Charmed and Dangerous (14 page)

“The Countess of Leith.”

Gavin sat back in his chair as the club servant brought their tea. Though he hadn't been in England much over the last ten years, Gavin had made it his business to know what went on in London, the gossip of the
ton
and the season. He had heard of the Leiths, had mental notes jotted next to their names in his mind, as he had for hundreds of others. The Earl of Leith had never held any interest for him, until now. Looking at Laura across the table—her raven hair and translucent skin, her striking eyes and lovely form—he could not conceive of a way she might have avoided the attentions of a ruthless womanizer like Leith. Ten years in his employ; it had to mean…

Laura raised her head and looked at him. The dark green of her eyes was clear and serious. Her expression was unreadable. “I must get back. Catherine will be wondering where I am.”

He couldn't believe it, Gavin thought. But…ten years. Leith would have found it damnably convenient, with her living in his house. And if she had refused him, she would have been dismissed. Such things happened, deplorable as they might be.

“Did you really intend to say anything about Michael?”

“Who?” said Gavin, his mind filled with images that he didn't want to see.

“That's what I thought.” Laura rose, picking up her gloves and cloak. “I am grateful for your gift and for the lesson. I suppose I could come here alone if I made special arrangements?”

“Probably, at this season.”

She nodded, pulling on her gloves.

Gavin was at a loss for words, a situation with which he had very little experience. Conflicting impulses tore at him. He wanted to know the truth, and he was deeply reluctant to hear it. He believed he knew her character, yet he could see no way she might have evaded Leith. She was far too beautiful and alluring. Hadn't he felt it himself, much more than he wished?

It suddenly occurred to him to wonder whether General Pryor was more cunning than he had realized. Had he brought her here precisely because of her experience? Had everything she had done in the last few weeks been part of some intricate plot to beguile him?

“Shall I summon a hack?” asked Laura from the doorway.

Gavin started, feeling an odd pain flash through him. He stood and threw on his greatcoat. It was impossible, he thought. He trusted his instincts. He would have detected that kind of deceit.

And yet… Walking beside Laura out to the waiting carriage, Gavin was forced to wonder if on this one occasion, his famous instincts had betrayed him.

* * *

Laura stood before the mirror in her bedchamber and looked at the past. She wore one of her old gowns, a pearl gray cambric, completely plain. Her hair was bound into a tight knot; her pale complexion was washed out by the color of the dress. But the difference wasn't really the clothing, she thought. It never had been. Making the transformation into the governess—so very long ago it seemed now—had been an inner process. It involved shutting things down, letting vitality drain away. She thought suddenly of what Sophie had said to her about desire. To return to her old self, she had to relinquish desire—to want nothing. And when she did, she would disappear.

Laura stared at the mirror, shaken by this new thought. How had she done this for so long? she wondered. And could she do it again?

Turning away from her image, she picked up the pistol and placed it in a basket she had borrowed from the kitchen, covering it with a cloth. She had practiced with the gun several times now—alone—and it felt familiar. She was glad to have it today, as she prepared to carry out a plan that had come to her one night when she couldn't sleep.

The trouble with the pistol was that it reminded her continually of Gavin. This was all too confusing. She didn't begin to comprehend the man who had kissed her so dazzlingly and then never mentioned it again, who brought her a gun as if it were commonplace, who looked at her with such intensity and apparent doubt. Was it that doubt that had made him break his promise to give her a place in his investigations? But what had caused it? She hadn't been able to think of any explanation.

Laura cut off this line of thought, which was useless anyway and would prevent her from accomplishing her mission. Picking up an old cloak and gloves, and the basket, she slipped out of the room and down the stairs to the front door. It was still very early, and no one was about. She had begged off the round of calls Catherine planned to make today, saying she wanted to spend a quiet day reading. With luck, the household wouldn't notice she was gone.

Putting on her things, she stepped out into the January cold. Fortunately, there was no wind. Laura walked briskly to the corner and waited there until she saw a movement from the opposite side of the street. Annalise, bundled once more into a long gray coat, joined her with a grin.

“Is everything all right?” asked Laura.

“Yes. Heinrick was supposed to watch today, but I made him let me come.”

“You're sure he won't tell?”

Annalise's grin widened. “Most sure. I said I would tell Father about his sweetheart and how he plans to marry her and take over her family's shop. He is very frightened of telling him this.”

“I see.” Laura started walking, and the girl followed her.

“What will we do? Your note only said to come here.” Before Laura could answer, Annalise added, “You look different.”

“I don't want to be noticed. We are going to follow someone, and then, if you can, you will watch her each day.”

Annalise gave a little skip of excitement.

They took a hack, leaving it a distance from their destination. As they approached the house, Laura concentrated on reassuming her old self, that negligible persona who was scarcely worth a glance. It felt like pulling a smothering blanket over her head.

Annalise pulled at her sleeve. “This is the neighborhood where my father is watching,” she said, alarmed.

“It is?” Laura hadn't thought of this. “He is observing Countess Krelov?”

“I don't know. But it is a house near here.” She looked uneasy.

This was a setback. Laura knew of no one else who could help her carry out her plan.

“You are going to watch the same person?” wondered Annalise.

“Not her. A member of her household.”

“My father will see us. He sees everything.”

Laura frowned. “The house is in a
cul-de-sac
,” she said slowly, remembering it from her visit. “There is only one way out. I can wait at the end, on the busier avenue, and I'm bound to see her. That is better anyway.”

“It is easier to watch with more people around,” agreed the girl.

“But you must go home. It was stupid of me not to realize…”

“I can stay down the block,” Annalise protested. “It will give me time to hide if Father comes.”

“I don't want to get you in trouble.”

“You won't. He won't see me.” The girl seemed to be excited by the challenge now. “Who are we looking for?”

Laura hesitated. She needed help. “You promise to be very careful.”

“I am always careful.”

She would make sure Annalise stayed well down the block, Laura decided. “It is an older woman. I don't know her name. She is thin with gray hair, and she has a long narrow face with a sharp nose. I believe she is very intelligent, so we must take care.”

“She is a servant?”

“She was dressed as one when I saw her.” Lately, Laura had begun to wonder about Sophie's unusual maid. She had seemed much more than a servant.

“I will go down there,” said Annalise, pointing. “You can pretend to be shopping.” She eyed the basket approvingly.

Laura did so, for an endless hour while she grew colder and colder. Tradesmen entered Sophie's street making deliveries, and a carriage clattered by bearing a stately couple. But no one came out.

After another hour, Laura went to speak to Annalise. “I must go. They will miss me if I stay much longer.”

“I will watch,” replied the girl cheerfully. “I can come every day. Or Heinrick will.” She looked regretful. “We must be home before dark, though.”

“I think that will do,” replied Laura. She hoped so, at least. “Aren't you cold?”

“I have on two dresses, and three pairs of stockings—also the wool underthings my father orders specially.”

Laura wasn't entirely reassured. “Will you be all right?”

“Of course.” Annalise's grin was enormous.

* * *

It was two days before Annalise had anything to report, but when she did Laura was deeply gratified at the result. “She went to a house in Linzstrasse,” the girl reported. “The woman there rents rooms. I tried to speak to her, but she was rude.” Annalise wrinkled her nose. “She treated me like a child.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“There were some men going up the stairs. They spoke French. I have studied French,” she added proudly.

“You heard them talking?”

Annalise hung her head. “Only a few words.”

“You've done wonderfully,” Laura assured her, exulting in the fact that she'd been right. The older woman was more than a maid; she was the link between Sophie and her mysterious allies. “You must take me to the house,” she told Annalise. “Tomorrow morning, if you can.”

“Of course I can,” was the prompt reply.

* * *

They reached the place by nine, Laura once more dressed as a governess. Once there, she dismissed Annalise with some difficulty and approached the house. The woman who answered her knock was thin and harried. She hardly spared Laura a glance, even when asked about a room. Her eyes kept straying to the back of the building and the work no doubt awaiting her there.

“Upstairs front,” she replied, giving the price. “Breakfast and dinner.”

“I'll take it,” said Laura.

Now she had the landlady's attention. “You are alone?”

“Yes.” She was careful to keep her German precise and unaccented. “I am a governess. I go to a post in Salzburg soon.”

“You must pay in advance,” demanded the woman.

Laura was ready to do so; her stay in Vienna had made few inroads in her savings. But she knew that agreeing would rouse suspicions. “I will pay for one week,” she said firmly. “And then we shall see.”

The landlady held out her hand. Laura found the requisite coins and gave them to her. “Who else is staying here?” she asked, having purchased the privilege of curiosity.

But the landlady's attention had waned once she had her money. “A German student, a lady from Munich, and some foreigners,” she said, waving her hand and starting to retreat down the hall.

“Have they been here long?”

“Wolfgang, yes. The others—a few weeks. Here is a key. The room is at the top of the stairs, straight ahead. Dinner is at five.” And with this she hurried away, banging the door at the back of the hall behind her.

Laura fingered the key, listening for sounds in the house. She would have to find an excuse to have dinner here, she thought, and discover whether one of the men was called Michael.

She ought to tell someone about this at once, a voice in her head insisted. She ought, in fact, to tell Gavin Graham. But she didn't know for certain that these were the conspirators, she argued silently. She would wait a little longer, discover more, and then reveal it all at once. The thought of Gavin's astonishment in that moment was very pleasant—too pleasant to relinquish.

Conscious that she was not being entirely wise, Laura walked up the stairs to inspect her new quarters.

“But we cannot hold a card party when you are ill, Matthew,” said Catherine at the breakfast table the following day.

“I'm not ill,” declared the general, although his hoarse voice and flushed face belied his words.

“You took a chill at the review of the Polish troops,” his wife replied. “I knew how it would be, in that wind, but you…”

“Had to be there,” he interrupted. “And I didn't take a chill.”

Laura drank tea in silence. She wasn't about to get involved in this conversation, though she wouldn't have minded if the card party Catherine had planned was canceled.

“I suppose you were coughing half the night for your own amusement?” said Catherine. “You must get some rest, or—”

“I have no time to rest,” snapped the general. “We are finally getting some work done here, after four months of wasting time, and I must be on hand to do my part.”

“Surely one of your colleagues could take your place for a few days.”

“Who? Ferris? Or Graham? Yes, that would be splendid. Send Graham to my meetings.” He turned a bloodshot gaze on Laura. “Damn the man,” he muttered.

“Matthew.”

“Let me be,” he responded, throwing his napkin onto the table and rising. “We will hold the card party, and I will be perfectly all right, and I don't wish to hear any more about it!” He stomped out of the dining room, leaving the door swinging behind him.

“He is irritable because he doesn't feel well,” said Catherine apologetically. “He has always hated being ill.”

“He likes to be active.”

“Yes.” Catherine frowned. “Perhaps we can end the evening early, at least. You must help me do so.”

Laura, who had been ready to excuse herself from the party early anyway, merely nodded again.

* * *

By the time the guests had assembled in the Pryors' drawing room, where the card tables were set up, the general was obviously worse, and very obviously in a foul humor because of his illness. His efforts to play the cheerful host tended to turn into barked orders, and his features had settled into an unconscious scowl. Thus, when he directed Laura to partner Gavin at one of the tables, she didn't object. She did, however, resign herself to a long uncomfortable evening. She could easily imagine the kind of partner Gavin would be—impatient, sarcastic, competitive. Her skill at whist was only average; no doubt he would be an expert player, she thought as she sat down. She braced herself for his accusations of incompetence. At least they were paired with the Merritts, an easygoing older couple who shouldn't exacerbate the situation.

“So, Talleyrand has got his wish,” said Mr. Merritt as he dealt out the first hand. “He has gotten France admitted to the inner circle of the congress.” Picking up his cards, he drew them close to his eyes and peered at them intently.

“I understand the delegates are finally reaching some agreements,” replied Laura, much more interested in this than in cards.

Mr. Merritt laughed shortly. “The five great powers are making agreements. No one else is getting to put their oar in.” He laid down a card.

Gavin, on his left, considered a moment, then added a card of his own.

“And Poland will go to Russia?” said Laura.

“Most of it.”

Mrs. Merritt put down a card.

“You are not going to play that!” exclaimed her husband.

His wife started like a rabbit hearing hounds, and Merritt made a sound like “Pah!” with his breath.

All of them looked at the three cards lying in the center of the card table. Laura couldn't see anything particularly culpable in any of the choices.

“Well, are you going to play?” Merritt asked her.

Her heart sinking, she did so—and waited for Gavin to add his objections to what was clearly going to be a very unpleasant game.

He said nothing.

Mr. Merritt gathered up the trick, which he had won, and laid down another card. When his wife played the next time, his cheeks began to take on a purplish hue as he cried, “No, no, no. You must save your clubs for later. You can be sure they will be doing so. Do you wish to make it easy for them?”

Mrs. Merritt's shoulders began to slump, and she clutched her cards as if she had fallen into a familiar desperation. Laura glanced at Mr. Merritt with some astonishment. He looked so gentle, so unassuming. As she turned back to her own hand, her gaze encountered Gavin's and caught a distinct glint in his eyes. He raised his brows slightly, sharing her surprise. The next time he played, he said, “I often think cards bring out people's true character.”

Laura watched Mrs. Merritt push a card onto the table as if she hoped no one would notice it. “Do you?” Laura added her card, winning the trick.

Mr. Merritt growled softly.

“Yes,” said Gavin, a laugh in his voice.

He was relaxed in his chair, and he held his cards with elegant negligence. His plays were quick and clever, yet he didn't seem terribly attached to their outcome. Was this his true character? Laura wondered. It was not what she had expected from the game.

“We are pitted against one another in a series of small contests that end in winning or losing,” he added. “It tends to bring out all one's instincts and training. Of course, if there are wagers involved, it becomes even more obvious.”

“I never gamble,” said Mr. Merritt sanctimoniously. He snapped down a card with a triumphant look, then gathered up the trick.

“You enjoy cards, though,” commented Laura.

“A friendly game,” he agreed. “Lydia, how can you put down a queen at a time like this? You should have played it on Miss Devane's knave.”

“She went after me,” ventured his wife.

“What? Nonsense.”

No, it was perfectly true, Laura thought.

“You should have known she would play it,” Mr. Merritt added. “Why do you never learn to keep track of the cards and anticipate?”

“How could she know what was in my hand?” Laura couldn't help asking.

“It is a process of elimination,” was the pompous reply.

“But you might have had the knave, or Mr. Graham.”

Mr. Merritt's lips turned down. “Can we play? I abhor talk across a card table.”

Laura stared at him, wondering what he called his criticisms of his wife.

“Very diverting,” said Gavin.

Laura met his eyes again and saw ironic amusement and an amazing depth of understanding. His expression also held a warmth that was very unsettling. Completely distracted, she made a stupid play. Mr. Merritt couldn't contain his delight; he practically bounced in his chair. One corner of Gavin's mouth jerked in response, and then he smiled at her.

He was so very handsome, Laura thought. His features and coloring and bearing all conspired to attract the eye. But until now, she hadn't realized how much these outward attributes were enhanced by intelligence and wit and a curious compassion she hadn't recognized before. The combination raised her pulse and made it a bit difficult to breathe.

“I believe we take the game,” said Mr. Merritt, laying down his last two cards to show this.

“Congratulations,” said Gavin.

Laura noticed the way the skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes when he was amused but not smiling. She watched his strong hands as he prepared to deal. Did he really not care about winning? she wondered. But even as she asked, she knew the answer. He cared very much indeed. He simply had the discrimination to choose his game so that winning really meant something.

Gavin looked up and Laura flushed. A sense of danger overtook her that had nothing to do with the game, or even with the larger events in her life outside it. She was skirting the edge of some abyss, she thought. And if she fell, she would never find her way out of it again.

* * *

Walking back to his lodgings later that night, Gavin thought how odd it was that he had enjoyed the card party. He wasn't fond of cards, or of any of the games that people substituted for real risk in their lives. He had plenty of actual jeopardy to occupy him. But tonight, something had been different. The play had had a charm he'd never experienced before, and he had been genuinely sorry when General Pryor's worsening illness had broken things up early.

Despite the deplorable Merritt and his timorous wife, Gavin had had a fine evening. There was, of course, only one explanation for it. Laura.

A gust of wind whipped his cloak and threatened to capture his hat. Gavin settled them more securely and walked faster.

He didn't understand the wordless communication that occurred with Laura at times. They would somehow fall into the same rhythm, look up at the same moment with similar expressions or gesture in tandem. Yet they certainly didn't agree on everything. Gavin smiled wryly. They seldom agreed on anything, in fact. It wasn't a matter of thought, he decided. It was something else. Temperament? Spirit? He didn't know. But it added piquancy to every meeting. And when he held her…

Gavin turned a corner, nearly home. He had to resolve the plot that Laura had stumbled into, he thought. Once that was done, he would be able to think clearly. Order would return to his life. Very likely this odd feeling of…connection would dissipate.

He gave a satisfied nod. That was it. Her inconvenient involvement in his real life—his hidden life—must be the cause. Remove that, and she would become like any other woman he'd known. He would regain his perspective, his ability to choose the relationship he wanted.

Gavin took a deep breath, feeling as if a weight had been lifted. This was clear. This was logical. All he had to do was find the elusive Michael and discover Sophie Krelov's purpose, and all would be well. He breathed again. Any time now, he would find him. He had a number of hirelings combing Vienna. They had unearthed three Michaels of no consequence. But soon, they would find the one he wanted, and he would act. An anticipatory glint lit Gavin's eyes. That was the moment when he felt most alive—when he had the facts in hand and made his move to use them. Everything else became irrelevant then, and so would Laura Devane.

* * *

Two days later, Laura made ready to go downstairs for dinner with her fellow residents of the house on Linzstrasse. She had escaped the Pryors because of the general's rapidly worsening illness. All Catherine really wanted to do was sit with her husband. Laura felt a bit guilty about abandoning her hostess, but she told herself Catherine was relieved, really, not to have a guest hovering.

Laura shook out her plain gray gown. Once again she was wholly the governess, a shadowy figure who faded into the background. She had given the landlady a German name and spoken only German to her, deciding it was better to give no hint of her true nationality. She had also come by the house as often as she could to allay suspicion. But in fact, the landlady seemed to have no interest in the habits of her boarders except when they might save her a few marks on the cost of food. Laura's excuses about spending time with the family she was leaving had been accepted without comment.

Laura took a breath. When she let it out, she tried to let her present life go with it and to become what she had been at the Leiths'. It was much harder now, when she had an important purpose behind her actions. But she knew that her appearance was reassuringly drab. It was like a reflex, she thought. She had learned it so well that the persona slipped on like a familiar old gown.

Walking downstairs, she could hear male voices from the dining parlor. Moving slowly down the hall, she tried to sort them out. They were speaking French, which was both encouraging and daunting. She could hear no other languages. And she thought she discerned at least three different speakers. With one more deep breath, she entered the room.

Sitting around a long table were five men and one woman. In the pause that greeted her arrival, Laura quickly slipped into a chair next to the latter, keeping her head down and her eyelids lowered. She murmured, “Good evening,” in German almost too low to hear.

The landlady pushed through the rear door carrying a large, steaming platter, which she plunked down in the middle of the table. A servant followed with another, then returned to the kitchen for pitchers of ale.

“Fräulein Schmidt is a governess,” said the landlady, giving the name Laura had used. With nods she indicated the others, “Frau Bach, Herr Dupres, Herr Lebrun, Herr Genet, Herr Chenveau, and Herr Klemper.”

The last was the German student, Laura concluded. He seemed interested only in his dinner. The rest were hard-looking men past their first youth. They gave her searching looks, but seemed to find nothing noteworthy. With murmurs of “Fraulein,” they turned back to the food and immediately began abusing it roundly in French.

It appeared that no one else in the household spoke French, Laura thought, keeping her face carefully blank. Or the group didn't care, if they did. The men made insulting remarks about the landlady, the city, and about pudding-faced Austrian women, which Laura took as a comment on her own appearance. They all seemed to be in foul moods and ate as if it were a penance.

It was true that the meal relied rather heavily on dumplings, she thought. And the half of one that she managed to consume sat in her stomach like a stone. But they could hardly expect roast beef for the rent the landlady was charging.

Just then, one of the men called Herr Lebrun “Michael.” Only her years of practice kept Laura from reacting. From beneath lowered lashes, she examined the man, and soon noticed that the others deferred to him as if he were their leader. He was dark and compact and exuded a rough impatience that made her very glad he had no idea who she was.

Michael was not a French name, she thought. And the man had distinctly said, Michael, not Michel. Listening more closely, she decided that these men were not Frenchmen. Though their French was very good, an occasional hint of an accent slipped through. They were using the language as a further disguise, she concluded, feeling quite pleased with her deductions.