Charmed and Dangerous (8 page)

“Matthew!” admonished Catherine.

“Eh? Oh.” He abandoned what he had been about to say. “The champagne should be good, anyway.”

“Look at those palms,” offered Laura tactfully. “They look just like the pictures I have seen of Egypt.”

“I've heard the owner imports plants from all over the world,” said Catherine.

“I want to see them all.”

The general made a disgusted noise. “I have to find our host. Castlereagh sent me to represent him.”

“Won't you come with us?” Catherine asked Laura.

Laura looked imploring. She had discovered that the formal duties of the congress could be quite boring.

“Well…don't wander too far. This place seems to be like a maze.”

“I'll take care.” Laura hurried off before Catherine could change her mind.

It was like a maze, Laura thought a few minutes later. Although the glasshouse was one giant room, it had been divided into paths and garden nooks by the plantings, some of which looked quite impenetrable. Trees festooned with lianas towered to the ceiling; great bushes loomed, creating corners and arches. At every turn, she found other guests wandering in confusion or delight, and exclamations of amazement floated through the foliage from all sides. Just as she was beginning to wonder how she would ever find the Pryors again, she heard her name spoken. “Have you lost your way?” asked Baron von Sternhagen in German. “You are walking alone?”

Laura smiled up at him ruefully. “I was looking at some purple flowers, and then at a tree with odd green fruits. By the time I took another turn, I found I didn't know where I was. This garden is incredible.”

“You should not be walking alone,” he answered, as if she hadn't spoken. He offered his arm. “I will escort you.”

Suppressing an ironic response, Laura put her hand on his forearm. She was actually a bit relieved to see someone she knew. “Have you mastered the pattern?”

“Of course.” He started off briskly.

“Do you know who owns this place?” wondered Laura, walking quickly to keep up. “He must have devoted his whole life to searching for plants.”

“A waste of time,” replied von Sternhagen, as if he was agreeing with her stated opinion. “A man with a fortune should devote himself to his country's welfare.”

“As you have done?”

The baron gave one definite nod.

“You have been a diplomat for a long time?”

“I am a military officer,” he answered stiffly. “I am attached to the Prussian delegation here as special duty.”

“Ah. It is very interesting, isn't it? There is so much going on under the surface. Each conversation seems to have several meanings.”

Von Sternhagen looked at her blankly.

Laura sighed. This conversation wasn't going well, and as far as she could see they were wandering aimlessly among the exotic plants. “You were involved in the war, then?”

This proved a popular topic. The baron proceeded to tell her every detail of his military career, beginning with his training and first engagement in the field. It could have been exciting, Laura thought, but he had no knack for storytelling. He included far too much, and passed over the thrilling bits with little emotion. He was probably some sort of hero, she concluded, but after ten minutes of his droning she didn't care. She was seriously considering a plunge into the glossy foliage that lined the path when she saw Gavin Graham up ahead. He was talking to a small man half hidden behind a hanging branch. As soon as the latter became aware of them, he stepped back and then was gone. Had he actually done it? Laura wondered. Had he slipped into the plantings as she had been imagining? This question occupied her only briefly, however, banished by her need for escape.

“Mr. Graham,” she said. “Are the Pryors looking for me? I would be glad to rejoin them.”

Gavin looked at her, then at her companion. Amusement showed in his handsome features.

“Did they send you to find me?” she added, silently commanding him to do as she wished.

He raised one golden brow, taunting her. “Did they?”

“You are to escort me back to them?” she said through gritted teeth.

“I would be most happy—” began the baron.

“Ah, yes, I believe I am,” interrupted Gavin. He offered his arm, and Laura took it.

“Thank you for a…a most pleasant conversation, Baron,” she said.

Looking offended, von Sternhagen simply bowed his head, clicking his heels smartly together.

“Had enough of the Prussians for this evening?” inquired Gavin as they walked away.

“Shh. He'll hear you.”

“I think he has already gotten the message.”

“I didn't mean to be rude,” protested Laura, “but I couldn't bear…”

“Was it his military exploits, or his theories on education?”

She looked up, surprised.

“I have attended a number of dinner parties with the baron,” he explained dryly.

“What he says might be interesting if…”

“If someone else were saying it,” he finished.

A guilty laugh escaped her. “Do you know the way out of here?” she said to change the subject.

“The paths are laid out in rough concentric rings. If you keep walking along any one of them, you go in circles.”

“How did you discover that?” she asked in surprise.

“I make it my business to learn such things.”

“In case of men with knives?” she couldn't resist responding.

“In case of…anything. And I asked you not to speak of that.”

“I can't help thinking—”

“You could if you tried harder.”

Laura had to pause to get a grip on her temper. Gavin turned onto another path and led her past a fern that was at least ten feet tall.

“Do you think this evening will do Prince Talleyrand any good?” she said then.

He gave her a sidelong glance.

“It is a dilemma, isn't it? People want to punish France for the war, but they have just restored the king there, and I suppose they have to have some consideration for his feelings.”

He laughed.

“What?” said Laura, piqued.

“I was trying to imagine the feelings of Louis Bourbon.”

“I suppose he is glad to have his throne back.”

“Yes, I think it is safe to conclude that.”

“You don't like him?”

“From what I have heard, there is little to like. His subjects seem to think so anyway. You are full of questions this evening.”

“I am curious. If the French don't like their king, what will—” She was cut off when Gavin suddenly moved, pulling her between two sweeping branches of some sort of evergreen and into his arms.

“Will you give this up?” he demanded, his mouth inches from hers.

“Will you?” she retorted, pulling back against the iron of his embrace.

“I think not.” He bent to kiss her, as he had before.

But Laura was prepared this time. She had been expecting him to try something of the sort in these surroundings. She bent and twisted, ducking out of his grasp and stepping quickly back onto the path. “You will have to find some new tactic,” she said breathlessly. “That one is shopworn.”

He looked angrier than she had expected. So angry, in fact, that when he made a move toward her, Laura fled down the path in the direction they had been going. Very soon, she found herself in a large open space that obviously occupied the center of the building. A number of the guests had congregated there around their host, and she was relieved to see the Pryors among them. “I lost my way,” she murmured when she joined them. Catherine looked concerned, but said nothing.

Conversation ebbed and flowed around them. The general was talking to a Frenchman Laura hadn't met. Seeing an empty bench nearby, partly screened by a potted palm, she went to sit down, accepting a glass of wine that a passing servitor offered. Her heart was still beating rather rapidly, and she felt an odd disappointment in the party. She must do better with the information George Tompkins had given her, she thought.

Noticing Sophie Krelov some distance away, Laura ducked farther behind the sheltering palm. Sophie looked gorgeous in cobalt satin; she also looked quite capable of marching over and asking Laura what she was up to. Concealment seemed the better part of valor at the moment.

“Signorina!” said a caressing voice. Oliveri, the artist, sat down beside her. “You are sitting alone? These northerners are idiots.”

Catherine wasn't going to like this, Laura thought. Oliveri leaned toward her, his dark eyes intense. “I have been longing to see you again,” he added in Italian. “The music of your voice has haunted me.”

He was a refreshing change from men who continually ordered one about, she decided. “Have you seen this place before?” she asked, indicating their exotic surroundings with a gesture.

“Never.” He pulled the frond of a palm slowly through his fingers. “It is glorious. This man has the imagination of the great god Pan himself.”

“Is the owner here? I have not heard anyone mention meeting him.”

Oliveri leaned even closer. “I have heard that he is a recluse, and that he is hiding somewhere among the branches, watching us enjoy his creation without speaking to anyone.”

Laura looked around. She couldn't decide whether this notion was charming or unsettling.

“I imagine him with wild curling hair and a great bushy beard,” continued the Italian, “peering out through the leaves like the ancient statues of Pan and Bacchus in my country.”

“You have a vivid imagination, signor,” responded Laura, resisting the impulse to look over her shoulder into the foliage.

He laid a hand on his breast and bowed his head a bit, as if accepting an accolade. “I was born to be an artist.”

“How is your painting going?”

Oliveri spread his hands. “The background is finished. But it is difficult to persuade the heads of the delegations to come and pose.” He smiled wickedly at her, teeth flashing white against his dark skin. “They are too busy posing elsewhere.”

She laughed.

“I will probably have to content myself with sketching them at occasions such as this. I always have my drawing materials with me and take every chance to get a likeness.”

“That is clever of you.”

“Oh, I am terribly clever, signorina.” He paused. “Though, not quite clever enough to know how my painting should end up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I can decide on the final placements, I must know how the congress comes out, eh? Do I place the czar in the center, beaming with triumph? Is Prince Talleyrand in the main composition, or do I put him off to the side, looking disappointed? My painting must tell the observer not only what these people looked like, but also what happened at this momentous meeting. So I wait, and I watch.”

Laura nodded.

“But perhaps you have some insight for me, signorina?”

“I?”

“You are surprising, no? You know things one does not expect you to know.”

“I don't understand,” replied Laura.

His gaze was intense and unavoidable. “Your visit at Mokstrasse. This is quite surprising.”

Mokstrasse was George Tompkins's address. How did he know she had been there? wondered Laura, suddenly seeing Oliveri in a new light.

“Very few people go there. And all of them are…powerful.”

“I really don't know what you mean.”

He leaned uncomfortably close, his shoulder brushing hers. “You can tell me, Signorina Devane. It is only for my art, you see—to make my picture right. I have no other interests.”

Everyone at the congress had other interests, she thought. The hard part was sorting them out. Was Oliveri part of the plot she had already brushed up against? she wondered. Or was this some other intrigue entirely? “I don't think I have anything useful to tell you.”

“You don't know what I might find useful,” he responded quickly, his face too close to hers.

“Signor,” she protested.

He pulled back, as if conscious of going too fast. “It is so interesting—all of these leaders gathered here. And I am so anxious to paint it well. This could bring me many other commissions, you see.”

That could be all of the truth, Laura thought. And it could be only a small part of it.

“Come to my studio and see my work,” he urged, handing her a card. “Then you will understand what I ask.”

What meaning lay behind his urgent tone? Laura slipped the card into her glove, putting off deciding.

“Good,” he said. “We cannot talk here. It is too public.”

As if to confirm this, they were interrupted by a deep voice saying, “Miss Devane?”

Gavin Graham had approached from the side. Laura wondered how much he had heard.

“Mrs. Pryor is looking for you,” he added. “She asked me to bring you to her.”

Laura stood. “You must excuse me, Signor Oliveri.”

“Of course.” He had also risen, and now gave her a deep bow. “It was my very great pleasure to speak with you,” he said in English.

Gavin pointedly offered his arm. Laura took it, and he swept her off before she could reply. “She really is looking for you this time,” he said.

“It was very kind of you to fetch me, then.”

He was quite unaccountably angry, Gavin thought. It was all these ridiculous parties—a complete waste of time. “She was shocked that you would stay talking to Oliveri for such a long time. He is not a suitable object for such marked attentions.”

“Catherine said that to you?” she answered in an irritatingly innocent tone.

“Anyone would say it.”

“We were simply talking, in full view of…”

“Skulking behind a fringe of trees,” he corrected.

“Skulking!”

“If you are going to allow yourself to be deceived by the most obvious kind of wastrel—”

“You think he was trying to seduce me?” She looked astonished, as if this hadn't even occurred to her.