Dare to Love (43 page)

This mood will pass, I told myself, straightening a fold of the silver skirt. I sighed and turned away from the mirror as Minne came back into the room.

“A gentleman from Sturnburg,” she said. There was a worried look in her eyes. “Otto told him you were going out tonight and wouldn't be able to see him, but the gentleman insisted. He said it was urgent.”

“I see.”

“He's an Englishman,” she added. “He told Otto he was from the English embassy in Sturnburg, and he wouldn't be put off. Otto showed him into the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Minne.”

“I hope it isn't some kind of trouble,” she said nervously.

“It's nothing I can't handle,” I assured her.

My skirt made a crisp, rustling noise like dry leaves as I moved down the gracious curving staircase. The crystal chandeliers shed brilliant light over the foyer. In my present mood, I almost welcomed the confrontation I knew awaited me. Because I was English, the embassy in Sturnburg would naturally be concerned about my presence in Barivna, would undoubtedly try everything possible to get me to leave. I was surprised they hadn't sent someone to call on me long before now. But I had no intention of yielding to any kind of pressure, and as I stepped into the drawing room I was prepared to be as hard as steel.

The Englishman was standing with his back to me, examining one of the small Bologna bronzes that stood on the mantle. He was very tall and obviously young, his hair a rich jet black. At least they hadn't sent a doddering old diplomat to do their work for them. He was still wearing his long travel cloak, and as he turned it swirled from his shoulders. He observed me with dark brown eyes full of cool self-possession. “Ah, the Countess of Landsfeld,” he said, with a correct bow.

I was unable to speak. My heart seemed to have stopped beating.

“Brence Stephens,” he said. “I'm Chief Aide to the English Ambassador in Sturnburg.”

Once, long ago, he had told me that he was going to be aide to the English ambassador of a tiny state I had probably never heard of. I remembered that now. I remembered so much more as well. The years seemed to evaporate, all the years between, and a flood of memories swept over me. I could feel my knees grow weak as I fought desperately to stem the surge of emotions that welled up inside, and it took every ounce of strength I had to keep from fainting.

I had dreamed of this moment. I had dreamed of confronting him in all of my splendor, and in my dreams I had been haughty and aloof, treating him with disdain. Now that the moment had actually arrived I felt sheer panic. I mustn't let him see it. I mustn't let him know. I was trembling inside, and I knew that my cheeks must have paled.

I stared at him, and he slowly arched one brow as I had seen him do so many times in the past.

“Is something wrong?” he inquired.

“Nothing at all,” I said.

My voice was calm, but it seemed to come from someone else. I managed to control the trembling inside. With superhuman effort, I maintained a rigid composure that I feared might crumble at any moment. I looked at him with a level gaze, silently praying for strength.

“I suppose you know why I'm here,” he said.

“I have a fair idea.”

“I've just arrived in Barivna. I came here immediately after taking a room at the hotel. This is an urgent matter, Countess. That's why I'm calling on you at such a late hour. Your butler told me that you were going out, but I insisted on seeing you.”

His voice was deep and melodious, as I remembered, with the same husky catch. He had lost the dark tan he had acquired in India, and the new pallor somehow enhanced his good looks. There was a cynical curl to his mouth that hadn't been there before, an aura of disenchantment that made him seem more vulnerable. Brence Stephens was plainly discontented with his lot. The success that had meant so much to him had eluded him thus far. He was still only an aide after all this time, and I could tell that he was dissatisfied. The old moodiness was immediately apparent.

“Won't you take off your cloak, Mr. Stephens.”

He shook his head. His manner was cold and remote, hostility barely veiled. He hadn't recognized me, hadn't associated the resplendent creature in silver gown with the innocent young girl from Cornwall whose virginity he had taken and whose heart he had broken. To him I was a notorious courtesan, a mercenary adventuress, immoral and unscrupulous.

“I've come to take you away from Barivna,” he said. “My instructions are to get you out of the country as soon as possible.”

“Indeed?”

“My instructions came from the ambassador. He received his from London. Your presence here is a dangerous irritant, as you surely must realize. You're an English citizen, and England wants you out of Barivna before the situation grows even worse.”

When I did not reply, his frown deepened.

“How long will it take you to pack your things?” he inquired.

“I have no intention of packing, Mr. Stephens. I have no intention of leaving. I'm a citizen of Barivna now, proclaimed such by the King himself. I fear you've made your trip for nothing.”

“I can see you don't realize the seriousness of the situation, my dear Countess. It's imperative that you leave at once.”

“Imperative to Sturnburg,” I retorted.

“I don't represent Sturnburg. I represent England. The Embassy isn't at all pleased with the recent developments in Sturnburg, nor do we condone their military policies. Citizen or not, you're an Englishwoman and as such under our jurisdiction.”

“I disagree.”

“I didn't come here to argue with you, Countess. I came here to get you out of the country before you're caught up in the middle of a full scale military takeover.”

“Military takeover? Sturnburg wouldn't dare attempt such a coup. You needn't think you can frighten me with such statements, Mr. Stephens. I'm fully aware of the political situation.”

He scowled. “You haven't an inkling of what's going on,” he informed me. “No one in Barivna does. I reside in Sturnburg. I know what's happening, what's about to happen. That's why I'm here.”

“To rescue me?”

“You might put it that way.”

“I'm afraid I must refuse your offer.”

“You're a stubborn woman, Countess.”

“You're quite right,” I replied.

Stepping over to the window, I pulled the long silken bell cord to summon Otto. Brence stared at me, as I turned around to face him again, my manner icy cold, belying the turmoil inside. He started to say something more, and then his eyes grew dark with puzzlement. Moving nearer, a deep frown creased his brow. I stood very still. He continued to stare at me, recognition slowly dawning, and then he shook his head, refusing to believe what his eyes told him was true.

“No,” he said. “No, I—I'm imagining things. It can't be.” His cheeks seemed to grow paler. He passed a hand across his brow, completely taken aback.

“You—you danced. One night at the gypsy camp you danced. Elena Lopez is—she performs Spanish dances like—like the one you did with that gypsy boy. Mary Ellen?”

“Mary Ellen no longer exists,” I said coldly. “The girl you seduced and deserted ceased to exist a long time ago.”

His cheeks were ashen, and he started toward me, just as Otto stepped into the room.

“Please show Mr. Stephens out,” I said. “If he tries to see me again I will not be in. Do you understand? I never want to see him again. He is not to be allowed inside under any circumstances.”

“Mary Ellen!” Brence cried.

“Summon the footmen if necessary, Otto.”

With perfect composure, I left the drawing room and moved across the foyer and up the stairs. It was the most difficult journey I had ever made in my life.

XXXI

It was a lovely night, cool and serene. Three days had passed since Brence had come to Barivna, three long days and three long nights. It was shortly after midnight as I rode in the carriage back to Chez Elena after a visit with Karl. He had been in a very good mood, excited about the new Greek Gallery. Material had already been ordered, and the actual construction would begin just as soon as it arrived, von Klenze himself supervising every step. Observing that I looked a bit weary, Karl had smiled and suggested I return to Chez Elena early. His dark demons were far away tonight. They hadn't plagued him in over a week.

I was thankful, for that, having my own demons to contend with.

Peering out the carriage window, I could see the lights of the town in the distance, and as we moved around the curve of the lake I saw the flickering orange blossoms of light where the newly arrived soldiers had lighted their campfires on the parade ground. Karl was unhappy about their presence and had issued a formal complaint to Sturnburg, but he was not unduly concerned. He had severely reprimanded Schroder for trying to impose the curfew on the students, and there had been no more trouble. The status quo had been resumed. The students were busily preparing for upcoming examinations, and the soldiers seemed to spend most of their time performing tactical exercises on the fields outside of town.

Sturnburg wanted me to leave Barivna, and they had sent Brence to call on me because they thought an Englishman would have a better chance of convincing me of “imminent danger.” The English embassy was undoubtedly working hand in glove with Sturnburg. Schroder had tried to frighten me into leaving the day I arrived. I had refused to be intimidated then, and I refused to be alarmed now. Brence Stephens' mission was to get me to leave Barivna, and he would use any means in order to accomplish his goal. His talk about a military takeover was merely part of his tactics.

The carriage moved slowly around the lake. The flickering orange campfires were no longer visible. I was tired, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep. I hadn't been able to sleep properly for the past three nights. Each night, after I went to bed, I was plagued by memories, vibrant memories of incredible joy and unbearable grief. I had never stopped loving Brence Stephens. Never. I had buried that love deep inside, had shut it away in darkness, denying its existence, but it had always been a part of me. The moment I saw him again it had broken free of its prison, as strong, as vital as it had been in the beginning.

When we arrived at Chez Elena, I didn't go inside at once. As the carriage moved away, I paused on the steps, dreading the hours ahead, dreading the memories. I wished now that I had remained at the palace, even though Karl hadn't needed me. I decided to stroll in the gardens for a while to delay that moment when I climbed into bed and closed my eyes and the past came to life in such vivid detail. Leaving the steps, I moved around the house toward the gardens, my skirts billowing in the soft breeze.

My pale pink silk gown had narrow sleeves that left my shoulders bare and the skirt was aglitter with hundreds of clear, transparent spangles, thin, tiny spangles like slivers of crystal. In my hair, I wore a large, creamy white camellia. Elena Lopez in all her finery strolled in the gardens after midnight, alone. There was splendid irony there. I wished I were able to appreciate it more.

The cool night air stroked my bare shoulders as I moved down the pathway between beds of flowers. Long blue-black shadows moved and shifted at my feet, making patterns over the silvered path. Shrubs rustled, and fountains made a soft, splashing patter as water spilled over marble brims. The moonlight created a world of black and silver, blue-black and pewter gray, lovely and peaceful. I walked slowly, inhaling the fragrance of flowers and listening to the quiet night noises. A bird warbled sleepily. A crunching sound, like footsteps, caused me to pause, vaguely alarmed, and then I decided that it had merely been an echo of my own footsteps.

Brence was still in Barivna, staying at the hotel. He had attempted to see me two more times, and both times he had been turned away. I knew that I couldn't risk seeing him again. I was still in love with him, and that love must be forced back into its prison, contained, controlled, ignored. Once it had almost destroyed me, and I couldn't afford to let that happen again. I had to be strong. I had to be very strong. Seeing Brence again would be a disastrous mistake. Eventually, he would admit defeat and go back to Sturnburg, and then I could relax.

I paused beside one of the fountains, but as I stood there a feeling of uneasiness gradually stole over me. I was uncomfortable without knowing why. I sensed that something was not as it should be. Moonlight spilled over the white marble tiles, tinting them silver, and the tall shrubs near the edge of the lake swayed gently, a mass of dark shadows. I could feel someone watching me. That was it. That was what caused the uneasiness. The sensation was so strong it was almost physical.

“Who—who's there?” I called.

I recalled the hatred in Schroder's eyes when I defied him the day I arrived. He had promised me I would be sorry. What if he had come to take his revenge? What if he had sent one of his men to get rid of Elena Lopez once and for all? It was wildly improbable, but my mind conjured up all sorts of terrifying images. Staring at the shrubs, I thought I could discern a darker form standing in front of them, a tall black form outlined against the grayness behind. I tried to tell myself I was imagining things, but then the form moved, detaching itself from the shadows.

For a moment, I felt stark terror. I was at the very foot of the gardens, far away from the house. If I were to call out, it was unlikely anyone inside would hear me. Cold with fear, I watched as the man moved across the dark patch of lawn and stepped into the moonlight. I could see his features clearly as he moved toward me, and terror gave way to a new kind of alarm, quickly followed by anger. I stared at him coldly, one hand curled into a tight fist. He stopped a few feet away, an amused smile spread across his face as he saw the fist.

“Are you going to hit me?”

“I should!”