Charmed and Dangerous (6 page)

“Would you get me a cloak?” Gavin said.

“Your cloak?” At once she saw that it was his means of escape. “How will I recognize it?”

“It's black,” he answered sardonically.

“But so are a hundred…”

“I don't care whose cloak it is, so long as you bring it at once.”

“You want me to steal a cloak?”

He looked at her.

The blood was drying on his sleeve, Laura saw. He looked slightly drawn, and more than slightly annoyed. She had no obligation to help him, she thought. And yet the situation cried out to some instinct in her. “Wait here,” she said and slipped into the ballroom.

For a moment, she concealed herself behind the draperies in the recess. No one seemed to be looking at her. Straightening her shoulders and putting a confident expression on her face, she moved out along the wall, heading for the entrance and the rooms where guests' wraps had been left.

She had nearly reached it when Catherine Pryor caught up with her. “Laura! Where have you been?”

Laura forced a calm smile. “I was talking to some people.” She gestured. “Over there.”

“Where is Mr. Graham? You went off to dance with him half an hour ago.”

“We danced,” Laura assured her. “And then I met these people, and…”

“What people? Did he leave you alone?”

“No. He…took another partner, and I stayed chatting. I'm sorry if I worried you. I won't do so again.”

Catherine eyed her as if she wasn't convinced.

“I am just on my way to…” Laura indicated the direction of the ladies' tiring-rooms.

“Are you all right?”

“Perfectly.” Seeing that more reassurance was required, Laura added, “I am having a splendid time. I saw Baron von Sternhagen.” It was true, she thought a bit guiltily. She had seen him from across the room earlier.

“Were you talking with him? He's very well thought of. A nice young man.”

“Umm,” responded Laura. “I'll be right back.”

Thankfully, Catherine allowed her to escape. Laura hurried across the entryway to where a troop of footmen watched over the guests' belongings. “Yes, miss?” said one of them, stepping forward.

“Oh. I…” What was she supposed to say? Laura wondered. Ladies didn't fetch gentlemen's cloaks. Providentially, a large group came in behind her, calling for their wraps. “My friends,” she muttered, fading back as the footmen came forward to serve them.

Cloaks and hats were fetched. When the servants were occupied draping them over shoulders and waiting for tips, Laura slipped past and grabbed the first dark cloak she saw from the scores awaiting their owners. Moving quickly to the rear of the hall, she was lucky in finding another set of doors that led out onto the terrace. In the next moment, she was through them, her heart beating rapidly, and she hurried along to the spot where she had left Gavin.

He was leaning against the wall, looking rather unwell. “I got it,” Laura told him. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and held out his hand for the cloak. She gave it to him, and he tried awkwardly to swing it over his broad shoulders. “Here,” she said, pulling it straight and then stepping back.

“It's short,” he commented.

“I beg your pardon. I didn't have time to try it for fit.”

“Never mind. It will have to do.”

“Really?” said Laura, stung at his lack of gratitude. “You don't want me to go back and find a better one?”

“I doubt you'd be able to.”

“You—”

“Go inside. I'll wait a few moments so that no one will connect us.”

“That's all?”

“What else would there be?”

“I made some effort to get that for you,” Laura pointed out. “Catherine was wondering where I had been, and—”

“Then you'd best return to her at once,” he interrupted.

“And I had to sneak around several footmen. It was not precisely comfortable.”

“I would have managed it better,” he acknowledged, as if she had been confessing some fault.

Laura was speechless. She had not expected effusive thanks, but this was beyond anything.

“Will you go?” he added.

“With pleasure!” she snapped, turning back toward the hall doors and leaving him standing there alone.

Gavin sat in his parlor slowly sipping from a glass of brandy. His arm scarcely hurt now. Hasan, who had skills beyond the imagining of most gentlemen's gentlemen, had bandaged him up, pronouncing the wound minor. They had both seen worse, Gavin mused. Much worse.

For a moment, his mind ranged over some of the perils he and Hasan had endured. Never once had he found occasion to question the man's loyalty, he thought. On the other hand, he had earned that loyalty, Gavin acknowledged. He had included Hasan in his escape from a filthy prison pit straight out of a medieval inquisition.

Gavin's thoughts returned to the present incident. His attacker had certainly been a watcher, not an assassin. He had thrown the knife only to avoid capture and the exposure of whatever plot was brewing.

Gavin moved his shoulder to ease it and turned the brandy glass in his hand. He had sensed he was being watched, but he hadn't known the stakes were this high. He had to find out why he had become a target.

He sipped brandy and found his thoughts drifting again from this vital question to his companion in the night's adventure. Laura Devane's reactions had been surprisingly intelligent, he thought. He hadn't actually expected that she would get him a cloak. It had only been his first scheme. But not only had she agreed, instead of whining or arguing, she had done it. How many gently reared women would, or could, steal a man's cloak from under the noses of a gaggle of footmen?

An unconscious smile tugged at Gavin's lips. He had always judged women at a glance. One look told him whether he was interested, whether he wished to pursue or avoid. But with Laura the process had become more complicated. Her striking appearance might have attracted him. The general's plots repelled him. Her spirit and wit might have beguiled him. Her forced interference in his life annoyed him. He despised manipulation, and though it was Pryor and not Laura who was attempting to manipulate him, the fact remained.

The fact remained that she must be removed from his life, he thought, setting down his empty glass. Indeed, there was even more reason now. He was quite accustomed to danger. She wasn't. And he found he was very reluctant to imagine her in danger.

Who would have thought that kissing her would be so incredibly arousing? Gavin gazed into the darkness beyond the windows. He had done it to frighten her off, of course, to make her reject him once and for all. And she had been outraged—but not predictably so. Laura Devane was never predictable, he thought, the smile appearing once again. He had felt, when he held her, much more than outrage passing through her body. He had felt it in every nerve and muscle. He remembered every nuance of the sensation of holding her in his arms.

What was this? Gavin reached for the brandy decanter. He had kissed many women, enjoyed nights of passion with a number. But with her there was an added dimension. It was as if their bodies sent messages—unseen, unheard, but set in a compelling rhythm that perfectly matched. He had known the contours of her skin, all the depths of her passion. He knew precisely how she could be wakened and roused, and he was absolutely confident that her desires were as fiery as his own. It would be more than pleasure to show her the extent of his knowledge, to take her on a slow exquisite journey, touch by touch, to the blazing end of desire.

Gavin realized that he was gripping the neck of the decanter so hard it threatened to crack. What the devil was the matter with him? he wondered. Had the knifing addled his brains? Only one thing was important just now—finding out why he was the target of such inordinate attention here in Vienna and putting a stop to whatever plot was being hatched.

* * *

“This is becoming worse than a London season,” grumbled General Pryor as their carriage rattled through the streets of Vienna on the way to yet another evening party. “With the delegations trying to outdo each other in entertainments, we'll never see the end of it. What is it tonight?”

“The Saxons have summoned one of their leading singers to perform for us,” answered Catherine in neutral tones.

The general groaned. “A concert!”

“She is said to be—”

“I don't care if she sings like a lark. It'll be dashed uncomfortable chairs and no talking or moving about. And if you do, being hissed at by a pack of foppish ‘music lovers.'”

Wisely his companions said nothing. For a while the only sound was of wheels on cobblestones and scraps of German from the street.

“You know,” said Laura then, gathering her courage, “if I knew more about Gavin Graham, I might have more success.”

“Eh? What more do you need to know?” asked the general. “He's a reckless, insubordinate fellow who won't follow orders. If this was the army, I'd show him a thing or two about command.”

“What sort of work does he do?” said Laura.

“Work?” repeated Pryor as if the word was alien.

“I know he is a diplomat…”

The general snorted.

“And he has been sent all over the world. But what does he do?”

“He does as he damn well pleases,” was the reply.

“Matthew,” his wife chided. The general took this criticism of his language with a grimace.

“It would be easier to talk with him if I had some idea,” Laura added. This was quite true, she told herself. It wasn't just curiosity.

Pryor looked grumpy, but he said, “He's sent to talk with people. The more disreputable, the better. Send a rogue to deal with rogues.” He gestured as if making a concession. “Graham will sit on the ground and eat sheep's eyes if that's what it takes to fix an agreement.”

“Sheep's eyes!” exclaimed Catherine, revolted.

“Arabs,” muttered her husband.

Laura nodded. This made sense. It fitted with everything she had seen of Gavin.

“The fellow's good at it,” admitted Pryor grudgingly. “He was with Malcolm in Persia ferreting out Boney's agents during the war. Did some exceptional work. And doesn't he know it!”

“The congress doesn't seem like that sort of assignment,” said Laura. “I wonder why he's here.”

“As a punishment for my sins!” exploded the general. “Between him and the blasted singers, I may as well cock up my toes at once.”

The carriage pulled up in front of a large stone house, and a footman opened the door.

“I'll most likely go early,” Pryor warned his wife. “I'll leave you the carriage.”

* * *

Gavin was involved in some intrigue, Laura thought as they circulated through the rooms. It was all tied together somehow—Sophie, the attack, his presence in Vienna. It was all part of some shadowy transaction, the hidden world that lay beneath the bright veneer of speeches and diplomacy. The thought filled her with excitement and a curiosity more intense than any she had felt before. This was so far removed from the kind of life she had led, and that was what she had been searching for when she took the risk of leaving it.

“Oh dear,” said Catherine softly.

Laura turned and then followed her companion's gaze across the room to a sofa against the far wall.

“Matthew will be so angry,” the other woman added.

Laura said nothing. Her attention was riveted by the couple sitting on the sofa and apparently oblivious to anything around them.

She had never actually seen Gavin and Sophie together before. Now she watched as they leaned close, Sophie's hair brushing his shoulder, her hand resting on his arm. Gavin was smiling as Sophie gazed flirtatiously up at him. She said something, and he laughed. When he replied, she lowered her lashes and moved sinuously. Laura was almost sure that her breast pressed against him briefly. The look he gave her in response was slow and thorough and appreciative.

It occurred to Laura that Sophie might have lied when she said she was not in love. Gavin, of course, was known to be infatuated. That was why Laura was here, standing in this crowded reception room and feeling an odd constriction in her throat.

Did he kiss Sophie as he had kissed her? she wondered. Immediately, she scoffed at her own naïveté. He didn't drag Sophie into dark gardens and maul her about. That had been mere mockery, an attempt to rout Laura. No doubt he touched Sophie with tenderness. Probably he had some consideration for her… The threat of tears disrupted Laura's thoughts, and she gulped them back, astonished. What was wrong with her? She didn't care a whit about the man or what he might feel.

She was angry, Laura decided. He had treated her outrageously and to see him deferring to another woman brought it all back.

“I'm going to fetch him,” declared General Pryor.

Laura blinked. She hadn't heard the general join them, and now she sensed that he and Catherine had had a whole conversation that she missed.

“Should you draw so much attention?” wondered Catherine now.

“Don't care who sees. I've told him not to associate with that woman. He gave me his word!”

Pryor stalked off. Laura watched him approach Gavin and wait while he took his leave of Sophie with pointed politeness. He certainly looked reluctant to abandon the conversation, Laura thought. Sophie looked torn between amusement and annoyance. The general started back across the room with Gavin in tow. Sophie's eyes followed him and then swept over their group. Her gaze paused on Laura and intensified. Knowing herself recognized, Laura had a sudden sharp sense of having made a mistake.

“Ladies.” Gavin bowed slightly.

“Where the deuce is this singer?” the general complained, obviously in a foul mood.

There was an awkward silence. Laura saw Gavin move his shoulder as if to ease it, and realized that she was the only person in the room who knew about the wound he had sustained. It was a strange kind of intimacy. She might have said something if not for her consciousness that Sophie was watching their every move. What would the countess do? Laura wondered. She tried to remember everything she had said to Sophie, since it might now be repeated to Gavin Graham. And would he tell the Pryors about Laura's unconventional visit? Laura felt a profound relief when another gentleman claimed Sophie's attention. She turned back to her own party to find the general scowling, Catherine looking stiff, and Gavin ignoring all of them, half turned away, surveying the crowd with boredom.

“They say Frau von Fursten has a great deal of temperament,” ventured Catherine.

For a moment no one replied; then Gavin said, “You think she's throwing some sort of musical fit?”

“Prince Frederick's about to throw something,” commented the general with what sounded like great satisfaction. “He's not going to impress anyone with his powers of organization tonight.”

“And certainly Prussia will point out how much better they might have managed things,” murmured Gavin very quietly. “Just as they would manage Saxony if it's handed over to them.”

Pryor gave a snort of laughter. “No doubt.”

Laura examined the party with new eyes. Everything that went on here in Vienna had a number of levels, she realized. Each move could be interpreted, by those who knew, as part of a contest of wills, a balancing of powers, a polite struggle that would determine the future of Europe. She looked at Gavin. He seemed to have all this complexity at his fingertips and to be able to navigate it effortlessly. Or, not effortlessly, she amended, remembering the attack. But certainly he was at the center of some critical intrigue.

Catherine Pryor, turning to tell her party that the singer seemed to be taking her place at last, fell silent when she caught sight of Laura's face. Laura was looking at Gavin as if he were the most interesting creature she had ever encountered, as if he possessed secrets she would love to fathom. Suddenly, horrifyingly, it occurred to Catherine that Matthew's idiotic plan might have a disastrous result. If Laura was captivated by Gavin Graham, she would get her heart thoroughly broken. How could she not have thought of this? Catherine wondered. Graham's reputation was all too well known. Some called him irresistible. And Laura had had very little experience with any sort of men. Yet they had brought her here and thrown them together quite heedlessly. This was her fault, Catherine thought. Matthew couldn't be expected to foresee such things, but she should have. The scheme had to be stopped—at once. Laura should not see him again. She should be spending her time with eligible young men who might really be a part of her future.

“Shall we take our seats?” Gavin asked.

Catherine glanced at him, deploring his handsome person and ease of manner. She hurried forward to make sure that she, and not Graham, sat next to Laura for the coming concert.

* * *

Laura stood in her room, waiting to leave for a shopping expedition with Catherine. She wore rose cambric, and her hair was dressed in a simple knot, with curls allowed to fall along her temples and jaw, softening her face. She looked lovely but her eyes were unfocused and distant. She was thinking, about history, and risk, and the dark vistas that had opened up with the attack she had witnessed.

Gavin was insufferable, of course. But the life he had led, the secrets he concealed, enthralled her. He had seen and done the sorts of things that she had only been able to read about. He had influenced great events, traveled to countries that were little more than the stuff of fables in London and the English countryside. And now he was in the midst of some such intrigue, and she had accidentally brushed the edge of it. That taste of a larger world had whetted her appetite. She longed to know more, to witness the action firsthand, to discover the taut reality that lay behind the bright veneer of society that was all most women were allowed to see.

Perhaps she could, Laura thought. If she pursued her mission of diverting him—which had not gone well so far, she admitted—she might be pulled in once again. She might see further into that other realm, even make some small contribution.

There was a knock on her bedroom door. “Laura?”