Chapter Twelve

Elissa stood in the garden. Only a sliver of moon reflected above the houses and spires of Vienna. A thin layer of clouds covered what few stars peeked through the overhead gloom. In a gown of white satin edged with silver tulle, her slender form stood out against the blackness, and she silently wished she had chosen a more somber shade, one that would hide her in the soft midnight shadows.

Then again, she hadn’t expected to be sneaking around in the dark, hiding in the shrubbery with her ear pressed against the windowpanes, hoping to catch at least some portion of the conversation between the two men inside, Major Holdorf and General Steigler.

Since her return to Vienna, she had spoken to the general only briefly. In return she had received a clipped, unfriendly greeting, and a harsh, disapproving scowl. He scared her when he looked at her that way, his eyes raking over her breasts, menacing in the way they seemed to press into her flesh. God’s breath, if only she could be rid of him, certain one way or another whether he was the Falcon. If only she could have gotten into his suite of rooms.

An owl hooted somewhere over her left shoulder, and Elissa jumped several inches, a shiver skimming along her spine. She wore only a light cashmere shawl over her gown and suddenly it wasn’t nearly warm enough. Her heart was clattering and her insides felt trembly, partly from fear, partly in the hope that at last a miracle would occur and she would uncover some clue for her efforts.

The crack of a twig snapped behind her. She was certain someone was following her, and she snapped her head around. Her hands were shaking, her palms damp. Her eyes searched the darkness but no one was there. It was only her imagination. She was standing deep in the shadows at the side of the house, safe, she was sure, from anyone who might wander out into the garden.

The general laughed—she could hear that very clearly—and she fixed her attention back on the two men seated in the study, watching them through the crack in the heavy gold velvet draperies. They had left the musicale before it was ended, slipping quietly away during a rendition of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5, “The Emperor,” played in His Majesty’s honor. The general had summoned the major with a look that seemed most urgent.

Now, through the split in the curtains, she saw Holdorf smile.

“I’ll make the arrangements myself,” he said, “be certain the message gets through.”

Message? Elissa’s pulse went faster. She edged closer, held her breath. Was he talking about passing secrets to the French?

Steigler lifted his wine glass, waving it expansively then brandishing it up and down in staccato jabs to emphasize his point. “I don’t want any mistakes, do you hear? This is too important. I won’t tolerate any mistakes.”

“I haven’t disappointed you yet, have I, General Steigler?”

He lowered the glass and smiled. “No, Major Holdorf. So far your record is unblemished.”

“I intend to keep it that way.”

Steigler took a drink of his wine. “When will you leave?”

“In the morning. It shouldn’t take long to reach the first relay point. After that there is less danger.”

Elissa leaned her head against the rough stone wall, her heart trying to pound its way free of her chest. This was it. The first real indication that Steigler was actually involved in passing information. It wasn’t tangible evidence but it renewed her hope—and her determination.

“Well, well, well … if it isn’t my lovely little angel.” The lazy drawl drifted from the shadows a few feet away. “Imagine … finding you out here all alone.” He moved forward with an easy grace in a body simmering with tension. Leaning down to peer through the curtains, he saw Steigler and Holdorf in quiet conversation and a muscle leapt in his cheek. “Ah, but then you had plenty to hold your interest, didn’t you, Countess?”

“I was … I was…” She swallowed hard, groping to find something to say. “It was overly warm inside. I—I needed a quick breath of air.”

He moved closer, gripped her arm and dragged her away from the building, deeper into the shadows of the garden. “I’m certain you did,” he said, the gravelly texture of his voice made rougher by the anger that quivered through each word. “That is why you were hiding out here in the darkness. Because it was cooler, more private. It had nothing to do with the fact you wished to eavesdrop on the general’s conversation.”

“No! Of course not!”

He hauled her deep into the foliage and hard against his chest. “You’re a liar.” She tried to twist free, but his hold only tightened. “Tell me who you are.”

“Y-you know who I am. I’m the Countess von Langen. I’m here from England to visit the Duchess of Murau.”

“I want the truth! I want to know who you are!”

She only shook her head. “Elissa Tauber, Countess von Langen.”

His hand smoothed down along her cheek, yet there was nothing of tenderness in his touch. “Such a beautiful little liar.”

Elissa glanced away, unable to look into those hard green eyes a moment more. “I would tell you if I could,” she said softly. “I never wanted to deceive you. Give me some time. All I need is a little more time.”

The bright glow of his anger seemed to dim as he fought for control. He moved a few steps away, deeper into the darkness, his big hands fisted at his sides. His breath whispered out into the night, edged in white in the cold evening air. When he finally spoke, his words sounded husky in the quiet of the garden.

“Come here, Elissa.”

Her breathing quickened. Something had changed. She could hear the difference in the thickening drawl of his voice.

“W-where are you?” she asked, though she could see the glint of gold braid flashing behind a tree in the thin rays of moonlight slanting down through the leafy foliage.

“You know where I am. Come to me, Elissa. Now.”

He wanted her, she knew. She could hear it, feel it. He was angry, but he wanted her still. She made her way toward him on unsteady legs, uncertain what he meant to do. She was a little bit frightened, yet desire stabbed its sharp, keen edge at the thought of his hands and his mouth.

She paused a few feet from where he was seated on a low stone bench in the shadows, his scarlet tunic unfastened at the collar and unbuttoned partway down. She recalled the thick bands of muscle that lay beneath the coat and her fingers itched to touch them.

“I said for you to come here.”

She crossed the last few feet between them, floating more than walking, lured like a moth by the heavy timbre of his voice.

“You belong to me, Elissa. You know that, don’t you?”

“No, I—”

“You know it. Don’t you?”

She moistened her lips. “Yes.” She could see his eyes, glinting like emeralds in the moonlight, and need reared up in a thick, hot wave.

“Raise your skirts. Lift them slowly and let me see your legs.”

For a moment, she faltered. Sweet God, it was hardly her nature to behave like a cheap tavern whore. Then the image of what he might do slid into her mind. Her body tightened with longing and she thought that perhaps it was her nature after all.

Her hands trembled slightly as they slid down her narrow white silk skirt, and she slowly raised the hem, baring her legs to well above her garters.

“Higher,” he commanded. “I’ve thought of nothing but you all week. I want to see you in the moonlight.”

She clamped down on her lip, but it didn’t stop the wave of heat that scorched through her. She looked into those hot green eyes and felt a sudden burst of power to think that she could make him want her so badly. Lifting the skirt and her embroidered lawn chemise, she raised them to just below the curve of her bottom. She gasped as Adrian ran a hand along the inside of her thigh, stroking her skin, making goose bumps spread across her flesh. Then he settled his big hands at her waist and lifted her astride him, her legs splayed apart by his muscular thighs.

“I want you, Elissa. Shall I show you how much?” His hand cupped the back of her neck and he dragged her mouth down to his for a fierce, scalding kiss. It was burning with heat and need, his tongue lashing out to take possession, making her whole body go taut. Wet heat slid through her, settled low in her core. Dear God, until she’d met him, she never would have guessed, never could have imagined what it might be like to know a man in this way.

Adrian deepened the kiss, demanding more, tasting her more fully, and Elissa softly moaned. Her hands slid into his thick, nearly black hair as he angled his head to claim her more fully. Then, one by one, the buttons popped free at the back of her gown and he filled his hands with her breasts. They spilled out eagerly, wantonly, and he fastened his mouth there, nipping the crest of one, making it pucker and tighten. He took the weight of it into his mouth and began to suckle gently, the rhythm tugging deep in her womb.

She barely noticed when he parted her thighs, spreading her wide for him, leaving her exposed, vulnerable to his intentions. He kissed her hard and thoroughly as his big hand found her and a finger slid deep inside. Pleasure lanced through her, a searing fire that roared in her blood. He stroked her with expert skill and Elissa bit her lip to keep from crying out at the white-hot flames scorching through her.

She barely heard the sound of his buttons popping free, barely noticed the smooth, thick head that probed for entrance, simply gasped at the deep intrusion of his hardness inside her.

“Adrian … dear God…” Whatever else she might have said slid away on a wave of heat. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, felt the thick muscles bunch there as he moved. His hands encircled her waist and he held her steady, driving himself inside her, his thickness pulsing, throbbing against the walls of her passage. Need stretched her muscles taut. Her head fell back and Adrian fastened his mouth on her throat. He rode her hard, and she rode him, the pounding rhythm forcing her to climax.

Adrian followed, a deep groan erupting from his throat, the thick muscles straining, the veins standing out against his sun-darkened skin.

She clung to him for long, timeless moments, her head against his shoulder, not caring this time that her gown was ruched up, her coiffure in disarray, trusting Adrian to take care of her, believing that he would.

“Tell me who you are,” he whispered against her ear. “If you’re in trouble, let me help you.”

She was in trouble, all right. But the biggest problem she faced was her unwanted feelings for him.

“I need time, Adrian. Trust me just a little bit longer.”

A harsh sound tore from his throat. He lifted her to her feet and set her away. “My lovely little angel—what makes you think I trust you at all?”

Elissa didn’t answer. One look in those hard green eyes and, even in the darkness of the garden, she could see there was no trust there.

*   *   *

He closed the door with a soft, nearly soundless click and moved across the study with anticipation. He didn’t particularly like the room, with its low-beamed ceiling, smoky hearth, and thick stone walls. He preferred something more elegant, more sophisticated. Yet as he seated himself behind the simple oak desk in the house that served as his temporary quarters, it fostered the same excitement, the same surge of power he always felt when he sat down to this task, this duty that he had undertaken.

Strength flowed through him, almost godlike in its proportions, as if he held the fate of the world in his hands.

He reached for a clean white piece of foolscap and placed it on the table precisely in front of him. Dipping the quill pen in the inkwell, he began to write in clear, concise blue letters.

Ratisbon. Combined forces of a million men seeking to trap Marshal Davout’s forces. If you can split the archduke’s army, you can win.

He particularly enjoyed the last bit—giving advice to Napoleon himself. The little corporal might not heed it, might not recognize it for its brilliance, but he thought that perhaps he would.

It would be interesting to see.

The best part came last. Taking the heavy gold ring from a drawer of his small portable writing desk, he inked it carefully on the flat surface on top, not too much or the image might smudge, not too little or the picture would appear too faint, then he pressed it hard in the lower right corner. He lifted it away to study the outline of the bird on the page, making certain its eyes and beak were discernible inside the thin blue circle.

Satisfied with his efforts, he worked the sand shaker over the paper, waited for the ink to dry, then shook the loose grains into the wastebasket and carefully folded the message. A drop of wax to be certain it was sealed from prying eyes, and it was ready for delivery, ready to begin its long journey west.

That was the only part he didn’t enjoy, since the outcome was no longer in his control. It was also the most dangerous. Which was why he took considerable precautions to see he was removed from the process. He smiled as he stood up from the desk, picked up the message, and headed for the door.

*   *   *

Adrian took a seat in Mahler’s small, tidy office and tried to ignore the tightness that had sat like a rock in his chest since the investigator’s note had arrived that morning. “What have you discovered?”

“Only the barest facts, but I thought you would wish to know.”

“Yes, you did right in sending for me.”

The slender man peered at his notes through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. “It appears as though, some years back, the Von Langens were quite wealthy. They owned a great deal of land near Mariazell and a castle that was passed down for more than ten generations. Then the fortune began to erode. Difficult economic times, combined with a penchant for gambling and excessive living, caused the money to dwindle away. Maximilian Tauber, the countess’s husband—”

“Assuming she is really his wife,” Adrian put in.

The smaller man glanced up from his notes. “Assuming, as you say, that she is indeed his wife. At any rate, von Langen was forced to sell the castle and what remained of the lands. He left the country with the proceeds and went to England, ostensibly to avoid the embarrassment of such a circumstance. Friends said they believed he would return, and apparently he did on several occasions, but he never stayed long and he always went back to Cornwall.”

“Cornwall,” Adrian muttered. “So that much of her story is true.”

“My lord?”

He waved away the man’s words. “Did he bring his wife when he returned to Austria?”

“A wife and three children. Obviously not this wife, however. The woman was an English actress some years senior to the woman in question. Apparently this is the count’s second marriage.”

Adrian chewed on this. Second wife, perhaps. Or a complete and utter fraud. “Do you know what happened to the first wife? Or to any of the children?”

“Not yet, but I hope to discover more soon. I’m planning a trip to Mariazell. What I find out there is bound to be of some help.”

Adrian nodded, disturbed that so little had surfaced when he was hoping for more. Much more. He stood up from his chair, sweeping it back with a grating sound on the bare wooden floor. “Thank you, Herr Mahler. You know where to find me should you uncover anything else.”

“Certainly, my lord. Perhaps you will hear something from your inquiries in London.”

“Perhaps.” But he didn’t really think so. At least not in time. The war was nearly upon them, the stakes of his silence growing higher every day. He wasn’t sure how much longer he dared not to voice his suspicions, when duty and honor would finally override his uncertain feelings for Elissa.

He prayed that before that happened, she would tell him the truth.

*   *   *

Jamison sat in the drawing room of their town house after supper, watching Adrian brood, sip brandy, and ignore the long cigar turning to ash in the crystal tray beside him.

A frown marred his friend’s dark brow. Tension formed a tight edge along his jaw, and his eyes looked tired and distant. He couldn’t remember seeing him so withdrawn since they were children. Not since the days after one of Adrian’s two brief yearly sojourns to his family’s home in Kent, when he would sit alone in the dormitory, thinking of his parents, remembering how his mother had ignored him, and his father had called him names.

Jamie knew the story, which was always the same. He was eventually able to coax Adrian into telling him, which usually lightened his best friend’s mood.

“They hate me,” Adrian would say. “My father says I’m nothing but a nuisance. Whenever he sees me, he pretends I’m not there. They love Dickie.” Adrian’s older brother. “He doesn’t have to go away; he has tutors who come to the house. Why don’t they like me, Jamie?”

“They must like you, Ace. They gave you a brand-new red wagon, didn’t they? They gave you a whole army of toy soldiers.”

“You may have them,” Adrian said dully. “I just want Mother and Father to like me. I just want parents like the other children have.”

But he never had them. Jamison wasn’t quite sure why, but Adrian never really had a family at all. They were partial to Dickie Kingsland, just like he said, though as far as Jamison was concerned there was no comparison between the two men. Where Richard was whiny and weak and not particularly smart, Adrian was strong and brave and intelligent. They didn’t deserve a fine son like him, Jamison had told them once. He wasn’t allowed in their house again.

Now Adrian’s parents were dead and even Dickie was gone. Adrian had shoved his lonely childhood into the past and only one other time, years later, had those same dark feelings surfaced. Jamison wondered what Adrian could be pondering with such bitterness now.

“Want to tell me about it, Ace?”

Adrian’s head jerked up. Jamison hadn’t called him that in years. “Nothing important.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing. Looks as though something’s got its teeth into you. You know you’ll feel better if you tell me. You always do.”

Adrian sighed and sat up straighter, raked a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “It’s the Tauber girl.”

“The Tauber girl? You mean the countess?”

He nodded, looking even more glum. “She isn’t a countess. At least I don’t think she is. Before I took her to bed, she was a virgin. In my book that means she’s never had a husband. I don’t believe she has ever been married.”

“The girl was an innocent? Good God.”

“Exactly so. I didn’t know it until it was too late, but in all honesty, I don’t know if that would have stopped me.”

Jamison said nothing. He knew his friend well enough to believe that nothing would have kept him from taking the girl to his bed. He had wanted her that badly. Adrian rubbed a hand over his face, but the turbulence in his eyes did not lessen.

“I can see there is more,” Jamison said. “You might as well tell me.”

A long, harsh breath whispered out. His eyes fixed on the wall a few feet away. “I’m afraid she’s the spy Ravenscroft is after.”

“What! That is insane. According to you, she is barely a woman. You said yourself—more than once—that she is naïve. Until a few weeks ago, she was a virgin. I hardly think that is the description of a dangerous spy.”

Adrian took a long draw on his brandy. “You have no idea how much I hope you’re right. But the fact is, I caught her sneaking out of Pettigru’s room when she thought no one was watching. I caught her in the garden eavesdropping on Steigler’s private conversation. There were other incidents, a number of odd little things that all point in the same direction. I’m afraid she is somehow involved.”

Jamison leaned back in his overstuffed chair, letting the words sink in, trying to visualize pretty blond Elissa Tauber spying for the French. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t bring the image into focus.

“I’m afraid this time, Colonel, I have to respectfully disagree.”

Adrian cocked a brow. “On what grounds?”

“Instinct. You’ve always been a big believer in that. My instinct tells me Elissa would be fiercely loyal to her beliefs. She’s English and Austrian. I don’t think she would betray either of those countries.”

“She has lied about other things. Perhaps she is French.”

Jamison pursed his lips. “In that case, she would see herself as a patriot, not a spy. Which might explain her motivation, but I don’t think she would know how to deal with the element she would have to consort with in order to pass on the information.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Can you really see Elissa Tauber in a place like the Bratis Tavern? I don’t think so. No, my friend. Whatever she is doing, she isn’t spying. If you weren’t so worried about her, you would see that for yourself.”

Adrian sipped his brandy, pondering the thought. “Then you don’t think I’m being derelict in my duty by not telling Ravenscroft about her.”

“Not at this point. You’ve a certain duty to her, as well, my friend. After all, you did seduce her. Which brings up the unwelcome subject—what do you plan to do should you get her with child?”

Adrian shrugged. “I’m not a monster. I would take care of her and the child. Finances are hardly a problem these days.”

“I’m not talking about finances. I’m talking about marriage. It isn’t a dirty word, you know.”

Adrian grunted. “It is to me. You know what I’m like, Jamie, the kind of life I lead. I’m not interested in marriage. I never will be.”

Jamison didn’t argue. He knew the way Adrian felt—or thought he felt. Jamison simply did not agree. He thought the right woman would be good for his friend. Someone to give him the love he never had. He thought Adrian had the qualities to be a good husband, if he ever decided that was what he truly wanted. But Jamison didn’t say so. It was none of his business and Adrian wouldn’t listen if he did.

“Whatever you do,” Jamison said, “you owe her some measure of loyalty, some degree of protection, at least until you can find out what is going on.”

Adrian relaxed in his chair, and the tension in his body seemed to ease. “I’ll give it a little more time.” He flicked Jamison a glance. “But I’m damned if I’ll let her far out of my sight.”

Jamison chuckled softly. “Capital idea. I think you should keep the lady well in hand till you’ve found out the truth.”

Adrian relaxed even more. He picked up the dwindling cigar and rekindled the flame, then leaned back and blew a smoke ring into the air. “Exactly so,” he said. “It’s a matter of duty.”

Jamison almost smiled. If the whole thing hadn’t been so damned serious, if his best friend weren’t involved, he might have found it funny. As it was, he just prayed he was right about the girl and that whatever feelings Adrian harbored for her didn’t get them all into very deep trouble.

*   *   *

Elissa tried not to think of Adrian. It had only been two days since she had seen him, but during each of those days she remembered with vivid clarity the moments they had spent in the garden. Hot moments, extraordinary moments. Moments she would never forget. She wondered if Adrian would give them a second thought.

She wondered if he would reappear, or if at last he’d had his fill of her. She only had to recall their first meeting and his affair with Cecily Kainz to know he was a man of virile appetites. Still, the thought that he might already be seeking another conquest made her heart twist painfully against her ribs.

Elissa sighed as she descended the wide marble stairs of the duchess’s palatial residence. Whatever he was about, she had other work to do and she intended to see it done. That meant concentrating on Steigler and somehow unmasking the Falcon. She recalled the general’s conversation with Holdorf, certain the men had been discussing national secrets, certain as well that the major must also be involved in spying.

What she needed was proof, though she was still unsure how to get it. Sweet Judas, she wished Karl were here. Karl was the smartest of the three Tauber children, the best at chess, the deftest at cards, the quickest in school. Karl would have known what to do.

Unfortunately, Elissa had never been involved in a matter of intrigue. Her only option was to rely simply on opportunity. Time to be with the general, learn more about him—but time was running out. According to the duchess, the general would be leaving Vienna to join his troops the day after tomorrow, which meant her chances were growing even more scarce.

Just when things looked impossibly grim and no answer came as to what she should do, a footman arrived, carrying a message from Steigler, a flowery summons, seeking the pleasure of her company for a carriage ride through the park.

Hope reemerged in a heartbeat. The afternoon was sliding away but the sun still slanted through the trees, and the air was pleasantly warm, the weather growing milder every day. Surely she could put up with Steigler for a few brief hours, and perhaps this time she would learn something useful, something that, combined with what she had overheard, she could take to the authorities.

Steeling herself against the revulsion she felt, she joined him in the marble-floored entry of the palace and let him lead her out to his waiting carriage.