Charmed and Dangerous

by Jane Ashford

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I thought perhaps it was a joke.” She examined Laura with acute intelligence. “I have learned never to reject any source of information. But I really do not see what we have to talk about.”

  “Countess…” began Laura.

  “Call me Sophie,” said the other, recapping the bottle and putting it back on the dressing table. “And do sit down. It is tiresome looking up at you.”

  Laura sat in an armchair that flanked a small table by the window.

  “In whose house were you a governess?” Sophie asked, surprising Laura with the accuracy of her memory.

  “The Earl of Leith.”

  The other woman frowned, considering. “I have never heard of him. He is here?”

  “No. He has nothing to do with politics.” Only gambling, Laura thought, and drinking, and other conventional debaucheries.

  “You have some information to sell?”

  “No.” Laura tried to formulate what she wished to say to this woman. There was a brief silence.

  “That color is very flattering to you,” Sophie commented, taking in every detail of Laura’s deep rose morning dress.

  “Thank you.”

  “I still do not understand what you want.”

  That wasn’t odd, Laura thought. She wasn’t sure she understood it herself. She had wanted to meet this woman, the object of Gavin Graham’s affections, to see her and learn more about her. This, she thought, would give her clues, ways to win the game between them. This was the kind of woman Gavin admired, she thought, surveying the countess’s obvious charms. “My life has become very different, very quickly,” she ventured. “I left a nobleman’s schoolroom to come here. It has been rather…disorienting.”

  The countess raised her brows.

  “I thought you might have some advice for someone in my…situation.” This wasn’t terribly convincing, Laura thought, but it was the best she could do.

  “Advice?” Sophie looked astonished. “You want my advice?” Her eyes narrowed. “Either you are up to something that I don’t understand, or…” She stared. “Or you are a very odd creature,” she finished.

  “I am rather odd,” replied Laura evasively. She hesitated, realizing that she would have to reveal more to get any response from the countess. “I had hopes,” she said slowly, “when I was a girl, of seeing things, even doing things that were…significant. Silly hopes. Then the world I had known collapsed.” She raised her chin. Sophie Krelov was watching her intently, she saw. “It was just gone. It is a little that way now.”

  The countess’s expression had changed. She looked thoughtful. “What do you expect from me?”

  “I…heard of you, and it seemed you had made such different choices. I wanted to see what you were like.” Had she imagined that some of the countess’s attractions would rub off on her? Laura mocked silently.

  “Choices,” repeated Sophie. She shook her head. “Do you think women have choices?” Her beautiful lips turned down in a sneer. “I, too, had dreams, once upon a time…” She sniffed. “You have met the count?”

  Laura shook her head. She had never even seen him, as far as she knew.

  “No. He prefers the society he finds in the gutter. He thought to take me there too. Then he found that my father had taught me to handle a pistol, and my marriage had given me the resolution to use one.”

  “You shot him?” exclaimed Laura.

  Looking haughty, Sophie nodded. “A wound only. But in a spot that…discouraged him from annoying me further.” Her grin was feral. “He knew that the next time I would deprive him of parts that he valued greatly.”

  She should be shocked, Laura thought, but in fact she was fascinated. The story reminded her of things she had read in the earl’s library.

  “This was in Russia, years ago,” added Sophie with a wave of her hand. “Afterward, Ivan would give me no money—not that he had ever been generous. So I was forced to find my own interests.” She shrugged again. “I didn’t care, as long as he left me alone.”

  “You couldn’t leave him?” asked Laura. She knew this was often difficult, or impossible. A lone woman had few options, as she herself was well aware.

  “Once we had reached our agreement, it wasn’t necessary,” answered Sophie with a thin smile. “And Ivan’s work in the foreign service offered opportunities.”

  “Did you really work for Bonaparte?” Laura blurted out.

  Sophie laughed. “Others may say what they will, but I am discreet. I do not wag my tongue about any small…errands I may undertake for friends.”

  The two women gazed at each other in the ensuing silence. The winter sun was lowering. She had to get back soon, Laura thought, before she was missed.

  “So,” said the countess.

  “How do you fascinate a man?” said Laura.

  “Ah, now we come to it. A man.”

  “An odious man.”

  “Ah,” said the countess in a different tone. “Who? I swear I must know him.”

  Laura looked away. Gavin Graham was captivated by Sophie. Suddenly it occurred to her that she hadn’t considered Sophie’s part in this. “Do you… Are you in love with anyone?”

  “Love?” Sophie sniffed and tossed her head. “I look on men as the eagle does the mouse.” Joking, she moved her fingers like talons. “I don’t waste my time with stupidities like love.”

  Laura sat back in her chair.

  “You don’t wish to tell me who he is,” Sophie concluded. “No, I can see that you don’t.” She gave Laura a cajoling look. “It would be so much more amusing if I knew.”

  “I…” Laura searched for an excuse.

  “Oh, very well. But I could give you better advice if you told me.” Sophie waited a moment to see if this drew an admission, then she shrugged. “How do you fascinate a man?” she mused. She picked up an ebony comb from her dressing table and turned it in her hands. “First, you must take care to look your best, in your own style.” She gave Laura a searching glance, nodding as if she approved of her in this regard. “You needn’t be beautiful,” she added. “I have known some positively ugly women who had scores of admirers. It is much more than looks, you see.”

  “What more?” asked Laura, truly curious about the knowledge this woman had gained in her unconventional life.

  Sophie gave her a sidelong glance. She started to say something, then appeared to change her mind. “It is good to have a bit of mystery about you,” she continued. “You should not be someone he can count on—not steady, or reliable, or safe.”

  Laura wrinkled her nose. “I should be unsteady and unreliable?”

  “It should never occur to a man to ask you to dance because he is afraid to ask the one he really wishes to partner,” stated Sophie. “He should not think that he will talk with you because you will not unsettle him in any way.”

  Laura frowned, trying to assimilate this information.

  “And then there is…” The countess hesitated, looking at her visitor from under lowered lashes.

  “Yes?” prompted Laura.

  Sophie made a vague gesture. “Attraction, allure, the…uh…”

  “Physical side of things?”

  The other woman nodded.

  “I have read about such matters,” Laura assured her. “I am not some ignorant schoolgirl.”

  “Read?” answered Sophie, as if the concept surprised and interested her. “What have you read?”

  “Books. Portfolios.” Laura waved a hand, trying not to look self-conscious. The Earl of Leith’s library had included a large collection of works on this subject that he hardly even bothered to hide. The first one she’d opened had shaken her deeply. She had put it away at once. But over the years, she had gone back and examined the materials. What she had learned was astonishing, funny, disgusting, and engrossing by turns.


  “Portfolios?” speculated the countess, her eyes gleaming. “What sorts of…?”

  “The earl has low tastes,” she declared. “So you needn’t worry about speaking frankly to me.” She sat a bit straighter, trying to look worldly and knowledgeable.

  Sophie laughed delightedly. “You are a truly unexpected person. I like you.”

  She rather liked the countess, Laura thought. “Tell me,” she urged, “about allure.”

  Sophie gazed at her with an indulgent half smile. “Allure,” she repeated. “For that, you must discover your own desires. When they are in your eyes, no man can resist.”

  “My own…?” This was not at all what she had expected to hear.

  “If your passions are fired, they illuminate you. They add that final element, that thing the French call je ne sais quoi.” She turned her hand in the air as if grasping some intangible.

  “But I…I don’t…” Laura was speechless.

  Sophie laughed at her expression. “Did you think I would advise you to wear low-cut gowns and offer kisses in dark corners?” She pushed the idea away with a quick contemptuous gesture. “Men are drawn like moths to the flame of desire. It needn’t be them that you want. Much better if it isn’t. But if you can find the spirit that blazes in you, and set it free, the world will fall at your feet.”

  Laura stared at her, trying to understand. In all her studies, one topic she had never considered was her own desire.

  Sophie took a long breath. “You have turned me into a philosopher!” She laughed.

  Where did she look? Laura wondered. She had been in hiding for so long she didn’t know where to find herself.

  * * *

  Gavin shifted his position in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, trying to ease his frustration and boredom before they exploded into some completely unacceptable behavior. None of the fifteen other men sitting around the table looked as impatient as he was, he thought. A number actually looked interested in the topic of their meeting—drafting a document that set forth guidelines for drafting other documents. How could anyone care about such things? he wondered. And yet a few of his fellows appeared to care quite insanely. One of them was speaking now, droning on and on about forms of address and equivalency of titles from different countries.

  General Pryor knew quite well that he hated work like this, Gavin thought. He had assigned him to this committee as a punishment, because Sophie Krelov continued to approach him at balls and evening parties and flirt outrageously. Gavin suppressed a smile. He had known, of course, that holding himself aloof would simply intrigue Sophie all the more. By not pursuing her, he had piqued her interest even further. But the general seemed to expect him to give her the cut direct, or some such foolishness.

  The speaker had moved on to the issue of precedence. Gavin gritted his teeth. He imagined the fellow in the hands of Barbary pirates, dacoits from the Indian backcountry, tribes on the steppes of Asia. He had once seen a man sewn into a leather bag and dragged behind the mount of a nomad warrior. That would silence this idiot, he thought.

  The speaker droned on. French was supposed to be the universal diplomatic language of the congress, but this man was among the committee members who spoke it execrably. This was a complete waste of time, Gavin thought. He needed to be out in the city talking to people, finding out what was going on. Instead, his life was plagued by irrelevancies like this meeting.

  And Laura Devane.

  Gavin stopped even pretending to listen and let his thoughts drift to the general’s guest. She was more interesting than he had expected, Gavin acknowledged. So far, she seemed impervious to his slights and showed no signs of being driven off. It was annoying. He had never had much difficulty in getting females to do whatever he wished. Admittedly, his wishes usually tended in another direction, but not always. He had discouraged a number of women in his travels. Of course, they had been afflicting him with unwanted attentions, he admitted. Laura wasn’t doing that. It was General Pryor who continually nagged him to join some party or outing. Laura scarcely seemed to care.

  It was galling, he realized. The woman hampered his freedom. She upset his plans. And yet she remained singularly unaffected by their interactions. The time had come to end this farce. Laura Devane must be made to understand that he danced to no woman’s tune and brooked no interference with anything he wished to do.

  Three

  “You are looking very lovely this evening,” said Gavin as he led Laura onto the dance floor at the Austrian embassy ball.

  Startled, Laura looked up at him. It was the first compliment he had ever offered her, and she didn’t trust it for a moment.

  “That gown is unusual. But then, your clothes are all quite elegant.”

  She gazed down at the folds of her ball gown, fashioned of a silk that shimmered between bronze and deep green, depending on the light. She had been exceedingly pleased with the fabric and design from the moment she saw them. Looking at the gown now, she was filled with suspicion.

  Gavin grasped her waist, and they began to dance, falling naturally, once again, into rhythm with each other. It was a waltz. Of course it was a waltz, Laura thought. A country dance or quadrille would offer him less scope to unsettle her.

  “You’re not usually so silent,” commented Gavin, turning her deftly at the end of the room.

  The strength of his arm was palpable, and his hands—on her back and laced with hers—held an unnerving heat. He was a man who demanded notice, Laura thought. You couldn’t ignore him, and it would always be a serious mistake to discount him. At the same time, he made it terribly difficult to keep one’s wits about one. It was a devastating combination. “Your coat is very well cut,” she managed.

  His eyes flickered, and one corner of his mouth turned up for a moment. “Thank you.”

  Evening dress did particularly become him, Laura thought. And he wore it with unmatched ease. She felt a flutter in her midsection, and wondered if her dinner was about to disagree with her.

  “Having established that we are both creditably dressed, perhaps we could move on to some other topic,” he added.

  Always mocking, Laura thought. Did he speak seriously to anyone? To Sophie Krelov, perhaps? “Is Lord Castlereagh here tonight?” she asked him. “I haven’t yet seen him.”

  “I believe so.” Gavin turned his head to search for the chief of the English delegation at the congress. “He had planned to be.”

  “He must be eager not to offend the Austrians.” Laura was also scanning the huge room.

  “Indeed?”

  Laura looked up at his surprised tone.

  “And why should he be?” wondered Gavin.

  “I assume he wants their support against Russia’s demands,” she replied.

  “Has the general been educating you?” he said, with predictable irony.

  “The general shares the common opinion that women understand nothing about politics,” she responded tartly. “I believe he would sooner explain such matters to his horse.”

  “Oh, I think he would speak to the dog first,” answered Gavin.

  Laura stared up at him, not sure she had heard correctly. A spurt of laughter escaped her.

  “Where do you get your information, then?” he added.

  “I am quite capable of reading.”

  “Reading?”

  For some reason, the way he said the word made Laura recall the very unpolitical things she had read in the earl’s private library. She flushed deep scarlet.

  “Newspapers?” continued Gavin, looking fascinated at the reaction his remark had produced.

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  “Perhaps not only the English papers? You seem to have a talent for languages.”

  “I have been reading all the accounts of the congress that I can find,” she answered, regaining some measu
re of composure. “Hard as it may be for you to believe, I am deeply interested in what is going on here.”

  “It isn’t at all hard for me to believe,” he replied, in a tone that left Laura wondering whether he meant this as an insult.

  “It is oppressively warm in here, isn’t it?” he continued. In the next moment, he had whirled her into a tiny alcove and opened one of the French doors. Then they were somehow through it and on a flagstone terrace that flanked the building. A large garden spread into darkness on their left. “There, that’s better.”

  “Mr. Graham!” Laura struggled a little in his grasp. “Excuse me. I wish to go back in.” It was quite unsuitable for them to be outside alone.

  “But it is such a beautiful night,” he argued, his arm adamant around her waist.

  “On the contrary, it is quite chilly,” she said, trying to step out of it.

  He swung her down two shallow steps into the garden. It was all Laura could do to keep her feet. Beyond the squares of light from the ballroom windows, the night was lit by a half-moon, which turned the landscape into a maze of black and silver. Gavin swept her along to a row of shrubbery, inky masses against the stars, which Laura recognized only when their needles brushed her arm.

  “Mr. Graham,” she protested more loudly, “I ask you, as a gentleman, to—”

  “You and the general make the same mistake in thinking I am a gentleman.” With a jerk, he pulled her tight against him, his lips capturing hers in a hard, inescapable kiss.

  Laura stiffened in surprise and outrage. She pushed against his shoulders—with no effect. She wriggled, and managed only to make herself even more conscious of the contours of his body melded to hers. She had never been in such intimate contact with anyone. One of his hands had slid well below her waist and was pressing her even closer. The muscles of his chest caressed her breasts in the most amazing way. And his lips moved confidently on hers, rousing sensations that she couldn’t evade.

  It was unthinkable. It was intolerable. It was rather like some of the things she had read, Laura mused dizzily. One couldn’t really understand, through mere words, how it felt, how one’s whole being could suddenly turn traitor and melt like ice in a conflagration.