Teresa Grant - [Charles & Melanie Fraser 01]

by Vienna Waltz

  Charlotte hesitated. Her mother put an arm round her. “It’s all right, ma petite. Just tell us what happened.”

  Charlotte drew a breath and spoke in a rush. “I heard him say ‘this is blackmail.’ And then she said something about ‘be reasonable. ’ Then their voices got quieter. When they came out of the room, he held the door open for her, and they seemed to be friendlier.” She looked at Suzanne with anxious eyes. “Does that help?”

  “Very much. My thanks to you both.” Suzanne got to her feet and pressed the hands of mother and daughter. A surprisingly successful interrogation.

  Which took her one step further down a path that seemed to lead inexorably to ruin.

  “Monsieur Rannoch.” Baron Hager put aside his newspaper and got to his feet. “Do you have another flight of fancy for me? I’ve had my fill of the Wiener Zeitung. I could do with some entertaining fiction.”

  “This isn’t fiction.” Malcolm held out Otronsky’s note and recounted Margot’s description of Otronsky, Addison following Otronsky, and Suzanne recovering the note.

  Hager listened in a silence that gave nothing away. “You’re an enterprising family.”

  “Thank you.”

  The baron folded the note. “Monsieur Rannoch, surely I don’t have to tell you that this proves nothing. The note could be from anyone, about anything. It’s no crime for Count Otronsky to have frequented the Empress Rose tavern with his friends. The only evidence of wrongdoing still comes down to Princess Tatiana’s word.”

  “And mine.”

  “Just so.” Hager slid the newspaper to cover the files on his desk.

  “Baron, if there’s even a chance this is true—”

  “I should be doubly on my guard at the opera gala. But I like to think I always am, Monsieur Rannoch.”

  “Suzanne.” Frederick Radley got to his feet and crossed his sitting room toward her. “I confess I didn’t expect this. Though I can’t deny that I hoped.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Suzanne let him do so, despite the wash of memories. “We haven’t had a chance to talk properly, Freddy. For all the things one may say in a Viennese salon, so much remains unvoiced.”

  “How true.” He moved to the drinks table and poured two glasses of Madeira.

  Suzanne sank down on a tapestry sofa. Lodgings were hard to come by in Vienna these days, but Lord Stewart had provided Radley with a handsome suite of rooms overlooking the Minoritenplatz. Through the window she could see the plaster moldings of the British delegation’s lodgings across the square. The smells of tobacco and brandy hung in the air. Radley had a way of landing on his feet.

  She pulled off her gloves, then undid the cords on her mantle and let it slither about her in a stir of cherry-colored shot sarcenet and white silk. She had deliberately chosen a gown that was cut low and had not worn a tippet or kerchief. She felt Radley’s gaze linger on the lace-edged bodice.

  “I confess my hope of a private tête-à-tête with you brightened when I encountered your husband.” He crossed to her and gave her one of the glasses. “I may not be the best judge of character, but it’s obvious to the meanest observer that he doesn’t appreciate you as you deserve.”

  “You’ve scarcely seen either of us.”

  Radley touched his glass to hers. “It didn’t take a great deal of time to form a conclusion. Don’t forget, I have rather more knowledge than the average observer of the sort of attentions you deserve.”

  “Old knowledge.”

  “You’re no Princess Metternich, content to pour tea and give parties and run the nursery, Suzanne. You’re a passionate woman. You’ll have to seek passion somewhere.”

  She took a sip of wine, remembering the first time he’d given her a glass of Madeira. The wine cloyed on her tongue, but she forced it down. “Perhaps I’ve learned the dangers of passion.”

  He shook his head. “The dangers only make it more seductive, my darling.”

  She stretched an arm along the curved back of the sofa. He was really very easy to play. Strange to remember that he had once sent a thrill through her that was equal parts fear and excitement. But then she had been a different person in those days.

  Radley dropped down on the sofa beside her, his Hessian-booted foot inches from her Spanish slipper, his buckskin-covered knee brushing her striped sarcenet skirts. “My poor sweet. I think you’re fonder of him than he is of you. Have you made the mistake of falling in love with your own husband?”

  Suzanne took another sip of wine. Odd, the sense of power that came with the knowledge that Tatiana was Malcolm’s sister. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “You’ve always had a knack for surprising me. It was one of the things that made you endlessly intriguing.”

  “Not endlessly, as I recall.”

  He gave a brief laugh. “We all make mistakes.”

  “In our dealings we both made them.”

  Radley laid his hand over her own. His fingers were warm. She remembered them tugging at the laces on her corset, parting her thighs, pinning her hands over her head. “It can’t be easy watching your husband mourn Princess Tatiana,” Radley said. “Even with a man as cold as Malcolm, one can see the grief.”

  “Yes, I didn’t realize until recently quite how deep Malcolm’s grief over the princess went. I only hope I’ve been able to offer him the support he needs.”

  Radley gave an incredulous laugh. “My dear Suzanne—”

  She forced herself to keep her hand still beneath his own. The smell of his shaving soap choked her. “But then a number of men are grieving the princess. I had no idea you knew her so well.”

  She felt his fingers stiffen. “Hardly well. I attended her salon once or twice in Paris last spring. But I could scarcely fail to appreciate her.”

  “But you also knew her in the Peninsula?”

  He removed his hand from her own and took a swallow of Madeira. “I told you. Our paths crossed.”

  “And yet the acquaintance was strong enough that you came to see her in Vienna three days before you officially arrived.”

  Radley’s face froze. Then he gave a shout of laughter. “My darling. Aren’t we living with enough drama without your inventing it?”

  “It’s not an invention, Freddy. You were seen with Princess Tatiana leaving Madame Girard’s in the Graben.”

  “That’s—”

  “Undeniable.”

  His gaze hardened. “What the devil do you want?”

  “An explanation.”

  “Damn it, Suzanne.” Radley pushed himself to his feet and stood over her. “You’re accusing me of murder.”

  “I don’t have enough of the facts yet to do so. But I do know you quarreled with Princess Tatiana in the fitting room at Madame Girard’s. You accused her of blackmail.”

  He tossed down the last of his Madeira. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

  “A few moments ago you seemed quite ready to seduce me.”

  “Old habits.” He stalked over to the drinks table and filled his glass with brandy.

  “It was once your habit to confide in me. A simple explanation, Freddy. Surely that isn’t so very much to ask.”

  “You have no right to ask anything of me.”

  “Princess Tatiana knew something about you. She was threatening you. But by the end of the interview you were on friendlier terms.” Suzanne studied Radley. His shoulders were taut beneath the red fabric of his jacket. His hand shook as he lifted the glass of brandy to his mouth. Surely what she had discovered thus far was not enough to explain this degree of fear. “But there’s more, isn’t there?” She took a sip of Madeira and tossed off her bluff. “You went to see Princess Tatiana the night she died. I saw you leaving the Palm Palace.”

  He spun round. His gaze locked with her own. “You can’t possibly know that’s true.”

  She got to her feet. “Do you really think after all that’s passed between us, I wouldn’t recognize you?”

  He drew
a breath, then set his glass on the drinks table as though he wished he could smash it. “You’re playing with fire, my sweet. You always were drawn to danger. But in the end you won’t tell anyone. Not even your cold bastard of a husband.”

  “You seem very sure.”

  “Oh, I am.” He crossed to stand a handsbreadth away from her. “I told you I had no wish to disrupt your marriage, Suzanne. Which is true. But if you go to Malcolm with this, I shall be compelled to tell him precisely how well you and I knew each other. And under what circumstances. He’s always been a damned Radical, but he’s still a duke’s grandson. Whatever the terms of your marriage, I don’t think he’d care to have a wife who’s damaged goods.”

  Suzanne took a sip of wine, willing her hand to be steady. “I could hardly fail to anticipate that you’d say that. As obvious as moving a pawn to defend one’s queen.”

  “Well then. We have each other neatly in check.”

  “Sometimes the only way out of check is to sacrifice one’s queen.” She tossed off the last of her wine and set the glass on the sofa table. “Say whatever you must to Malcolm, Freddy. I’ll do the same.”

  His harsh laugh rang off the polished woodwork. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I?” She reached for her mantle and flung it round her shoulders. “It will be interesting to see.”

  “Damn it, Suzanne.” He seized her arm.

  She jerked away from his grip and picked up her gloves and reticule. “Good day, Colonel Radley.”

  “My God.” Radley’s gaze bored into her own. “You’re in deeper than I realized. Do you really think you can make him love you by discovering who killed his precious Tatiana?”

  “On the contrary.” She tugged on her gloves, still feeling the imprint of Radley’s fingers on her arm. “I have no illusions that I can make Malcolm do anything at all.”

  31

  As she turned into the Minoritenplatz, Suzanne met Eithne, in a Dresden blue pelisse and a willow-shaving bonnet, pushing Colin in a baby carriage. Eithne looked up, autumn sunshine slanting across her face. Suzanne suspected it wasn’t only the golden light that had driven the shadows from her friend’s eyes.

  “It seemed a shame not to get him out for a walk before it rains again,” Eithne said. “And truth to tell, I’ve been missing my own little ones.”

  “That was kind of you.” Suzanne bent over the carriage. Colin dropped his rattle and stretched up his arms to her. Children could trust so unconditionally, she thought as she scooped him up and felt him snuggle into her. She couldn’t remember a time when trust had been so simple. “How’s Fitz?”

  Eithne gave a wry laugh. “One would never know he’d suffered an accident. At least from his behavior. He and Malcolm have gone to a meeting at the chancellery.”

  Colin’s hands had fisted round Suzanne’s pearls. She disentangled them and settled him on her hip. “It’s good to see you smiling.”

  Eithne shot a quick glance at her. “Do you quite despise me?”

  “Dearest. Of course not.”

  Eithne’s primrose-kid-gloved hands tightened on the bar of the baby carriage. “I suspect everyone must think me a fool.”

  “What matters is what you think.”

  “I had all sorts of satisfying revenge thoughts. Quite beastly, the sort of imaginings I’d not have thought myself capable of. But the thing is, I love him. If I doubted that, I changed my mind when I saw him lying unconscious at the Carrousel.”

  Suzanne had a clear memory of sitting beside a camp bed in which Malcolm lay wounded, not long into their marriage. She’d stared at his pale, bruised skin and thought that she might never have a conversation with him again. Fear and loss had choked her. Loss of something she hadn’t begun to value properly. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve faced losing my husband. It has a way of putting things in perspective.”

  Eithne stared down at the cobblestones. “Sometimes I’m still angry. He isn’t the man I thought he was in my girlish delusions. But he’s still the father of our children. He’s still the boy who lost his mother at ten and held things together for the younger ones while his older brothers were off at school and his father was busy with politics. He’s still the stepbrother who made sure his new stepmother’s children were welcomed into the family. Who dutifully danced with his sisters and stepsisters at their coming-out balls and pays his stepbrother’s gambling debts. He takes his responsibilities so seriously.”

  “He and Malcolm are much alike in that.”

  Eithne looked up at Suzanne. “I know it will never be the same. But if what we have is flawed, it’s more honest than my romantic imaginings. And I’d rather have it, flaws and all, than lose it altogether.”

  Colin had tugged loose the cords on Suzanne’s mantle. She smoothed his hair. “I can understand that.”

  “Last night I saw him being charming to the Duchess of Sagan, and I couldn’t help but wonder—He said I’d never trust him again.”

  “Perhaps not never. But it takes time.”

  Colin wriggled in Suzanne’s arms. “Down.”

  Suzanne set her son on his feet and reached down to take his small hand.

  Eithne touched her fingers to Colin’s dark hair. “Does it sound mad to say that I almost love Fitz more, knowing his flaws?”

  “Perhaps knowing the truth makes the feelings deeper.” Even as she framed the words, Suzanne wondered how they applied to the conversation she was about to have with her husband. Of course Eithne had entered the marriage loving Fitz, unlike the prosaic start of her marriage to Malcolm. That made a difference.

  “I keep thinking how dreadful it would be to lose everything.”

  Suzanne tightened her grip on Colin’s hand. “I know precisely what you mean.”

  “There are times when putting forward Castlereagh’s talking points sticks in my throat.” Fitz scowled across the bustling traffic of the Ballhausplatz as he and Malcolm emerged from the chancellery, where they had been meeting with Friedrich von Genz, Metternich’s assistant and the secretary to the Congress.

  “Arguing strenuously for the partition of Poland does rather tarnish Britain’s image as a defender of constitutional liberties.” Malcolm drew a breath. The crisp autumn air was welcome after two hours shut in a room with an overly warm stove and overly circumscribed ideas. “Of course, so did handing Genoa over to Sardinia a mere eight months after Bentinck marched in with British soldiers and proclaimed the republic restored.”

  “A buffer against French incursions in Italy,” Fitz said, parodying Castlereagh’s accents to the like.

  “ ‘Republic’ is a dangerous word in a lot of minds. I don’t think it even occurred to anyone Venice should be turned back into one.” Malcolm drew up to avoid a four-in-hand tooled by a side-whiskered man in Hungarian uniform. “But no matter how hard Castlereagh and Metternich try, they can’t erase it entirely.”

  “What?”

  “The French Revolution. They’re doing everything they can to put it back in the box. Quite ignoring the fact that the box broke twenty years ago. You can’t take ideas out of people’s minds.”

  They moved forward across the cobblestones, stopping to exchange greetings with an Austrian undersecretary hurrying back to the chancellery with a sheaf of documents under his arm.

  “We’ve lost any moral high ground we had when we came to Vienna,” Fitz said. “It’s got to the point where even when we argue against the slave trade, people think we’re doing it for advantage in the colonies.”

  “Do you really think that has nothing to do with it?”

  Fitz shot a look at him, eyes narrowed against the slanting late-afternoon sun. “I can’t even attempt to say no. It’ll be good to be out. To be able to frame one’s own opinions instead of always arguing someone else’s.”

  “You’re still going to stand for Parliament?”

  “Yes. That is—” Fitz paused as they were about to turn out of the Ballhausplatz. “I don’t kno
w. I don’t know about Eithne’s father. I don’t know about anything.”

  Malcolm studied his friend’s set profile. “You’d make a good MP, Fitz. Nothing that’s happened has changed my view of that.”

  Fitz turned to look him full in the face. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You’re such a good agent you can even lie convincingly to those who know you best, Malcolm.”

  “It’s no lie. In my optimistic moments, I’ll even acknowledge you might make a difference.”

  Fitz returned his gaze, swallowed, turned away abruptly. “You don’t know how much that—Thank you.” He tugged at the curling brim of his hat and resumed walking toward the Minoritenplatz. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d consider returning home and standing for Parliament with me?”

  Home flashed into Malcolm’s mind. Granite cliffs, salt spray, candlelit drawing rooms. The black metal railings and leafy plane trees in Berkeley Square. Secrets and lies he had been running from for six years. Perhaps longer. “Ask me again the next time Castlereagh instructs us to argue an untenable case.”

  Fitz touched him on the shoulder but said nothing further. They returned to the Minoritenplatz in a silence more amicable than anything that had passed between them for the past five days.

  “Darling.” Suzanne’s voice stopped him as they stepped into the British delegation’s lodgings. Musical as always, yet there was a note in it that sent a chill through him. “Can you come into the library for a moment?”

  Malcolm nodded to Fitz and followed his wife through the double doors to the library. Papers littered the long table in the center of the room, but the book-lined chamber was empty. A branch of candles burned on the table against the lengthening afternoon shadows, as though Suzanne had lit them in readiness. “What’s happened?”

  “I need to talk to you.” She paced to the far end of the room, putting an expanse of green and gold Aubusson carpet between them. Her cherry-striped skirts whipped round her legs. “I thought it would be easier with more space than in our bedchamber. And I suppose I didn’t want to do it with Colin right next door.”