“ ‘Condemned’ being the important word,” Thomas said. “This job could get me killed. You might decide to hang me anyway once the documents are retrieved and the job is done.”
“Major Lord Ives is an honorable man,” Julia objected, but one glance at Ives’s dark scowl, and Thomas knew he’d gladly betray this agreement—even go so far as to hang him personally. For Ives, this was entirely about Julia, he realized.
He wondered if Ives knew what had occurred between himself and Julia. Would she have told him? Pillow talk, perhaps. Apparently she did not know Ives as well as she thought. Under his shining, righteous honor, jealousy made Stephen Ives as ruthless as any other man. He felt a frisson of his own jealousy.
“I want Castlereagh’s Order of the Garter star.”
Julia gasped, and Stephen gaped at him. “If you can’t steal it, you expect me to hand it over to you?” Ives demanded.
“Why?” Julia asked. “You could never sell such a thing.”
He raised one eyebrow, surprised that she knew that. Her lips parted and she blushed at the gesture, looked away. Now what did that mean? “Call it part of my reward for contributing to the successful conclusion of peace in His Majesty’s favor, if you wish.”
“Anything else?” Ives asked sarcastically. “The Crown jewels, perhaps?”
A large ruby on a gold chain might help, he was tempted to say. “Money,” he said instead. “Enough to leave Vienna and go where I wish when this is done.” If he rescued Donovan, he’d dismiss him, send him home with the price of a horse farm in his pocket. If . . .
He watched Julia frown at the crass demand. What did she expect from a man she was hiring to steal? “I want all of this in writing,” he said.
Ives folded his arms. “Impossible. This is a secret mission, Merritt, and time is of the essence. We cannot simply draw up a formal agreement.”
“Then I will take your vowel, Major, since you are a gentleman.”
Ives looked surprised, but Thomas let him read the fact that he didn’t really care if they hanged him or not.
“Agreed.” He watched Stephen Ives cross to the desk to find a piece of paper.
“Money and a souvenir,” Julia said softly. “I had not imagined it would be so cheap a price.”
Damn her. She had no right to mock him, look down on him. Anyone else, but not her, not now that he’d agreed. He wouldn’t have, except for her.
“Ah, but there is one more condition, this one just between you and me.”
He watched her throat bob, and the smugness went out of her hazel eyes. She glanced at Ives, but he was all the way across the room. “What?” she asked in a husky whisper, but she knew. He could read it in her eyes, fear—and desire too.
“You. One more night together.”
She shut her eyes. “I cannot—”
Ives was coming back. “Say yes, or I shall tear up the vowel,” Thomas whispered.
“Why?” she pleaded.
He wanted to step over the tea table that separated them, take her into his arms and show her why. She felt it too, the unfinished desire between them. She stared at him, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted, and he stifled a groan and curled his hand on his knee, almost wishing he hadn’t said it.
“Do you agree or not?” he asked.
She sent him a desperate, wordless plea as Ives arrived behind her, but he held her gaze, his desire naked in his eyes.
“Here you are,” Ives said. “But if you betray me, I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your brain, is that clear?”
He didn’t even glance at Ives as he took the note, held it between his fingers, daring her to refuse.
At last she nodded, an almost imperceptible jerk of her head.
He put the vowel into his pocket and rose to his feet. “We’re done here, then. I shall return tomorrow night,” he said, and strode toward the door.
One more night. One more chance to hold her, touch her skin. If, of course, he survived breaking into the French Embassy and stealing secret documents. Could he do it?
For one more night with Julia, he would break into hell itself and come back alive.
Chapter 37
Julia couldn’t breathe. She watched Thomas leave the room, the house, without a backward glance.
He wouldn’t hold her to it, surely. It was just a game.
“My God, he’s cocky. He won’t hold us to any of those agreements,” Stephen said. Julia turned to look at him.
“What?” Surely he didn’t mean to hang Thomas Merritt anyway, even if he succeeded? The look on his face spoke of hatred. It made her shiver.
The door opened again, and Julia’s heart leapt into her throat, but it was Dorothea, not Thomas.
“Ah, there you are. I met your Mr. Merritt on his way out.”
“He’s not my Mr. Merritt,” Julia said.
“Well, your housebreaker,” Dorothea said. “He’s charming. He reminds me of someone, though. I wonder if we’ve met before?”
Stephen sniffed. “He hardly travels in the same circles you do, Doe.”
“But Julia knew him in London,” she said. “Perhaps I met him too.”
“That’s quite impossible. Anyway, he won’t be in Vienna much longer,” Stephen said.
“Then I’m glad I invited him to dine with us tomorrow evening,” Dorothea said. “To thank him for his kindness in returning my watch. He accepted.”
“What?” Stephen gaped at his sister.
“I think I will ask Peter to join us as well.”
She turned to Julia. “The afternoon has turned sunny, and the snow is almost gone. Mrs. Hawes is preparing Jamie for his walk, and I thought I’d go along for some fresh air. Would you like to come too? You look rather flushed. Are you well?”
“This room is—rather warm,” Julia managed. Dorothea had never shown the slightest interest in walking Jamie in the past. Why now?
She went upstairs to get her bonnet and gloves. Mrs. Hawes was wrapping Jamie in shawls and blankets, and Dorothea looked on, laughing, and bent over to tie his bonnet herself.
“Oh, Julia, he’s a lovely child. He is strong, isn’t he?” Julia caught a flash of sadness in her eyes.
“Of course he is,” Julia said, looking at her son’s rosy cheeks. He had Thomas Merritt’s eyes, her own snub nose. She drew a shaky breath.
“Life is so fragile, isn’t it?” Dorothea said, then smiled. “All the more reason to enjoy every moment, don’t you think?”
Julia stared at her, but her eyes were on Jamie, bright with unshed tears. Jamie cooed, and Dorothea laughed, the tears disappearing. “I feel so happy today!”
Chapter 38
Princess Kostova’s footman was waiting for Thomas at his lodgings. Katerina didn’t bother with notes—she sent servants to recite her invitations.
The man snapped to attention and bowed as Thomas approached him, waiting on the steps, and carefully delivered his memorized message. “Her Highness wishes to inform you that her—no, our—dear friend the Prince de Ligne is ill, and a visit from you would cheer him considerably. Will you come? I am to wait for your answer, and remind you that he is a very old gentleman, and not strong, and if necessary escort you to his lodgings.”
“You may tell Princess Kostova that I will come,” he said. “But I will need to change my clothes and bathe first.”
The Russian bowed. “I will wait.”
Thomas gave him a few coins. He must already have been waiting in the cold all morning. “Go and get a drink in the tavern. I’ll find my own way to the prince’s lodgings.”
He climbed the stairs to his flat. The place was empty without Donovan’s cheeky presence, and he bathed quickly and did his best to shave himself with a borrowed razor. He stared at his battered face in the mirror. He’d have to make up a story to tell. Katerina would i
mmediately suspect it was another woman, especially since he hadn’t been to see her recently. He’d become so obsessed with the watch that he’d been avoiding her. Every time he saw her, Donovan had expected him to return with her jewels. Thomas began to spend his nights in gaming hells instead of attending her salons and parties, earning enough to cover his expenses without stealing.
He’d never been a very good thief, and now his future depended on it, and that of England, if Julia was to be believed. He had no reason to doubt her. She had told the story of the French ambassador’s blackmail with fear in her eyes, afraid for her country, perhaps, but there was something else.
If she knew his one and only attempt at housebreaking had ended with him unconscious on her bedroom floor, she’d be afraid indeed. He couldn’t afford to fail this time. Lives hung in the balance, including his own.
He tied his own cravat with less efficiency than Donovan would have and picked up his coat. He’d worn it to break into the embassy, and it still smelled faintly of Julia’s perfume. He held it to his nose, felt a powerful surge of lust that stopped his breath.
Why on earth had he demanded she spend the night with him? He’d been carrying around an obsession for a woman he couldn’t have for too long as it was. If she honored the bargain, it wouldn’t make it better. She belonged with Stephen Ives, an honorable gentleman, a diplomat with a title and a future beyond tomorrow night.
But he’d never felt about any woman the way he did about Julia Leighton. Tomorrow night he’d do his best to break into the French Embassy and steal the documents. His success would gain Stephen Ives recognition, promotion, and Julia would benefit by that—and he’d get to live another day, and hold Julia one more time. If he held her to the agreement, of course.
And beyond that?
He turned away from the mirror.
There was nothing.
Chapter 39
“There’s a letter for you,” Stephen said when she arrived back at the embassy, her cheeks still pink with more than the cold. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Thomas Merritt’s “condition.” It was impossible.
And yet, he was risking his life, and she had agreed. There was no choice but to fulfill her part of the bargain.
She took the letter from Stephen’s hand. “It’s from Diana Talleyrand,” she told him, and opened it. “It’s an invitation to attend her salon tomorrow night,” she said breathlessly, and grinned at him. “It’s perfect, a way in—”
He took her hand, kissed it. “Perhaps this will be easier than we thought.”
“Yes,” she said. “Or perhaps not. Will Prince de Talleyrand expect me to deliver some kind of message from Lord Castlereagh?”
“If Merritt is successful, that will be message enough.”
She paced the room, measuring the rug. “Yes, I suppose so. What will happen if we fail?”
He looked away uneasily, hiding something. “We can’t. It’s too important.”
He came to stand in front of her, to stop her from pacing, and put his hand under her chin, raising her face to his. He kissed her gently on the lips.
“You’re a remarkable woman, Julia. When this is over—”
She pressed her hand to his chest, gently. “Wait until then,” she whispered.
“Knowing about Merritt hasn’t changed my mind about what I said, Julia.” He stepped back. “I can’t go with you tomorrow night. I’ve been ordered not to.”
“By Castlereagh?” she asked.
He nodded. “I am a recognized member of the British delegation. If Merritt fails and I am there, it will be impossible to deny our involvement.”
She felt her heart sink. “Then what will happen to him?”
He frowned. “That won’t be our concern.”
“But he agreed to help us!”
“For a price,” he said fiercely. “For jewels and money, not for any love of king or country or—” He stopped before he said it, but she understood. You. As if Thomas Merritt might care about her beyond the pleasure he’d already had.
“And what of me? I’m to go with him, show him where the documents are,” she said, breathless. He looked pained, came and touched her cheek, his own skin flushing, his eyes bright.
“Don’t fail, Julia. You can’t. Get out if things go badly.”
“Or what?” she asked, but she already knew. She was as disposable, as expendable, to Castlereagh as Thomas Merritt was. Her heart climbed into her throat.
There was a knock at the door, and he sprang away from her and took a seat on the other side of the room, as if she had already failed, was already tainted.
“Another letter for Miss Leighton,” the footman said, entering.
She took it and saw Diana’s neat script. What now? Had Talleyrand heard somehow?
“Another invitation?” Stephen asked, returning to her side once the servant left the room.
“No,” she said. “News. A mutual friend is ill, the old Prince de Ligne.”
“Sorry to hear it. The old fellow has been a fixture at the courts of Europe for half a century.”
She folded the letter. “If Dorothea doesn’t need me, I think I will go to see him.”
“You are very kind,” he said. “It will take your mind off—things. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Chapter 40
The Prince de Ligne had lodgings near the old city walls. He cheerfully referred to his modest home as his “birdcage” since it was so small his bedroom doubled as his salon.
“And how very convenient that is, when one is confined to one’s bed,” he said, greeting Julia as she arrived in the crowded room, which was already filled with visitors. “How wonderful that you’ve come today, my dear. There is someone I’ve wanted to introduce you to for a very long time. Viscount, here is the lovely English rose I told you about.”
Julia turned to find Thomas Merritt standing near the window where the light shone on him, illuminated him like a dark angel. The lady next to him assessed Julia with a narrow-eyed glare.
“Miss Leighton and I have met, Your Highness,” Thomas said, regarding her with sardonic amusement.
“Miss Leighton? Oh no, among friends she is Lady Julia. Especially now,” de Ligne said. He held out his hands. “Come and stand here by the bed, both of you. There now, didn’t I say they would make a dazzling couple?” he asked his guests.
“Not at all, in my opinion,” the beauty by the window said in accented English, to ensure Julia understood.
Julia took in the emerald green military spencer the lady wore, cut to show her lush figure to perfection. Her eyes matched the hard glint of the emeralds in her ears and adorning her saucy little cap. She came to stand next to Thomas, his dark handsomeness the perfect foil for her blond beauty.
De Ligne chuckled and blew her a kiss. “No, you would not see it, my dear Princess Kostova. But Vienna deserves to be a city of love as much as Paris does. Forgive me, my dear, but a little matchmaking now and then keeps me young, especially now that I am past the age of participating in love affairs in any other way.”
The princess’s face softened to a smile as she straightened the shawl around de Ligne’s shoulders. “You old roué, you will always be my first love.”
“I had no idea you knew de Ligne,” Thomas said to Julia in a low voice, drawing her into a quiet corner. “But then I had no idea you knew Talleyrand, or Castlereagh, or Stephen Ives, for that matter.”
He sounded almost peevish. Julia looked again at the lovely Russian princess. “Is she your lover?” she asked boldly.
He raised his eyebrows. “How surprising. I doubt the demure Julia Leighton I met in London would ever have asked such a bold question. She was a lady to her fingertips.”
“And innocent,” she said, meeting his eyes. He colored slightly. No, she was no longer the pampered earl’s daughter, no longer a vir
ginal English lady. That had all changed the moment she set her hand in his and let him waltz her out the French doors of her father’s ballroom, and straight into scandal. Truth be told, it irked her—just a little—to imagine him with the vivid blonde.
“Since we are sharing our deepest secrets, is Stephen Ives your lover?” he asked, though he hadn’t answered her question about Kostova.
Anger flared, and she scanned the room to see if anyone was listening, but the prince was spinning one of his fascinating tales, holding his guests in thrall. “Do you imagine I would ever have agreed to your—” She tripped over the word, a prim earl’s daughter after all, perhaps. “—‘condition’ if he was?”
“Ah yes, my condition,” he drawled.
“Surely you didn’t mean it,” she said in a breathless rush. He filled their quiet corner of the room, and by necessity she was standing so close that her skirts brushed his trousers and his face was mere inches from her own. She could feel his breath on her cheek, see the flare of his pupils at the question. She held her breath. Could he still make her see stars if he kissed her now? Her body tingled.
“Didn’t I?” he asked, yet another question to avoid answering her. “Do you ever think about that night at your betrothal ball?”
She glanced at his cravat, inexpertly tied. Her hands itched to straighten it. “Of course not,” she said, her voice a husky murmur. She met his eyes, her gaze locked with his.
“I remember every detail. Your dress was blue, and you wore diamonds in your hair—” He reached up to coil a lock of her hair around his finger, indicating the place on her head the diamonds had been. “Here, and here. You wore violet perfume.” He leaned in and sniffed, then smiled to see she still wore it. “I remember the exact feel of your waist under my hand as we waltzed, the taste of champagne on your lips, the sound of your sighs when I—” He stopped and let his eyes drop to her lips. Her mouth watered.
The Secret Life of Lady Julia Page 23