Chapter Four

 

Karl didn’t care for the way his mysterious new acquaintance made him feel—unsettled, excited, anxious, curious, and undeniably attracted and aroused. Jonathan what? The man still had managed to sidestep giving any kind of surname, either real or false. He hadn’t denied it when Karl accused him of working on his father’s behalf, but now that he thought about it, Jonathan hadn’t really admitted to it either. Who in the world was he? Avenging or guardian angel? One thing was fairly certain: he was no assassin, or he would’ve let the phaeton do his work for him.

“Herr Smelter, how was the driver of the carriage?” Karl remembered to ask.

The physician removed his hat, coat, and wet shoes and surrendered them to a servant while he spoke. “I’m afraid he had expired before I was able to examine him, Hochgeboren.”

“Good riddance,” Cohen growled in German. “Idiotic young fool could’ve killed you with that ridiculous contraption. Such idiots shouldn’t be allowed on the roads, putting everyone in danger.”

“Cohen, a man is dead. Show respect,” Karl snapped, also in German, then continued in English. “And please speak in English for the benefit of our guest, Mr.… What did you say your name was?”

There was only a hairbreadth of hesitation before the brown-eyed man answered. “Reed, sir. Jonathan Reed.” He met Karl’s eyes, transmitting some silent message Karl couldn’t understand. This man’s mind and motivations were a mystery to him. All Karl knew was that he wanted to find out more about Jonathan Reed and to see more—literally.

He watched with interest as his guest took off the waistcoat and shirt Karl had so recently unbuttoned. But this time, instead of merely a tempting slice of chest and stomach, Jonathan’s entire upper body was unclothed—his shoulders, arms, and then his naked back when he turned to lay his folded shirt and undershirt over a chair. There was a long, pale scar down Reed’s back that surely had a story behind it.

The shadows beneath his shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine, and the curves of his biceps sent a sharp pang of hunger through Karl. He would have liked to freeze Jonathan in that position to study the beautiful angles of his body. Except he would have him remove his trousers too, so he could view taut buttocks and solidly muscled legs.

Jonathan sat on an ottoman so Smelter could reach his shoulder to manipulate it. The doctor carefully rotated the shoulder in its socket, his pudgy, clever hands pale against Jonathan’s skin. “This hurts? What about this?”

“I’ve simply wrenched it,” Jonathan declared, pulling away from the doctor’s grip.

“That’s for me to decide, although I believe you are correct.” The doctor examined his collarbone, the top of his shoulder, and his back. “Gut. Nothing broken. You should rest. A warm compress should reduce swelling, and a headache powder will ease any discomfort.”

Jonathan impatiently rose and reached for his shirt.

“You heard the doctor,” Karl said. “You mustn’t hurry off. I’ve ordered tea, and the fire is lovely on such a chill day.” He lifted his glass. “Besides, we have our brandy to sip. You will stay and visit with me. I insist on knowing more about my rescuer.”

“There is someplace I need to be.” He pulled on his undergarment, then his shirt.

“I will send a messenger with a note. Please, humor me. Take a seat.” Although spoken as a request, Karl imbued the words with command.

Jonathan gazed at him for a moment with narrowed eyes, then sat down on the other chair before the fireplace, so close Karl could reach out a hand and touch him.

“So shall we send a message for you?” Karl tried not to sound triumphant.

“No. No need,” Jonathan said.

Karl beckoned Cohen and spoke to him quietly in Yiddish. “Please clear the room. I wish to speak to Mr. Reed alone.”

Cohen looked at the stranger, then back at his master. “Are you certain that is wise, Hochgeboren? You know nothing about this man.”

Karl didn’t answer, merely shot Cohen a glare that reminded him who was truly in charge. Sometimes he needed that reminder.

Cohen snapped his heels together and gave a sharp jerk of his head. More a statement of displeasure than a bow, but he went to do as he was bidden.

Within moments, Smelter, Greber, Villiars, and the odious Sechsman had left Karl in peace to entertain his guest. Cohen paused at the door before going. “I shall return shortly with a tea tray.” He made the simple statement a warning.

Jonathan Reed, if any part of that was his real name, sat on the edge of his seat as if he would bolt at any moment. To put him at ease, Karl reclined deeply in his own chair, with his stocking-clad feet stretched toward the hearth. The brief time out in the wet and cold had chilled him. How spoiled he’d become in the years since the war, like a cream-fed cat that no longer remembered how to hunt.

“I think it’s well past time we had a discussion.” Karl steepled his fingers beneath his chin, then quickly abandoned the pose as he realized it was exactly what his father used to do before lecturing him. Instead he rested his hands on the armrests of the chair, feeling the smooth leather beneath his palms and forcing himself not to nervously grip the chair. For despite his calm demeanor, he was nervous to talk to this man who had catapulted into his life like a mortar, blasting away his defenses.

Jonathan waited, saying nothing. Karl understood silence was a tool he used to force others to talk more. Not hard to do with Karl, since he was naturally gregarious.

“I believe you know everything about me, and I know nothing about you,” Karl said. “No more truths like ‘I am a British citizen’ or ‘I saw you once in the Crimea.’ I want a full account of precisely who you are and who has hired you to follow me. At the very least, you will tell me your background.”

The man remained silent for several more seconds, gazing into the fire before looking back at Karl. “I am a British citizen and the son of a shopkeeper. My upbringing was standard. I excelled at my school studies enough to attend university, but after a year I decided to join the military. I wished to travel and see foreign lands.” He paused, gave a sour smile, and added, “I was young.”

Karl nodded. He’d gone to war with the same young man’s foolish dreams of adventure and glory. Although he’d purely enjoyed his time as an English lad attending university, he’d considered himself primarily a member of the Neuschlosswold-Binder lineage, so when war broke out, he’d gone to fight on the side of the Russians. He’d regretted the necessity of fighting against the British, but his father had convinced him the Russians would be the best long-term allies for their little corner of the world.

“What did you do after the war?” Karl prompted, surprised he’d got even this slim history out of Reed and eager to learn more.

Of course, if the man was his father’s spy, every word out of his mouth could be a lie. The count enjoyed having some of the servants or hired men play such little games with his son, although he claimed he was trying to train Karl to discern lies and half-truths and to test loyalties.

Jonathan hesitated before speaking. “I found a different way to serve, for there was no returning home after…after that.” He stopped speaking abruptly, but Karl knew what he left unsaid, the horror and the loss of innocence.

Karl nodded again. Although he and Jonathan came from vastly different backgrounds, Jonathan’s story ran parallel to his own. His view of the world and his place in it had changed radically after the war. For far too long, he’d continued to perform tricks for his father, jumping through the man’s hoops and promoting his political agenda, but mostly Karl had indulged in every vice life had to offer. Carpe diem was his motto, and he lived it to the fullest until he could no longer stomach another drop of false pleasure. Not entirely false, he corrected himself. Karl did not indulge in regret. It had simply been time to move on.

That’s why he was in England now, ostensibly to continue his father’s work, but actually searching for something real, perhaps even something he could do to make himself useful in this world. Not that he intended to become a priest, by any means. He would continue to enjoy life, just with a little less fervor.

“I understand your feeling,” Karl said at last. “The war forged us both into something harder and colder, I think. But, my friend, you still haven’t really answered my question. For whom are you spying exactly?”

Jonathan gazed into the fire. The light flickered over his face and glinted in his deep-set eyes. His features might appear average, making it easy for him to blend into a crowd, but his eyes and the set of his mouth were stunning if someone took the time to look. Karl was looking now, and his heart beat faster. What was it about this man who spurred him like a bootheel to a horse’s flank? He didn’t understand this strange connection between them.

Jonathan met his gaze at last. “That, I cannot tell you. But my superiors intend you no harm.” He looked away again.

Karl suspected that even with this small amount of information he’d shared, the mysterious Mr. Reed hadn’t told the whole truth. After all, his father had trained him well in the art of reading a man, even a walled-off man like this. He raised his eyebrows. “Your superiors? Not my father, then?”

Jonathan didn’t answer for a moment, then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Not him.”

Karl believed him. Not his father after all, and this was good. Excellent.

Karl continued. “Does whoever hired you believe I am in danger because I’m in England? I know my father’s family has enemies here, but you seem to suggest my life is in danger.”

Reed shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s possible. That carriage today… And you have been followed these past few days by someone other than myself.”

“I haven’t seen anyone.”

“Then he is clearly a better spy than I,” Reed said drily.

“What does he look like?”

The man smiled, a sharp-edged grin that looked positively wolfish. “Like me. Completely average. A man who blends in. Hard to recognize if one saw him again.”

“Ah no, Mr. Reed. You do not blend in. Not to me.” Karl leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees to gaze straight into Jonathan’s eyes. “When I see you, I see a man of substance, an intriguing puzzle, a secret to be unlocked, and a body”—his gaze swept Jonathan’s form—“that demands to be touched.”

“You see all that, do you?” The wolfish smile turned to a chuckle, the first real laugh Karl had heard from him. “Then you have some imagination, sir, for I swear, I’m not that interesting.”

Karl took a gamble, reached out, and touched the other’s knee. “I believe you are.” He lowered his voice to a silken caress. “Whatever or whoever you are, the attraction between us is magnet to steel, so why should we deny it? Here we have this long, dreary afternoon, rain outside, a roaring fire inside, no servants to disturb us. We should take advantage of this time to—”

His seduction was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Cohen banged through it, bearing a tea tray. He plunked it on the table between the two chairs and began to pour. Typical of him.

“Thank you,” Karl said. Then he switched to German. “Herr Cohen, you are upset, and I know you don’t trust our visitor. Do you have some specific information that makes you believe he’s a threat? Or perhaps you think he works for my father?”

“No, Hochgeboren. I’ve heard nothing about the man.” He handed Karl his tea, a touch of milk, no sugar.

“Sir.” Cohen addressed Jonathan in English, who absently rubbed his arm and stared into the fire. “How would you like your tea?”

“One sugar, please.”

Cohen prepared the cup, then in a low voice lapsed back into German. “I have sent Sechsman to search out what information he can find about our visitor. Perhaps after you talk to him, you will be able to give us more details later.”

Karl watched Jonathan. He smiled at the way the man sipped his tea and studied the fire, intent on sliding out of their notice and not appearing to listen to his conversation with Cohen.

Really, he’d been blinded by his lust before, when they were in that small room. All those words that had come out of him when he thought Jonathan hadn’t understood—he was a fool. Another man might be embarrassed, but Karl decided it wasn’t worth the bother.

He reached for a gingersnap and answered Cohen in German. “I wonder if there’s something to your suspicions. I’m not so sure this gentleman who calls himself Herr Reed has even a touch of innocence in his makeup. For instance, I’ve come to believe that this handsome man sitting here with me speaks German and is a pigdog for pretending he doesn’t understand us now. A rotten blödes arschloch who should be grilled in hell forever if he understands us.”

He paused. “Indeed that would make him a most terrible person, and what’s far worse, a very fine actor.”

And finally there it was—the blank look had shifted, the mouth tightened. Could Jonathan be holding back a smile?

Karl continued in German. “He’s definitely got something to hide and has been following me, Friend Cohen. Despite all that, I find I trust him. He could have harmed me earlier.”

“Earlier?” Cohen scowled. “What can you mean, erbgraf? When was he following you?”

“I don’t know why you sound surprised. I think you’re right to worry, because I expect there will be some problems with our visit. There always are when it comes to my esteemed Papa’s business. No, don’t bother to look so offended on his behalf, Herr Cohen. You know nothing is straightforward, and there will be snags in our path. However, I don’t think this man is one of them. And now, I excuse you.”

Cohen started to say something, and Karl added, “Go on. Relax. Should you return in two hours to discover Herr Reed has vanished and my bloodied body lying on the hearth, I give you full permission to tell me ‘I told you so.’”

Cohen handed him the plate of biscuits. In English he said, “Your Excellency, please do not forget you have to attend your uncle’s small gathering this evening.”

“Yes, I know. I look forward to it.” In a firm voice he repeated, “Thank you again for the tea, Herr Cohen. You are dismissed.”

Jonathan drank his tea and looked at the fire. Karl liked the way he cupped the fine china in his hands as if it was a workman’s mug. “A rotten bloody arsehole,” Jonathan said at last. “Grilled in hell. That seems rather harsh.”

Karl felt a thrill of triumph. Not because he’d caught Jonathan’s deception, but because the other admitted it in such a casual, almost friendly way. They were making progress. Why that mattered to him, he wasn’t certain, but then he often preferred not to delve into his own motivations too deeply. Much better to simply go with his intuition. Was it any wonder his father used to tell him he was as “irrational as a woman”?

“Perhaps,” Karl replied finally and put down the plate of biscuits and the tea.

Jonathan looked at him, those eyes turning deep amber in the firelight. “You don’t have to fear me,” he said simply. “I no longer kill to earn my living.”

Karl was going to say something about a man’s actions in a time of war, but then he realized Jonathan might have acted as a killer even after the peace treaties had been signed. “You’ve been an assassin?”

Jonathan’s gaze shifted back to the fire, and almost imperceptibly his body went rigid, as if preparing for a blow.

“You needn’t answer,” Karl said. No need—he’d already read the answer in Jonathan. In an elaborate show of ease, Karl stretched his stockinged feet toward the fire again. “Shall we talk of other matters, or shall I help distract you from the pain in your shoulder? That is what I’d enjoy most.”