cordelia slipped backward into the long gallery. She smoothed down her skirts, turned to stroll casually toward the door at the far end of the gallery, and came to face to face with the man who rode the Lippizaner.

He turned from his contemplation of a particularly bloody hunting scene on a tapestry on the far wall. He still wore his scarlet-lined riding cape, startling against the impeccable white of his ruffled shirt.

“Well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the flower girl. Where did you spring from?”

Cordelia was for once in her life at a loss under the quizzical scrutiny of a pair of merry golden eyes, aglint with flecks of hazel and green. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. She told herself it was fear that her clandestine exchange with Christian had been overheard, but for some reason she didn’t seem to find that worrying. Something else was causing this tumultuous confusion, the moistening of her palms.

“Cat got your tongue?” he inquired, lifting a slender dark eyebrow.

“Behind the screen … I was behind the screen.” Cordelia finally managed to speak. “I … I was adjusting my dress … a hook came loose.” She gathered the shreds of her composure around her again, and her eyes threw him a defiant challenge, daring him to question the lie.

“I see.” Leo Beaumont regarded her with amused curiosity. Whatever had been going on behind the screen had had little to do with dress repairing. Hooks and eyes didn’t cause such a delicious flush or such a transparently guilty conscience. He glanced pointedly toward the screen, and his eyes filled with laughter as he thought he understood. A
secret assignation. “I
see
,” he repeated, amusement bubbling in his voice. “I’m hurt. I thought your kisses were exclusively for me.”

Cordelia swallowed and inadvertently touched her lips with her tongue. What was happening to her? Why wasn’t she telling him to mind his business? She told herself that she had to stay in order to prevent him from looking behind the screen and identifying Christian. “Who are you?” she demanded with a rudeness that she hoped would distract him.

“Viscount Kierston at your service.” He bowed solemnly, seemingly unperturbed by her lack of finesse.

An English viscount. No mere equerry, then. Cordelia nibbled her lip. His eyes continued most unnervingly to hold her own blue-gray gaze. Close to, he fulfilled the promise of her distant window observation. She found herself taking inventory. Tall, slender, with a broad forehead and pronounced widow’s peak, his hair, almost as black as her own, confined in a bag wig at his nape. There was something disturbingly sensual about his mouth, a long upper lip above a deeply cleft chin.

Lucifer! What was she thinking? Her mind flew to Christian, cowering behind the screen, but his image seemed to blur under the English viscount’s steady gaze and her own rapt bemusement.

“You now have the advantage of me,” he prompted gently, noting the elegance of her gown, the silver pendant at her throat, the pearl-sewn ribbon in her hair. “I take it you’re not a flower girl or a parlor maid, despite your fondness for kisses.”

Cordelia flushed and said awkwardly, “I trust you’ll keep that little incident between ourselves, my lord.”

His mouth quirked. “But I found your greeting on my arrival quite delightful.”

“It was unwise of me to throw the flowers, sir,” she said stiffly. “I am sometimes unwise, but it was only a game, and I intended no discourtesy, or … or …”

“Excessive familiarity,” Leo supplied helpfully. “I assure you I didn’t take it in the least ill, and to prove it to you, allow me to make good a distant promise.” Taking Cordelia’s chin between finger and thumb, he kissed her before she fully grasped what he meant. His lips were cool and pliant, yet firm.

Instead of withdrawing in shock and outrage, Cordelia found herself responding, opening her lips for the strong muscular probe of his tongue, greedily inhaling the scent of his skin. His hands moved over her back, cupping her buttocks, lifting her toward him. She pressed herself into his body, her breath swift and uneven as hot waves of hungry passion broke over her. She nipped his bottom lip, her hands raking through his hair, her body totally at the mercy of this desperate craving.

Leo drew back. He stared down at her, his own passion fading slowly from his eyes. “Dear God,” he said softly. “Dear God in heaven. What are you?”

Cordelia felt the color draining from her face as the wild, uncontrolled passion receded and she understood what she’d done. Understood what, but not why. Her body was still on fire, her legs shaking. With an inarticulate mumble, she turned and fled the gallery, holding up her skirts with one hand, her hoop swinging, her jeweled heels tapping on the marble floor.

Leo shook his head in bewilderment. What had started as a little playful dalliance with an appealingly mischievous young woman had taken an astounding turn. He wasn’t used to losing himself in the kisses of an ingenue, but whoever she was, she weaved a powerful magic with that unbridled passion. Reflectively, he touched his bitten lip. Then with another little shake of his head, he turned to leave the gallery.

He glanced sideways at the screen from where the girl had emerged. Presumably, it concealed some young man who had fallen victim to that tidal wave of desire. He tapped his
fingers lightly against the wooden frame. “It’s quite safe for you to come out now.”

He left the hidden lover to make his escape and strolled toward the guest apartments, a deep frown drawing his sculpted eyebrows together.

Christian emerged when the booted footsteps had receded. He looked up and down the gallery. There was no sign of Cordelia. What had been going on? He’d heard them talking, but they had been too far along the gallery for him to make out the words. But then there’d been a long silence, a silence enlivened only by the shuffle of feet on the marble, the rustle of rich material. Then he’d heard Cordelia’s racing steps out of the gallery. What had happened out here? Who was the man? And what had he been doing with Cordelia?

Frowning fiercely, the young musician made his way to his own humble chamber over the kitchens.

A flunky was waiting for Leo in the salon of the guest apartments. “Lord Kierston, Her Imperial Highness requests your presence,” he said with some haste. “She is in audience with Duke Brandenburg. If you would follow me.”

Leo followed the flunky through the corridors of the palace. He was familiar with the intricacies of the place after a visit six years earlier, when he’d had a private audience with the Austrian empress on behalf of his own family, who claimed kinship to the Hapsburgs through a distant cousin. Like most English noble families, the Beaumonts had relatives and connections across the continent, and there was always a home and a welcome to be had at any royal court.

But for the last three years, Leo had spent most of his time at the court of Versailles, cultivating the friendship of his sister’s widower, Prince Michael von Sachsen, because only thus could he keep a watchful eye on Elvira’s children.

“Ah, Viscount Kierston, how delightful that you could be part of this historic occasion.” The empress greeted him cordially. Maria Theresa was now a widow of fifty-three and after sixteen children, her former beauty was just a shadow. She gave him her hand to kiss, then waved him to a chair. “We are very informal this afternoon,” she said with a smile. “We are discussing the arrangements for Cordelia Brandenburg’s marriage to Prince Michael von Sachsen.”

Leo bowed to Duke Brandenburg the prospective bride’s uncle, with the bland expression of an experienced diplomat. “My brother-in-law wishes me to stand proxy at the marriage of your niece, Duke. I trust that meets with your approval.”

“Oh, most certainly.” Duke Franz Brandenburg smiled with his fleshy lips, revealing yellow teeth, pointed like fangs. “I’ve examined the marriage contracts, and all appears to be in order.” He rubbed his hands together in a gesture of satisfaction. Cordelia’s price was high, but Prince Michael von Sachsen, the Prussian ambassador to the court of Versailles, had not even bargained.