Chapter Two

AUSTRIA
MARCH 1809

Plump milk-white breasts, an impossibly narrow waist, and lush, womanly hips. Colonel Adrian Kingsland, Baron Wolvermont, thought of the pleasures awaiting him in the villa below and smiled.

Dressed in his scarlet and white cavalry uniform, he had ridden this night with single-minded purpose—an evening of pleasant debauchery buried to the hilt between the pale, creamy thighs of Lady Cecily Kainz. Cecily was the wife of a wealthy viscount, much younger than her ancient, doddering husband, lusty in her appetites and ripe for the attentions he had lavished upon her since his arrival in the country.

Adrian reached the low rise above the resort town of Baden, nestled at the base of the Austrian hills half a day’s ride from Vienna, and reined up his big black stallion. The horse danced a little beneath him, sensing they were somewhere near their destination. Looking down on the summer villas and manor houses surrounding the small, elegant city famous for its healing mineral baths, he could see the blue roofs of the huge Murau villa, Blauenhaus, not far away, though only a few solitary lamps remained lit within.

A quick scan of the second-story windows and he found the viscountess’s bedchamber, third from the end in a line of more than fifty, saw that the lamp had already been doused. He was late, he knew. Still, he had hoped that she would be waiting.

Adrian’s mouth curved into a wicked half smile. Then again, perhaps awakening her ladyship might prove even more interesting.

He turned to the man who rode beside him, Major Jamison St. Giles, a friend since his childhood days at boarding school. “Well, my friend, I’m afraid this is where we part company, at least until the morrow.”

A frown marred the major’s lean forehead. “I don’t like the look on your face, Adrian. Surely you don’t mean to arrive at this hour—you’ll wake up the whole damned household.”

Adrian simply smiled. “This isn’t an official arrival, Jamie. In fact I intend to be very quiet about it.”

“Gad, I had forgotten that Cecily was here. I should have known you were up to something the way you were pressing so hard.” He sighed. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll take rooms at that little inn on the square, get a good night’s sleep, and arrive at a decent hour in the morning.”

Adrian shook his head. “Not a chance, my friend. I’ve been thinking about this sweet little rendezvous all week. I don’t intend to miss it just because our illustrious commanding officer, General Ravenscroft, happened to call one of his damnable meetings.”

Jamison rose up in the stirrups of his worn leather saddle, stretching his long legs out full-length, trying to get comfortable after the tiring hours they had spent on the road. Several inches shorter than Adrian, with black hair and light blue eyes, he was built differently as well, lean and wiry, whereas the colonel was heavily muscled through the shoulders, hard and ruggedly honed from his years in the British cavalry.

They were different in temperment as well, Jamison easygoing and soft-spoken most of the time, while Adrian, a decorated war hero and extremely capable officer, could be hot-tempered, arrogant, and far too reckless at times. It was that reckless streak Jamison saw in him now.

“Need I remind you, Colonel Kingsland, you’re here on diplomatic assignment? It would hardly improve Austro-British relations to be found with your breeches around your ankles, half-naked in some woman’s bed.”

Adrian laughed, a slightly rough-textured sound. “I’m afraid I’ll have to chance it.”

Jamison shifted wearily, the saddle creaking beneath him. “I realize you’re my superior, Colonel, but I still think you should—”

“Relax, Major. I’ll join you at the inn before dawn. Tomorrow we’ll make our very respectable arrival, just as you wish.”

Before Jamison could argue, Adrian nudged the stallion into a trot and rode off down the hill. At the rear of the villa, he reined up and swung down from the saddle, tying the animal beneath the branches of a secluded birch tree. Checking to be sure no one was near, he made his way through the formal gardens and crossed the wide brick terrace to a trellis covered with climbing roses that led up to the second-floor balcony.

Testing the strength of his makeshift ladder, satisfied it would hold his not-inconsequential frame, he scaled the distance easily and swung a booted foot over the wrought-iron railing. No lamps were lit. No sounds came from within. He paused outside the French doors leading into the viscountess’s bedchamber and even in the darkness he could make out the gleam of her shiny blond hair, the outline of her body in the big four-poster bed.

The door to the terrace was unlocked as he had hoped it would be. He turned the knob and eased it open on silent hinges. Cecily lay curled on her stomach, her face pressed into a deep feather pillow, her lovely features covered by her sleep-tumbled hair.

She was naked, he saw, the sheet pushed down to just above the curve of her bottom. His body stirred. The arousal that had started to build the moment he entered the bedchamber began to strengthen. Soundlessly, he crossed the thick Oriental carpet and sat down on the edge of the bed. Only a sliver of moon lit the night, but a thin ray slanted across the bed, illuminating the pale skin of a long, slender neck.

His blood pumped faster, grew hotter. Adrian bent forward and pressed a soft kiss at her nape and caught the slight fragrance of lavender. He kissed the smooth white skin across her shoulders, and she shifted a little on the bed. His arousal throbbed, crowding hard against the front of his breeches.

He wanted to turn her onto her back, to fondle her lovely breasts and slide himself into her welcoming body. Instead he trailed kisses down the tiny ridges that marked her spine and was rewarded with a sweetly feminine whimper. He slid the sheet down a little farther, kissed the dimple just above the swell of her left buttock, then moved toward the lovely heart-shaped mole marking the spot just above the dimple on the opposite side.

Adrian froze.

He knew Cecily Kainz with the intimate knowledge of the lover he had been these past few weeks. He knew with certainty she bore no such mole.

Bloody hell!

Feeling the woman stir and begin to turn over on the deep feather mattress, he moved quickly, grabbing the sheet with one hand and jerking it over her body at the same time he clamped his palm over her mouth and pinned her against his chest.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said softly in German, a tongue he was fluent in, since his mother was of Austrian descent, the reason for his current assignment. “I’m not going to hurt you. I thought you were somebody else.”

He could feel her trembling, see the fear in her pretty blue eyes as she clawed at his hand. He tightened his hold, stilling her movements, careful not to hurt her.

“Listen to me. I thought you were somebody else—do you understand? I’m not going to hurt you.” When she continued to pry at his fingers, he shook her gently. “I said I won’t hurt you. I’ll let you go if you promise not to scream.”

She calmed a little, for the first time appeared to comprehend. She made a faint nod of her head and he eased away his hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. As I said, I thought you were somebody else.” His gaze ran over her face, the arch of her throat where a pulse beat frantically, and it occurred to him that he wasn’t the least bit sorry. The woman, a girl not more than twenty, was even more beautiful than Cecily. Her features were finer, her face heart-shaped instead of round, with a slight indentation in the chin. Her golden hair wasn’t long, as he had mistakenly believed, but cropped fashionably short and curling softly around a face that could have belonged to an angel.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

Adrian smiled faintly. “Merely the friend of a friend.” He eased himself away from her with no small amount of regret and began to back toward the door. “My apologies for the inconvenience, angel. I promise to make it up to you the next time we meet. I have a feeling that may be very soon.”

Her cheeks bloomed with bright, warm color, embarrassment finally overriding her fear. Her head went up, but her hand trembled where she clutched the sheet beneath her chin. “In that, sir, I sorely hope you are mistaken.”

He flashed a roguish grin. “Perhaps. I suppose we shall have to wait and see.” He touched his forehead in silent farewell, thinking there was no doubt they would meet again. He intended to make a point of it. “Sleep well, sweet angel.”

Adrian opened the door and stepped out onto the terrace. The night was cool, the sky dark with just a scattering of stars. Making his way to the trellis, he swung a long leg over the railing and climbed down, thinking of the girl, his body still hard with desire for her. He reached the bottom without mishap, cursing only once when a rose thorn bit into his hand. It was a small price to pay, he thought wryly, for the treasure he had glimpsed this eve—and the prize he meant to win.

*   *   *

Lady Elissa Tauber sank back against the fat down pillows on her bed, still clutching the sheet to her chin. Good sweet God, she had never been so embarrassed! Her mother had warned her at least a dozen times not to sleep without her nightrail, but she had never listened. She’d always slept too warm, and during the night often discarded the uncomfortable cotton gown her mother insisted she wear.

She was a grown woman now. She could sleep without clothes if she wished—it was no one’s business but her own. Or at least so she had believed.

Elissa groaned into the pillow, thinking of the handsome, powerfully built, dark-haired cavalry officer who had stolen into her bedchamber. She didn’t doubt his reason for being there—not after she was awake enough for his explanation to make sense. She had only arrived at the villa two days ago, traveling as the Countess von Langen with Her Grace, the Duchess of Murau. The emperor, who had been feeling poorly, had decided to take the waters for his health. His entourage had come with him, Elissa and the duchess along in their wake.

Until yesterday the bedchamber had been occupied by Lady Cecily Kainz, a frequent visitor to the villa, a sensuous bit of fluff with an eye for every man she met. After what had just occurred, it was clear the viscountess was having an affair with the handsome man in the scarlet uniform. It was equally apparent he hadn’t known Cecily had departed—albeit grudgingly—to return to her aging husband.

The viscountess was gone, but at the duchess’s insistence, Elissa had taken her room overlooking the garden, one of the loveliest in the villa. After attending a musicale in the Ruby Salon, she had fallen quickly asleep and eventually started dreaming.

Dreams of a man’s warm mouth on her skin, of his tongue teasing the nape of her neck, of his big hands skimming over her body. She’d felt flushed and overly warm, her skin tingling all over. She’d been glad she had shed her nightrail—and then she had opened her eyes.

Elissa muttered an oath, tossing her head back and forth on the pillow, slamming her fist against the sheets. Dear Lord, she still felt mortified.

She glanced toward the French doors, wondering if indeed, as he predicted, she would be unfortunate enough to encounter the rogue again. Who was he? she wondered. An Englishman, judging by his uniform, though he spoke German with only the slightest trace of an accent.

And sweet God, he was handsome—with bright green eyes, a strong, hard jaw, and a full, sensuous mouth that curved with a hint of wicked promise. When he smiled, he even had dimples. No wonder Lady Cecily had welcomed him into her bed!

Elissa closed her eyes, trying to block the tall man’s image, trying to fall asleep. Tomorrow was another important day and she didn’t have time for distractions. Though the duchess had been unflagging in her support, there was only so much time and that time was running out.

An image of her brother arose, young and so very handsome. Captain Karl Tauber—less than six months cold in his grave. She thought of the letter she and her mother had received just before Karl had been killed.

Our army is steadily mounting. We are well trained and ready to face the French, but an accident of fate has led me to believe there is a traitor among us. It is imperative I discover his identity though I know this may mean danger. I do not wish you to worry, yet should something happen to me, I implore you not to let this matter end. You must find a way to finish the task I have started. Thousands of lives are at stake. It is imperative this man be stopped at any cost.

Karl had gone on to say the spy was a man who called himself the Falcon. He also believed he could be only one of three men: a general named Franz Steigler; the British ambassador, Sir William Pettigru; or a major named Josef Becker who was serving as aide-de-camp to General Manfred Klammer.

Two months after the letter arrived, Karl was dead.

No other word had come from him. No other evidence against the men was forthcoming.

Elissa vowed again, as she had before, that she would see her brother’s death avenged and do whatever it took to insure her younger brother, Peter, would not be a needless casualty of war.

*   *   *

Standing in front of the cheval glass mirror in her bedchamber, Elissa surveyed her carefully groomed and coifed appearance. There was a reception today at Blauenhaus for the diplomats and heads of state who had traveled to Baden with the emperor. It was imperative she play the role she had come for, the role of the Countess von Langen, widow of a little-known but once-wealthy Austrian count. The part she had been playing since her arrival in Vienna.

Elissa smoothed the narrow skirt of her ivory silk gown, the bodice far lower than the dresses she had worn back home. The gown had belonged to her best friend, Gabriella Warrington, daughter of the Duke of Melbourne. They had met in finishing school, and though Gaby was raised in a ducal palace outside London and Elissa brought up in a modest Cornwall cottage, they had become fast friends.

It was Gaby who had helped aid her mission to Vienna, insisting she take the gowns, which were old, she claimed, and would soon have been replaced, having them altered to fit Elissa’s more slender figure. Gaby—along with the grudging but vital assistance of her mother.

“Is there anything else, milady?” Her maid, Sophie Hopkins, a slight, dark-haired girl several years younger than Elissa, stood just a few feet away. Elissa had hired her in London to accompany her to Vienna.

“I don’t think so, Sophie. Just hand me my reticule and I shall be on my way.”

The girl handed over a matching ivory bag fringed with the same gold-shot tulle that trimmed her magnificent gown. “You look beautiful, milady.”

“Thank you.” She hoped she did. It was imperative she look the part of a sophisticated lady, a role she was hardly familiar with. She wouldn’t have had a chance for success if it hadn’t been for her mother. Once she had agreed to Elissa’s plan, Octavia had roused herself and tutored her daughter in the role she meant to play, knowing each day, as Napoleon came closer to war with Austria, their mission became more urgent.

“Oh dear, I nearly forgot—” Sophie’s hand flew up in one of her highly animated gestures. The girl couldn’t seem to speak unless her hands were darting through the air. “Ambassador Pettigru sent a footman to tell you he’d be waiting in the Ruby Salon to escort you into the reception.”

Elissa simply nodded. Pettigru was waiting. Her plan had been set into motion. She straightened her shoulders and walked out the door.

*   *   *

The extravagant Petit Salon at Blauenhaus—which wasn’t petite at all, Adrian Kingsland thought—sparkled like the magnificent gem it was. Beneath lavish rococo ceilings painted with cloud-filled skies and cherubic angels, crystal chandeliers spun a web of golden light over Austria’s social elite. Wealthy aristocrats mingled with the commanders of powerful armies, as well as diplomats and heads of state.

Adrian’s regiment had arrived in the country over a month ago, there to act in support of English ministers, ambassadors, and delegates who continued to descend on Austria in the hope of forging an Allied Coalition—the fifth such endeavor since the start of the Napoleonic War.

Serving under General Artemis Ravenscroft, Adrian was there as a diplomatic liaison temporarily assigned to the 3rd Dragoons. Sipping a glass of champagne, he surveyed the elegantly dressed ladies in the glittering salon, searching every face for the one he had encountered, rather fortuitously, late last evening.

So far he had not seen her.

“Perhaps the lady has heard of your arrival and decided to take her leave.” Jamie St. Giles took a casual sip of champagne. “If your intentions are as transparent as the look on your face, ’twould certainly be her wisest course.”

Adrian merely grunted. He had known Jamison St. Giles since the day he had first entered boarding school. Adrian had never forgotten that day, or the loneliness he had felt as a five-year-old boy miles from home. Jamie, another lost soul, had been his salvation, a friend when he needed one most. It had been that way ever since.

The major chuckled softly. “Making love to the wrong woman—I only wish I could have been there.”

Unfortunately, Jamie had still been awake when Adrian had arrived last night at the inn—some hours earlier than expected. He had finally pried loose the story of the wrong woman in the right bed, and now his mouth twitched in amusement every time Adrian’s searching gaze happened to pass in his direction.

“I mean to have her,” Adrian said simply. “Even if she were to run, I would find her. I would search the whole of Europe if I had to.”

“That good, is she?”

“Better,” Adrian said.

“What if she is married?”

He arched a dark brow. “Yes, well, that would certainly make matters simpler in the final course … as long as the husband wasn’t around.”

Jamie shook his head but said nothing more, and Adrian started his search of the room again. Around them something shifted in the air and a murmur passed through the crowd. A hundred pairs of eyes swung toward the magnificent couple walking through the tall gilded doors. Standing a few feet from Adrian, Robert Blackwood, one of the British diplomats, leaned close to speak in his ear.

“Incredible, isn’t she? Half of Vienna is in love with her, though she doesn’t appear to notice. Unfortunately, Pettigru is one of the few men she seems to have time for, more’s the pity.”

Adrian’s gaze shifted, fastened on the slender blond woman gowned in ivory silk and gold-shot tulle who had just walked into the salon. Clinging to the arm of Ambassador Pettigru, who was uniformed in white with a gold sash and huge gold epaulettes, she gazed into the man’s ruddy face with rapt attention, smiling with undeniable warmth.

“Let me guess,” Jamie whispered, his eyes locked on the woman, “you have finally spotted your quarry.” He grinned. “The way she is staring at Pettigru, I would say you have taken on quite a task.”

Adrian scowled. “Pettigru is old enough to be her father.”

“He is handsome in his way,” Jamie countered. “He is also rich as Croesus and one of the most powerful men in England.”

His friend was right on both counts—the ambassador was an attractive older man in a number of ways and there was no mistaking the woman’s interest.

He turned to Robert Blackwood. “Who is she?”

“Believe it or not, she’s one of our own.”

“British?”

He nodded. “British and Austrian, I gather. Her husband was a count named von Langen, an Austrian nobleman who died several years ago. No one seems to know much about him or his apparently much younger wife. They spent most of their time in the remote Cornwall country. But apparently Lady von Langen is a friend of the duchess’s. ’Twas she who invited the countess to Vienna.”

Adrian sipped his champagne, watching the lady over the rim of his glass. Gowned as she was and wearing a hint of rouge, her hair tamed into soft waves instead of a riot of tousled curls, she looked older than he had first guessed, but no less desirable.

“Not the best time she could have chosen, with Napoleon on the march and war a possibility any day.”

Blackwood scoffed. “Since when does a woman worry about such matters? I’m sure the countess’s main concerns are attending the opera, listening to Beethoven, and deciding which gown she will wear.”

Perhaps, Adrian thought, watching the woman flash an elegant, seductive smile, a look somehow incongruous with the charming naïveté he had sensed in her last night.

Then again, all women were creatures of deception. And whatever her reasons for the interest she showed in Pettigru, he didn’t really care. The only thing he wanted from the luscious little blonde was a tumble in his bed.

He cast a smile at Blackwood. “I gather you know the lady fairly well. Perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce us.”

The diplomat’s eyes swung to the woman and her escort. “Of course, Colonel Kingsland. It would be my pleasure.”

Setting his empty crystal glass on a passing servant’s silver tray, Adrian followed Robert Blackwood across the inlaid parquet floor. After their encounter last night, the lady might not be eager to see him, but he was certainly eager to see her.

There was nothing he enjoyed more than a challenge. Especially if that challenge came in the guise of a beautiful woman.

*   *   *

Elissa smiled into the ruddy, slightly puffy countenance of Sir William Pettigru, a man in his early fifties, and listened as he droned on about the diplomatic affairs he had attended earlier in the day. On the surface, she couldn’t imagine the kindly, gray-haired gentleman being a spy for the French, yet as the daughter of an actress, she knew exactly the deceptions a person could accomplish if he set his mind to the task.

It took the same expertise she was using to present herself as a sophisticated, worldly woman—pretending, her mother had called it when she was a little girl. In truth, at one and twenty, Elissa knew little of men, had certainly never been to bed with one. And yet she must pretend to be the kind of woman who might be interested in taking a lover, or at least having a brief affair. Only by immersing herself in the role the way her mother had taught her could she be believable in the part.

Believable as she had to be now.

Gazing at the silver-haired man from beneath her lashes, she fluttered her painted fan and laughed at one of his slightly naughty jokes, the same one he had told her at least three times before.

“La, Sir William, for shame … telling a lady such a story.”

He chuckled, then frowned, pulling his bushy white eyebrows together. “I hope I didn’t offend you, my dear.”

She folded her fan and tapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t be silly. You know very well, Sir William, I find you a most amusing man.”

“And you, my lady, are the most charming woman in Austria.”

She laughed, a sparkling sound made more so by raising her voice an octave higher. “Thank you, kind sir.”

The ambassador droned on, then laughed at another of his silly jokes. Elissa joined in, though for a moment she had lost track of what he had been saying. Footfalls interrupted his next sentence. She turned at the sound of Robert Blackwood’s familiar voice.

“Excuse me, Sir William.” Blackwood, a diplomat and one of the duchess’s numerous houseguests, stood next to a tall man dressed in the scarlet and white of a British cavalry officer. Elissa nearly swooned when she glanced up at the man’s handsome face.

“Colonel Kingsland arrived just today,” Blackwood was saying to Pettigru. “I knew you would be eager to meet him.” He smiled. “And I thought he might enjoy meeting a lady from home.” Blackwood made a slight inclination of his head toward the colonel. “Ambassador Sir William Pettigru. Countess von Langen. May I present Colonel Kingsland, Baron Wolvermont, recently of the Third Dragoons.”

She felt his glittering green gaze even before she lifted her eyes to his face. Sweet God, he was here—just as he had said. Her cheeks went pale, then suffused with warm color. She took a steadying breath, determined to force her embarrassment down.

Pettigru was speaking. “A pleasure, my lord,” he said.

“Sir William,” said the colonel. She caught the faint click of his boot heels as he reached for her white-gloved hand. “Lady von Langen.” He bent forward with casual grace, pressed her fingers against his lips. She could feel the heat of his mouth through the white cotton fabric, and a curl of warmth slid into her stomach.

“My … my lord Colonel.” It took every ounce of her will, every trick of acting her mother had taught her, to smile into that devastatingly handsome face when she wanted to turn and run. He held her hand several moments longer than he should have. She hoped he couldn’t feel the fine tremors racing up her arm.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady, though I’m surprised we haven’t met somewhere before.” A faint smile curved those sensuous lips. “In London, I mean. Surely you were there with your husband on occasion.”

She gave him a brittle little smile. “My husband, I fear, wasn’t much inclined toward Society.”

“A pity, my lady.” Those bold eyes raked her, taking in every curve. “A beautiful woman should never be kept hidden in the country.”

Heat filtered through her. A fluttery feeling rose in her chest. Dear God, what was the matter with her? Unconsciously she straightened. The man was presumptuous and too bold by half, yet a few simple words, spoken in that incredibly male, slightly rough-textured voice, and she felt as if her legs were turning to butter.

“There is nothing wrong with the country,” she said a bit tartly. “There are times I quite prefer it.”

The colonel eyed her with interest, and it occurred to her she shouldn’t have made the remark. She was supposed to be a worldly woman bent on self-indulgence, grateful to escape her previously boring existence, not some shy little church mouse better satisfied in the country.

“Since you fancy the out of doors, my lady,” he said, “perhaps you would enjoy a carriage ride on the morrow. I am new to Baden. Perhaps you could show me around.”

Oh, dear God. She felt those fierce green eyes on her as if they could see right through her sophisticated façade.

“I—I don’t think so. I—I mean…” She lifted her chin, forcing herself back into her role. “What I meant to say, Colonel Kingsland, is that I’m afraid I’ve already made plans for the morrow. Perhaps some other time.” She flashed a sultry smile and lowered her lashes, a look of invitation that contrasted with the sharpness of her words.

The colonel looked simply amused. “As you say, my lady, perhaps another time.” He spoke to the ambassador a few moments more then made his farewells. He left her with a final mocking smile and a slight inclination of his head. Turning, he walked off toward a black-haired officer wearing the same regimental scarlet the colonel wore.

“An interesting man,” Sir William said, his gaze still following Wolvermont’s broad shoulders as he made his way with casual grace across the drawing room. “He’s a war hero, you know. Fought in the Netherlands and Egypt, wounded in India. They say he’s quite fearless in battle. His mother was Austrian, so he speaks the language like a native. His record, combined with his title and considerable fortune, made him the perfect candidate to act as liaison between the diplomatic corps and the military here in Austria.”

“How long has he been here?” Elissa sipped her champagne, thinking Colonel Kingsland would also be in the perfect position to know a number of valuable diplomatic and military secrets.

“He’s been in the country a little over a month, but until tonight I had not yet met him.”

Only a month. Not long enough to be the Falcon. Still, a successful spy had to have help. Surely the handsome colonel wasn’t involved but there was no way to be certain. Except for her mother, her friend Gabriella, and the Duchess of Murau, no one knew who she really was or why she was there. Elissa trusted no one and she intended to keep it that way.