He dismissed Trecator, turning his attention to his next guest.
“I’m certain I’ll see him in a few weeks, and then perhaps you two will finally meet.”
I think a little visit to Trecator’s home and a chat with that valet’s in order, Marek decided. As soon as the party’s over.
* * *
With all the guests now in attendance, the orchestra was playing a waltz. Apparently, parents in the city where the dance originated were a little more lenient in allowing their daughters to perform the close-hold dance, for not a single young woman asked her father’s permission before going onto the floor.
As Marek led Ruxanda into the ballroom, he thought how lovely she looked. It wasn’t until the music started and he took her in his arms that he fully realized this beautiful creature, her waist nestled in his hand, small bosom bouncing slightly with each step, was a full-grown woman and no longer the little girl he’d saved. The thought so startled him he stumbled and stopped stock-still, causing Ruxanda to look up at him anxiously.
“Is something the matter?”
“Of course not.” He smiled, taking a step forward and sweeping her again into the waltz’s rhythm.
He didn’t have time to say anything else for there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see the Graf’s oldest son, looking shockingly blond in black evening clothes, the elegant tie of his cravat so snowy white it was nearly blinding.
Reluctantly, Marek surrendered Ruxanda’s hand into Joachim’s and stepped back as the boy swept her away. A few moments later, he was gratified to see someone else step in and take her from him, and then another cut in, and another. All in all, Ruxanda had eight partners for the first dance.
Deciding to stand through the next two sets, Marek found himself at the refreshment table, accepting a cup of apple punch from a servant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dan dancing with a young lady, his coattails flapping dramatically as he spun her to a standstill. He was smiling as he escorted her back to her parents. To Marek’s astonishment, when he bowed over the girl’s hand, he winked at her before releasing it. The girl blushed, giggled, and hid her face behind her fan.
Turning, Dan strolled toward the punch bowl.
Marek watched him in silence, startled as he realized his cousin was strutting, shoulders thrown back, handsome head held high.
Preening like a golden peacock.
Dan took the offered cup from the servant, sipping slowly. He was out of breath from the exertion, ruffled shirtfront rising and falling rapidly.
“I vow, Cousin. That waltz is certainly vigorous. I’m near exhausted.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Marek answered. “You haven’t stopped dancing since I led Ruxanda onto the floor. Have you really made three consecutive turns with that little blonde?”
Nodding, his cousin raised his cup again. “Since we aren’t going to kill Ravagiu tonight, I decided I may as well enjoy myself. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not in the least, but you’d better watch it or you might find yourself dancing to a wedding waltz.”
“Not a chance.” Laughing, Dan set down the cup. “My orientation, or lack of it, appears somehow well-known, though I’ve not advertised.”
“Your orientation.” Marek allowed himself a smile. “At last you’ve chosen to speak openly of it to me.”
That was all he was going to say.
Let Dan take it from here.
There was a slight silence as if Dan had just realized what he said, and was trying to decide if he should say more.
“Would any self-respecting father throw his innocent daughter in my path?” He looked past Marek’s shoulder, smiling at someone behind him.
Following his gaze, Marek saw, not a young lady but her mother, mouthing little kisses in their direction while her husband’s back was turned.
“Perhaps not father,” Marek admitted, deciding not to push the subject. “But maybe mother? Careful, Cousin. You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
“They’re simply curious.” He swept Marek’s warnings aside. “And hopeful. Wanting to believe they’ve heard wrong about me or that, if it is true, one of them might be the one to rescue me from myself.”
“You’ve been offered salvation tonight, I take it?”
“Several times. Apparently. females are quite willing to give up their virtue to make a man a man. I’ve neither admitted nor denied.” Picking up his cup again, Dan held it out so the servant could refill it from the decorative silver ladle. “It’s only a game, you know.”
“Behave yourself.” Marek struck his shoulder lightly. “Stop leading them on.”
“What will happen if I don’t?”
“You’re too big for me to thrash, and too old to be sent to bed without your supper, so…nothing, I’m sorry to say.”
They both laughed. Dan gave him a serious look. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For accepting this so easily.” He sighed. “If you knew how I’ve dreaded when you learned. When did you, anyway?”
“I’ve known since shortly after you came to live with us.”
“But you’ve never…”
“We grew up together. You’re like a brother, and that’s what matters. I love you like I do the twins.” Marek became somber. “I’m certain when you finally decide which way you’re going to fall, you’ll do it with the same discretion you do everything else.”
Dan avoided his gaze a moment, studying the ballroom’s polished wood. Marek was startled to see his cousin’s broad shoulders visibly relax.
“Please, no more revelations tonight. This is a celebration, remember?” He shifted his weight, gaze sweeping over the ballroom, and decided to change the subject, which was becoming too heavy for this light-hearted atmosphere.
We’ve enough of that at home.
“A celebration rapidly turning boring. Why don’t you and I make our apologies, and slip away to some place a little more lively?”
“Cousin!” Dan affected shock. “You’re one of the hosts. You can’t leave.”
“Yes.” Marek sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
“Besides, how often do I get to see the twins acting so decorously?” Dan’s gaze sought Vlad and Andrei, who were on the other side of the ballroom, one speaking to a couple whose daughter stood impatiently beside them, the other sweeping a girl appearing no more than twelve in a dramatic turn across the floor.
“They have been more than well-behaved tonight,” Marek conceded.
“Not just tonight,” Dan corrected. “They’ve become quite the little gentlemen.”
“Bogdan…” a feminine voice trilled.
“Don’t look now,” Marek warned. “The huntresses have caught your scent.”
Before he could finish speaking, his cousin was surrounded by four young ladies all reminding him he’d promised them dances. While Marek watched with raised brows, sipping more punch to prevent himself from laughing out loud, Dan calmly acknowledged that he had, indeed, and stood them in a line.
“We’ll do this alphabetically. You first, Annabeth, then Bertha…Charlotte...” Obediently, they placed themselves as he ordered. “Then Wilfrida… Sorry, dear,” he said, as Wilfrida, finding herself last, began to pout.
He held out his hand to Annabeth, a bouncy little brunette dressed in a pale yellow round gown. In a moment, he was whirling her onto the dance floor while Bertha, Charlotte, and Wilfrida anxiously waited their turns. Once, tapping her foot with impatience, Charlotte hopefully glanced Marek’s way.
“I’m standing through the next four.” He shook his head, amused by the disappointed way she sighed and turned back to follow his cousin’s progress around the floor.
Eventually, it was time for supper, and he led the guest of honor into the dining room, seating her at their host’s right hand while he sat at Karl-Josef’s left.
All during the evening Margarette and Karl-Josef stood by each other. Though they were watching their guests, the Graf coul
dn’t seem to keep his hands off his wife. He touched her fingers, stroked her arm, caressed her cheek, once leaned over and gave her a little peck on the forehead. Margarette, in turn, smiled at him and occasionally patted his face as if he were an overgrown child being rewarded for behaving in public.
Once or twice Marek saw one of their sons roll his eyes and shake his head. Some of the girls giggled behind their fans, and several of the parents smiled and looked indulgent. That made him believe Karl-Josef’s love for his wife was well-known and his actions in her presence long tolerated. In the dining room, however, the Gräfin sat at the other end of the table in the place designated for the lady of the house, completely out of touching distance….so they made love to each other with their eyes throughout the entire meal.
It was shortly after the serving of the first entrée that Werner appeared, whispering something to the Graf. There was a brief conversation, then Karl-Josef stood, murmured a slight apology, and left his guests, following the kellermeister out of the room.
In a few moments, Werner was back.
“Your pardon, Master Marek, but Herr Graf wishes you to join him in his study.”
Patting his mouth with his napkin, Marek dropped the white square next to his plate and looked at his hostess. “If you’ll excuse me, Gräfin?”
Margarette nodded graciously, though she appeared as curious as everyone else as he followed Werner.
* * *
Heads close together, two men stood near the staircase, talking in whispers. They were dressed in rough clothing, and looked out of place in the Graf’s elegant foyer. In the study, Marek was surprised to find Karl-Josef with Polizei Hauptsachlich Schell and realized from their expressions this was definitely not a social call.
“Herr Schell,” he greeted the man with a bow, looking from him to the Graf. “Uncle, what’s happened?”
“Herr Schell has asked for you,” Karl-Josef replied. “He has some disturbing news.”
“Please, sir.” Marek looked at the police chief. “What is it?”
Clearing his throat, the Hauptschachlich bowed to Marek. “This morning an unknown man was found floating in the Danube. His throat had been cut.”
“That’s dreadful, but why tell me?” The confused look Marek gave him wasn’t pretended.
“In his pocket, he had an envelope bearing your name.”
“Really?” Marek sat in a chair pposite the police chief. “Do you have the envelope?”
From an inner pocket, Herr Schell produced a small white square. It was still damp, the paper warped. On the outer surface, watery letters in a cramped hand were plainly visible. Marek, Graf Strigoi.
Opening it, Marek extracted a folded bit of stationary. The words on the page were only blue smears running together into a faded splotch in its center. He closed the sheet and returned it to the envelope, handing it back to Herr Schell.
“I’d hoped the contents might give me some idea of why this man might be writing me. I don’t recognize the stationary.”
“My men tell me it can be bought in any stationer’s shop. Nothing special or expensive.” The chief sighed. “I thought perhaps you could give us some information as to his identity.”
“I’ve made only a few friends so far, sir. I sincerely hope he isn’t one of them.” Briefly, he felt a twinge of worry that it might be Rikhard. “Tell me, what does he look like?”
“According to the information given me, he was fairly well-dressed, as perhaps a servant or merchant might be. About average height, dark hair, dark eyes. Had a rather large scar on his left cheek.”
A stab of cold went through Marek. He forced himself to shake his head. “That sounds like no one of my acquaintance. I’m sorry I can’t help you, sir.”
“Ach, I was hoping you could enable me to close this case swiftly—” Herr Schell broke off as one of the two men who’d been in the foyer came into the room.
“Excuse me, Polizei Hauptsachlich.” He bent, speaking directly into the chief’s ear.
“When?” Schell frowned.
More whispering. Schell nodded and turned to the Graf again.
“Perhaps this may yet be a simple case. Apparently the victim’s still alive, though just barely. I’m going directly to the Weiner Krankenhaus.” He bowed quickly. “If you’ll excuse me, herren?”
“Of course.” They both returned his bow, as Marek said, “Since my name’s been raised in this, you’ll keep us abreast of your investigation?”
“Most assuredly.” With that, the chief was gone, heading for the door with Werner running to open it for him.
“Uncle, I believe I know who that man is,” Marek told Karl-Josef, watching the butler shut the door.
“I suspected as much. Good thing Herr Schell doesn’t know you as well as I do.” Karl-Josef allowed himself a slight smile. “Your heartbeat became quite rapid when he mentioned that scar. Who is he?”
“I think he’s Stjpan Trecator’s valet.” He explained what he and the others had been doing at night.
“All this time I thought you were merely trying to fill my shoes.” Karl-Josef allowed himself a rueful chuckle. “I should’ve known better. I’m a little disappointed you kept me in the dark, however.”
“I didn’t want you endangered any more than you already are.”
“Marek, I told you…”
“Yes, sir, I know you did. Forgive me for doubting that.”
“Stjpan Tecator is Mircea Ravagiu. You’re certain?” Karl-Josef looked doubtful.
Marek thought he was very self-controlled after learning this, not showing as much surprise as he expected. He wondered if his uncle already had some inkling of Trecator’s identity and had refrained from speaking of it until he was presented with proof.
“As certain as I can be without actually seeing the man. All I know is that his valet’s terrified of him, and desperate.”
“There could be other reasons for that. If his master’s as depraved as he said.”
“I saw the marks on his throat, sir. They hadn’t been allowed to heal.”
“No good aventurieri lets his servants’ wounds fester.”
“I need to go to this Krankenhaus and speak to the man.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Sir, I don’t want you involved in any more of this. You’ve done enough.”
“Nonsense. I made a promise to your father, remember? Besides, if Trecator is Ravagiu, he made a fool of me, and I can’t let that pass.”
“We can’t go now, much as I’d like to. It wouldn’t be good form to walk out of a dinner party, would it?” Marek repeated Dan’s earlier words. “Especially one at which you and I are the hosts.”
“Very true,” the Graf agreed. “As soon as our guests are safely gone, however, and we can get away, we’ll— Ah, Gott!”
“What is it?” Marek stared at his uncle’s stricken expression.
“Gretta. She’s expecting a lovefest tonight, and when I tell her I’m going out…” He didn’t finish the sentence, just shook his head.
Chapter 38
It was time for Ruxanda to open her gifts. The presents had been placed on a central table in the reception room. Arranging them on silver trays, servants brought them to the drawing room as Ruxanda, seated on one of the settees, looked on with delight while her young guests gathered around her.
Joachim von Blitzensturm dropped onto the little sofa beside her. Marek didn’t like that. The boy was being too familiar, even for his host’s son.
“Which one should I open first?” she agonized, while the others offered facetious suggestions. She looked at Marek. “Where’s your gift, brother?”
Smiling, he offered her a small, slender rectangle wrapped in white tissue decorated with a gold bow. She pulled off the bow, carefully opening the end-paper.
“Don't be so slow, Xandi.” Joachim pulled the box from her hands, ripping off the paper and tossing it to the floor. Smiling, he handed it back to her.
Ruxanda took the top off t
he box.
“Ohhh.” She lifted out a strand of baroque freshwater pearls, each separated from its neighbor by an amber nugget.
“They were your mother’s,” Marek explained. “She would’ve wanted you to have them.”
He’d pondered a long time over the few treasures left before deciding on the pearls as his gift, and when he took them out of the little coffer, he saw Lily’s ring shining against the red velvet. As he closed the lid, the gleam of the yellow stone seemed to cry out to him.
“Put them on me.” Handing the necklace to him, Ruxanda turned her back.
He placed them around her neck, hooking the little clasp together. She stroked them gently while the girls oohed and aahed their envy. Joachim and the other young men were politely silent.
After that, she fell to opening gifts with more abandon amid giggles from the girls as each noted which gift was hers, and whether it was of her own choosing or her mother’s, and other tidbits of information. They laughed and gasped, and generally acted like silly creatures without a care in the world, while Marek and his brothers stood to one side, astounded their serious little sister seemed to have become one of them.
Afterwards, as she sat amid a mountain of ragged wrapping paper and torn bows, wearing various gifts—Marek’s pearls, a pair of pale gray gloves, a delicate lacy shawl—Joachim spoke up.
“When may we begin to call upon Mistress Ruxanda, Lord Marek?”
Everyone stared at him.
“You’ll have to let me consider,” he answered.
I must speak to Ruxanda tonight. I can’t delay any longer.
That seemed to satisfy the boy, because he nodded and turned his attention back to whatever Ruxanda was saying.
“He’s very taken with her, you know.” Karl-Josef sounded thoughtful.
“Hm,” was all Marek could think to say.
“Just imagine. We might end up being related.” The Graf turned bright eyes on Marek. “Do you think you’d enjoy having me as an in-law, lad?”
“He’s too old for her.” The words were out before he realized.
The sudden picture of his little Xandi married to Karl-Josef’s son, naked in bed with the young upstart, perhaps big-bellied with his get, blazed into his mind, as well as what might come afterward if her true identity were discovered.
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