Vienna Waltz (28 page)
Authors: Teresa Grant
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Historical, #Romance, #Historical Romance, #Mystery & Suspense
She turned to look at him. “Would you want it to?”
“I don’t want you to be other than you are.”
She jabbed the broken rose into the vase. “
I’m
not sure who I am anymore. Last summer in London Lady Sefton told me I was the perfect wife, and I fear I was fool enough to believe her. I thought I was that rare woman whose dreams had come true.” She tugged at a rose, then drew her hand back as though she’d pricked her finger.
I’m
not sure who I am anymore. Last summer in London Lady Sefton told me I was the perfect wife, and I fear I was fool enough to believe her. I thought I was that rare woman whose dreams had come true.” She tugged at a rose, then drew her hand back as though she’d pricked her finger.
“I’m almost glad you know. I couldn’t have borne living with the lies. I respect you too much.”
She gave a wintry smile. “That’s something.”
He took a step forward, then checked himself. “Eithne, I love you. Surely you realize that.”
Eithne walked over to the bed and smoothed the coverlet. So close he could smell the violet of her perfume. “When you fell from your horse and I saw you lying on the ground unmoving, all I could think was that I couldn’t bear a world without you in it. It seems feelings have a way of persisting. Even when one doesn’t want them to.”
He swallowed, tasting the bitterness of everything he had lost.
“It will never be the same again, Fitz. We can’t go back.”
“No. Of course not.”
She stared down at the ivy pattern on the coverlet. “I can’t forget, and I don’t think you can, either. I hope you can’t. If you could, you’d be far shallower than the man I believe you to be. But—”
Hope sprang hot within him. He strode to her side and caught her hand in his. “What?”
“But I think perhaps we might go forward. That even if I know you aren’t the man I loved, I might come to love the man you are.”
His breath caught in his throat. “I don’t deserve you—”
Her gaze settled on his face, signaling warning like an armed sentry. “Might. With time. We’ll have to see what the future holds. For both of us.”
Malcolm surveyed Prince Metternich across the desk from which the Austrian foreign minister managed the business of an empire. “You’re a good actor, Prince. Better than I credited. I had no notion how angry you were at Tatiana the night of the murder.”
Metternich dipped his pen in the inkpot and signed his name to a document with a flourish. He hadn’t given Malcolm the compliment of stopping work during their interview. “Why on earth should I have been angry at Tatiana? We always maintained a very cordial relationship.”
“Because you’d just learned she’d stolen a letter from the Duchess of Sagan that revealed the truth about the duchess’s illegitimate daughter.”
The prince surged to his feet. “What the devil have you done, Rannoch?”
“Searched for what we all want. The truth behind who killed Tatiana.”
Metternich slammed his hand down on the desk, spattering ink. “How dare—”
“Spare us both the denials. The duchess admitted the truth to my wife.”
“By God, if you’ve distressed her—”
“Wilhelmine of Sagan is made of sterner stuff than that. What distresses her is the letter being missing in the first place.”
Metternich spun away from the desk and strode across the room. “Tatiana had no right. I trusted her.”
“With Tatiana that was more than one man’s fatal mistake.” Malcolm crossed the room after the prince. “You were protecting the woman you love. I’d do a great deal to protect my wife. I’d have done a great deal to protect Tatiana if I could. Though I’d argue attempted murder is going over the line.”
Metternich stared at an oil landscape hung against the robin’s-egg blue wall. “I had nothing to do with Tatiana’s—”
“I meant the attack on Suzanne and me on our way back to the Minoritenplatz the night of the murder. Oh, I’ll do you the credit of thinking you didn’t directly order your people to try to kill us. There wouldn’t have been time to be so specific. You simply made it clear you wanted them to recover what you thought we possessed.”
Metternich cast a sidelong glance at Malcolm. “You’re an impertinent bastard, Rannoch.”
“If the truth is impertinent.”
The foreign minister turned to face Malcolm directly, hands clasped behind his back. “I knew Tatiana was a mercurial woman. But we’d managed to stay friends through everything. I’d turned to her for comfort when I was sorely in need of it. It never occurred to me—”
“That she’d betray you.”
“Why in God’s name she could be so petty as to turn on Wilhelmine—”
“Knowing Tatiana, I suspect she had her reasons.”
“Blackmail?” Metternich’s voice turned harsh.
“Possibly. Though I suspect it was more complicated.”
“I never got the chance to ask her.” Metternich crossed back to his desk and balled up the document ruined by spattered ink. The paper crackled in his fist. “When I received her note asking me to call at three in the morning, I thought she wanted to see me to make some sort of demand.”
“So when you went to the Palm Palace the night of the murder—”
“I was going to confront her. I walked into her salon to find her dead on the floor, with Tsar Alexander hurling accusations at you.” Metternich lifted his head. His gaze slammed into Malcolm’s own. “And your wife conveniently coming to your defense.”
28
M
alcolm wound a length of starched linen round his throat. “You’re sure you’ll recognize Otronsky?” Addison tucked Suzanne’s sketch of Count Otronsky inside his coat. “Mrs. Rannoch’s likenesses are always invaluable.”
alcolm wound a length of starched linen round his throat. “You’re sure you’ll recognize Otronsky?” Addison tucked Suzanne’s sketch of Count Otronsky inside his coat. “Mrs. Rannoch’s likenesses are always invaluable.”
Malcolm glanced at the closed dressing room door. Suzanne was reading a story to Colin before they left for dinner at the Prussian embassy, followed by the Duchess of Sagan’s musicale. “Don’t try to intervene, whatever you see. Otronsky isn’t a man to trifle with.” Malcolm wrapped one fold of fabric over another. “Note where he goes and whom he talks to and come back with a report.”
“No unnecessary risks.”
“Quite.”
“Because you wouldn’t run them yourself.”
“Er—just so.” Malcolm tugged at the cravat.
Addison stepped in front of him and adjusted the folds of linen. “A Mathematical should have a tighter knot, sir.”
“What would I do without you?”
“I have no doubt you’d manage.” Addison held out an ivory silk waistcoat. “But perhaps it’s as well we don’t have to find out.”
Malcolm slid his arms into the waistcoat and did up the buttons. “Precisely my point about being careful with Otronsky.”
Addison gave a faint smile and lifted Malcolm’s coat from the chairback.
“Addison,” Malcolm said, as he slipped into the black cassimere.
“Sir?” Addison smoothed the coat over Malcolm’s shoulders.
Malcolm cast another glance at the white-painted panels of the dressing room door. “The compartment in the bottom of my dispatch box has travel documents and letters to my aunt and David Worsley. Should anything happen to me, I trust I can count on you to get Mrs. Rannoch and Colin safely back to Britain.”
Addison’s hands froze on Malcolm’s shoulders. “Sir—”
Malcolm turned round and did up the buttons on his coat. “This has become a bit more dangerous than I at first anticipated. And I’m afraid I’ve managed to make an enemy of Prince Metternich as well as of Baron Hager. I only think it’s wise to be prepared.”
“Naturally.” Addison spoke in the voice of one treading on glass. “But I hope I do not presume too much when I say that you would be sorely missed should such an event occur.”
“Thank you, Addison. But I have no doubt you’d get on with your life admirably. And you’d probably find yourself in a good deal less danger.”
“But sadly at risk of boredom. I should also add that your loss would be a blow from which your wife and son would find it difficult to recover.”
For a moment, Tatiana’s lifeless blue eyes flickered in Malcolm’s memory. “Don’t overexaggerate. At this age Colin wouldn’t even remember me. Suzanne would mourn, and she’d find it difficult to be in a strange country. God knows England can be insular. But she’d have the protection of my name and fortune, and my family and friends would help her.”
“The letters to Lady Frances and Lord Worsley.” Addison’s gaze didn’t flicker from Malcolm’s face.
“Quite. With their help, Suzanne would build a new life. I expect she’d marry again.” And perhaps make a wiser choice.
“With all due respect, I think you underestimate the strength of Mrs. Rannoch’s feelings.”
Malcolm stared at the man who had been his valet since he went up to Oxford. A man’s valet knew him as few people did. Addison knew details from his hat size to the nights he had trouble sleeping. He had seen sides of Malcolm that Malcolm hoped he never revealed to another human being. Malcolm would risk his life for Addison without question, and he knew Addison would do the same for him. Yet they rarely spoke of personal matters.
“I never took you for a romantic, Addison.”
“Just an observer of my fellow creatures. One can care deeply without showing it in an overt way. I would have thought you of all people would understand that, sir.”
“And there are layers beneath the surface that it’s difficult to glimpse from the outside.” Malcolm recalled the warmth of Suzanne’s lips beneath his own only a few hours before, and the trust in her eyes. And then he reminded himself of the things she still did not know. “I’d have thought you would understand that, Addison.”
“Quite. The question would seem to be who’s overlooking what. I’ve had a great deal of leisure to observe Mrs. Rannoch. I don’t think she guards her feelings as well round me as she does with you.”
Malcolm reached for his evening gloves. “To the extent there’s anything in what you say, it merely proves the inadvisability of a man in my position taking a wife.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“No. I didn’t think it was.” Malcolm tugged on a glove. “You’re far too considerate to point out my inadequacies.”
“To an outside observer, sir, it’s plain that Mrs. Rannoch enjoys working with you.”
Malcolm pulled on the second glove. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been gone too bloody many weeks out of the hundred some weeks we’ve been married. That I missed Colin’s first word and his first step. Not to mention that I—”
He broke off. Addison was silent and statue still.
“As I explained, I’m merely taking precautions,” Malcolm said.
“Sir.”
Malcolm looked up from smoothing the gloves over his knuckles.
“No one could fault you for grieving for Princess Tatiana,” Addison said.
“Perhaps not. But there doesn’t seem to be time for it.”
Talleyrand watched his niece—his nephew’s wife—descend the limestone staircase at the Kaunitz Palace. She wore a gown of ivory tulle embroidered with silver acorns that caught the candlelight. Pearls gleamed in her rich dark hair. A creature of sunshine and spring, even in the chilling air of autumn. For an unexpected moment he was reminded of Tatiana at the same age, vibrant and not quite grown into her beauty. Though even then Tatiana had had a cynical shell he hoped Dorothée never acquired.
He moved to the base of the stairs to greet her. “You look particularly lovely this evening, my dear.”
Dorothée laughed, gaze on the diamond bracelet she was fastening. “I was in a shocking hurry dressing. I stayed out much too long riding in the Prater.”
“With Suzanne Rannoch?”
“No.” Dorothée hesitated on the bottom step, tugging at the clasp of the bracelet. “With Count Clam-Martinitz.”
A chill passed through Talleyrand that had nothing to do with the hall’s high ceiling. “Ah. His admiration for you was plain last night at the Carrousel.”
“He was my cavalier for the evening, so he felt obliged to dance with me.”
“A bit more than that, I think. Here, let me do that.” He took the bracelet and fastened it round her slender wrist, then immediately released her. There were times it was best not to give in to temptation or one might be burned. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, my dear. You have every right to an admirer. Surely you realize I have no illusions about the state of your marriage.”
Dorothée fingered a fold of her skirt. “I—”
He reached out and lifted her chin. So much for resisting temptation. “I owe you an apology for saddling you with Edmond. At the time, I thought—”
“That you could secure the Courland name and fortune for your family?” Her tone was more matter-of-fact than bitter. Which made it worse.
“In a word, yes.” He dropped his hand. “I was thinking strategically. I didn’t know you then, you see.”
“So you’d be justified in playing dice with my life if I’d been a different sort of person?”
“My dear child. I’ve never claimed anything I do is morally justified. It’s one reason I never made a good priest. In any case, after my role in your unfortunate marriage, I could hardly blame you for seeking consolation.”
She turned her head away. “You make it sound—”
“I had no intention of making it sound anything, Dorothée. You’ve earned the right to make your own decisions.”
She lifted her chin. There was a decisiveness to the set of her jaw that was new. “I’m not my sister.”
“No. You’re very much yourself. More so every day.” He studied the proud lift of her chin, the determination in her eyes. He had always thought Dorothée would grow into a formidable woman. It occurred to him now that she already had. A woman who could fall in love in a quite different way from her adolescent infatuation with Adam Czartoryski.
She was right, she wasn’t her sister. Talleyrand suspected that when she gave her heart she might well continue the rest of her life without swerving from her choice.
“You deserve happiness, my dear. And I hope you’ve found the courage to take it.”
“Uncle—” She twisted her bracelet round her white-gloved wrist. “I’ve been happy here. Happier than I’ve been all my life. Thank you for bringing me.”
He watched her for a moment, imagining what it would have been like if he hadn’t brought her, what it would be like now to return to the Kaunitz Palace and not hear her laugh or anticipate her light step on the stair. “To hear you say you’ve been happy, Doro, is the greatest gift you could give me.” He held out his arm. She hesitated a moment, then curled her fingers round his elbow and leaned into him with her old ease.
The familiar camaraderie between them was a great deal. He should learn to be grateful for what he had.
But of course he wasn’t. Talleyrand bit back a curse. With the fate of the Continent hanging in the balance, it was a sad thing to discover that he was every bit as capable of foolery as a callow youth of five-and-twenty.
“Champagne, sir?”
Malcolm accepted two glasses from Wilhelmine of Sagan’s footman and found a piece of paper slipped into his hand, closed with a pin. He opened it to see his valet’s writing.
O. stopped in the Graben. He exchanged words with a cloaked man I couldn’t identify and received a note that he tucked into his shirt cuff. I don’t believe he’s had time to dispose of it.
A.
Malcolm tucked the note into his own shirt cuff and made his way across the duchess’s crowded salon. Fans of painted silk and carved ivory stirred the air, crystal clinked, words like “Saxony,” “Carrousel,” and, inevitably, “Tatiana” flew back and forth in the conversational volley.
His wife, unmistakable with her dark hair and pomegranate silk gown, was standing by the velvet-curtained windows, laughing with Dorothée, Count Clam-Martinitz, and Aline.
“Champagne, darling?” Malcolm said, putting a glass into Suzanne’s hand. “Will you excuse me if I borrow my wife for a moment?”
Dorothée smiled at him with approval.
“What is it?” Suzanne murmured, head close to his own as he took her arm.
“What makes you think it’s anything?” he murmured into her glossy dark curls. A silk flower brushed against his cheek.
“You never call me darling in the general run of things. It’s practically an alarm code.”
That, he realized, was all too true.
“A very effective one,” Suzanne added as they stopped in front of the porcelain stove.
Malcolm took a sip of champagne and dug his shoulder into the gilded molding, a pose calculated to radiate casual ease. “I heard from Addison. Otronsky has a note tucked in his shirt cuff. Can you get it?”
She lifted her brows. “Need you ask?”
He touched his glass to hers. “Purely a formality.”
A few moments later, his wife off on her mission, Malcolm passed the open door to the music room to see a slight young man leaning over the piano, wire-rimmed spectacles slipping down his nose as he sorted through scores.
“Schubert.” Malcolm stepped into the room and walked toward the young composer.
“Herr Rannoch.” Schubert looked up with a quick smile.
“You’re to play for us? A pleasant surprise.”
“A great opportunity.” Schubert pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “I owe it to the princess.”
“Tatiana arranged for you to play for the Duchess of Sagan’s guests?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Schubert grinned. “Princess Tatiana sang my praises to the duchess so much and made such a point of how impossible it was to engage my services that the duchess made me a quite extravagant offer.”
“That’s Tania.”
“Yes.” The smile faded from Schubert’s eyes. “I owe her more than I can say.”
Malcolm glanced at the scores spread on the glossy rosewood of the piano and touched the young man’s shoulder. “If there’s any debt, your music will more than repay it.”
“Doro.” Suzanne slid her arm through her friend’s. “Walk across the room with me. You’ll excuse us, Count Clam-Martinitz?”
The count gave a smile that was as warm as it was dazzling. “How could I fail to grant so charming a lady anything she asked for, Madame Rannoch? So long as you promise to return her.”
“I suspect she’ll do that on her own, Count.” Suzanne drew Dorothée across the room. “The Carrousel produced some interesting results,” she whispered to her friend.
Other books
Chaste Kiss by Jo Barrett
Marea oscura I: Ofensiva by Michael A. Stackpole
109 East Palace by Jennet Conant
The Stranger Within by Kathryn Croft
Unbridled by Beth Williamson
The Year's Best Horror Stories 7 by Gerald W. Page
The Hunt by Everette Morgan
You Don't Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem
The Passion of Patrick MacNeill by Virginia Kantra
A Low Down Dirty Shane by Sierra Dean
