The Reckless Bride (11 page)

“What happened to it?” Esme asked. “Napoleon?”

“No. It was a fire. An accident, I heard.” Frau Gruber shrugged. “These things happen.”

Loretta stared at all that was left of such magnificence; she felt so deflated it was difficult not to sag. “I was so looking forward to seeing it.”

“Never mind.” Esme patted her arm. “There’s still a great deal to see here. The town has a wonderfully rich history.”

“I suppose there’s still the Grassalkovich Palace, and the Archiepiscopal Palace as well as the cathedral.” Loretta continued to stare at the ruins above the town. “But I was so set on seeing a castle of such longevity, one that still functioned.”

She’d hoped to use it as the centerpiece for a vignette. She’d managed to send three installments off to her agent from Buda, but her editor wanted more; she would need to send at least two more from Vienna, their next stop.

Re-sorting the various topics that had occurred to her, looking for another that might resonate with what remained in Pressburg, she was nevertheless aware of their courierguide hovering behind her and Esme.

She was doing her best not to think of him by name in the hope that stressing his position would help her remember to keep him at arm’s length, more particularly to keep herself at arm’s length from him. Yet even though she kept her gaze fixed on the town, she was aware of him studying her, then looking at Esme, then back at her.

Esme, too, was pretending not to have noticed him, although Loretta was quite sure she had. “I know it’s a great disappointment that the castle is in ruins, dear, but I suspect the Primate’s Palace will be even more richly decorated. As I recall, Napoleon and King Francis signed the Peace of Pressburg there. As the Corsican upstart was ever one to insist on the highest degree of pomp and circumstance, that suggests that the Primate’s Palace was, at least at that time, the most significant palace in the town.”

As if just noticing Rafe, Esme turned. “Ah—there you are, dear boy. I was about to suggest that we visit the Primate’s Palace this afternoon. There’s plenty of other sights worthy of our attention, but we can leave them for tomorrow when we will have the whole day, yet poor Loretta here is so cast down with discovering the castle has been reduced to blackened rubble that we really should do something to distract her.”

If Loretta had been one of his sisters, Rafe would have scoffed, but she truly was, as Esme said, cast down, her expression lacking the animated eagerness he was accustomed to seeing; the spark of intelligent enthusiasm usually lighting her eyes was doused, absent.

Even as, inwardly frowning, he studied her, Hassan came up from the stern. When Rafe looked at him, he murmured, “No sign of cultists anywhere.”

“There—see?” Esme smiled at Rafe. “No reason whatever we shouldn’t indulge in an afternoon’s excursion.”

Eagerness lit her gray eyes, but Rafe couldn’t tell which she was most set on seeing—the architectural sights, or the sight of her great-niece tormenting him.

“I suppose you’re right.” Loretta turned to join the discussion, animation reinfusing her features to a small degree. “The Primate’s Palace is sure to be interesting.” She’d spoken to Esme, but then looked at Rafe. “And a short excursion off this boat will do us all good.”

He met her eyes, was peripherally aware of the others—Gibson, Rose, and Hassan, as well as Esme—waiting on his decision.

At least she was acknowledging his existence again.

“All right.” He glanced at Hassan, then at Esme. “Just the Primate’s Palace, then back.”

“Of course, dear boy.” Esme beamed. “Whatever you decree.”

A strong commander would not have been swayed by such frivolous arguments. On the other hand, the wisest commandersrescripted their plans to gain the most out of every situation.

Rafe told himself he’d been wise. He fully intended to put his foot down and ensure Esme, Loretta, and the two maids remained safely aboard whenever danger threatened. As it happened, there didn’t appear to be any overt danger in Pressburg.

Strolling behind Esme and Loretta as their party was conducted through the Primate’s Palace by a helpful custodian, Rafe was glad he’d chosen the course of wisdom. Not only was Loretta fully reengaged, energized and eagerly putting shrewd and insightful questions to the custodian, but contrary to every expectation he’d had, he, too, found the palace’s history of interest.

“And this,” the custodian pushed open a pair of doors, their intricate carving heavily gilded, “is the room where Napoleon and King Francis the Second met. It was after Napoleon’s victory at Austerlitz. King Francis had little choice.” Preceding them into the chamber, the custodian waved at an ornate table and two chairs. “They sat there, Napoleon on one side with his generals arrayed behind him, and behind them the standard-bearers with many of their legions’ eagles, and on this side, King Francis with his three advisors.”

The custodian knew his history. Either that, or he had an excellent imagination. His descriptions of the signing, in vivid and exact detail, brought the moment to life.

When the custodian came to the end of his recitation, Rafe blinked back to the present, then glanced at Esme. She seemed interested, but unmoved. Beyond Esme, however, Loretta looked as enthralled as he’d felt.

With the high point of the tour behind them, they walked back through the long corridors to the door through which they’d entered.

Loretta chatted and exclaimed, her imagination fired by all she’d seen and felt. Esme, however, was clearly thinking of other things, and appeared to respond to her comments at random.

Exasperated, Loretta finally turned to their courier-guide. “You fought against Napoleon. Did you not feel a lingering sense that matters of great import had occurred in that room?”

For a moment, she thought he would scoff and dismiss the idea as a fanciful feminine notion, but after studying her face, he said, “Not ghosts of the people involved but a shade, a lingering shadow of destiny?”

“Yes! That’s it.”
A lingering shadow of destiny.
She could use those words. They perfectly encapsulated what she’d sensed.

Feeling thoroughly vindicated, she walked on. If a male like Rafe Carstairs could sense the echoes in that room, then she was hardly imagining things. She was sure she could fashion a truly engaging vignette on the importance to history of maintaining places that had hosted great change—like the Primate’s Palace—and not letting them decay or fall victim to lack of care, like the castle.

“Did you ever see Napoleon?” She glanced at Rafe.

“Not close—only in the distance in the wake of Waterloo.”

“How did he appear—like an all-powerful emperor or a petty tyrant?”

“I only saw him that once, after the battle. He looked … lost.” After a moment he went on, “The edifice he’d fought all his life to build had come tumbling down about his ears—for good and all, that time. He was a smallish man, and when I saw him he was on foot, with Wellington, Blücher, and the other generals around him. Napoleon looked like a tradesman who found himself in the company of kings.”

They reached the door and took leave of the custodian. Loretta was especially effusive. Rafe smiled and gave the man a respectable donation toward the palace’s upkeep. Giving Esme his arm, he assisted her down the steps to where the carriage they’d hired waited to return them to the wharves. Hassan materialized and opened the door.

Rafe helped Esme in, then turned and offered Loretta his hand.

She looked at it, hesitated, then set her fingers in his.

They both felt the connection—the sensual spark—when he closed his fingers about hers.

She raised her eyes to his; her chin firmed, but then she inclined her head and allowed him to help her up the carriage steps.

The two maids were already inside. Rafe turned to Hassan.

“I’ll travel with the driver and keep watch,” Hassan said.

Rafe nodded and followed Loretta into the carriage.

They spotted no cultists on the way back to the boat. However, because they were so alert, Rafe and Hassan noticed two men, locals by their dress, loitering in the shadow of one of the warehouses lining the wharf.

Their party had descended from the hired carriage at the top of the wharf, and walked the fifty yards to where the
Uray Princep
bobbed on the gentle river swell. The men’s attention had fixed on their group the instant they’d set foot on the wharf. While there were many men of all types going in and out of the nearby warehouses and back and forth along the wooden wharf, all except the two loiterers had a clear purpose.

Hassan remained on guard at the bottom of the gangplank while Rafe helped Esme, then Loretta, aboard, then Hassan watched over the two maids as they followed their mistresses onto the boat.

Neither Rafe nor Hassan had given any sign that they had seen the two men hovering in the shadows. With a tip of his head, Rafe summoned Hassan on board. As the big Pathan joined him, he murmured, “The observation deck.”

They went up. Hunkering down by the boat’s side, they watched the men through the rails; the pair gave no sign of noticing them. While the ladies took tea in the salon below, they watched the two men talk and grin—waited to see ifthe pair paid as much attention to the other passengers returning to the
Uray Princep
as they had to their party.

But the men appeared disinterested in anyone else.

“Not good,” Rafe said as, with the light fading to an early winter’s dusk, the two watchers stood, stretched, and with one last look at the
Uray Princep,
disappeared down an alley between two warehouses.

“Could the cult have hired locals to act for them?” Hassan asked.

Rafe grimaced. “It’s possible. We’ll have to remain on guard.”

They divided the remaining hours of the day as well as the night; one of them would always be on watch, armed and alert. While Hassan went downstairs to nap, Rafe walked to the other side of the deck and looked out at the river, at the forests stretching away as far as he could see.

He looked east, toward England.

He had a mission to complete. That was his priority. Pursuing Loretta Michelmarsh was less urgent.

Seeing the men sent to watch their party had reinforced that fact, had readjusted his focus.

Had reminded him of his goal.

Despite the slowness of his journey, he didn’t have time to indulge his fascination with a young lady who, it seemed, didn’t actually want him to be interested in her.

Loretta noticed the change. Finally alone in her cabin with the boat silent around her, she paced, and wondered.

During dinner and the gathering in the salon afterward, Rafe’s attention had appeared tightly focused elsewhere.

Outward. Outside the boat.

The deflection of his attention was similar to when he and Hassan had been expecting attack from cultists in Buda, but the intensity was heightened, honed, more controlled and absolute.

Added to that, Hassan had not been present at dinner. When she’d remarked on his absence, Rafe had merely said that Hassan had eaten earlier.

Esme had noticed the shifting currents, too. When she’d asked if anything were amiss, Rafe had denied it, passing off his increased watchfulness as merely being on guard.

“Huh!” Loretta swung around. “Something must have happened, but what?”

She hadn’t seen anything; neither had Rose or Gibson. She was sure Esme hadn’t either. So what had caused the change?

“I should be glad of it. At least he’s no longer watching me.” She kicked her skirts out of her way. “And it’s reassuring to know he’s paying attention to his mission and its attendant dangers—as he should.”

She knew she should mean that, yet…. “Damn it! What a time to revert to being just a guard.”

After their afternoon’s excursion, she’d wanted to reengage. To learn more. Not just about that astonishing kiss and what it might mean, but more about him—the man who’d understood what she’d meant enough to label it the
shadow of destiny.

Instead, he’d drawn back, shifted focus, and if she were honest, she missed his attention. Missed the warmth of his gaze resting on her, missed looking up and finding him watching her as if he wanted to know all her secrets.

She missed the teasing exchanges. Even though she hadn’t appreciated them at the time, she’d found them stimulating in an intellectual way.

She missed looking up and meeting his gaze, seeing warmth and laughter in the soft blue.

Halting, she frowned at the wall. Yes, she’d been less than encouraging—positively discouraging—that morning. He was entirely justified in drawing back from her.

She’d never engaged in any such interactions before, but she suspected that if she wanted his attention back, enough at least so she could learn what the unexpected connection between them—a connection she could hardly deny after that scorching, mind-scrambling kiss—portended, it might be up to her to make the next move.

Whatever that might be.

She felt a tad ridiculous—twenty-four years old and with less experience than a giddy girl of seventeen—but if she wanted to learn more, then it behooved her to make some attempt to reinstigate their … connection.

It was full dark; by now the rest of the ship’s company would have retired to their berths. Pulling on her pelisse, she opened her door, then slipped through and out of the stateroom and headed for the observation deck.

She needed her customary stroll, and she felt certain Rafe would be up on the deck.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she emerged into the darkness, turned, and saw him by the rail. The moon was hidden by heavy clouds; he was no more than a denser shadow against the fluid ink of the river beyond, yet she knew it was him.

But he wasn’t alone.

From the other shadow’s height, she guessed it was Hassan standing alongside him.

They’d heard her and turned.

She hesitated.

Rafe left the rail and silently crossed to her.

In the dim light, she could barely make out his features.

“In the circumstances, while we’re tied up in a town, you shouldn’t come up on deck at night. I suggest you return below.”