The Nobleman and the Spy (25 page)

Karl climbed from the carriage, unwilling to look back at the too-still shape that had been his father.

The carriage had stopped on a deserted side street. Warehouses towered over the smelly spot. They must have been near the harbor at low tide. It flashed across Karl"s mind that this was an odd neighborhood for the hack driver to be passing through on his way to the train station.

The horses Jonathan and Cohen had used lingered nearby. Cohen grabbed the trailing reins of one animal, mounted, and rode off. Jonathan had to capture his skittish mare, who led him a merry dance.

Ignoring his dizziness, Karl grabbed the handle to swing himself up onto the driver"s seat, where the slumped figure of the driver sprawled. Blood matted the hair at his temple. Karl felt for the man"s pulse at the base of his throat. A steady rhythm. Thank goodness. The driver would wake with a headache and probably nothing worse.

Karl frowned. Surely the jacket collar under the shabby cloak was finely made and his dark hair was too fashionably cut for his profession.

Even as he noticed these details, the driver stirred, opened his eyes, which were gray, and looked straight up at Karl. “You,” he said. “You are dead.” He spoke German. And then he reached into his coat pocket, drew a pistol, and aimed it at Karl.

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Karl didn"t think. A fierce rage seized him. So much pointless death, and he was heartily tired of weapons. He grabbed the gun, wrenched it from the astonished man"s hand, and threw the weapon far away. It clattered across the cobblestones of the quiet street. Then he shoved the man back against the seat. “Enough!”

The man bent double and came up with a knife drawn from his boot. He jabbed at Karl"s stomach, slicing through his shirt. A line of fire burned his belly. Karl jerked back, nearly tumbling off the high box.

Just then Jonathan vaulted onto the other side of the driver"s perch. The driver whirled toward this new attacker and lunged at Jonathan, slicing toward his face.

In the moment the man"s attention was distracted, Karl grabbed and hauled him back against his body, one arm wrapped around his throat. The man twisted and fought his grasp, stabbing at Karl"s arm.

Karl gripped his wrist, grunting and straining to hold the struggling man while wresting away the blade. Their hands were locked together, swaying first one way then the other. Suddenly the balance shifted, and the blade arched almost gracefully into the driver"s throat. It pierced his gullet as easily as gutting a fish.

Karl listened to the familiar hideous gurgle he"d heard too many times on the battlefield as blood pumped from the wound in the man"s throat and gushed over Karl"s coat sleeve.

He dropped the body onto the seat and stared at Jonathan across the twitching corpse.

Jonathan gave him a single affirming nod. And then Karl felt his stomach heave. He hurriedly clambered down and stumbled away from the carriage. He lurched over to a wall, leaned his palm against it, and vomited on the rubbish-covered ground. He bent double, retching as he cleared the contents of his stomach.

The end of the battle, he thought, and recalled other times he"d had such a graceless response to death once the time for killing was done. A friend in arms once said that he suspected it had something to do with how much Karl loved life and hated to see 176

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it wasted, even when he was the one wielding the saber—especially then. “
Your
body has an adverse response to this job of ours, Erbgraf
,” the man had said.

Karl smiled grimly. He was no longer the erbgraf. His father was dead. The graf pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth.

When he straightened and looked back, he saw that Jonathan was climbing off the carriage. The horses must have disliked the scent of so much blood; they whickered and shuffled forward. The carriage shuddered. Fear gripped Karl again until Jonathan jumped clear of the wheel.

That was what mattered. Jonathan was safe and striding toward him. Alive, well, with only a smear of blood on his face.

Jonathan wasn"t even out of breath. “It was the man who"d watched you. The nondescript spy and assassin who might have passed for me.” He reached for Karl"s bloodstained sleeve. “Did he cut you?”

Karl shook his head. “All his blood. And this”—he pulled the rip in his shirt apart to reveal a thin line of red across his stomach—“minor.”

“Good. You handled yourself well.”

“I was a soldier,” Karl reminded him. “You don"t always have to protect me, although I thank you for doing so.”

Jonathan"s frown eased. “I think you saved me from being him.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and looked into Karl"s eyes. The odd way he phrased it, Karl suspected Jonathan meant more than “thank you” for saving him from the other man"s knife. Perhaps he"d seen himself dead and unmourned in some dirty back alley.

“I would be greatly upset if you had been killed.” Karl managed a light tone, but he wanted to seize Jonathan, hold him tight, weep with pain and relief. He longed to apologize to the man who"d left murder behind only to be forced to kill again because of Karl.

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Jonathan gave him one of those rare, beautiful smiles. It was enough for now.

He put his hand on Karl"s shoulder and gave an almost painful squeeze. For a moment, an utterly inappropriate bubble of joy filled Karl.

“I should go. Someone could arrive on the scene any moment.” Jonathan released him and headed for the horse. He unwrapped the reins he"d looped on a broken iron fence rail.

The inappropriate giddiness still bubbled through Karl. “I promise that should murder ever be necessary again, Herr Reese, I will pull the trigger. Your days of having to kill are behind you.”

Jonathan made a sound that could have been laughter. “You will have soldiers to protect you, Your Highness.” The proper address for a ruling count.

God. The world had changed entirely, and he grabbed at the only important thing: keeping Jonathan near. “But I should like to hire you. As a secretary, perhaps? I had thought bodyguard, but you and I have had enough of violence. I know you are tired of your life, Jonathan. Become a part of mine.” Karl spoke quickly, babbling the words because he suddenly knew he couldn"t lose Jonathan.

Not now. “I will need a trusted friend to help me steer through the shark-infested waters of politics.”
Don’t abandon me.

“I"ll consider your offer,
Erlaucht
.” This was the first time Jonathan had called him this. Another reminder of Karl"s new rank, gained by death.

They weren"t given a choice, Karl reminded himself.

Jonathan mounted the horse with the grace of a hussar. “I will see you soon, Karl,” he said, and he rode away.

For a few minutes, Karl leaned against the brick wall of the warehouse, stared at the carriage filled with death, and considered leaving everything behind. All but Jonathan. Reluctantly he let go of fantasy. Reality lay in the carriage.

Karl forced himself to walk around the scene, and he made lists of the dead.

The count, Smelter, the nameless spy on the carriage perch, his Uncle Hans-Friedrich. All men who"d died for nothing more than a game of power. And his 178

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father would have killed even more innocents—Uncle Arthur, members of Karl"s retinue, the guests at the dinner party.

Jonathan.

And for what? Nothing. The count"s sins of hubris were meaningless. Karl had to learn something from this silent and bloody scene. He turned a tight circle on one heel and forced himself to observe. No more turning his back on the unpleasant side of his world.

God, how he looked forward to embracing love and laughter again. But now he had to learn. It was a simple lesson, really. He could never, ever allow misplaced ideals to seduce him. He would not employ death as a tool.

When he decided that enough time had passed, he ran from the backstreet to a busier thoroughfare and began shouting for help. By the time the police arrived, Karl had succeeded in forcing himself to weep—and most of his tears were of sorrow.

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Count von und zu Neuschlosswold-Binder leaned back into the plush cushions of his favorite armchair with his legs stretched out before him and his feet resting on an ottoman. He closed his eyes and sighed. It was good to be home at last, relaxing in his private sitting room rather than drifting from one hotel room to another. He shifted, finding the perfect position to support his aching shoulder. The fire crackling on the hearth warmed his stockinged feet, and the steady tick of the mantel clock in the silence soothed his senses. He could also hear the scribbling—like mouse claws over a wooden floor—of a quill moving over paper.

Karl opened his eyes and gazed across the room at his newly hired secretary and bodyguard. The man insisted on the second job. “
I shan’t be insulted if you hire
other men as well, but I might as well use all my training
,” he"d said. “
Do you think
I’d sit back and watch someone else protect you
?”

His face was turned to the page on the desk, so all Karl could see was the top of his head. Jonathan"s brown hair had grown longer over the past months and tumbled in delightful disarray over his forehead. Karl had liked his appearance with close-cropped hair, as it added a certain severity to his features, but he liked the new style even better.

Jonathan appeared more casual this way, younger, relaxed, and at ease with himself and the world. The permanent tension he"d worn like an overcoat he refused to take off when Karl had met him in London was never completely gone. Jonathan Reese would always be a cautious, wary man. But it was apparent to anyone with eyes to see that he was content now.

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Karl intended to make him more so any minute, as soon as he could rouse his lazy body from the fireside.

“What pressing business are you attending to over there?” he asked.

Jonathan glanced up. He didn"t smile, but his frown of concentration disappeared, and his face relaxed as he met Karl"s gaze. “Affairs of state. I work for a very important man. One who shunts most of his dull papers over to me.”

Karl waved a dismissive hand. “That"s what you were hired for. A man in my position doesn"t have time to examine every document that crosses his desk. That"s why he hires men he can trust. If the work"s too much for you, I"m sure Cohen would find you an assistant. And don"t forget, I can always find you different tasks to do.

There are other positions you can take for me.” He gave a suggestive leer to make his meaning clear.

Jonathan"s lips twitched. “Soon. But I must finish these.”

“Then you should be in your office. Having you work so near me is simply begging for trouble. How can I not interrupt you?”

He rose and stretched, then sauntered over to the desk. “How does it feel to be in a desk job after all these years? Is it too boring for you?” He rested a hand on Jonathan"s shoulder.

The other man looked up at him. “Not for one moment.” His warm brown eyes expressed all the words he"d never said to Karl.

“I"m glad. But in all seriousness, if you need to hire more staff to take on some of the minor work, you"re more than welcome to. I don"t want you to feel…stifled.”

He rubbed both of Jonathan"s shoulders, kneading the tension out of them.

Jonathan gave up and put down his pen. He leaned back into Karl"s caressing hands. “It"s not too much. I like having something to do. I should be restless if all I had to do was lounge around.”

“Like me,” Karl supplied.

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“Nonsense. You do the hard work—speechmaking, ribbon-cutting. I"m content to work behind the scenes as I always have.”

“We make a good team.” Karl slipped his hands over Jonathan"s shoulders, down his chest to his stomach, and back up again. Then he began unbuttoning.

“Here?” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should wait until tonight and the privacy of your bedchamber.”

“Perhaps not. I don"t want to wait. I want you right here and now on the floor in front of the fire.” Karl went to lock the door of the sitting room. Cohen was in France for a month, the servant bearing tea had only just left, and it wasn"t likely they"d be interrupted, but better to be safe.

Even in his home there were precautions to take, and privacy was a precious commodity. He had a loyal staff, but even so, he and Jonathan must always be careful. It wasn"t worth being melancholy about. It was simply a fact of their life together.

Karl turned back to Jonathan, who"d picked up the pen to dash off a few more lines. He crooked a finger at him. “Come,” he commanded. “I told you to leave off that. I want you by the fire. Now.”

Jonathan grinned at his tone and cast down the pen again. He rose from his chair and walked over to the rug in front of the hearth, then glanced at Karl over his shoulder. “How do you want me?” Seduction dripped from his voice like honey from a comb.

Karl"s cock thundered to attention. Oh how he liked these games and Jonathan"s new, playful attitude. It had taken some time to break down his habitual reserve, but now Jonathan was as likely to instigate such a scenario as Karl was.

“Clothes off first, but slowly. Then on your knees with your hands behind your back.” Karl"s voice was a husky growl as lust overwhelmed him. He returned to his armchair and sank down onto it to enjoy the show.