“Look, Stewart probably won’t even remember he spoke to you, or Lady Castlereagh, in the morning,” Stephen said. “He’ll wake up wondering how his nose came to be broken, and Lord and Lady Castlereagh will be gone within the week.”
“He’ll remember,” Thomas said softly.
“Will he? Last chance, Merritt, to tell your side of the tale,” Stephen said.
“I think it would be better if we concentrate on the business at hand, don’t you?”
“Those were some rather strong accusations. Did you really sleep with your brother’s wife?” Stephen asked.
“Does it matter?” Thomas replied. “It has nothing to do with stealing papers from an ambassador’s desk.”
Stephen laughed coldly. “You got caught. That’s what worries me. And I caught you too, breaking into the embassy.”
“Julia caught me, as I recall.”
She wished they would stop arguing. She had butterflies the size of vultures in the pit of her stomach.
They arrived at the Kaunitz Palace before Stephen could reply. He grabbed her hand as Thomas got out first. “Be careful, Julia,” he murmured. “Tomorrow this will be over, and we’ll talk then. I intend to ask—”
“Julia?” Thomas’s voice was sharp, and she turned to find him waiting to help her out of the coach, a gloved hand extended. She swallowed and set her hand in his, felt his fingers close. Stephen squeezed her other hand, and she was stretched between them for a moment before Stephen let go.
“I’ll be waiting. Keep her safe, Merritt, or I’ll hang you myself.”
Thomas didn’t reply. Instead he tucked her hand under his arm and turned away. “Are you ready?” he asked, and she swallowed. “Did you bring your pistol?”
She stumbled on the first step, and he put a hand on her waist to steady her, just as he had in her father’s ballroom. “I thought you might be armed,” she said.
“I? No. I find guns lead to trouble. Do you at least have a letter opener tucked into your garter, or a sharp hairpin?”
She glanced at him, saw the mirth in his dark eyes. He was doing it again, rescuing her from her emotions by being charming, trying to make her laugh, just the way he had at her betrothal ball. “I am told I have a sharp tongue,” she said.
He looked appreciative. “Dangerous indeed. Let’s hope you won’t need to use it.”
She took a deep breath as the door opened and they were admitted. She saw Thomas look around as the butler glided forward, his eyes pausing on each statue and painting. Was he considering stealing those too?
“Miss Lei—” she began, but he interrupted.
“Lady Julia Leighton and Viscount Merritton,” he said, and the servant led them into the brightly lit reception room and announced them.
“Julia!” Diana hurried across to kiss her on both cheeks before she slid an appraising glance over Thomas. “And who is this?” she asked archly.
“This is Viscount Merritton, an old friend from London. He arrived yesterday with some papers for Lord Castlereagh.” He bowed over Diana’s hand.
“I am most pleased you could join us,” Diana said. “A new attaché to the embassy. My uncle will want to hear about your journey. Did you stop in Paris?”
“Of course, my lady,” Thomas said.
“Then he will definitely want to hear any gossip you managed to overhear. He complains that official dispatches rarely contain the most interesting news from home.”
“Indeed, and often public opinion is the most important news of all, is it not?”
Diana laughed. “Oh, my uncle is going to like you very much!”
Julia saw no sign of the French ambassador. “He is finishing some letters and will join us soon,” Dorothea explained. “Come and meet our other guests.” She looked around the room. “Now where to begin? The three officers in the corner are discussing the strategy used at the battle of Jena. Dull to everyone but themselves. The ladies in the opposite corner are talking of Princess Bagration’s latest scandal of a gown, or her affair with the Tsar . . . Let’s see, there’s Count Razumovsky, the gentleman looking at the paintings. Do you like art, Viscount? He is quite a collector, and he was once the Russian ambassador to Vienna. Shall we start there?”
Julia felt her chest tighten. What on earth could Thomas Merritt have in common with Razumovsky? Yet within moments he was discussing the merits of Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn, all of whom Razumovsky knew well, as if Thomas too had known them. He was charming and elegant. The gossiping ladies soon turned their attention on the handsome newcomer, casting coquettish glances at him and giggling together behind their fans.
She sipped champagne sparingly. They could do nothing at all until Talleyrand appeared. What if he was in his study, seated at the mahogany desk under the painted gazes of Pauline Borghese and Marie Louise? She felt a frisson of impatience, but Thomas laid a hand on her waist, lending her strength and patience as he steered her toward one of the magnificent landscapes in the room, following Razumovsky, who was comparing the work of French and English landscape painters. Thomas smiled down at her, and her heart leapt into her throat, and she had something else to occupy her nerves, the tingle that coursed through her veins.
“Ah, Lady Julia, how delightful that you could come this evening,” Talleyrand said, kissing her hand, his eyes bright on her face, and then taking in every detail of Thomas’s person as they were introduced. “I apologize for my lateness, but you are partly to blame, my dear. I just received a note from Lord Castlereagh, suggesting we meet.”
Julia swallowed. It was surely part of the ruse. Once Castlereagh held the stolen documents in his hand, he would cancel the appointment. Until then, he had no choice but to play Talleyrand’s game. She tried to look as if it wasn’t a surprise. He drew her aside to look at another painting, a portrait of the King of France as a young man at his brother’s court. “I must thank you for your invaluable assistance.”
She felt Thomas’s eyes on her, turned to see him watching her over the crystal lip of his champagne glass.
An hour later, as more guests arrived and the room became crowded, Thomas appeared at her side. “Everyone is watching you,” she murmured, feeling panic like sharp little teeth. “How can we possibly—”
He bent to whisper in her ear. “Laugh, Julia. Look into my eyes.”
His warm breath tickled, and he drew back and grinned at her, his eyes warm. She stared at him, felt her skin heat. “What are you doing?”
He stepped closer still, let his eyes fall on her mouth, and she felt hot color fill her cheeks.
“Flirt with me. No one will be surprised when we slip away to steal a kiss.”
She stared at him. She couldn’t seem to look away. “Have you lost your wits?” He was only looking at her, standing next to her, hadn’t even touched her but she was on fire with longing.
“Tell me what you remember most about that night.”
Stars. In the champagne, in the sky, in his eyes, in her blood. “I can’t—” she managed.
He looked at the champagne in her hand. “You tasted of champagne when I kissed you,” he said. “I bet you’d taste of champagne now. Laugh, Julia.”
She was shaking, but she drew a breath and put on the performance of a lifetime, staring into his eyes, waving her fan coquettishly, fluttering her lashes. She reached out and touched his hand, and he drew a long breath that wasn’t entirely feigned. Her body buzzed with desire.
“Which hallway leads to the room he showed you?” Thomas murmured.
It was like a splash of cold water. “The door below the painting of the cavalier.”
He glanced over. “Ah, the one by David. Did you know it’s rumored that he is Talleyrand’s illegitimate son?”
“Really?” she asked as he led her toward it.
“Yes. Does that shock you?”
She managed
to shake her head. How could she of all people be shocked by that?
“Many people have illegitimate children, but Talleyrand was once a Catholic bishop, before he became a diplomat.”
No wonder Talleyrand looked beyond her scandal!
They were under the painting now, by the open door. A long corridor led to Talleyrand’s private office. It was unlit tonight, a subtle warning to guests that it was off limits.
She felt Thomas’s hand on her elbow. “Come on.”
“Someone will notice we’re gone,” she said as they slipped down the hall.
“They will expect it. You’re an excellent actress. If Stephen Ives doesn’t propose tomorrow, you might consider a career on the stage, or perhaps hire yourself out as a Bow Street Runner, or even a professional assassin.”
“It may surprise you, Mr. Merritt, but I don’t actually enjoy harming people.”
He glanced at her. “Does that mean you’ll accept Ives’s proposal?”
She raised her chin. “Don’t be ridiculous. He would never make such an offer.”
He chuckled. “I thought women could read such sentiments in a man’s eyes,” he said. “Ives obviously has feelings for you. Will you say yes?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, I don’t wish to discuss it.” They reached the end of the tapestry. “We’re here.” Thank heaven.
She lifted the edge of the tapestry to reveal the door. He grinned. “Clever. But every inch of this hallway is covered with tapestries. Are you quite sure?”
She glanced at Joan of Arc’s woven face, gazing up at heaven. “Quite sure,” she said. He tried the latch, but the door was locked. “Can you open it?” she asked, glancing down the hall. She cursed the thick carpets. They would not hear someone coming. The rattle of the lock as he worked at it was loud in the thick silence.
“Hurry,” she murmured.
“Nervous, Lady Julia?” he asked. “And yet, you are without doubt the most daring woman I’ve ever met.” The latch opened with a click, and he glanced at her, obviously as surprised as she was. The dark room loomed beyond the threshold.
“I am not nearly as bold as you might think,” she whispered, hesitating.
“Nor am I. Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Our absence will assume scandalous proportions if we’re gone too long.” He stepped in and lit a candle.
The portraits regarded them with feminine surprise. Pauline Borghese stared at Thomas’s broad shoulders as he gazed around the room. Marie Antoinette smiled archly. Marie Louise appeared to be watching the desk in horror.
“There—” Julia crossed to the mahogany desk and tried the drawers. “It’s locked.”
He was looking at the paintings, but he came to her side. “Which drawer?”
“This one,” she said, aware of the closeness of his body, the warmth of his fingers as they brushed hers.
He began to pick the lock, his movements awkward, and Julia held her breath. “I used to take cigars out of a locked drawer in my father’s desk when I was a boy,” he explained. “He never suspected a thing.”
She glanced at the door. Surely they would be missed by now and someone would be sent to search for them. What was the punishment for espionage and theft? Would they hang her?
The drawer popped, and she held the candle over the shadowed contents. The light gleamed on the familiar surface of the red leather folder, and she took it out, laid it on the desk and opened it.
The documents were all there. Thomas picked them up and glanced at them, scanning the contents. “A bill of sale and some love letters?” he asked. “That’s what we came for?”
She nodded. He looked through the rest of the file. “There’s one addressed to you.”
She stared at the sealed envelope, at her name scrawled across the front in Talleyrand’s unmistakable hand.
There was a noise in the hallway, the sound of swords clattering on scabbards.
Thomas grabbed her shoulders, spun her to face him. “Is this a trap, Miss Leighton?” he demanded, his eyes hard and shiny as marble.
“No!” Yet she replayed the consequences of getting caught. The English would disavow any knowledge of her, or Thomas Merritt. She blanched. It was indeed a trap, but not one of her making. They were coming closer now, and in a moment they would see the door was open.
“Kiss me,” Thomas Merritt ordered, pulling her against him.
“This isn’t the time!” she hissed, pressing a hand to his chest to push him away. She could feel his heart beating under the fine linen of his shirt.
“Trust me. Kiss me. You remember how, don’t you?”
His mouth was inches above hers, the soft champagne of his breath on her lips, the scent of his soap surrounding her. She lifted her mouth to his and shut her eyes.
He groaned as he plundered her mouth, kissing her like a man starving—or a man about to hang. His lips slanted over hers, and he pulled her closer still, pressing her back against the desk. It all came flooding back—the desperate, impossible desire she’d felt for him the last time he’d kissed her. She didn’t want to stop. She arched against him, losing herself in the kiss.
“Halt!” said a stern voice, and she snapped back to reality. She turned as the room filled with light and soldiers, stifling the desire to scream. Thomas kept his hand on her back, his touch firm, reassuring.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his tone sheepish.
“What are you doing in here? Fetch His Highness at once.”
Thomas grinned at the captain. “Is that necessary? We were merely seeking a moment’s privacy,” he said in English. “It’s too cold to go out onto the terrace, and the door was open—”
“I wanted to show Thomas—the viscount—His Highness’s paintings,” she said. “You see, he knew several of these ladies in Paris, and—” She realized she was babbling. The soldier glanced at the walls, noticing the art for the first time, obviously unimpressed.
Julia’s heart climbed into her throat. She wondered if it was too late to dive out the window, but there were ornate metal grills in place to prevent that. Pauline Borghese regarded her with mocking sympathy.
Talleyrand arrived. “Intruders, Your Highness,” the captain said, snapping to attention.
Talleyrand’s dark eyes took in the situation at a glance. “The door was unlocked,” she began again. “The paintings—”
“Was it?” he said blandly. “How careless of me.”
She watched his eyes flick over the desk, and waited for him to notice the folder, and the contents scattered over the surface. She looked down, but the desk was empty. She looked up at Thomas in surprise, but his expression was flat, giving nothing away.
Talleyrand tried the desk drawer and found it locked. He looked up at her with a sad smile, as if she’d failed to meet his expectations, and she raised her chin, felt hot blood creeping under her skin.
“What exactly were they doing when you found them, Captain?” the prince asked.
“He was—um, kissing her, Highness. Very passionately.” Talleyrand grinned. “They said they were here to admire ‘the art,’ ” the soldier added, more surprised by that, it appeared.
Talleyrand unlocked the desk and opened the drawer. Julia stifled a gasp of surprise. The red leather folder glowed like accusation in the candlelight. How on earth had Thomas managed that?
It didn’t matter. They’d failed, and they would not get another opportunity. Defeat fell over her like a heavy blanket. Thomas didn’t look at all perturbed. He was watching Talleyrand silently, with a bland expression.
“Will you say nothing, monsieur le vicomte?” the prince asked in French. “Will you not deny such a scandalous insult to a lady’s honor?”
Still Thomas remained silent, and she felt mortification burn through her. She knew exactly what Talleyrand and the captain were thinking.
>
“Monsieur?” Talleyrand said again in French. Julia felt her limbs melt.
Would Thomas let them think she was a strumpet?
He shook his head. “I am sorry, sir, but I don’t speak French.”
Talleyrand’s lips twitched. “The captain of my guards has accused the lady of bringing you here to my private office for seduction,” he said in English. “What do you say to that?”
Thomas straightened his shoulders. “I suppose I shall have to call him out and shoot him,” he said. “How do I say that in French?”
Talleyrand’s brows rose. “How very English. Perhaps it would be better to tell him that you and the lady are old friends, and you simply share similar tastes in art.”
“If you wish,” Thomas said.
“In the interest of peace,” Talleyrand said. He shut the drawer and locked it. “All is in order, Captain Dufour. Please escort my guests back to the salon.”
The captain bowed crisply and led the way, with two soldiers in front, two soldiers behind them. Thomas kept his hand under her elbow, and she didn’t dare speak. Had he saved her, or made things worse? Her mouth still tingled from his kiss. Her whole body tingled.
They reached the salon, and no one, it seemed, had even realized they were gone. The guards withdrew, and a footman offered them more champagne.
He stood quietly by her side. “It’s over, Julia. You can breathe now.”
She nodded to a lady going past, then turned to him. “How can you say that? We failed!”
He looked amused. “Did we?”
She shut her eyes, and he set his hand on the small of her back to steady her. “We won’t get another chance,” she said. “It will mean disaster—”
He leaned close to her ear. “I have the papers, sweetheart.”
But she wasn’t listening. “And now Lord Talleyrand has branded me as a—”
“I have the papers. They’re in my pocket. I became quite expert at removing my father’s cigars so he wouldn’t know.” He put his finger under her chin. “And Prince de Talleyrand is French. I’d say you’ve probably improved in his estimation. I daresay he wishes he were me, so he could kiss you.”
The Secret Life of Lady Julia Page 25